Andrea Abi-Karam

 

from EXTRATRANSMISSION 

 

re route the connections until they are no longer tense until they are
‘at rest’ until the hips forget what it means to clench when hitting the
sidewalk. i want to hold my eyeballs in my hands. wrap them up so no
light gets through. that’s the best way for what comes next. take a pair of
TRAUMA shears and slip the fingers from yr dominant hand through
the loops of the handle. now it’s time to turn it off and get cut off from
the WORLD WIDE VIEW yr connected to. cut the wires emerging
from the back of the eyeball one by one—to lessen the shock (NOTE:
be careful not to cut the meaty ones or you will actually be blind, just
cut the latex encased ones / they feel like wet plastick) (NOTE2: if yr
having difficulty guiding yr hands through this process, do it one eye-
ball at a time and position the resting eyeball at a 90 degree angle to the
eyeball getting work done to help yr hands navigate from shear to wire.
DO THE CUTTING CAREFULLY, as the wires have been sitting
inside yr body yr entire life and are very slippery. don’t let the fiber
optic wires fool you—you’ll know you’ve done the job right when you
suddenly feel the crushing alienation of being cut off from THE NET-
WORK, when you no longer feel INTEGRATED. yr different parts
feel at risk of coming apart from the whole. it will be uncomfortable.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHAT U CAN’T SEE CAN’T HURT U

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DO U REMEMBER THE BLAST?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there are stories of machines. stories of machines that enter bodies
machines that enter armor. pierce. the. skin. machines that force
their way through. machines that force. machines that force their
way through boundaries, through borders, through armored shells,
through skin. just a few scratches & bruises. bump on the head.
nothing major. right major. yes major. right, left major. keep moving
keep driving keep fighting. worry about the bruises later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i pull wires out of my skin just below the surface of the screen.
i   tap  on   them  to   make  them  activate—thicken—awaken.
i   tap   on   them   at  the   inside   of   the   elbow—thick—material.
i take a new razor blade out of the package from the hardware store
and make an incision on my forearm close to the inside of my elbow.
i massage it open. i pull the wire out slowly—do not pull anything
else out at this time. the wire is wet from being inside my body. it
won’t short out—these wires were built for my body. i drop the wire
into a clear plastick bucket at my feet where it rejoins the wires it
used to connect with inside my body. communication exoskeleton.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I CAN YELL AT U ALL I WANT BUT STILL NOBODY ELSE
KNOWS WHAT’S GOING ON

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



I JUST NEED TO FIND MY WORDS

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TEACH ME HOW TO

REMEMBER. HOW TO BECOME

A                  NEW                   PERSON. TEACH ME HOW

NOT TO GET LOST IN THE MAZE. TEACH ME HOW TO

BECOME

A                     NEW                     RAT.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’M NOT TRYING TO REMEMBER FOR U OR FORGET W U.
I’M JUST TRYING TO UNDERSTAND HOW IT ALL WORKS. U
HAVE THE PDA TO REMEMBER FOR U. OR MAYBE IT’S AN
IPHONE OR A TABLET. I LIKE SAYING PDA THO—IT’S MORE
GENERAL. NOT ABOUT THE MAKE BUT THE FUNCTION. YR
EXTERNAL BRAIN. HOLDING YR BRAIN IN THE PALM OF YR
HAND SLEEK AND SLIM. NOT WET LIKE THE OTHER STUFF
WE’VE PULLED OUT. HOLDING YR BRAIN IN THE PALM OF
YR HAND. I WONDER HOW IT FEELS WHEN U TURN IT OFF.
IT MUST BE NICE TO TURN IT OFF.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there is no pleasure  in this language. in this flatness. in this practical prosthesis. my palm
is just a function. liquid  crystal  regulation. right major.  left major. worry about the
cracks later. turn  it off now  & slide it out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i look out beyond the glass pasted on my face
& i can’t see anything that i want.
i’m already disconnected—eyes no longer the lens of the
WORLD WIDE VIEW
just for me—
one            malf(x)ing           cyborg           among           many

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE STATE GAVE U THE PDA BUT IT ALSO GAVE U THE
INJURY



WHICH CAME FIRST



THE INJURY OR THE TECH?



THE INJURY
IT’S ALWAYS THE INJURY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

ON THE OUTSIDE  LOOKING IN

 

 

 


 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT WAS JUST A LITTLE BIT DANGEROUS

 

 

Andrea Abi-Karam is an arab-american genderqueer punk poet-performer
cyborg, writing on the art of killing bros, the intricacies of cyborg bodies,
trauma & delayed healing. Their chapbook, THE AFTERMATH (Commune
Editions, 2016), attempts to queer Fanon’s vision of how poetry fails to inspire
revolution. Simone White selected their second assemblage, Villainy for
forthcoming publication with Les Figues. They toured with Sister Spit March
2018 & are hype to live in New York. EXTRATRANSMISSION [Kelsey Street
Press, 2019] is their first book.