Christian Miller

Christian Miller is a computer science and creative media major at UH, a musician, writer, and multimedia artist. He has programmed hula dancing AI's to write for him while he pirates Youtube videos in order to fund his cyberpunk-Hawaii filmmaking hijinks. He aspires to be William Gibson II, or at least steal his iPod. One of Christian's projects can be found atwww.nuleo.com/twilightmaze.htm.

Rainbow Chasers

a surgical kick, her koa door cracks
like senile hip off corroded hinges
sepia rust dancing fractal hula
in blue Hawaiian moonlight

British-colonial furnishings
royal gold blemished copper
two hundred years nip-n-tucked Aloha
left to die by economies extinct
as ravenous Rapa Nui rats

the Trades pick up, she sings
like abandoned cowrie shell
haunting chants of countless honeymoons
Kings and Elvis, Crusoe and salari-men
chasing her rainbows

Lost Survivors swarm like bacteria, consuming
all her flesh that still glitters
tiki gods of beach volleyball
stretch skin across hollow neon geometry
and chase her pearly, smoothly curving ghost

Spooky New Romantics

My d34r,
your eyes were like the everting sunset,
straining
on cyber-analog horizons
for one last burst of bedazzling C# effervescence
so many sums and divisions
spouting resplendent -
setting closed, they were the color
of a ZX81 calculator,
left in a drawer for decades.

Blessed with but a floating-point gaze,
I feel as Hubble, immersed
in the hidden light of infinite other Ra,
fogging the glass, squinting desperate
for the mother function,
the constant, swimming in black - alas,
yours to keep.

Your lips
set Rei Toei's heart
crashing
every bit rotting
in envy of their smoothly deforming
voluminosity, sublime masterworks
of the blind watchmaker.
Without
so much as a word - and every string
of my being tells me there are as many
OS-shaking words to come from them
as there are Belgian dollars lost at sea -
without a word, they say
petabytes.

I feel as though I must point
the thirsting eye of my matte black
iPhone at them to preserve this
nodal harmonic convergence of Zeitgeists -
like an X
hard-coded into my time-burned
and cryogenic heart,
marking the spot
as a homing beacon, where your Kuang virus
has penetrated and assimilated it wholly.
It is refashioned
of the discarded endorphinal gomi
of so many sleepless nights
into something of chrome and wires
yet organic and full of
edifying,
irradiating,
bountiful pattern.

I am hacked.

The Rockstar Continuum (Expert Five Stars)

with Malmsteen touch
he shreds
minted plastic
hooks it up frantic
loud guitars
louder colors
red yellow green
blue red
white stripes
hammered on
pulled off
new outfits
missed a key
rages against
the machine
distortion and anarchy
in perfect synchrony
strum strum revolution
all night, every day
cash n rank
winners don't use drugs
can't get no satisfaction
internet hookups
million downloads
hot n fresh
neon neon in
ur i
every drop
to buy
oh shit
satan's unleashed
on fire
on flames
unlocked
unloaded
webcammed
uploaded
'bot! bot!' goes the
naysayers
youtube flamers
"gay faker!"
"n00b player!"
"u can't strum their!"
50 million haters
a new record
Google ad
campaign contract
walkin' that cock
You Rock!
new box...