MONA’S AVATAR
Scott Garson
I.
Goes wherever she likes. Enters without knocking. Advances. Stares. Resides at the switching locus of her world—which is to say that she's always in the right place to view it, and be viewed, by your avatar. Fortunately she's the perfect size.
II.
Mona would fuck her avatar. Mona doesn't know this, and in fact doesn't think in such terms. But she would. Or that's one way to say it. On those days when her avatar peels from her breasts the cool shirts that Mona has bought for her—rare days, because her avatar, like Mona herself, eschews contact—she's not really fucking your avatar. She's engaged with your avatar, but just insofar as your avatar is fucking hers.
III.
Mona considers your avatar, but she doesn't conclude anything major. Your avatar was born in the same way as hers, but they're different. That's how it works.
Your avatar is a cipher. Mona evaluates it. And because she evaluates it, she'll never know it—or, through it, you.
IV.
Your avatar was created to withstand evaluation, not escape it. Did you ever think about that?
V.
Mona's avatar doesn't need to escape anything, not in Mona's view. Her avatar knows what to want for herself, and knowledge is power in this case, just like the morons say.
She's tough and sexy. She's smart and blameless and pure.
She's a vision, obviously. That's the beginning and end of it all. Still there's more. There's what is around her. Mona's avatar opens her eyes.