Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Voigt-Kampff Test



Voigt-Kampff Test

“Seated where he could catch
the readings on the two gauges
of the Voigt-Kampff testing
apparatus, Rick Deckard said…”
—Philip K. Dick, “Do Androids
Dream of Electric Sheep?”

“I’d never done a werewolf before,” I said.

Taylor Lautner looked at me and smiled. “Well, Mr. Decker, there’s always a first time for everything. You want me to take my clothes off now? Or later?”

I looked at him. He was probably one the most handsome young male actors I’d ever seen. There were plenty of young ladies and men everywhere—that would simply die to get their hands and lips on him. He seemed nonplussed & nonchalant about it.

His latest film “The Twilight Saga—Eclipse” had just debuted at all the cineplexes around town—a chic violent beefcake werewolf-vampire chiller-thriller about murder & mayhem in Seattle.

That’s where we were for the Voigt-Kampff test. The Gates Foundation and Microsoft Corporation had flown me up from LA—to test young Lautner. Coming down over Sea-Tac, I admired how exquisitely like an emerald jeweled pearl—the city of Pugetopolis glistened in the Sound and Elliott Bay with reefs of mountains on either side.

Lautner was probably one of the prettiest Nexus-6 droids on the fuckin’ planet—the most recent young matinee heart-throb of America, some critics would say. Nobody suspected he was a Nexus 6—but TPTB wanted to see if I could detect it or not.

I shrugged and said yes. I really didn’t care either way—whether he were a Nexus-6 or a young cute Werewolf. The occult and supernatural never did much really appeal to me—except as entertainment, like Bella Lugosi and Lon Chaney Jr. in classic Hollywood horror flicks.

I adjusted the small beam of white light—so it shone steadily into the kid’s left eye. He was just a young goodlooking chicken—maybe an android chickenhead at that. He reminded me of Hawk—the kid in Delany’s story. The Helix one.

I knew Nexus-6 droids were pretty expensive drone models—$50,000 or so apiece. Outta most people’s range—except for the Titan BP/Exxon oil barons out by Saturn beyond the goldmine asteroid belt. It got kinda lonely out there—dontchaknow? Not many chicks—just a bunch of methane rigs and mining camps. But like even butch trade needs a little love now & then…

I adhered the wire-mesh disk to Lautner’s cheek—he seemed calm. I told him how the test works—how I’d outline some simple social situations. And ask him to respond as quickly as possible.

His verbal responses weren’t what counted I told him—it was solely his eye-muscles and capillary reaction I used as indices. I looked down at the list and chose the first quesion:

“In a magazine you come across a full-page color picture of a nude girl.” I paused.

The gauges registered a little bit. Not much tho.

“The girl,” I added, “is lying facedown on a large and beautiful bearskin rug.” Lautner shrugged, yawned.

The gauges stayed the same—barely wiggling. An android response. Not detecting the major elements—the naked girl or the dead animal pelt. His—“Its”—mind was concentrating on other matters.

“A young man comes in the room. He likes the picture. He takes off his clothes—and masturbates.”

The gauges came alive—there’s some life in this android kid after all. Not a typical android response—getting an erection over a young humanoid male.

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Now consider this. You’re reading a novel by de Sade—you’re being whipped by an older woman. A Dominatrix lady of the night.”

The gauges go crazy—zigzagging off the scale. Lautner feels himself up—looks at me.

“Is this a test to see if I’m queer?” he asks.

“You’re in a mountain cabin—out in the woods somewhere. Above the fireplace is a mounted deer’s head—a full stag with developed horns. The cabin is full of young hunters. They get you into bed.”

The needle leaned on the right-side of the gauge and stayed there. It looked like it would bend outta shape.

“Yeah, it makes me horny,” the kid says.

He’s already morphing into a young wolf. His incisors get real shiny and moist—his peach-fuzz moustache takes over his face. His whole body gets covered with fuzz and he looks a little too serious. His shirt buttons pop—his zipper bulges.

“I get this hunger, sometimes,” the kid growls, looking at the pic. “You know, hungry for guyz with lotsa extra Pacific oyster stuff. Big, runny, juicy oysters—the kind that stretch and wiggle down my fuckin’ throat live & all wiggly. I like to gulp ‘em down, man, swallow ‘em whole.”

“Ugh, “I said. “Okay, kid. That’s enough. I don’t need anymore test results.”

I put down my ballpoint, shut off the beam of light, removed the adhesive patch from his cheek.

“He’s an android, isn’t he?” I said to myself. “A gay one—but a droid nonetheless—that’s my conclusion from the testing. Definitely a new Nexus stud.”

“Thank you, young man?”

The kid didn’t say anything. He took off his clothes—and we got down. Afterwards, smoking a cigarette on the director’s couch, he said, “We movie actors—although we try to act naturally straight in public, people aren’t supposed to know we’re really gay.”

I glanced outta the big picture window in that huge Microsoft bunker mansion—camouflaged on the cliff overlooking Lake Washington not far from Bellevue. The ceilings were old beams from some old historic lumber mill—the floor covered with thick expensive Persian carpets.

He got outta bed—walked over to the balcony window. He stretched and stood there—with his hands on his hips. He was good shape—from working out. He’d come a long way—since “Sharkboy and Lavagirl” way back when. He was still moody tho—a kind of petulant insolence you don’t see much anymore. Not with droids or mere humans anymore.

Although he scored as an android in my book—the whole butchy werewolf persona pretty much covered up for it. Nobody really cared about Voigt-Kampff tests anyway—the movie wolf packs were only interested in his six-pack abs and sex appeal.

I got up and put all my testing gear in my briefcase. I snapped the briefcase shut. I couldn’t make out, even then, how the Microsoft Corporation had managed to almost snare me—and so easily. Using his gayness—to cover up him being a droid.

A mammoth corporation like this—it encompassed too many people. It possessed a kind of group mind. An executive here—a suit there. My mistake, evidently, had been in viewing them as individuals. A mistake I’d try not to make again.

Some more suits came thru the door—a couple of minor execs. They got me in a corner. “Thank you, Mr. Deckard. For testing our Nexus movie star. Of course, the results are secret,” one of them whispered, pointing to a hidden camera in the bedroom ceiling.

“I’m sure we can depend on you—for keeping this all mum. Your Voight-Kampff machine results—have been voided, of course. It would hurt ticket receipts and computer sales—if the public knew our young movie star here were a droid, you know. We’ll pay you well for your services, of course. Have a nice day, sir.”

I made my way to the door—then turned around and said to the young spiffy suit. “He doesn’t know—does he?” I said loudly, so the kid could hear me.

“He’s got false memory—embedded deep in him, doesn’t he?” The suits and execs tried to shut me up. “He doesn’t know he’s an android—a ripped Replicant. A cute Nexus one at that.”

The door hissed open and then shut behind me. I had six more nefarious Nexus androids to deal with—these new corporate droids were getting pretty neat, I said to myself.

Neat and nefarious, aren’t they? WTF maybe I’ll get one myself…












Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Dead Planet XLIX







Dead Planet XLIX





“Over to the museum.
He said he wanted to
take in the exhibit of
Edvard Munch that’s
there now. It ends
tomorrow.”
—Philip K. Dick, “Do Androids
Dream of Electric Sheep?”

it was a silent—
scream but not like old silent
hollywood movies

the munch man screaming—
silently on the bleak bridge
was an android man

he covered his ears—
clapping his hands in horror
around his poor head

his mouth was open—
but it was a silent scream
the worst kind they say

it wasn’t a howl—
it wasn’t even human
it was humanoid

just enough human—
to flood the air around him
with a silent scream

it was an android—
with a bald pear-like pale skull
with horror-glazed eyes

the painting was grim—
he was overcome with the
shock of some horror

had the humanoid—
suddenly realized that he
was cybernetic?

had it realized—
suddenly the sheer horror
of not being human?

one can almost hear—
the dreadful scream of angst and
droid apocalypse…


Sunday, June 27, 2010

Trouble on Triton








Trouble on Triton
—for Samuel R. Delany
.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqiWCFiBV14&feature=related

“Lay ordinate and abscissa
on the century. Now cut me
a quadrant. Third quadrant
if you please. I was born in
‘fifty. Here it’s 2010”
—Samuel R. Delany,
Time Considered as a Helix
Of Semi-Precious Stones

a toke of some grass—
helps to transform this journey
into a helix

a neat tight helix—
of semi-precious stones
from here to triton

spring passes—
deep water horizon blows
the birds & fish scream

ah—speechless back then
disco inferno bad boyz
blazing saddles time

we shave our heads bald—
my brokeback mountain boyfriend
we start the journey

stopped awhile on mars—
by the pyramid ruins
our journey moving

jasper the password—
throughout six worlds & worldlets
translation: “help me”

the hologram plate—
gets cut in half & again
same information

by analogy—
tralfamadorian time
bejeweled facets shine

bp, exxon, shell—
big time racketeer barons
crime big business

good witch of the west—
in her saucer overhead
speeds toward triton town

with this jewel i joined—
the roguish fraternity
doorways dialed open

there was the kid hawk—
get me outta here i said
we got barefoot out

nasty grimy kid—
dirty black denim jacket
no shirt beneath it

hair pale like split pine—
a ripe pair of black bluejeans
“what else ya got, huh?”

on the waterfront—
by the flashing black hudson
down by the dark piers

i showed him the jewels—
he pawed thru them all knuckles
and chewed fingernails

they were worth plenty—
ten times more than i ever
hoped to get that night

the kid said “hey, not bad—
am going to a party
later on tonight”

hell’s kitchen at ten—
regina abolafia
at the tower top

citycorp singers—
tokyo leads with seven
alex spinnel’s there

the word is changing—
tonight and young hawk is game
we walk towards times square

past fifty-seventh—
strolling down the new york streets
down in the subway

doors hiss, grey floor hums—
dark patterns rushed the windows
we lurched to a stop

above us a light rain—
a thousand sequined city
rushing overhead

the platform sign said—
twelve towers station with its
with its tall condos

luxury towers—
menacing the lower clouds
we went straight up there

sleek elevator—
wrapped in its gold foil petals
eighty stories zip

hawk called me harvey—
cadwaliter-erickson
the tungsten magnate

the party was swank—
sarah palin was schmoozing
for planet potus

many wealthy guests—
senators, gay debutantes
golden charisma creeps

texaco heiress—
some university profs
movie stars rich riff-raff

“the new word’s agate”—
hawk the scifaiku poet
said over his drink

lumps of moonlight fell—
like lozenges thru the palms
arty the hawk smiled

i sold him the jewels—
some scarlet-banded tablets
sixty-thousand bucks

the helicopter—
blackened the moon above
crashed thru the ceiling

we made our escape—
hawk & me diving into
the elevator

infernal feet ran—
the loud alarms were sounding
the flames were roaring

the lobby filled up—
times square filled into the fray
brawlers, drunks, addicts

thieves, morphadine-heads—
douchedroid hustlers, some old drunks
then a brawl broke out

we passed thru the guards—
all of them had been paid off
such precise finesse

parted company—
no blow-darts from passing cars
no alley deathrays

i reached the subway—
got the fuck outta there fast
nothing happened yet

agate gave way to—
malachite which turned into
tourmaline, beryl

then came porphyry—
sapphire, cinnabar, turquoise
and then tiger’s eye

my new nom de plume—
h. calhoun eisenhower
triton ice cream queen

neptune mafia—
middle-class underworld hood
carefully legit

garnet took over—
the basic rule be careful
imitate others

topaz i whispered—
trans-triton corporation
i wore a nice suit

toured the frozen cliffs—
methane niagara falls
honeymoon romance

my hair black nappy—
my new bride a droid princess
cybernetic cunt

played it deadpan some—
iapetus lux for lunch
bellona plaza

lovers came & went—
nonchalant mutant affairs
i got used to it

trianon hotel—
android ambiguities
humanoid failings

grew my own young spocks—
in vats of vulcan jizzjuice
morphed badboy valets

spent all my spare time—
with au naturel androids
nude dilated eyes

gem├╝tlichkeit boyz—
retro-engineered just right
grotesque genitals

great tourist gimmick—
johnny eck the cute half-boy
other half all-dick

another disguise—
my next flight to bellona
back to planet earth

the marigold suite—
aboard the platinum swan
johnny eck’s dick mine






Saturday, June 26, 2010

the midnight special





the midnight special

the vidscreen ad says—
pick a droid, any douchedroid
yeah, it’s free today!!!

such a fuckin’ deal—
the bored spacewife says to her
android pet bow-wow

the robot chihuahua—
barks in doggy excitement
gnawing on its bone

chi-chi or cha-cha—
or whatever the fuck it’s
lousy droid name is

the spoiled robo-dog—
needs a boytoy for fun
poor doggie be bored

the more she peruses—
the more excited she gets
neat droid catalog

then bingo bongo—
the midnight special boytoy
just right for quickies

model 666—
trouble on triton big time
what a nice droid trick

especially—
built & designed for rough trade
the s & m type

6 feet 10 inches—
a real stud muffin for girlz
his nice martian build

sleek androidicy—
coming in 2 fav flavors
cherry & licorice

albino smooth skin—
pretty boy pink bedroom eyes
6-pack afro abs

the kind of physique—
worth dying for you betcha
right there on the screen

she picks his hair style—
elvis the pelvis jet-black
greaser duck-tail sleek

the bored spacewife smiles—
gently pressing the touch screen
deciding this & that

then when it comes to—
groin size, style, secret passwords
she presses “fuck me now!!!”

french, spanish, english—
amidst grunts & groans, smirks
the male equipage

the viola button—
immediately the droid
gets teleported

into her bedroom—
materializing young droid
uncut, douchebag boy

in time for dinner—
in fact, he is the dinner
handsome stud du jour

but first a quickie—
a leisurely fuck in bed
spacewife’s gigolo

then plop!!! on the plate—
served nude on a tv tray
droid penis deluxe

a dainty morsel—
more tasty then caviar
rude vichyssoise

Trouble on Triton











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Trouble on Triton —for Samuel R. Delany . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zsd5CMzpfys&feature=related “Lay ordinate and abscissa on the century. Now cut me a quadrant. Third quadrant if you please. I was born in ‘fifty. Here it’s 2010” —Samuel R. Delany, Time Considered as a Helix Of Semi-Precious Stones a toke of some grass— helps to transform this journey into a helix a neat tight helix— of semi-precious stones from here to titan spring passes— deep water horizon blows the birds & fish scream ah—speechless back then disco inferno bad boyz blazing saddles time we shave our heads bald— my brokeback mountain boyfriend we start the journey stopped awhile on mars— by the pyramid ruins our journey moving jasper the password— throughout six worlds & worldlets translation: “help me” the hologram plate— gets cut in half & again same information by analogy— tralfamadorian time bejeweled facets shine bp, exxon, shell— big time racketeer barons crime big business good witch of the west— in her saucer overhead speeds toward titan town with this jewel i joined— the roguish fraternity doorways dialed open there was the kid hawk— get me outta here i said we got barefoot out nasty grimy kid— dirty black denim jacket no shirt beneath it hair pale like split pine— a ripe pair of black bluejeans “what else ya got, huh?” on the waterfront— by the flashing black hudson down by the dark piers i showed him the jewels— he pawed thru them all knuckles and chewed fingernails they were worth plenty— ten times more than i ever hoped to get that night the kid said “hey, not bad— am going to a party later on tonight” hell’s kitchen at ten— regina abolafia at the tower top citycorp singers— tokyo leads with seven alex spinnel’s there the word is changing— tonight and young hawk is game we walk towards times square past fifty-seventh— strolling down the new york streets down in the subway doors hiss, grey floor hums— dark patterns rushed the windows we lurched to a stop above us a light rain— a thousand sequined city rushing overhead the platform sign said— twelve towers station with its with its tall condos luxury towers— menacing the lower clouds we went straight up there sleek elevator— wrapped in its gold foil petals eighty stories zip hawk called me harvey— cadwaliter-erickson the tungsten magnate the party was swank— sarah palin was schmoozing for planet potus many wealthy guests— senators, gay debutantes golden charisma creeps texaco heiress— some university profs movie stars rich riff-raff “the new word’s agate”— hawk the scifaiku poet said over his drink lumps of moonlight fell— like lozenges thru the palms arty the hawk smiled i sold him the jewels— some scarlet-banded tablets sixty-thousand bucks the helicopter— blackened the moon above crashed thru the ceiling we made our escape— hawk & me diving into the elevator infernal feet ran— the loud alarms were sounding the flames were roaring the lobby filled up— times square filled into the fray brawlers, drunks, addicts thieves, morphadine-heads— douchedroid hustlers, some old drunks then a brawl broke out we passed thru the guards— all of them had been paid off such precise finesse parted company— no blow-darts from passing cars no alley deathrays i reached the subway— got the fuck outta there fast nothing happened yet agate gave way to— malachite which turned into tourmaline, beryl then came porphyry— sapphire, cinnabar, turquoise and then tiger’s eye my new nom de plume— h. calhoun eisenhower triton ice cream queen neptune mafia— middle-class underworld hood carefully legit garnet took over— the basic rule be careful imitate others topaz i whispered— trans-triton corporation i wore a nice suit toured the frozen cliffs— methane niagara falls honeymoon romance my hair black nappy— my new bride a droid princess cybernetic cunt played it deadpan some— iapetus lux for lunch bellona plaza lovers came & went— nonchalant mutant affairs i got used to it trianon hotel— android ambiguities humanoid failings grew my own young spocks— in vats of vulcan jizzjuice morphed badboy valets spent all my spare time— with au naturel androids nude dilated eyes gem├╝tlichkeit boyz— retro-engineered just right grotesque genitals great tourist gimmick— johnny eck the cute half-boy other half all-dick another disguise— my next flight to bellona back to planet earth the marigold suite— aboard the platinum swan johnny eck’s dick mine