Sit. Let me parade the trivialities.
I have to show for this: I was there.
At every backdrop, the world and my stage.
Now I dangle my framed locality before you; geotagged.

Poke. ceiling-suspended dead disbandaged digital body. I shaped thee as horse: mare lean meat. For pleasure of gaze and pedestrian highbrow. Imagine she told me she loved me; my selfie.

Cockle. I am man if I am tweeted. Ever so minusculed masculine, curling up in a drip of hundred and forty characters: all my own. I pretend to be loud and cocky. I rule my world pretentiously, accepting all cookies.

Pose. The same places as mini elevators. I’ll call the determining moment of pitch and parleys. Myself sold as the ultimate fair use of slipped-in foreign language, into the vagueness of my higher glossed numerical success.

Pretend. It is a space of iterative self-reflective surfaces. Life is glitter and shiny skin with blurred out imperfections. Innovated so I am no longer to become. I have a profile. I must be proud as plastic surgery ever unfinished.

It’s all me.
I was here

—animasuri’22