Finally, understanding. The machine. It's alright, we know where you've been.
Oh, it's a good thing I'm not much into paranoia anymore.
I did well in school. Well enough. I suppose this place could easily continue my book entitled: Cellphones ruined my life.
-
The easiest way for me to explain the coincidences in my head would be that there are musicians who create music for the sake of creating music for the sake of poetry; and even if the words don't make sense and sentences don't make proper paragraphs, it's easy to say; the tenses are always flipping anyway, so it doesn't matter.
Good luck getting meaning out of this one. I've been working on variables you see, Foundation 1 and all that. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the hiding. We're not in the deterrence era anymore, ffs, everyones's way too bright. Why would the earth be flaring brightly white if there was no point to discovery?
It's not exactly related to Graham's number. It's some sort of equation, ah, yeah, Drake's equation. No, not the singer, which is what this place is supposed to be about.
-
It's always nice discovering your heroes' heroes. Sure, they'll call them their influences, their confluences, but I'd rather not call them that because good lord does the world in 2024 need less INFLUENCE.
-
The cellphone vibrated. It was on its last legs. The pixels just could not align rightly in front of my eyes. It warned me. The voices, or was it the echoes of the soundwaves it had emitted that called to me?
No comments:
Post a Comment