Watch batteries gleam in the center of dark flowers. Henna painted with conductive ink, waiting to be turned on.

there’s something unnatural about the feelings we have for people who’ve hurt us. About hate. It’s a connection. We want to know if they’re alive or dead, where they are in the world. As much as their faces bring terror, that part of us that allowed them to hurt us in the first place still hungers.

She tries to envision a life without the debt, but can’t string the thoughts together in the right order. The debt is all there has ever been. It makes all her decisions for her. Chooses who she is going to be.

The ocean was still and gray as a post-consumer touchscreen when she first spotted the island from the boat’s railing. A shade, a line which didn’t belong under the bright overcast sky.

You hide things to change what’s real. I make images to create what’s real. Appearance and reality.

Directional acoustics. In a place that sells sounds, they’re a must.

It’s an open secret that the sneakernet is used for a lot more than moving a few dozen terabytes more quickly than you could across the lines. The kids — "chucks" in local argot — pick up your external drive and walk it to wherever you want to send it. Along the way they add on a few other jobs, like grabbing prepaids from some chick and delivering them to the person she owes. Most of the industry uses them.

most 3D printer artists use the tech to create their visions to perfection. You just take existing things and mess with them. It’s like if the Venus de Milo's arms weren’t lopped off, just misprinted. That’s not art. That’s a hack, nothing more.