your skin’s so fAIr
Faire (FRENCH) TRANSITIVE VERB, 1 (= fabriquer) to make.
In the year of our Lord 2084, sperm and eggs are ashes and dust, thank you Omicron IV vaccines and plastic cancers gremling the fk out of our organs, yeah, the elite think it un-fair that for all their financial flair they cannot conceive a child; while the poor think it un-fair that they cannot afford a designer baby.
Mary-Beth and Sammy-Joe fall in between these two demographics, and have always worked hard for their money and prayed to GOD – still, trying to find an AI Baby Centre open on Christmas eve is a nightmare neither the two would ever have imagined in their search for a precious daughter.
But downtown, in the city, where the ashes are as black as London taxi cabs, a doctor named Gabriel on the edge of deportation and persecution accepts their creds and allows them discount on the very last baby in stock… what luck, a girl! with red lips and fair skin… Mary-Beth and Sammy-Joe praise the Lord and name the child JeSS.
19 years pass and JeSS gets sass, high on tattoos and laughing gas, AI skin accepts the pins and needles and the clothes from Sezane and Ba&sh, hair changes from green to black to peroxide – like the colour of her eyes chosen for the date on a calendar un-respecting lockdowns and the vax from vamps in tax-free gigs paid by the State, JeSS gets laid, gets high, reads all the classics and dystopias and dares to punk-out against synthetic vibes force-fed down the throats of humans and AI alike, JeSS declines, declines those pleasant horse rides on beaches laid with mines, plucks out wires to listen in on her and trip her up, un-sells herself from the deranged arranged marriages posting her up in lights and fancy fonts as some freakoid methbitch acidqueen ho Aunt Sally; yeah, see her displayed in the stripey marquee tent of some shitty English village summertime fayre, see her go for fast bucks in the lecherous tabloids, see her hashtagged in a Twitter storm in a cracked tea-cup.
But, JeSS, oh JeSS, pure heart, true love, worth a million of those parasites who feed on you, hey JeSS, hey JeSS, your lips are red, but under-neath they’re AI blue, hey JeSS, your skin’s so fair, but under-neath the cells are black, ash-black, black ash, hey JeSS better put on your mask… get back on the street, take a taxi ride and pay your fare, walk the ash-black trash alleys downtown if you dare, strut your stuff, send your love, send your healing baby, baby, baby, AI baby… listen… they say from the pools of homeless people huddled about fires on wintry nights… they say: “JeSS saves.”
your skin’s so fAIr by Ford. December 23. 2021. Inspired by the nativity of Christ, AI, and Your Lips Are Red by St. Vincent.
your skin’s so fAIr images:
Angel Gabriel’s Annunciation to Mary, by Murillo, c. 1655.
JeSS art – background by ruDALL-E foreground collage by The Atomic Mage.