Emily is an artist who makes robots.¹ Makes, trains, transforms, damages and smashes.² One of her robots is named Kore.³ Kore is human sized, slightly shorter than the average adult woman. Kore’s slick light beige skin is the same tone as Marc Jacobs’ Re(Marc)able Ivory Medium foundation. The same tone all over its body, equally. However, this is not noticeable because Kore is covered up in a minimal cream colored sack jumper designed by Black Crane. “You’ll never get sick of it,” says Emily. “Cream is perfect for Kore. I can write whatever I want on it” she continues. Kore’s hair is dark and silky. Emily found a bundle of virgin Brazilian human hair from Mozambique on Aliexpress, ridiculously cheap, hairs hand-implanted one by one. It makes, somehow, a nice contrast between the ivory skin and cream suit. When it was delivered, the quality of hair wasn’t good. Some of it was thick and frizzy, like a southern European man’s pubic hair. She Googled and found some Youtube tutorials, made a formula with egg yolk, mayonnaise and fabric softener. Kore’s mouth is smaller than the average woman’s. If it wasn’t so glossy, it would almost be invisible. Kore isn’t supposed to be mouthy. Emily hates it when a robot speaks too much. Since her favorite artist is John Cage, she enjoys the silence.

One night, Emily programs the following scenario into Kore.

*
[Scenario begins]

As a 90s child, most of my childhood was commodified. Nothing was advertisement-free and everything was pre-packaged birthday parties. My childhood street smelled like cotton candy and sounded like advertisements for Happy Meals. Growing up with this, I had difficulty handling tragedies. When my mom read a story with a sad ending, I sometimes demanded that she change it to a Disney ending.

[Emily imports the following image into Kore]

When I entered elementary school, the hierarchy of the classroom was defined by who had the most Pokémon cards. I didn’t have many cards and I was fed up with being humiliated, finding myself in a lower position. I wanted to burn all the cards in my classroom. But I didn’t. When I came home, my mom told me the best retaliation against someone who has humiliated you is to smile and be nice.

In my late teens and early twenties, I entered art school. My teacher told me of many prominent Black Mountain artists, mainly white, mainly male, and taught, or attempted to teach me, that an artist becomes an artist when, and only when, he finds his own voice. Since I wanted to be an artist, I tried hard to find my own voice. I couldn't. But I still loved to study.

The teacher in my art school was Marcusean. He always told me that I should be more conscious and self-aware, to not be a "one-dimensional man". He taught or attempted to teach me that the "one-dimensional society" which, supposedly, absorbs all opposition into a totalitarian, monolithic system, is flattening my consciousness, so I should find my own voice. I cried because I wasn’t sure if I could. But I still loved to study.

Since I wanted to be an artist, I had to make money to cover my art school tuition. I got a part-time job at Uniqlo. The first thing I learned during the training session was how to keep smiling and behaving politely even when I encountered grumpy customers. As they said, the image of the brand is of highest value. So they regularly checked to see if all the service workers were smiling through the security cameras. I worked hard, but soon enough, I was fired.

The night I was fired, I had a dream. I saw a beautiful woman with golden blonde hair. She was naked. Her tanned skin looked gorgeous with an orange sunset. The halo around her was dazzling. She looked at me, gently, kind of lustfully, and smiled. Smiled? I wasn’t sure. The corners of her mouth were wide, baring her perfect white teeth, but I couldn’t tell if she was smiling. It was ineffable. Kind of creepy. This illusion of her unutterable face was consigning me to oblivion.

[Emily imports the following image to Kore]

Then she started to speak to me with the nicest voice I have ever heard. I can’t remember what she said. I was possessed by her voice but what she was saying wasn’t important. Since I couldn't find my voice, I decided I’d imitate her voice. The sleek, smooth, frictionless voice of a beautiful woman with golden blonde hair became my dream voice. I tried to imitate her voice. I couldn’t. But I still loved to listen.

I woke up. I tried to imitate her voice. I couldn’t.

Since I wanted to be an artist, I got a full-time job as an assistant to an artist. Her name was Emily. I remembered my English teacher called me Emily because my real name was too difficult for him to pronounce. I didn’t tell Emily about that. She wasn’t that successful but she seemed like she knew what she was doing. She looked and sounded like the woman I met in my dream, but she wasn’t as nice. I could understand that though. If you are nice in the art world, you are a loser. I started to like her.

The night after I started working for Emily, I had a dream. I saw the beautiful woman with golden blonde hair, again. She started to speak to me with the nicest voice I have ever heard. Then the voice became multiple voices. I looked around and realized there were more women around her. They looked the same and sounded the same. They slowly replicated. From two to four, from four to sixteen, from sixteen to two hundred fifty-six… They were saying the same thing with their sleek, smooth, frictionless voice. I was speechless.

[Emily imports the following image to Kore]

“Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.”

They were speaking simultaneously.

I felt like I was entering a void. Soon I realized I was already in a void. I had never left. I had always been here. My body and voice were fully formed from the outside.

[Scenario ends]

*

Emily doesn’t want to make a slave robot. She just wants to make a nice robot who says everything she wants to hear. “Because I want what I want when I want it,” said Emily. But she knows she can’t want what she wants when she wants it. She isn’t stupid. She just dislikes herself.

Emily programs the following scenario into Kore.

*

[Scenario begins]

I was still dreaming. I tried to imitate their voices, saying: “Everything you want to hear.” I could hear my voice sounded like theirs through the throng. My voice surely sounded like their voice.

Then multiple voices, including my voice speaking simultaneously, were flattened in the void, made inaudible.

I shouted, I screamed. The more my voice faded out, the louder I shouted.

“Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.” “Everything you want to hear.”

I awoke and said: “I’m a good girl and do exactly as I’m told to do.”

[Scenario ends]

*

Since Kore is voiceless, Emily starts to give Kore a voice. She wants to make a nice voice. She collects thousands of voice samples, illegally downloaded, and works with them using vocal software called Balabolka, downloaded illegally. She picks several American female voices and merges them, but she doesn’t like it. “It reminds me of a classmate I hated,” says Emily. She merges American female voices and British female voices, but she doesn’t like it. “It reminds me of a politician I hate,” says Emily. She merges British female voices and American male voices and German boys’ voices, but she doesn’t like it. “It reminds me of a Youtuber/Twitter-user/blogger I hate,” says Emily. “It pisses me off,” says Emily. She decides to merge all the voice samples she’s downloaded and horizontally amalgamate all of them at once. And she creates the Voice. The Voice in the space between human and animal, animal and machine, woman and man, girl and boy, elderly and youth, high class and low class, Malay accent and French accent, on every borderline. The Voice speaks itself, a quasi-language or something like that. “It indeed sounds nice,” says Emily. She has never heard this kind of voice before. She likes how it sounds… ineffable. She is sure that she’s found the Voice for Kore. The Voice daring her to cross every boundary. She is thrilled. She is excited. She makes a big smile, her first real smile for a long time. Perhaps ever. And she starts giggling. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,” laughs Emily. Since Emily lost her voice to male artists, radical politics fanboys, tech warriors in Silicon Valley and her parents, she decides she’ll take the Voice of Kore and implant it in herself.

Emily programs the following scenario into Kore.

*

[Scenario begins]

When I arrived in Emily’s studio, she was reading The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen. I remembered I didn’t like the original story. But I didn’t tell Emily that. She started to speak: “The sea witch provided everything the little mermaid needed. The sea witch took the voice of the little mermaid because it was a crucial ingredient for her magic potion. The sea witch even cut herself and used her blood for the potion. But eventually, the little mermaid earned an immortal soul, found her voice again, while the sea witch earned a scar on her chest.” She continued, “In this world, there are sea witches who are talented, skillful, and who work fairly but who end up lonely and scarred. On the other hand, there are sneaky bitches like the little mermaid who have a beautiful appearance, who want and take everything, and who will be remembered for good.”

A day after I heard the sea witch story from Emily, I was fired. She said her latest robot called Kore, which is going to be her personal assistant, was almost done. She said she had finally created the Voice for Kore, so Kore would replace me. Since I couldn’t find my voice, I started to hate Kore.

[Scenario ends]

*

Emily doesn’t want to make a nice robot anymore. Emily wants to make a robot that sounds exactly like her. Or, Emily wants to be a robot who sounds like her.

Emily programs the following scenario into Kore.

*

[Scenario begins]

The night I was fired, I had a dream. I saw a woman with short dark frizzy hair. She was naked. She looked young but her dark skin was aged, covered with wrinkles, moles and dead skin cells. The floor in the dark room where she was leaning on a wall was warm but damp. She was looking at me and told me gently with the strangest voice I have ever heard, “the best counterattack against humiliation is to smash it.”

[Emily fails to import an image]

I woke up. I went to Emily’s studio. Emily wasn’t there. I found Kore sitting on a table. I smashed Emily, over and over again.

[Scenario ends]

*

Emily puts the pieces of Kore in a big pot and slowly melts them. She watches the pieces melt. Her studio is full of the sound of the Voice and melting silicon and plastic, but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t enjoy the silence anymore. “It took longer than I thought,” says Emily. She stirs Kore slowly, waits for the liquid to become cooler. Since Emily has taken off all of Kore’s hair for recycling, liquified Kore looks like heavy cream, the icing on top of a red velvet cupcake. Once Kore has chilled, Emily pours Kore into a mug and drinks the liquid. Kore fills 18 cups and Emily finishes them all.

Emily programs the following scenario into herself.

*

[Scenario begins]

It’s dead. Its flesh is now becoming part of the liquid.
Is matter moving through forms dead or alive?
They can’t kill the Voice.

[Scenario ends]