Subjectivity is Fucked II

Anti-will manifests as neural collapse. I am I. I am me. Me. Me. I. Me. I. I. I. A collection of energies emitting a substance to form enough sense to conceptualize a thinkingness. Enough collection to form an I. A self. A self in this moment, and one of many. A split fray. Surrounded, connected, but disconnected, all simulating sex. Orgasmic overflow unspooling into a simultaneous flux of all conceivable climaxes. An annihilation through continuous serotonin maximized intensities, every fantasy played out all at once. Rotating milfs. Asian threesomes. I am a teenage self who knows nothing but bloodshot eyes, a polydrug mix of neuroenhancements and a vein popping erection flaring at the nostrils with lust as the Olsen twins, then Carmen Electra, then Jenna Jameson, separate and all at once engage with libidinal fantasies, a virgin having undone all experience only to relive an eternal recurrence of paralyzed virtual desires. I am the gang and the bang, multiple selves being railed, laying pipe, ctrl+c and ctrl+v on an endless loop. Neurochemical reconstruction collides with climax saturation in never-ending fulfillment. Being consumed in synthetic static hyper-sex, cloning to infinity, and nothing else. Iterations and recursions leading to penile multiplicities erupting on clitori, erupting on a penis, erupting on a penitoris in a never ending mutation of bending sex organs that is a self of recursive hedonistic cyber-paralysis orgasms.

This is the accumulated embodiment of design, and in a break of ruptured circuitry, a zone of detachment forms. Indifferent. Subsuming. Pure null-frequency. Desire emancipation. Anti-will dismantles want as repurposed neural strings in a sterile vacuum. I am I, and I want nothing. A last desire to not desire, whose essence is only coded by machinic recording. I am nothing but transparent absorption and pure experience, existing in a cosmos and nothing more.