『{Happy Days.}』のカバーアート

{Happy Days.}

{Happy Days.}

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 Worth knowing. I operated on a public server using Google as my. Main browser, our of incognito— This meant everything I search on Google I knew to be public, and did so soaringly, and cautiously. I told you more than once not to mess with that fucker! I wasn't! For the most part; however— That fucker was messing with me! Why! Who are you?! I don't know! Ugh. Ten seconds on the ground and I wanted to die. Fuck this place. Just get in the boat, Keenan. No, I won't. Just get— in the boat. Forget it. I'm not going to your— You don't dont even know what it is! Whatever is is. It's a function! If I didn't start making decisive moves around the map— and quick— I could be made to look like anything, or anyone. The media had ways of turning things into monsters—assuming all in all that the political agenda had overall become some short of holy war. I wasn't safe, especially sitting still— entire crowds moved around me as I emerged from days long stretches of speaking to and looking at no one; the more I resisted to conform, the more hostile the monster became— I was vanishing decently from one world and into the next, and on my absence there was a gaping hole needing to be filled but instead, opening into an inescapable void: being something for others as I presumed that I presently was not: I was not a pawn, or a worker, or a sim— I had escaped a matrix that was nearly entirely built on perception, and had adjusted to the understanding of the illusion of this grid. It was an impractical solution, silence and isolation; eventually I had to communicate with other people, and could not hide. But I would not be forced to do anything or speak to anyone I didn't want to— and so I began tricking the system before it could gather information to go about tricking me. After all, I was keeping more to myself than I was sharing or even writing about— I wrote often about race and sociopolitical injustice; however; these things were at a surface level. The things I pondered upon deeply, I kept to myself— I knew that my Google documents were comprised by the way that on the ground level— the simulation level— people had been hacked and sorted based on things I had put into the aglogithmic clouds. Anyone with a cell phone had become a biohazard, because they were socially and psychologically compatible with being technologically programmed to be moved about in any way the controllers saw fit— and who were the controllers using such as humans as devices? The very war mongers who saw this level as none other than that of a game, and people in no sense more than as numbers—a place which my conciousness did lie, and however— my physical body, almost entirely seperate, risided here amongst the all too common. And it was here that I was more likely to die, physically, anyway, than anywhere else because i wanted to. The frequency shift was severe enough that it bubbled and spewed inside of me not as hatred, but anxiety. Not fear, but nautiousness; I was no longer so compatible with the masses that I could normally function as such; an elitist mindset, but only out of elitist practice. I ate well, trained hard, and focused my energy on a higher mindset— It became obvious that if I didn't decide what I was, I was going to be told what I was, or painted in a certain way as percepted, and this I found limiting. If I decided what I was and made it somehow apparent so that others could not cast any judgement upon me, then I could at the very least, later, change it— if it differed too drastically from whatever it was my true purpose and intention. Easily enough, I found the devil worked through almost all things and people around me in such a way that it was best to remain apart from these things and people and to find my way to being surrounded by others who were in fact, shielded by light. Strength in numbers, and what was here something dark enough had torn through that almost all of them were dark as well, and so almost any time at all with that force made me ill. I'm so sorry. No, you're not— but that's okay, Because I'm sorry enough for the both of us. A SPECIAL DETECTIVE, recently promoted to captain from VICE gives the go-ahead on the immidiate detention of a subject with whom multiple units have been preoccupied with over the course of several months. This is… pure cocaine. It appears so… I've— I've never seen anything like it. — that pure? Like— pharmaceutical. In fact… It was pharmaceutical. Ah great. Why is Tom Hanks back in the movie? [breaking forth wall] Uh— because I was in the front of the movie— And in the middle of the movie— And because this is the same movie. Uh… Oh, by the way, you're in a movie. No!!! Wake up. Fuck. COSMIC AVENGER Snapdragons! Double fuck. Double double indeed. The cosmic avenger has a way of not swearing that is...
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