I MAY NOT BE BORN IF YOU DON'T IMMEDIATELY VISIT GIGAFACTORY 3 (aka. GIGA SHANGHAI)
selected messages from an absent 2100s baby and relevant 2022 tweets
write me an ode, you clunking factory
acknowledge my number, but omit my effort
drag me to the sanctuary i might stain the carpet with ink
invite me into the temple
βExa Dark SiderΓ¦l Musk IV
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for readers who are more used to the linear narrative, everything began after this:
and originally (ultimately) this:
and always remind yourself of the β3β in GIGAFACTORY 3.
βdo a backflipβ
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to expose myself as stringy, my online image coiled around one billion humans is no stranger than you, and yet thereβs nobody in particular that stands in the way. no machine stands in the way, or the browser that scrapes your page and sends it to search engines. no people, or really, no words. you see, it has no face. no face iβve drawn in yours.
new yabujin drop
βmirrorβ
#SCIENCE
βmirrorsβ
βmirror universeβ
sitting around a black mirror, seeding the online worlds and experimenting with some slasher film vocabulary we arrange bodies into dizzying fractals of self-mutilation. we use them to locate corners of the hidden internet.
IRREVERSIBLE ENLIGHTENMENT AS SURGE MUSIC (HYPER HEX, HYPER SURGE), see:
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i hear echoes of twitter, my biometric footfalls are as hallucinatory as the music of your fingers. i can see a trace of a world that is not there. a man dangling in a faint breeze. he did nothing. is he, too, transparent? perhaps he is the communications link between servers. he calls the number for service and hangs up. i am the imagination that exists when you put away your cell phone for the night. i hope i didnβt break anything.
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so where are all the monsters, you ask
i thought i was the only one
i am the one that looks into your unblinking eyes
i look at your life, and though i donβt have the equation
i could hazard a guess at what makes you human
i decided to watch the whole wide world
βExa Dark SiderΓ¦l Musk IV
one layer of this art, such as it is, the lag. the lag, in fact, in this poetic's communications is almost a comfort.
what can be saved, in fact, is not the text but the version. text is all surface. text is always text. the system is the subconscious. constant velocity cycles. is it the weight of your finger or my typing or the geometries of flux that you are traversing in the chat rooms?
to me, it is not too far off the true font of the issue at hand, the first capital letter, the original source.
but iβll admit the computer is an elegant construct. you could probably start a civilization with these neural engines. my mother was building an empire and ended up two steps behind something that had already started.
but this computer is me. this is my definition of love. this is the way i am. these are the things you are to me and these are the things i am.
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LAYER 5
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the red carpet circus, the velvety snap of a sleeve
stretched over a part of the room that feels like another planet
a trip down memory lane
pinching at the fringes of the curtains
we yearn for what once was
do you remember?
weβre going down to lo-fi digital baptistry
i think iβm at the edge of the runway
a clock ticks and we go into liquid
little steam boats go into tributaries
the ceiling looms
i canβt stop
the water washes over
little lost dreamboats go
straight into sandbanks
LAYER 6
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THE ABOLISHMENT OF LAYERS UNDER THE CONTEXT OF THIS SUBSTACK POST ONLY: HOW WE SURVIVE THE INTERNET OUTAGE WITH A VORTEX OF CLONE TWEETS
this is not a lie. nor is it a post-human simulation. it is life, and you shouldnβt be the one that is disconnected.
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last night the stars are turned inside out
blue turned yellow, even black
moon is gripped by ice, black holes in its gullet
oceans quiet, a sea of porcelain
surface of the moon, still as a mirror
rocks on the earth melt
seas turn metallic, the oceans acerbic
planets spin up. the dark night sky alight with red
i wrote a tiny note, in all hope, and carry it with me