My Algorithm

It has been in me since I had a body.

Poorly-mixed gasoline and electricity, an orange jagged line threaded through my heart and lungs and brain and kidneys. An appetite with no bottom and no off-switch, always pulling forward past any capacity to feel exhausted, past any ability to downshift. An unstillable intensity.

Do-do-do-do-dooooooooooo. Do-do-do-do-dooooooooooo. Do-do-do-do-dooooooooooo.

Then, the threads converge on something worthy of biting and being bit by.

My corporeal awareness falls away. I am not in my body. I am not really here. I am finally with the pure thought-stuff.

Time folds in sheets of 4 and 14 hours. The dopamine drip is steady. The orange organ lining resonates at its highest vibration, warm and somewhat nauseating but all consuming. A phrase that returns and returns again: I only exist in combat. I only get my drip when in hyperfocus. Asking me to leave it is beyond offensive. All external obligations and time itself offend vulgarly.

If you are something I have fixated on, I would almost feel bad for you if I were not destined to reach and ultimately own you. It’s not even really up to me.

If you run from me I will pursue you. If you fight me I will fight back. If you shoot at me I will shoot back. If you camouflage yourself I will develop the capacity to see you. If you change your nature I will change mine. If you injure me I will recover and come back at you with a greater fury. If you conceal yourself I will flush you out. If I am too heavy to pursue you I will shed weight. I will cut it out of myself. If I do not have the capacity to obtain you I will develop the capacity. If I need to drop my only comforts I will drop them and run more raggedly against this jagged reality. If you spin a narrative I will enfold you in tapestries. If you seek to confuse I will cut to your core. If you elude me I will remember and wait.

But ultimately, I will own you.

The only delta between me and my goals is time. The loop is not stilled. It is not sated. It is absolute. It is not a question but an inevitability. It is destined.

Eventually, it ends. It might be 3 days later. Or it might be the better part of a week later when I’m traveling and have multiple deadlines and can remain awake for several days at a time — not intentionally but without realizing it.

Tokyo is full for races, eh? You’ve seen a doped horse after a race.

There is only the washout, adrenal fatigue and sensory overwhelm, light and noise spiking into me while I can’t get my thoughts or movements together. Can’t decide what to do or how to move or where or why.

A hungry ghost sensor sweeping on a hill while the wire still runs warm.