Soldier, nuke that voice!

Schwann Cybershaman's picture

No comfort to ease the pace of it's passing, undimmed before the breaking of the world, it will linger on in the legendary kill-file hidden beneath the TCP/IP stack under the pentagon. Of course, we all cut and paste ourselves, for we are the transplants of civilisation, the cross-pollinators of memetic positivity, the destroyers of evil myth and un-believers in lies, transhumanic fad creators, photons of half life in the blue beam of fractal reality.

We fear no fear because we have passed the age of innocence, and now society should not try to claim responsibility for justice or personal pursuits of truth and happiness because nothing can prevent revolutionary thought amongst delusional youth, and we only lead if we are followed, and we are only followed if we are guided, and we are only guided if we have spirit, and we only have spirit if we are inspired but we are only inspired if there is worthy probability so bring it on to a place that existed before the year summer never ended, when everyone and their dog had a modem and was cruising the Information Superhighway, before point-and-drool, no-brainer access to the internet became utterly commonplace, and inexpensive enough to become the mark of a technologically conscious person.

And now we’re become shining songs of light, whirling into the technological night, cutting and pasting ourselves into many shapes and sizes, as we manipulate text, images and sounds into formats that are not afraid of the blue beam. Maybe we are the first true artists on this planet, because we’re all asylum tested and psychologist approved.

Another space cadet gets his luggage checked!

The welfare mob raises fire demons and stares at us with voodoo eyes, like a smokescreen terrorist at war with parking meters and phone booths, it scatters through the dark alleys, laughing at garbage cans.

In another suburb, saxophone tortured shadow dancers gyrate within insulated florescent scenarios as hundreds of elevators dive for lobbies with cargoes of gnomes who filter into the nearby bars in a mating ritual which grants them an altered state of consciousness.

But will they benefit the Tribe?

Schwann Cybershaman - Where I'm at in RL now