Neon Black: Dispatch #1

an ongoing horror/erotica/sci-fi series

Photo by Marcel Strauß on Unsplash

April 27, 21—

Let me paint this for you, Darling. Let me show you this world in broad strokes first before we go into the meat. Because if it ever finds you, by then the world you see will be all color and no canvas. The pristine mold of a face long rotted into dust.

This veneer you will see all around you, Darling, know what it is. The first trick it plays on you is that it’s intelligent. But we’re not talking about sentient machines here. It’s artificial intelligence. And it’s called artificial for a reason. It doesn’t create, it duplicates. It mimics based on input. So when it came time to fabricate the post-apocalyptic city you see all around you, it didn’t create a city. It took all of its entry data for “post-apocalyptic city” and built based on that. So imagine a combination of Blade Runner, Dark City, The Matrix, ad infinitum. And maybe you never saw those stories, Darling, so you don’t know what I mean. But I have to use the things I know, from the world I used to live in.

So the surfaces you see, Darling, is AI trying to manifest this weird aggregate world beyond the digital realm into the physical. It’s the architectural equivalent of the six-fingered men that the first AI art used to do because they couldn’t mimic people correctly. If you’re far away or look quickly you don’t catch it. But day after day, on the ground, when you see it slow and up close there it is. You see it too now.

And as for the rest, the way out places, if or when you get out of the city. They won’t be post-apocalyptic suburbs, but rather “post-apocalyptic suburbs” or “post-apocalyptic countryside.” Inputs that they crushed together and spit out into those barren lands you might see. They just replaced the ick neon chic with Mad Max meets Walking Dead meets The Road meets The Stand, because those stories and others like them were fed into the AI.

But I come from a much older world, Darling. Older than even the humans you may see in yours, the new neon topia waiting for you. My body was a demon before it came to write this. Or, perhaps better, the demon before entering this body was pure spirit, so pure energy, pure will, all eros. That’s why the demons don’t enter the human body with any memories of where they came from, because there is no “there” there, from whence we come. So when they, we, take over the host and control that massive human brain all we have of ourselves is this human consciousness: their memories, personality, awareness, perceptions, all except for the heightened and healed senses. The human is dead but the vampire is alive for really the first time. Even the holding of this pen, and more the writing, creating something for the first time in and as lively blood-filled flesh, wakes us out of that abyss, shocks us into this new life. But the first thing pure eros wants to do, the most primal urges? Feed and fuck.

Humans think the lust is demonic, and in the movies, Darling, if you ever get to see the old stories, that’s how they portray it. So having sex is the most depraved thing they have us do. Every writer of vampire stories is a puritan at heart in this way. But it’s not the so-called evil of sex that appeals to us. It’s the humanity of it. The abrupt conscious embodiment of it. We’re thrust into this flesh fully born. We fuck our brains out because there’s nothing more alive than this. Nothing more human. We frolic in this flesh, far more than most humans do. So I did as well.

And, Darling, the best lover I’ve known was our V. And the best lover I ever lost was our V. Little could I know it was only the start.