Angelic Ramblings of The Imaginarium Vo.1

The best minds of my generation have been destroyed by memetic madness, typing hysterical angelic ramblings, I've got a television on my phone, it's filling me with present shock, Wherever I end up, wherever I roam, I've got a phone that beeps, makes me know I'm not alone What in the world is going on? What is going on? What does it mean to be disembodied in this moment of time, in a toxic culture like this, trying to make sense of your lineage to the logos, your crisis/opportunities, the contents of the collapse, the contents of your own mind? Is it possible to have an overarching viewpoint that is not somehow canned, or cultish, or self-limited in its approach? When Everything Happens Now, There is Collapse in The Narrative, that starts the protocols of The Last Days of Reality. We must assume that under the rapidly mounting pressures forcing them upon one another the human molecules will ultimately succeed in finding their way through the critical barrier of mutual repulsion to enter the inner zone of attractive. As you make your way into what are called the “corridors of power,” you discover they’re remarkably uncrowded and there are no waiting lines at the water fountains. There doesn’t seem to be anybody really running the show above the level which just makes sure that UPS delivers on time. Above there, where you would think there would be—you know, in the captain’s tower—there’s a kind of eerie emptiness.

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