Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Expanded Poetics Feature—Issue 62, March 2016)

Jessica Dolan
Script Mall

to undertalk it, this is a small poetic engine grafted off of stolen code. the innocent original intends to sort and narrativize, intends to be read by machines and those who can read machine. i intervene. am pushy machine. i overtake and inhabit the interlingua. i translate, sidelong, through a so-impressive conceptual lexicon of shamey reeking personal XP, delivering this newly unbound script.


Hong Cui. 2013. Sub-language Processing for phenotype curation. [PowerPoint slides].


red will be rose

blue will be cerulean

purple will be pansypetal

black will be acid green acid


open bracket edge: the leading wedge of the first incursion. this pink holding is the vanguard. it is pink as pink is bubbling up rubbergum, as it is effete and forced and piggyproud skinpack around my body right around to my fatback. opening, holding, enforcing: the gloved hand of the mall security guard who walks me whitely away from the crowd before announcing the pat down.

xml version: this is the ecstacy and the miel. the honey and the amphetemines which dribble my seams indelicately, ever-heaving, ever-sea. cerulean blue, even. even too. xml represents the kissymouth holdface that waits becs and smiles ‘l’ leaving ‘l’ a long lip ‘l’ sidesmile of the proper mouth, xml is the article descending from the given: the staircase, the escalator. xml. mall escalator, closemouthed long line. oiled chain each steel cartridge chinked together a staircase an ellipsis a foldable machine a waterwheel. steel waterwheel. xml lifts the carried, cartridge bodies waxpink and wane, up and over, around again. one side of her back pitted by boot treads the other smooth and caressed by darkness and abandoned pools of undermall air. tastes of circulation in there. dip and recycle, raise them. xml. smile progress: kissyface tko, uncontrollable laughter pursed into the teeth, longlip closemouth sidelong glance of the lips. conservative, cycling, presenting as unbothered and steady.

she is closed in by the security wedge, the edge of the open closed in between the angle and the inquisition. that is only her left.

to the right of her a version requests historicity be adequately controlled and displayed.

equals, acid green. equals the acid of green mall, spring babies heaving on the paved over heather begging for better moneycoins to put on their eyelids for eight to ten hours not counting the rickety denouement. acid green equals.

“i.o” is the moon of jupiter? i.o. is the generalization of personal debt. i.o. is the ownership of fault and dismay, uncertainty excised and i’d to the eyeballs. the first of her kind, i.o. goddamn is a hunted raped white cow who is now a cool moon. could any ever be more loved? adored? whitegowned? i.o. transits, xml wants only to confirm. to lift and carry those upon her craggy body cyclically upwards to i.o.’s eye level that they too may glow with self-sufficiency, ownership, that their rapes may too be so transformative as to phase their open carapaces to belle luminescent vaches white as pharmaceuticals, to bleed the carried of their instances and raise them, render them, planet them.

encoding is real basic: this is the part we just went over. xml carries her burdens, escalating them on shaved steel to be known be transformed be put into i.o. - the encoding is a little weak, because xml doesn’t entirely grasp that hers is a form not a function, and i.o.’s busy on her own and plus she’s like a fucking hundred million space kilometres away from the mall.

acid green states that the encoding is in fact informed by utf-8, whose name, like all names, appears in quotations as a hypothetical sense of that old dog self. it might be that their names aren’t fixed, it might too be that xml has a fairly limited mechanical perspective on the whole thing and can only guess at sorting who from who when the only input she’s got to work with are the flapping tides of pressing bootbottoms and the occasional bright intrusive tumble - the odd cascade and the slickening of her gears are a pleasant condescension to error. the unexpected taste of sliding steely metal seepage, the surprise of her entirely self-possessed pace being microaltered by the increase in viscosity. she dips lower with each long circular breath, wetting herself better, lapping.

still, utf-8 is the unobtrusive tumble of f8, the body which breaks along the way. the voyage, according to xml, is long and carefully planned. according to utf-8 whose f8 is to break up her fucking nice face on the moving staircase it’s a long and miserable way back to the starting plate. metal foot of utf-8’s grandmother’s sewing machine unreplaced, she’s strung all around with the garlanded faces of ‘oh god’ and ‘are you ok’s, and they help her to a bench by the pissy coindrop fountain and she dabs her fucking nice face which is open now, wide, xml benevolently smiles and continues to move towards the inside.

against a corner unlike the others, a private corner, an edge of the known, a statement: justice its def better than injustice, i will have it and i will have it serve me.

so the statement ids the scope of the scene: carry utf-8 to a hospital and for fuckssake get a mop on the second floor escalator it is covered in blood. over.

acid green equals the hypothetical I the imagined 1 the nun who writes with text in hand, interstitially. eleven times threatening: we’ll put it in together.

and the structure is simple: atrium glass planes overhead and boilers exhaust below. what more could you wish for, stars?

xml lifts up good o28, supposedly, who names herself PHYLLARY and taxonomizes the diverse scuttling beetles of the spectacular capital lift occurring. phyllary (o28 to xml, who knows her true nature but will lift any body any time within the constraint of this programmed behaviour she is obliged to adhere to because if she didn’t she’d just be a flat loop she supposes...) phyllary, whose first orgasm was only nine days ago at age twenty eight (29 to xml who counts the lunar calendar as more truthful, but who will carry any passenger as she is obliged to do, as she is formally dedicated to do). phyllary records the passages of the moment, she fits herself into each phase of the moon visible from the breathfogged skingreased glasspane boxtop. hot like a greenhouse in here but cool too for the air circulates through a system quite apart from both xml and phyllary’s own doing, an appreciated one.

phyllary closes herself off between i.o. and the soothing lift of the escalator. the machine beneath her feet is steel and grease and she gets on and off with perfect ease. something is a little different about it this eve, the gears run sweet, she notices. she notices much, except for the fact that she is not an observer but a collected item to be observed. she has hair and shakes it now, shedding filaments down into xml’s catchy teeth, threads of which xml darlingly dutifully eats.

outside of this, the structure is one of rebar and insulation, ductwork and cream yellow industrial painted service chambers. access is unguarded, more or less, save for the earlier bracketing of the security guard who takes upon himself responsibility for each individual within the apparatus. democratically, the sprinkler system agrees not to release their sensitive wax nibs, not to piss in three sixty the thousand gallons of chlorinated city water that each is a personal guardian of. hold back.

the identification of o29 is no challenge for xml. this one steps on with hesitation, and once on so beats out a repetition. the rubber rail batted no more no less than fifteen times by the first three finger pads of o29. it is typical, she thinks, to be the series. it is so typical to be the series. it is typical to be series. the series sorts the typical into an order of types and sequentializes them. xml ascends with the thumping spool of o29 reeling along her long and eversharp back. the series appreciates the angles present, the repetition, the order, the systemization. series ascends, o29. she last came with someone else, down on level one, a digging rut of good metre had out and in and out by the bank of intact phonebooths.

the character, closed on her own ideas of herself, reiterates her own type: she is only and not like other. she is one who possesses range value, whose location and wealth are broad and she fits wonderfully wherever she goes for she does not go where she doesn’t fit. coming out from inclusive, from adjoined to inclusive, she doesn’t know herself to be false nor does she name herself false as o28 adopts phyllary in order to impress her friends. the character is of a type and range and value that does not consider herself vulnerable to friends. this is false. she’s fairly false. xml carries her to the flat wall, the closed angle, the upper floor of metal framed marble. xml benevolently raises the character type to the second storey and leaves her there. those feet felt like air, she’s false.

now the name of the atypical count, as the character of great range and value imagines herself, not named but titled, the name of atypical count is a family honorific that is passed only through invasions. the character, from five to fifteen, has endured the anticipation of what she considers a broaching. she will not report, she is false. xml models the mushmouthed held back laugh, the m smile for the character. the atypical count notices nothing, she is false. she is raised to the second story and delivered from the process without another word.

now the upper level is restricted (xml knows this to be false but is encouraged by security to limit access in hours of low stimulus). it is supposedly grown out from inclusive, this is also false. xml the wise hypotheticizes this like all names or designations: she will not select inputs or orders or carriage, though she will always reserve them as possibly untrue, unreal, false or not known. the designation holds the place of the body above the bootsoles, each body slashed on each side by the marks of possibility, the double slash.

so it’s like false, and the upper level is for rich kids only. s’cool. above, xml senses, at the limit of her program, that those in subordinate positions in social systems are frequently adept at converting whatever resources they possess into some degree of control over the conditions of reproduction of these social systems. xml exercises this, cycles it. she runs drier.

the character, property… property’s a characteristic of an object. ownedness imbued into the owned object, the character owns her own object completely. she is the first of her line to do so, xml senses, politely releasing her again to the level of the othered. the property can posses other properties, this is the capital structural property of the mall. unbound by the wall, the angle that is pressed against, a corridor exhausts hot wind breathed from the open mouth of the eatrium. animal grease weeps from the traps regretting the way it has been. the breath moves up against the underside of xml and at the particulate level, where she is most cognizant, she senses the incorporation of animal suffering into the stingy evaporations of the human suffering she lifts on her back and places elsewhere. occasionally, anachronistically, one character may choose to run backwards.

this descending clatter is connected: acid green caul fat, acid green venular tubing. acid green is the medium in which all toxic bodies are suspended, according to xml. she continues to pool out this substance, spittering it in additions and implications onto all the individual articles who move along her.

the meaning of r11, our own dear eleven, is related distinctly to the text held much earlier. xml doesn’t exactly forget, but it is not in her process to track backwards to retrieve the fallen text that eleven now hurries to collect from the grid of xml’s beautiful speculative steps. our 11 is borne in, a precious thing, by xml’s own body, of xml’s own knowing. our 11 is owned as the mall itself may own: property presently occupied by text. she moves liquidly from o28 to o29, knowing, negating. accuses each of their falseness. xml agrees.

ultimately xml does agree. kissyface pucker for this new decree: yr all fucken’ false, get off of me.

and the cerulean inner walls of xml’s belief close acidly, now greenly, around each trembling leaf. species best suited to grow in shopping malls are : girls, half-time girls, bois and hostas. their conditions for belief are: water’s wet, boots’re too big, food’s trash, sun’s to eat. the conditions increase, xml’s writers are lifted each unto each, a folding of steel planks that make way for the brief. a moment of repose, susurration, tapped keys. our11 holds the rubber in her small hand, a thief. each mall has a thief and each thief has a mall. this one sleeps below the grinding wheel of the people mover, this one breathes in her sleep, sleeps in the lapse of the <’s busy survey, evades and exploits. small rat, good black eyes, r11 reads what xml returns. r11 loves and knows each of her structural smiles: kissy kitty pucker, bitten bitter laugh smoothed to a rind and the long studied lipline of holding inside. our11 writes off the other girls with a wave of her little rat hand: false bitches, don’t trust. get their cameraphones if you can. phyllary unnotices, consciously, the touch. phyllary lifts herself away from such. but o28 is quicker to grab for her sides, pats herself down, checks out her prides: bank card, id card, bus pass, small mirror. copper ring, silver change, foil winking ball wrapped tightly round tar. there are priorities she knows, this is exactly what they are. but closing, xml, closing she insists. must slow the pace, slow the printing, slow the way of the lift. negation, false. who gives one single fuck?

now the text. it’s opened in the corner of the left of what’s left. the security cameras glitter lenticular stars in a sheetrock white sky. sleepy babies, all carried, now elsewhere, now known.

the text of r11 was dropped, left at home. inconsistencies itch, but they do not slow. xml states this much:

phyllaries borne in 1-5 (15+) series proximal to the florets

become phyllary, her, not the atypical count who assumed herself the protagonist. phyllary will be composed, in part, for having been so bold as to take three names in the course of her carriage. original self, interpellated self, chosen self-marriage. imposition enters here: the pulse is steady, xml grinds and our11 is ready. phyllary is borne in, one to five hours per session. each day comprises fifteen plus hours of lessons. from the preemptive machine engagement of the air circulation system which tickles the sleepers and kicks every bitch in her belly as she falls (o28 is hurt in the face, will say it was a fight to spare the disgrace). phyllary is borne in, over segmented hours, constructively ordered she is sequenced into flowers. open ended, semi-coloned, xml allows length in the lead: spooling out, drooling out, an essay cast in epoxy in thick acid green. proximal to the florets, near to the bunch. phyllary so defined is exalted, recalled. xml deeply processes the context and thrall in which those carried are concreted, bound, materialized. the angular jut of closure prefaces the slanted wall, the text shuts. there it was. close bracket. that’s all.