Selected Writings of Adaptive Systems

I have edited this selection of the writing of anonymous Internet user Adaptive Systems. These writings, in my opinion, represent the greatest literary production of the Internet itself so far (as opposed to literature that uses the Internet as a subject or employs techniques inspired by the Internet structurally or stylistically etc.).

My goal here is to see these texts spread as far and wide as possible. I genuinely attribute great value to them. Please contact me to discuss them if you are inclined.

I am admittedly an ugly, small, half-crippled man; I know that my life is of no value, neither to myself or to any other, and I no longer take any but the most passive of interests in prolonging it, save for the thought that I might be capable, not of creating anything of value myself, but of provoking in others something disquieting and not easily disposed of, that I might spread a contagion, that I might give aid to the spreading spiritual malaise of our time, that I may contribute in some small way to its increasing virulence, so that it shall spread like plague, and kill as plagues do, leaving the living inoculated, stronger, free to make a new world once all the chaff have been cleared away. – Adaptive Systems, “Pledge to Celibacy”

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The dog died of neglect while its owners were away.

The dog died of neglect while its owners were away.
Its mottled gray and black body lay in the tall grass,
clouds of flies scattered around its ears and eyes.
The camera hovers for a long time on its wrinkled face,
nothing moving but the flies and the wind on the lawn.

A cut and we’re told the neighbors have complained.
A black shape can be seen moving in the doorway
of the shack where the dog’s food was once kept.
Someone emerges with a shiny black trashbag,
hunches over and collects the dog’s body.

The flies scatter, the flattened grass grows straight.
Another cut, and there is a shallow hole in the ground.
You can see wet brown earth in little piles around the hole.
The shape of the dog’s head is visible through the plastic,
it body slumped halfway into the unfinished grave.

The neighbors are still complaining about the smell.

Poem.

I had a voice I was going to put on
so my response would make you laugh
but you talked so long
that by the time you were finished
I couldn’t find it in my mouth anymore
and it was gone.

If this is a picture of the Birmingham Bridge –

If this is a picture of the Birmingham Bridge -
and I think it is – if this is a picture of
the Birmingham Bridge, then that has to be me there
walking across, to the left of the off-center
afternoon sun, which itself looks cold in this kind
of old photo, even without the scattered leaves
hinting at that old Pennsylvania autumn breeze
I always hated. You can almost see that thought
in my little hunched silhouette: damning the wind.

Two Whiteout Poems

FALL

pennies
in
……………………….a..
………………………………………………..pretty…..

………..stream………….

………..

each…………………day………….…..empties
…………….me…………………..of
………………. ………need

 

 

CLOUDY

…………………………………………………….dizzier
…………………………………………………….we
………………………………………………..start
…………………………………………….d….home.

……………………………………………………..I..
dreamed
……………………………………………………………………………………….I had been

………………………………………………………………………..v……….singing

…………………………………………………………I …………..awoke
…………………………and
………………………………………………………………..it wasn’t
…………………………………..over

You pass two Giant Eagles on the way from Charleroi to Pittsburgh.

You pass two Giant Eagles on the way from Charleroi to Pittsburgh. I think they’re both Giant Eagles. One might – the second one might be a Shop N Save or something. Then there are probably four Giant Eagles within the city of Pittsburgh itself. Three or four. That’s counting Market District which is kind of their froofy brand – the whole store is Market District. So you know how that is. I can’t think but there are probably more Giant Eagles in the valley really. Somewhere there are. Actually we just passed a Giant Eagle which is connected to a Wal-Mart with a Shop N Save in the same shopping plaza or whatever. And I think we just passed the little plaza where I had to buy Plan B for the only time ever in my life. I had to drive all the way out here to get it then way back to the other end of the valley to take it to my girlfriend at school. That was probably a year and a half, two years ago, before I totaled my car. Which is a whole other story.

Two

1.

We drove out to the lake after midnight. The ride was quiet. There was no traffic. We parked in a lightless area near a line of trees leading down to the water.

We slipped in silence down to the rocks, took off our clothes, and dove one by one into the black water. The dive was not as far as it looked and some of us let out little gasps of surprise as we hit.

The water was warm on top, but the undercurrent was cool and the tallest of us could feel it on our feet. All of us in the water, we began swimming to the middle of the lake. Some of us were better in the water than others but we did our best to keep from drifting apart.

We stopped when we got near the middle of the lake and craned our necks back to look at the black sky and scattered stars. Our mouths hung open. Some of us let out primitive whoops and howls but they were quickly silenced, less from fear of getting caught than reverence for the stillness and quiet of the scene.

We moved on to the other side of the lake, climbed onto the shore and looked at the water we’d crossed and the trees out of which we’d come. We talked quietly for a while then dove back in and swam across. This time we were less concerned with solidarity, and over time we drifted farther and farther apart, approaching our destination crooked, slowly — winding toward it.

2.

I sat on a window-ledge in the spot where you could look down into the natural history museum which is connected to the library. There you could see the big dinosaur skeletons set up like they’re still running around, hunting and grazing. I sat there with a book of poetry and read in silence for a long time. There was only the distant rustling of paper out in the main parts of the library.

Slowly I heard a series of sounds emerge out of the stillness to my left. I looked and though the radiator blocked most of my view I could see two windows down from me the fragments of a woman sitting and holding a violin. She wasn’t bowing it. She was holding it like a ukulele and plucking notes with her thumb. She played little fluttering runs and doodles which sat in the center of the ambient sounds of the library. My head felt light.

I was terrified someone would come and make her stop or that she’d get up and leave on her own. The depth of my listening and reading intensified. I could hear big pages turn in between series of notes and thought she could be reading from sheet music, or perhaps thumbing through a novel while she practiced. I tried to lean over to get a glimpse of her but I couldn’t reach far enough.

Eventually I realized so much time had passed I had to leave. I took an odd path through the stacks so I could catch a glimpse of her without being noticed

This is what I saw:

She was reading from sheet music. She kept the big hardbound book of it open on the window-ledge in front of her. She sat sideways so she could see it. She was very tall. Her hair was tied. She was wearing black pants and and buttoned shirt and looked like she had maybe come here on break from her office or university job. She moved the violin from her lap to her chin, still plucking.