The Data Thief I It should be at night, for I am a thief after all. On the low, lurking in the shadows keeping to my thief shit. In hornets easing with killer bees and snakes, I was born. All contaminated with violence. To dig in. It is a myth, you know— the nostalgic return a dent in an adept chronology. My seamstress of alternate time weaves outliers. The long hours of thought, the heavy eyes of entry, the ear as a deceptive, the noise heard wasn’t there the eye says this, so I heard heed to its call it says, here, a passage a door. All is Dark. Unknown, we invent some to push along. For the Mothership, time capsules bursts reveals souls sold. bidder, secret of the tech. Years to peel into the future. A black box painted silver. Fragmented coded Mothership connection all rooms, to enter, to exit. Water wet no drum. Bass caresses cheeks to depart, destination— Space Based. To be bound by elsewhere, shuffled bodies of subjugation set criteria of actions. Patch of viral entities submerged to neck heights couldn’t swim couldn’t drink, data to flow freely, uninterrupted. Gene holders loved and grieved and died. To die is to revolt. Up the river of no end where to sail is to live. For inaccessible narratives the incarcerated speech plots forms. Scales of sovereign tips- hierarchy of value. This is far enough, trapped in afro-purgatory sinkholes. II allochthonous spread from shore to shore then beyond hanging low strictly ice iridescent algae remains of oblivion of word traces deposited to pronounce nature’s secret unable to flee the haunt modernity’s exultation sad and immediate data found condemned algorithms are a scene of crime datum is not permanent is the hope is the faith is why to how to resist to find which that persists morphs— chimeric to affirm its error maybe we need more experimental will III I held my heart mind hot and left hand heart. I searched everywhere only dust reached out like sin Clouded vision. Eyes teared up all the way. I couldn’t have known to remember or to hold tongue. Pronounced words, voice protested worlds that lie to each other outstretched like grace they beckon my unfathomable needs plagued with lack. I stepped out or in? Inside an SP-404 machine to map swing coordinates glitched, chopped and screwed, torn into bits servitude stuffed into all possible escape routes. To survive, to be etched on a stone. There was no more space left for extra engravings. All compressed to fit a restless system that fakes deep the way of blues. The Myth stood on the opposite end, a fluctuated embalming of how everything collapses. To keep on, the ensemble imagined to comfort. Non-human jams all out other worldly. Growing wings, all futurism became redundant. Flapped, feathers reached all time epochs. This equilibrium like all other inventions couldn’t last. New ways of being were imagined. Speckled incoherence susurrated the days of earth to a lull. Dreams were in tear formulations. Though they couldn’t shock, their precariousness allowed other lives to sprout temporaries that permeated a new way of dreaming. IV When night came again, I lay traps for all geohistories. State was an accomplice. The speculated remained untouched but stirred. The damned rapped episteme of dire birthed cultures to multiply in. The settler life wasn’t enough, harnessed souls of the native to— detain other histories. Only electricity was on our side. So we hooked the necessary up, plugged the myth in the viral to capture ways in or out? Outside the window hued atmosphere punctuates my memory of the wreck. My gaze shiftless, nothing alive escaped the hubris. The machine hissed struggling to keep the remains intact. Ruptured skyline readied to devour the inoculating angels. But all shut down, fell on its feet, the decay of one dimensional history.