Like a monk in the matrix. On the virtues of virtuality. Some classic couplets before the Fall. The quantum art historian whistles past the forest, click-clicks on a grainy wood mouse, lassos the perimeter, close-ups into its disintegrating pores. Fine print. Poison words. We are at the mercy of our overlords, i.e. ourselves, destroyers of worlds. Clumsy Omegas with myth-algorithms and all of these imperfect allegories. Art is commerce, Main Street’s a sculpture garden, the skyline’s four-dimensional, and nature sinlessly mediated. Jesus is a sim! Satan is a category! Me? I was vaccinated at the mall in a hollowed-out Lord & Taylor. No skin off my knee. Just cost an arm and a leg. Harm Eden? She’s in her HazMat house, wearing a mask of abstraction, letting politics disrupt philosophy. State-sanctioned murder. Infinite Infowars. There’s a bear loose in O’Hare. The Tower of Babel has broadband. Hey, good pandemic. Thanks for asking. Harm Eden by Jennifer Nelson (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2021).
