Droning sound and dancing lights. Images melt together; electromagnetic vomit. Waste. Wasting. Wasted.
Legs splayed over the arm rest. Neck propped on a cushion. Bad angle, pinching back pain. This ain’t good but fuck it, and its pain. I can die.
Detestable. Such a draining lack of significance. Incapability; force, action, motion. Projects aimed at the future. A literal projection, out of and into something.
Continue reading “Oliver Cato: Future Consciousness”