feminesque: (mark//zuck my life)
[personal profile] feminesque
I wrote this maybe two weeks ago, in a notebook, pretty much word-for-word. I feel like I just passed a kidney stone. It's been a long ass time since I wrote something that I haven't let sit on my hard drive. Reasons for that will no doubt become clear shortly. So nervous. Concrit is awesome.


g, Mark+Eduardo
the social network

Set in the space between the opening scene and Facemash.

Disclaimer: This is a transformative work which is based on the characters portrayed in a transformative work which was based on another transformative work. Baudrillard would have loved that. To wit: not true; please don’t sue.

Erica is bright; smart in a human way. Mark likes her, likes her for that. She reminds him of

Eduardo is going to get punched by a final club. If Mark were a final club he’d punch Eduardo as soon as was decent. He’d take Eduardo


Eduardo will get punched and Mark won't and Eduardo will go, drift, leave.

Mark doesn’t know how to stop people leaving. He’s tried before and they just seem to hurry away.

It scares him. He’s afraid. He’s not going to get punched.

Eduardo will. He’ll get punched and drift, rise up like a. Like

Mark tries to explain. It comes out all wrong.

So very wrong.

And Erica hurries away.

He’s not really an asshole. He’s trying to hold on; stop the drift.

Facemash is. It’s something. Code is a way to focus the bitterness, the rage, the loneliness. Code is a language he speaks fluently. Several dialects. He can wield it, make things with it.


He can speak it perfectly. It says what he means. Write a command and it either works or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, you go back. You fix it.

Say something wrong and lose things, people. Irreparable mark-up. Damage. No edit function.

Or not irreparable, but done. Cannot be undone. Only more words help, the right words.

Mark doesn’t know the right words. He’s clumsy. Light on his feet but a bumbling oaf over the short distance from his brain to his mouth.

I want you to stay should come out of his mouth. It’s in his brain. Running, buzzing, humming. An infinite loop of

Don’t leave me behind.


Please. Please don’t leave me. Please do not go.

Do you? Do you just say it like that? Can you?

Mark Cannot. Can. Not.

So: hack. Download. Compile. Code. Clear, precise language he knows how to speak better than anybody. Builds real, measurable things of use. Value. But

An algorithm.

A memento. Before the drift accelerates and Eduardo is too far away. A piece of him tucked into all that code where it cannot move or change, where it cannot be corrupted. Where it cannot be broken.

Unlike dreams or promises. Hearts. People.


Who is broken and cannot be fixed.

Open window. Ctl+f. Delete. Fixed.

And it stays that way.

No change. No drift. No punch. No leaving.


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feminesque: (Default)

January 2012

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