This episode introduces the character HeLa* who talks about being a valet in a hyperpolar world of states and non-states. HeLa's corrupted memory tries to make sense of the fragments left afloat.
Sexuality, a program through which all HeLa's senses are declared, is restarted. It loads physical and digital data to set off HeLa on a mission, maneuvering The System, sorcery & the struggle.
*HeLa (/ˈheɪlɑː/; also Hela or hela) is an immortal cellline used in scientific research. It is the oldest and most commonly used human cell line. The line was derived from cervical cancer cells STOLEN on February 8, from the African American Henrietta Lacks, a patient who died of cancer on October 4, 1951 and whose family has never been compensated for the use of her cells which until this day generate millions of dollars for the pharmaceutical industry.
Black bean tooth in the mouth of the wealthy fool. Emotional labor sold for food. It's like that here, in the land of no horizon, deleted genealogies. My ancestry adrift in the darkweb of my hybrid existence.
It's raining now. The soil smells fresh, Pig party in the other side. Is mother here? I ask knowing my mothers are all merged into my monolithic memory.
Today I'm not going out. I've got a bag of black beans and coarse salt. Pemba dust still sprinkled on my floor.
Memory. RAM. Mom. My memory won't tell much. Countryside anonymous histories with a dead end dwell my RAM. My roots pulled and scattered around intricately so I could never trace them back. It's a random access. My memory. The allegories I have created talk to me. Are they my past? Or dots of light, little beings from afar, from my future collecting information as they shoot their way through all things digital & physical.
I'm HeLa, a valet of the future, in a world of neo- feudalism. A hyper-polar world of nation-states and non-states actors. I am what they call a 'nomadistic', sadistically moving around, looking for a place, A place where I don't need to sign papers, to omit, or to die when I reveal. Because some things I just can't hide.
A Valet: an employee performing personal services for my only customer. Neo-feudalism.
An update or is it degrade of policies really... I live in a high-tech feudalist society where I'm pushed down. I haven't got a stitch to wear or one single bitcoin to buy bread. I move around a lot whether they allow me or not.
It's this controlled destabilization which makes an extreme state of misery feel normal. A stable destabilization graphic heading gently towards the worst. Because there's no end, you know? It's all to stable here, but it's not really.
Eyes on the road outside as I lay down. It's bass therapy day. I'm a person with a womb. My womb speaks to me in sync with the vibration exploding from the portable speaker. I hold it gently against my body and look at my bedroom. At my existence. The sunlight invades my room and I love it. Enough darkness foes inside my head to refuse such manifestation of life. Such foreplay offered by this tiny universe I navigate.
BASS. DRONE. NOISE. PERPETUAL entice me in peace. My senses become alert. Bananas ripe on the table. my toes can feel them all. My menstrual blood cup, clean and stained rests on a white flower.
The womb pulsing. My bartholin's glands lubricate me slowly. Harsh noise enters me gently through the cunt. Through that one power door our body has created. Whatever and however. Specially for us uniquely.
The whole body vibrates from head to toes. Vision, hearing, smell, taste, touch. All mixed in one.
One drop of cum.
ONE DROP OF CUM.
My ID. My personal settings. My index. My algorithm. I'm complete.