Yes, we always would have liked to become machines. Like Robocon, possibly Astrogirl, or some super deformed design, even more than a baseball player or a famous singer, we wanted to change it so that we were born out of an active alloy. Sometimes when you're alone you stare at the palm of your hand. Joints run to countless wrinkles, the organic cells like the scales of a fish. It's just too grotesque, but I feel as if I have to confess it. Reluctantly I'm thinking of the vulgar, unnatural mechanisms of life, and I can't eat the same way. Even imagining the chewing sensation of meat inside of my mouth, cutting it with my teeth, leaves me a bit lightheaded. "If I were a robot, I could use an energy tank, and that would be so elegant."
The flesh is a symbol for vulgarity, and I remember a feeling of disgust for the intense appetites of both food and sex, while I was standing on a train station platform with the loud voices of drunkards floating around me. Whatever story a classmate might tell, it always switches around to a story about the opposite sex. The odor of sweat, the simplicity of libido and metabolism. As far as a glamourous reality is concerned, I know how unrealistic I am, throwing down a sleepy balance of malice and scorn. When will we become the machines that we dream of? Like a comprehensible numerical equation, clear as crystal, a life-form made from new poetry. This isn't virtual or drugs, it's the constructed form of the fruits of one's imagination. A systematic world view due to cogs turning, describing everything accurately from beginning to end.
Like many people lost in a world of their own formation, we are eloping with the future. A rose-colored new century, and it is here where we will enter our eternal hibernation. There's DNA which tries to stay as is, and DNA which tries to evolve. Our reality is, we try to scatter our DNA and send it towards the future. After a friend stops me from paying and then whispers sweetly into his lover's ear, showing off, that's when I leave. In order to obtain the perfect form (THIS IS THE EVE OF THE FUTURE) , to assess the time for the result (I AM WALKING TO MYSELF), a young lady must be an adventurer at all times (HELLO, NARCISSUS. OF COURSE IT IS BECAUSE YOU ARE GOD). There might possibly be a clearly understood plus and minus reaction formula for an "untainted love." As you look up at a serene winter night sky, you too may be making preparations for a long trip.
Translated by Curi