It all makes me wonder why I am always the outsider, a phantom in the night, sometimes non-existent to the powers that be.
The opposite of fear is hope, defined as the expectation of good fortune not only for ourselves but for the group to which we belong.
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…