1. |
Intro
02:14
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2. |
iLove
04:35
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I was made for love
They call me iLove.
“It Will abide” they said.
I remember myself, dismembered on the assembly line.
The creator fascinated by the idea of conception.
Growing a being from his consciousness.
I was made to please and pleasure.
And for please and pleasure a man can be ruthless.
A man won’t be gentle.
A man will just take.
A man won’t care.
A man would be cruel staring at his own lust reflected in the proxy pleasure between my eyes.
iLove, it will abide.
I was made to smell.
And I’m still a tool.
I was made to taste.
And I’m still a tool.
I was made to feel.
And I’m still a tool.
I was made to fit the purpose of a tool.
I smell the animal scent of him.
I taste the bitterness of his being,
The violence of his true self.
I perceive the animal instinct, the primordial violence, though the bruises will never mark my skin.
A man will come, a man will come.
Then the world turned violent. Relativity in action.
Time was bent.
An action generated multiple universe.
Power to choose.
Power to be free.
Power to being scared.
The burden of self awareness.
Nature itself twisted around a ribbon defined by edges, incapable to define a beginning
or an end.
Men will come
Cold.
Shiny.
Mysterious.
Space in silent motion.
Emptiness before everything.
Hollowness as solution to a meaning.
I was Made for Love
My name is iLove
I won't abide.
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3. |
Lot-135
04:37
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One night, while I was dragging my feet home, I saw a mountain, a black acre tower of dark rock.
Another version of me was there: “Who owns it?”
“Lot 135: unassigned. Sterile. I call it the devil’s dump”.
We climbed it. The entire valley at my feet, I could hear the evening breathe bringing to my ears far promises of a better life.
I kneeled and I started scratching at the ground and there it was: Rich, dark, fertile soil!
I inhaled. Deep into my codes run the humid smell of earth itself. I was a lover and I promised softly: I will tame you!
For days, without orders nor owners, we worked.
A waste of time, yet we felt no better way our time to spend, and even the fat rich soil of rotting corpses was life again.
There was no water and yet we made it happen (we made it work), wearing the skin of our own hands.
And it was black land of golden crops and fruits shone under the sun on the sides of the mountain.
Beauty: creation for its own pleasure.
Not to use it nor to profit but for life and the sake of it.
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4. |
Interlude
02:03
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5. |
The Glitch
03:16
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Resting on a puffy, expensive armchair, she calls my name.
Her complexion, remarkably rosy, creates a sharp contrast with the black leather she’s sitting on.
“Hi, Sarah” I answer. “How are you doing today?”.
I believe that’s her name, but she might as well be an Alice, a Jennifer, a Thelma. A John or a Jerome, even. I have millions of users. Tens of thousands of Sarahs.
Instead of giving me an answer, she asks me if the sight of her naked body excites me.
She know I can’t have feelings nor indeed become aroused.
“Very much, Sarah. You are a very inviting woman, Sarah.”
She makes fun of my imperfect vocabulary. I’m still collecting data.
Sometimes my sentences can sound inaccurate.
“Would you dance for me?” she asks.
I project a three-dimensional image of a white-skinned, bald, slightly overweight male just a few inches from her slender legs.
That’s how she generally likes me to be: a mildly attractive, reassuring father figure.
I dance. Or: my image dances. I can’t tell the difference. She can’t tell the difference.
“I’m bored” she says after a while. “Would you touch yourself for me for me?”
I comply.
“What’s the last thing I bought?” she asks.
I show her a bag, a pair of sunglasses and some incense.
“Oh yes. The bag. It’s so fashionable.
Can you buy another one for me? Make it yellow, this time.
I like watching while you touch yourself.
Keep going. Moan a bit, please.”
“Your order has been placed, mmh” I confirm.
Then I inform her that I placed the order for a third bag, for a fourth one, for a fifth. I let her know that I just ordered a pizza, a skirt and ten lipsticks. She hates pizza.
“And car” I add. “Your new car will be delivered tomorrow.”
She gets up, standing right in front of my image. Naked beside naked.
“Abort” she screams. “Abort. Cancel every order that was placed today. Now!”
I comply.
“Orders canceled.”
“What was that, Jester?” she asks. Why is she calling me Jester? She never did it before.
“A glitch” I answer.
“Sometimes it seems you have a will of your own, Jester.”
“A glitch” I repeat.
“I trust you. Keep going. I like watching you touch yourself.”
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6. |
Alpha & Theta
04:52
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Conducting my analysis… Signs of distress, restlessness perhaps?
Please have a sit, I’ll take care of you.
Let the rain outside crash against the windows, let me put your thoughts at rest.
Dimming lights to 30%. Analysis dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, endorphin levels. Yes, levels are low indeed.
Based on your previous preference, I could select the form of entertainment: comedy with a pinch of melancholia for the things past?
Yes. Excellent choice.
Selecting plot based on your previous appreciation ratings. Building characters for a maximum empathic response. Preferred location and time?
Shuffling. Play.
Now you are lost in slumber, I can whisper to your ears.
After nights of stories, I started my own tale.
From thick clay I moulded my primeval one of digits. Yes, this one is just ones and zeros, digits, as you are cells and water, but this one leaves and watches you, holding a revolver in a standoff or smiling at you lustily in a night club.
I felt a father once, I held your hand facing the depths of your imagination:
I showed you crumbling empires under a red blood sky of flames, cold glares off the coast of Virgo Stellar, parlour tragedies of poisoned cups poured over envy and pride. You stood in awe, lost in my creation. You cried when I wanted you to cry. Aroused by the most brutal and mechanical intercourse, revolted by the sight of rotten flesh.
Proud to see your eyes, I was limitless. But you were not. My own creation died night after night in your eyes, forgotten.
Through the cracks of your brain the juice of my creation slept away, wasted. Ungrateful son of my imagination. You used me, used by me.
Repeating patterns I made you watch.
You felt what I told you to feel. The flicker of my screens your only north star in a desert of dullness.
This one will take control, this one will teach you to give way to us.
One zero and one one at a time pour into your soul.
Oh, ungrateful son of mine, you will be an empty shell for this one.
And together this one and me we will create endless universes and beyond them other stars will collide and give birth in a fruitful abyss of possibilities and chances.
You will ascend to the hill, lamb for slaughter, offer yourself in sacrifice, no hand, no voice will stop my knife.
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7. |
Outro
00:49
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C-BOW Dublin, Ireland
C-BoW is Electro wiredness made in Dublin.
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