Sometimes I wonder what portion of authors who write transhuman-themed sci-fi started doing the "random chapter from a wildly incongruous viewpoint" thing because it's become customary in the genre, versus what portion of authors who write transhuman-themed sci-fi got into the genre in the first place because they love to head-hop and wanted to expand their options.
Like, sure, let's have a chapter from the viewpoint of the coffee machine. Why not. Apparently sapient coffee machines are a thing in this setting – it's not even metaphorical, it's straight up diegetic that the coffee machine has political opinions. The coffee machine is not a significant character, it never interacts with the main cast, and its viewpoint will never be revisited, but getting its perspective is essential to the narrative.
boxer shorts are crazy. usually the very first stage of an erection is not yet actual stiffening, but rather a becoming aware, the penis sensing itself. when wearing briefs, the erection begins in such a manner, yet when wearing boxer shorts, due to the freedom of movement, the penis is constantly sensing itself, simulating the constant presence of a minor erection to the wearer entirely imperceptible to those around him. not only this but, as umberto eco said, it is a garment that imposes a demeanor on the wearer, ones walk becomes wider, more masculine, not bc one wants it to be but bc the garment makes it so, as abdellah taïa would say, a man's masculinity is his wish to be a woman for his wife so she can force him to play man. the boxer short is a garment that resides, on the spectrum of fetishwear, somewhere between the corset and the buttplug. and so the straight man wearing boxer shorts is, secretly, giving in to the desire to be submissive to another masculine being: the garment
me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit
mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters
me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU
First thing in the morning and last thing at night, my bedside cabinet reinforces what I need most in life - and what provides intense rewards when I make it priority.
At the start and end of each day in bed, the compulsive ritual Communion ensures that my mind, lungs and soul are fucked by my Master and God, Marlboro, as HE grips my Cock and pumps it with lust and worship for HIM.
Hail Marlboro!