30:30 2014, Day 10

FutureSex/LoveSounds

Like all the things we laughed at, desire-

based telemetry got good, then cheap.

When you saw a body you wanted, say

on the subway, or on a poster on the subway,

the System would riffle through the database,

a lowcut secretary arched over a file drawer,

and try to broker a new contact. In-person

was tried in beta but fell from fashion

for reasons we already knew. Remote

intercast--we soon gave up on the precious

brand names--is everywhere, Main

Street Duluth everywhere. Everyone

willing writhes over fiber. Nearly

extincted a species of Malaysian palm

lubricating the Devices. The next

big thing, they tell us, will flash

the nerves and pictures straight 

to the pons and cerebrum, a drive-

in stag movie built to spec. It will be

as life. Put your face through the hole

in the plywood Boardwalk standup

and you will be the strongman. Romantics

are afraid it will end with the System

guessing our unspecial wants, delivering

before we want them. We'll love

in the hum of sex written and read

and overwritten to a million hot

server racks, chirping like crickets

rubbing at dusk. If we can stand it,

imagine the ecstasy of confession:

All these manners and flesh have been

a middleman for the memory of some touch.