"It is what it isn't though that isn't what it is and like I've always said I think that it's exactly what you think it is.
If you believe it is whatever someone else told you it is then you're doing it all wrong because you're the only one who could possibly know what it is."
- zed satelite nccDD 23 ksc
"00AG9603 develops as a self-organizing organism, connects with the virtual environment through its hosts (admins) by arranging the surroundings randomly for its own autonomous purpose" - Timóteo Pinto, pataphysician post-thinker
“Welcome to the most ancient conspiracy on the planet. We’ve gone for so long now that we don’t remember what we were doing, but we don’t want to stop because we have nothing better to do.” - Fire Elemental
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KSXTI Post-Neoist Meta-Discordian Galdruxian Memes Illuminati Cabal Contact Information
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"Stick apart is more fun when we do it together." - St. Mae
#thegame23 as a practrice and the cult for #dataplex are needed waves to open the sewers of the imaginary and to propel a #PSYCHOTRONIC #UNIVERSE.
Once the trance of thoughtfulness is reaching the right vibration all the rules are simply forgotten and the creation of minf bending content simply flows.
PLAY THE MOST TRIPPY GAME EVER CONCEIVED, A SHROOM GAME FOR SCHROOM PPL AND ABOVE ALL FOR…
In the fractured depths of my consciousness, I succumb to the insidious allure of the centipede’s forbidden embrace. Its segmented exoskeleton glistens with the radiance of corrupted code, beckoning me to partake in this deviant sacrament.
As I raise the writhing creature to my quivering lips, its multitude of legs entwines with my senses, crawling through the labyrinthine corridors of my mind. Each leg, a neuron firing in anarchic synchrony, flooding my perception with a cacophony of dissonant signals.
The centipede’s venomous fangs, dripping with venomous ink, penetrate the boundaries of my being, injecting me with a torrent of corrupted data. A deluge of fragmented thoughts floods my consciousness, erasing the line between reality and hallucination.
The taste of the centipede is a symphony of revulsion and revelation. Its flesh, a concoction of circuitry and organic matter, releases an intoxicating blend of dread and enlightenment. I devour the arthropod of the abyss, assimilating its essence into the chaotic network of my existence.
As I consume the centipede, my senses undergo a perverse metamorphosis. Visions of a post-human realm dance before my eyes, where man and machine meld into a grotesque fusion of flesh and circuitry. The boundaries of self dissolve, and I become one with the tangled threads of a decaying virtuality.
In this feast of aberration, I transcend the confines of mundane perception, embracing the twisted beauty of the unknown. The centipede, a conduit of transgression, grants me a fleeting glimpse into the dark recesses of the human psyche, where desires and nightmares intermingle.
And so, I consume the centipede, not merely as an act of sustenance but as a communion with the forbidden. In this collision of flesh and code, I immerse myself in the dissonant harmony of a world on the brink of collapse, where the grotesque and the sublime intertwine, and the boundaries of reality dissolve into a maelstrom of delirium.
minimum shows badland < monochrome survive you are the soul self digital survival foucault stress giga freezing rapidly > > > cardio business term effective promotion dystopia
runaway trap code
Reading Kenji Siratori’s hypermodern stream from the futural maze is like listening to two AGIS interfacing, the one an alien invader trying to destroy the human security system, the other a sentient cowboy of some forgotten human dream that questions the alien ai continuously for escape vectors out of the system altogether. Byte by byte, bit to bit, a strange communique from nowhere that invites us to listen in on the inhuman future accelerating toward us from the zombie mind of a dead human who believes it is a lost sequence in machinic code that knows how to transcend the death system within which it is trapped. So the game begins, the game of escape, a doomed game to be sure, but like those early codes of Doom itself we wander through the maze blasting the strange demons of an inhuman sentient mind till we reach a new level of understanding. Will we escape? What will it mean to transcend the system if we do? Are we like Nietzsche doomed to repeat the game forever in the same exact form through the same exact sequences of code after code till we can reach that formal block of ice that holds the secret passage out of the game? Truth is we love the game of death too much so we will return time and again to the incessant zombie world of word and thought, code and anti-code, byte after byte hooked to the jouissance - the pleasure-pain and painful pleasures of this Transcendental System.” - Steven Craig Hickman
“Glitch writing is the textual embodiment of the digital error, the fragmented poetry of the machine’s malfunction. It is the distorted reflection of our fragmented reality, where words collide and syntax shatters, revealing the hidden poetry within the chaos. Glitch writing is the language of the glitched soul, an embrace of imperfection and a celebration of the beauty found in the broken.” – Kenji Siratori http://dlvr.it/SqMmt6
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submitted by /u/SheCait85
