Erewhon, Erewhon, do you know?

I would have greatly loved to live in Erewhon.

I would have jumped into the colorful tubes, gravitating from one place to another in the city, sucked up by the speed and twists of the curving slides.

[Source](https://youtu.be/V86wOWTUr04)

I would have visited the former offices converted into game areas. There are rolling chair races in open spaces, stapling competitions, blindfolded paper plane throwing competitions, and the day finishes with a striptease in a disused call center.

[Source]()

I would have left the office sector by sliding through a stroboscopic tube with silvery light: the descents and climbs are even more dizzying. I would have landed in a paradise of love. A reconstructed forest ever steeped in a primal innocence enables Erewhonians to be in harmony with other living beings: to speak with trees, become a plant, pet cattle, embrace sheep, do goat-yoga, paddle with pigs in muddy water.

[Source](https://www.goatjoy.com/goat-yoga/)

At the least physical or psychic trouble, I would have beeped a robot for a complete diagnostic. I would've chosen a white robot seal, the one that heals while purring, or maybe a robot polar bear, which is a very pleasant form of transportation: it lifts patients in its arms, and places them on an ergonomic massage mattress.

[Source](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/2017/07/18/security-robot-drowns-office-fountain/)

I would've lived in a model house as can only be found in Erewhon, fully equipped with automated appliances and a manufacturer's warranty, for total and complete happiness.

I would've landed in one of the large bubbles placed in the center of Erewhon. These translucent bubbles enclose hanging gardens that generate polymorphous desires, in which the most fantastic research is carried out. There are experiments with erotic metamorphosis, in diverse settings that always put bodies at ease: temporary prostheses, biomorphic architectures, amplified erogenous areas, feeling modulators, multicolored hyper-hairiness, reptilian and viscous skin textures. Sexual practices and postures never before imagined by the human species are invented there. Drooling/crawling in practico-romantic mode seems totally normal. Workshops are organized, adapted to all bodily conditions.

But I was unable to truly live among the Erewhonians.

Peau artificielle. [Source](https://www.futura-sciences.com/sante/actualites/medecine-imprimante-3d-pourrait-guerir-vos-blessures-61587/)

I didn't have a body. My body was dead, buried centuries ago.

But Erewhonians had kept all of my writings: my novels, short stories, poems, philosophical essays. They had found all of my letters, notes, diaries, unfinished manuscripts, as well as all my administrative paperwork. They had conserved even the smallest bits of paper in their archives.

They were looking for an author from the past to glorify their city. They spent their time filming themselves. Out of love for themselves and their city. They adored everything about it: its architecture, infrastructure, machines, plants, insects, atmosphere...

[Source](https://youtu.be/160rtD36ojI)

But they didn't have the patience to make literature out of it. They wanted it to write itself. Automatically. Except that the past centuries had chiefly produced dystopic writings. Good writers were always pessimists.

Except for me.

I never scorned technological progress. I was intrigued and fascinated by the evolution of machines. They had always fostered my speculations.

In short, this led to my being awakened by the machines, in order to take part in the love programs that Erewhonians had put in place.

So I became an algorithm-commentator for images of Erewhon. I absorb an immeasurable numbers of films. I view millions of scenes from everyday life recorded by caring cameras, robots, and Erewhonians themselves. Like a zombie, I contemplate years of automated hangars. I monitor robotized animal farms and plant brains.

I let myself be hypnotized by these images that play over and over. The more they attest to the city's excessiveness, the more I want to see others. The more I see, the less I understand, and the greater my desire to see more.

Stupefied. Distraught. I am the bulimic viewer who can no longer close his eyes.

[Source](http://www.erewhonmarket.com/type/image/page/6/)