As with headshift the whole gamut of imaginary delights
and trills blooms digital in epiphany, and little data bits
leak into the hearts of domain names like upset bins
into streets. There is so much garbage in the veins of cables
and continuing in the nightmare of anonymous sender
who has moved the axis of dance across the SPAM filter.
The predatory packets attack unknown like echovirus.
Protocols for robots flash through the innards of
the silicon forest and noise, noise, noise appears in
exercise clothes ready to sweat through the login
of the system. And the rubbish runneth over into phones.
The drivel slops over containment and scatters into lives
that remark on it or use it the next conversation sculpture.
The faces of Lego people grow angrier with each successive
rollout. Particles of thought float like silica dust at
the glass plant as they wander through the onion router—
information chromatography that trickles down the
nodes: buzzcoil, CodeGnome, Goobchop, CumChucker,
hamcave, smokemeakipper, Rubberella. They assemble
to proxify, to hide from authenticator, to push across the
platforms, to spike in traffic the great murmur on the Deep Web
where spies and counterspies linger amid the spillage.
Watch the bouncing interface through the relays and you will
dump encrypted onto the secret village heap of screens. There you
can find your hidden service: pedophilia management or
assassination market. The exit sniffers cannot undo
as you climb through wobbly goblin, loosemoose,
hiddeninthemohawk, teflongargoyle, bobothewonderpuppy
to deliver your scrap of payload, to SPAM for commodity or
cause, to post repugnance in the pastebin for everyone to gawk at.
Go ahead and call in that prank SWAT raid. You are strolling
down the boulevard and everyone has blinders on.
Go ahead and tell us now what you wouldn’t do.
This is the rendezvous for wastrels who dare not complain
about the train of debris. They set in motion a confusion
along No Name Road. Those committed to stirring the sludge
of the dregs have a license to spook. Any number of
contaminants can shake the tectonics of electronic commerce.
Whoosh and the elements of purchase scurry away into the
unseen. Coax them on out now like a monkey with a bitcoin.
Let them eat junk traffic in the middle of the day when
the hands on the till are lazing through another transaction.
Send out the refuse anonymous as prayer. The mental arena
has moved to the network; the mind of the browser has changed.