binary digits









and slowly, by turns ever so subtle, the binary digital baby turns,

by impositions of reality,

into a superposition

capable of being both good and bad

present and absent

by twenty-and-three years,


experiencing of inside and outside

is clear.


Until Saturn’s Return, The Super Imposition, the baby must still learn.

Even by thirty-and-three, ambiguity is a hard pill to swallow,

actually five, four paroxetine, twenty milligrams each, and one lamotrigine, one hundred milligrams,

(plus the clonazepam, but that’s a secret. Don’t tell, will you?)


“Reality” is something that happens between zero and me, although

these days, I must say, I have a hard time telling the difference.

But, bit by bit, swallow we must: presentation is everywhere!

Instagram! Twitter! (Facebook is for old people!) Twitch! Tinder! Grindr! Don’t forget to set a reminder!

Present yourself on here,

over here

and here.

Publish, Photoshop, Push Notifications, Phone On, Communicate (!), and here, somewhere between failure and death, I am, bit by bit, a still-born binary digital baby.



Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as a Lute Player, 1615–1617


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