In these post-post-modernist times, there is no singular truth, rather, we are fading into a dark zone of murkiness, increasingly unable to distinguish between real and fake, truth and lies, the original from the simulation.
Perhaps this descent into a digitalized chaos, this immersion in the Torrent, this need to bathe in electronic particles that swirl around me, is my way of coping with the forces of XTreme TRUMPological Xcess that casts a dark cloud over us all.
A thousand threads of pulsations + fragmentation course through from the Machine. All around + over + under it seems to travel onwards and outwards.
I ride steadily the torrent of saturated noise and electronic debris, peering ahead into the vastness of the vacuum the river creates in its path…
Trance operation on the hypnotic signal to induce waves of contamination that infiltrate our daily consciousness + leak through our collective nervous system, thus a counter-inducement provoking an otherworldly response to the mesmerizing seduction of the Broadcast.
Delivering what is necessary to upend + disorient the brain’s hopelessly futile ability to latch onto the meaning of ANYTHING in the disruption of the Broadcast through Maximum Chaos.