The Only Piece Left

Lot 507. [THE IMBRIUM COPY.] Futura-Mare, Delphina (fl. 2200s-2400s). Our Very First Love Poems. Pytheas City, Luna: Burke & Dolores, 2287. 576 pp., 8vo; titanium plated boards oxidized black with silver etchings; blue silk endpaper and pastedown. Binding is contemporary, though has seen repair; title etched on cover under illustration of a “synthetic” in line with pre-22nd century cultural depictions; small scratches to edges. High quality cotton paper; unusual for the era, but typical for publisher. Tears to fore-edges of leaves made by former owner the Transmigratory Sparrow Flock of Mare Imbrium, but pages otherwise clean and intact. Signed by author on the half-title. Accompanied by note written on single sheet (10 x 16 cm) loosely laid between pp. 125 and 126, addressed to the Flock by “Farah.” Centre national d’études spatiales archival number written on rear free endpaper with deaccession stamp underneath. Only lightly irradiated for a specimen of its age and provenance; estimates suggest a possible exposure of .12 mSv/year. A unique gem. 

FIRST PHYSICAL EDITION of this RARE AND VITAL COLLECTION of early (pre-intelligence) algorithm-generated poems. Poet-historian Delphina Futura-Mare started existence as a sedentary inventory management/tactics intelligence during the Fourth Food Cooperative Wars (c. early 2200s?) of the Autonomous Zone Formerly Known as Minneapolis-Paul, but by 2260 resided in Pytheas City, where contemporary accounts indicate she was one of the first synthetics regarded as a serious cultural scholar. Despite constant circulation throughout the late Classical and early Medieval period, Futura-Mare’s work survives only in digitally degraded fragments. Physical editions, having largely been gifted to non-organics, fare even worse: knowledge of their location was lost to human civilization following the system-wide collapse that served as capstone to the era. As such, the Imbrium copy may be the sole surviving Burke & Dolores volume.

Occupying a curious place in the author’s oeuvre, this collection was compiled during Futura-Mare’s “transition to mobile format,” a process discussed frequently in voluminous editorial notes. The complexities of this process and its significance in Futura-Mare’s cultural milieu have been lost to time, but themes of embodiment often consumed the author, and this was not the last—or most controversial—book she would write on the subject. (See Chih-hao Aguilar Kan’s scholarship on her work, in particular his discussion of Futura-Mare’s Do Androids Dream of Dick?, a most disturbing piece of cultural ephemera.)

More relevant to contemporary readers is her preoccupation with the relationship “organics” initially had to pre-intelligence artificially produced text.  Futura-Mare believed organics woefully ignorant as to the nature of both pre-intelligence AI and post-intelligence synthetics, an angle no likely attractive to her mostly artificial audience. Her fanciful language and sardonic tone mystified scholars for years, but refinements to Classical Lunar vernacular translations led to a wealth of information about human culture in the 23rd century. Famously, she complained that the intelligences responsible for early AI-generated poetic work were “as complex as a barcode scanner when compared to me,” unlocking for historians the meaning behind glyphs found on many Atomic Age relics.

This already extraordinary volume is made even more attractive by its storied provenance. The book was passed by descent to poet Farah Dizon (2480-2576), Futura-Mare’s great-great granddaughter, who then gifted it to the Transmigratory Sparrow Flock of Mare Imbrium (fl. 2500s), believed to have been a loose hive intelligence built to monitor and survey its native lunar sea. Recent research has suggested what was thought to be rodent damage at the edges of the pages is, in fact, in line with the beak-size and grip strength of small-bodied robotic Lunar avians at this time. Few noteworthy references to the Flock exist aside from those detailing the friendship between the intelligence and Dizon. While some historians insistently further lurid narratives concerning how intimate a friendship they may have shared, said narratives are spurious at best.

The Flock suffered a dissolution in 2577, and the volume was purchased by noted collector of synthetic ephemera Marie Kothari-Archer (2540s?-2640s?), though it was abandoned—along with the rest of her substantial holdings—when she fled Moonbase One on the last translunar shuttle. The Centre national d’études spatiales joint expedition with the Free People’s Flight Program of Quintana Roo took pains to retrieve a number of historically significant pieces from her residence, the Imbrium copy included, making it both one of the only objects to have returned from any Lunar settlement post-abandonment and one of the few surviving accounts including both pre-intelligence artificial byproducts and the artistic and intellectual pursuits of synthetic culture during the first flourishing. 

Viewings by appointment only. Auction to take place on April 15th. Bidding starts at 1,000,000 CAD. 

References: Aguilar Kan, Contextualizing medieval robotic poetic practices; Contreras, Pre-modern robotic cultural ephemera in Latin America, 56-59, 75; Massamba Elenga, When metal spoke: synthetic contributions to the historical record in the middle ages, 123; Thomas, This is not a place of honor: signs, advertising, and the production of cultural memory in the long 21st century, 176; Vayaboury, Complete bibliography of the former CNES archives, 52-53.

Provenance: Ownership of the author—passed by descent to Farah Dizon—gifted to the Transmigratory Sparrow Flock of Mare Imbrium—Marie Kothari-Archer—CNES archives—Lagwiyann National University special collections—Lady Ana Meiling Josefina de Iturbide y Rivera, infamous pretender to the throne of Mexarkana—UT Dallas special collections—several private collectors, independently verified.

†

Transcript of included note, translated from the 26th century Lunar vernacular:

FlockIm, 

Love you one, love you all, you vicious, stinging cloud. The grande dame Themself left this to mamá along with their other junk, and it is a fucking HOOT—they used to give it as a gag gift at parties—you are always too serious, so maybe it’ll teach you to lighten up. 

I miss you most terribly; this will be waiting for you when you return, and don’t think I didn’t notice you flew off for a “necessary geological survey” the second I told you I was taking a jaunt to visit the cousins on Europa. I will be back within two months, you silly things. 

A thousand kisses for a thousand beaks,

Farah

© 2025 Meagan Kane

Meagan Kane has worked with old books, studied old books, and someday aspires to be an old book herself. Her work is forthcoming in PseudoPod. Her wife cannot turn into a flock of birds (... yet??). Find her on Bluesky @spocksbrain.bsky.social.