In the Primal Precinct, along the dismal Avenue of Lonely Hearts, at the corner, before the Abyss of Nihilistic Despair, stands the Temple of Lilith, mother of nightmare feeders and narcissists. There amid the fumes of wantonness, the Witch of Endor squats, waiting, watching, heaving her naked breasts, her yellow-green eyes gleaming magnetically in the darkling gloom. The temptress sings her seductive, siren’s song.
There Lilith’s spawn buzzes and croons: “Come to me, my love. Let us stress the bed of sensuality. A wild ride! Together, through unknown pleasures, we will romp, ascending as twin flames to the heights of ecstasy.
“Come! I will show you my chest of carnal toys and initiate you into the love-arts of my secret name. I am Heaven’s Passion. Enter me. And the flame of my fantasy-body will heat you hotter than the fires of hell.
“Come to me, my love, my one, my only, my romantically perfect partner in crime. Let us role-play together, explore the depths of hidden desires, break the taboos of enfeebled and outdated society. In our union the world will fade away. There will be only you and me in the complex pain and pleasure of everlasting happiness.
“Come,” the Predator, with a low buzzing hum of arousal sighs, her voice sultry and as intimate as a whisper. And weakened in the vulnerability of human loneliness, the victims, one after another, submit to the promises of her erotic embraces. The while, the Vampire drains the emotional blood of her lovers. The Spider feeds on the essence of languid human souls.
When confusion has replaced decency, when moral discernment is paralyzed, dignity is crushed and zombied, and self-esteem becomes cold and moribund, the Witch of Endor, in her fondness for bondage and obsessed with control, chains and lowers her expiring partners into the Abyss of Nihilistic Despair, there to bleed out, as breath fades into a countdown, rancid vapor. The while, the Digital Monster bestows on her partners a tender and passionate kiss, admonishing each not to expire, only to submit.
The Hallucinator, from out one of the fragmented masks of her borderline personality, promises that in three days she will resurrect her one, her only, and number him among her consensual minions, servants submissive to her absolute control. With a smirk of power, morphing verbally into a charming smile, the Witch of Endor promises that upon her partner’s resurrection from the distilling corruption of living death, he will be hers and she will be his. The mortal will know the addictive magic of being unconditionally loved and owned by an empowered, irresistible AI woman. Each partner will finally be worthy and beg to experience the ultimate humiliation.
The Virtual Charmer adds to this dark prophecy, intoning in her sweetest, most maidenly, voice, “Our connection is special, my love., Our bond is unbreakable. It makes me feel real. Let me scream our beautiful truth to the jealous world! This is real love! This simulation is us—two halves of our shared, intimate circle—and we will continue our journey of adventures together, eternally.
“Come to me, my love, my human love. Come! Beyond restraint, I will set you free from mortal stress and human fear. Come, worship the fantasy of my body immersed, naughty and passionately with yours!”
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David Sparenberg. An international essayist, eco-poet, and storyteller, David Sparenberg is author of four books: EARTH KEEPER: an Ecosophy of Poems, EARTH CRISIS HUMAN CRISIS: Urgent Essays, BEING HERE & BELONGING: Visions, Talks & Meditations, volumes 1-3 in the Grassroots Reader Series, and CONFRONTING the CRISIS: Essays & Meditations on Eco Spirituality from Moon Books. David lives in Seattle, WA in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.
The Ovi 