There is an inherent eroticism in getting dissected and disassembled and reassembled by an alien machine, by a robot half built of dreams and half swarm of wasps, with flickering and narrow and inconstant limbs of steel and chrome. Sharper than the edge of life, each one extracting nerves and muscles with so much precision that the pain has no time to catch up with the blood and each part each narrow tendon and dripping sliver of bone is part of the cyborg, a function of its transformation, an addition and mitosis and becoming the alien thing that is undoing me as if I was a Haynes guide to anatomy only to become the intricate web of information and hope and claws that tear down the great machines, lover and killer and arm in arm leaving nothing but a bloodstained apartment floor and scratches on the walls.
Um, sorry. This has such delightful imagery that I needed to have it come out of my throat.
Oh fuck oh wow this is so fucking fantastic, I'm fucking vibrating.