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seen from Hungary
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seen from Malaysia
some guy at a party: hey d‘you wanna take some lsd
me, a chad: no thanks i do not wish to become a flesh interface
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im over here interfacing my flesh I got flesh on my interface rn im just interfacing my flesh im unborn as frick man im a drug addict man like for real
new tiny art piece for a series i'm very fixated on right now!
We are on the verge, all of us. Times are dire. We are about to be gathered again into the arms of the Mother, to become one flesh with her. The Mother who gathers lost children. The Mother I have seen in dark spaces since I was a little child. Back when I called her "the mother with horse eyes." We are about to meet her again. We are about to be unborn.
_9mother9horse9eyes9, cached reddit post entitled “hello friends”
The Flesh Interface Series: A Proposed Explanation
The Flesh Interface series is a strange work of internet fiction. But where did it come from, and what is the purpose of the narrative? This is an examination of one theory on the origin of the story.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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She leans into the room, needle in hand, and informs me that I’ll be next.
They roll me back into the hallway, and then down a longer, darker hallway. My hands are strapped down. That’s for my own safety. I’m too tired to move them anyway. If you stuck in a knife in my arms I’d have to just sit here and watch it bleed. There’s nothing left in me, no energy, no strength, no will.
They roll me down this long dark hallway, and I have to wonder after a while, am I still alive and does it even matter? Did anything matter? Will anything matter? I think I’m on drugs. I’ve forgotten my own name. These drugs are pretty good. They don’t make me happy, but I’ve forgotten to feel sad, or scared, or anything at all really.
I’m just rolling down a hall. There’s somebody pushing my chair. It’s out of my control.
Am I being executed? Operated upon? Does somebody love me? Will somebody excuse me, forgive me, release me from my sins? Is this a hospital or a gas chamber?
I’d twist to look around, but there’s nothing to see. Overhead, lights are flickering back and forth. They make me think of birds, and of storms, and of fucking. My mouth is very dry. My palms are very sweaty.
There is a door at the end of the long dark hall. I am moving towards it. Gradually. Maybe we’ll never get there. Maybe I’m already there, and I’m just waiting for this last part of me to catch up.
There is not yet opened, but I know that once I get there it will be.
And I will go through it.
And on into whatever’s on the other side.
That's interesting. When I was working for the CIA, we found that animals could often survive travel through the flesh interfaces much better than humans could. We regularly had success sending dogs and cats through. Somebody hit upon the idea of sending some Gracula religiosa (hill myna) through the interface, because they are adept at imitating sounds. This was the next best thing to sending a tape recorder (the interfaces did not accept non-living objects. We worked on grafting a tape recorder to a turtle, but this was unsuccessful on several levels.) We sent the birds through, and they returned unencased but covered with the typical fluids. Those of us who subscribed the the alien theory had high hopes that they would record alien speech. Instead (or indeed) they came back imitating a strange flute-like "speech music." The music was quite interesting, though having all the birds sing at once created distinctly unpleasant effect. Somebody in the department ended up killing all the birds, though we never found out who.
_9MOTHER9HORSE9EYES9, reddit comment in a thread about parrots
apparently the distaste i for with the flesh interface i’m stuck in is mutual.
