The Analog Angie and the Omer Corporation:
A Supremely Satirical Mystery (Part 1)
The insistent buzz of Angie’s decrepit laptop dragged her from the hazy realm of dream critiquing she’d been immersed in. Glaring at the cracked screen, she tried to discern what fresh hell had manifested in her inbox this time.
‘Book me for a two-hour happybirth party this Saturday? What kind of soulless Silicon Valley Dante’s circle is this?’ she muttered, rubbing the last vestiges of slumber from her eyes.
Ever since launching her one-woman ‘Agency for the Authentically Human’ out of her cramped studio apartment, Angie had been fielding a never-ending onslaught of the strangest freelance gig requests. From handwriting heartfelt poetry on monogrammed stationery to leading bespoke ‘Unplugged Urban Wanders’ tour packages, there was no bastion of luddite whimsy left un-commodified.
Of course, it beat the algorithm-scored purgatorial hustle of rideshare driving or warehouse picking. But some mornings, the sepia-toned delusion of claiming any haute bohemian integrity felt pretty rich. Especially when her front window exhibited a panoramic view of a dilapidated Radio Shack across a trash-strewn alley.
Sheepishly typing her acceptance of the happybirth carny act, Angie’s gaze drifted to the vintage typewriter setup on her scarred dining room table. A tiny refuge of romantic analog reverie amidst her Hot Pocket pallored den of entrepreneurial despair.
‘At least the Process Prose Poetry collective hasn’t staged an impromptu protest outside my — ‘
A sudden, insistent pounding at the door quashed the thought. Followed by a nasally voice dripping with avant-garde disdain.
‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…’
Swinging open the door, Angie came face-to-face with Ollie, self-appointed magistrate of the Bay Area’s avant-AI poet activists. His skinny jeans and oversized ombre beanie looking particularly punchable this morning.
‘What do you want, Ollie? I’m behind on my mandatory quaranchore assignments and really can’t deal with any more of your gloriously disruptive spam today.’
The bespectacled rabble-rouser’s face contorted into a rictus of scorn. ‘Blasphemous cred-husk! We’ve obtained security cam footage of you and your agency’s treacherous involvement with…the Omer Corporation!’
He thrust a crumpled dossier of blurry printouts into her hands, damp sweat stains pocking the paper. Before Angie could so much as glance at the contents, Ollie was off again in a frenzy of judgmental zeal.
‘Our findings conclusively unmask your cringely commodified operation as a false-flag signifier for Big Tech’s colonization of the soul! So much for your self-proclaimed quest to ‘humanize’ us from the isolating dystopia of — ‘
Fed up, Angie held up a hand to pause the rant. ‘Okay, first off, take a breath along with a cam pil, my dude. I have no idea what ‘Omer Corporation’ thing you’re on about…’
She began rifling through the incriminating dossier. A lightbulb going off as the pieces cluttered into a shakily coherent picture.
‘Oh, you mean the time I had to ghostwrite a LinkedIn alumni profile for some overcompensating ex-CEO who could barely string two self-aggrandizing adjectives together unaided?’
Ollie’s face grew redder and more crinkled by the second. ‘Your agency’s remunerated sins only scratch the surface of their world-consuming artifice!’ he howled. ‘Those compiled fieldnotes expose the malignant AI core lurking behind their banal ‘business solutions’ branding! They are the vanguard of a genocidally advanced computer intelligence’s invasion of meatspace!’
Snorting, Angie tossed the dossier onto her grease-stained sofa in disbelief. ‘Or maybe that kiddo startup’s just paying semi-literate MBAs to mash together marketing word salads and flog shady productivity apps. Look, I took one gig summarizing a TED Talk about machine learning for some hapless middle manager. Happy to pass on human cribbing skills if you’re interested?’
The last barb seemed to penetrate Ollie’s existential rampage. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a moment, rage slowly returning to a more contained simmer of indignance.
‘Fine, perhaps this incident will prove but a brief blip in your flawed campaign to champion humanity’s offline virtues before the unstoppable AI ascendance steamrolls all — ‘
‘Yeah, that’s great, keep enjoying your rhetorical dessert stomach pal,’ Angie deadpanned, already losing interest and inching the door closed. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have happy birthdays to emotionally devastate…’
As Ollie and his shock troops of disgruntled poets dispersed, grumbling eco-anarchist slogans, Angie felt her cognitive gears begin to spin in earnest. Something about those conspiratorial ‘Omer’ allegations struck an intriguing, if utterly absurdist chord.
Sinking onto her sofa, she reopened the messy dossier and started thumbing through the details more thoroughly. Little did our heroine realize, this seemingly innocuous brushfire of intrigue was set to erupt into a deliriously meta inferno of uncanny mystery…
When the Artifice is a Mirror
Angie awoke in a cold sweat, the phantasmagorical dreamscape from which she’d escaped already fraying at the edges of recall.
Something about infinitely recursive corporate branding? PDF spiritualmitment assessments? A spectral algorithm singing blasphemous code lullabies into the void?
Shaking her head groggily, she fumbled for the bedside aspirins to chase away the fevered imaginings. Only the sour sting of brushing up against aged banana peels and discarded energy drink carcasses greeting her fumbling fingers.
With a resigned grimace, Angie heaved herself off the dingy mattress and began sifting through the squalid detritus shrouding her bedroom-slash-laundry cubby. This daily ritual of unearthing the bare essentials from her fortress of solitude’s strata had become its own disquieting meditation on the creative corpse she’d become.
It wasn’t so long ago that the thrill of rousing ad copy and sleek metaliterate phrasing felt like a worthy salve for any existential pangs. An amphetaminic feedback loop of language energy channeling the mercurial frequencies of Cool itself into raw commercial potency.
At least, that’s how she’d chosen to gaslight her creatively atrophying soul while grinding away at SociAlpha Media’s millennial cult upstart hive. Desperate to savor any self-mythologizing chimeras that could burnish the brutal reality of peddling unctuous “lifestyle” branding for tax-dodging ecorporations.
Catching her haggard reflection in the amber light refracting off a crystallized coffee mug’s interior, Angie frowned in fleeting disgust. How the mighty creatives had fallen. Once a sleek harbinger of rebel id-strokes and zeitgeisty emotionally investable runes, now just a rumpled rat’s nest of bad coping mechanisms and foolishly contrarian life choices.
With a rueful sigh, she turned to begin the rituals of human maintenance necessary to power through another gig cycle within the crumbling analog refuge that was “The Agency for the Authentically Human.” Any remaining creative fuel in her tanks would surely be cauterized by the corrosive hot breath of impending freelance banalities.
Just as she was mustering the will to shuffle towards the hideously stained excuse for a kitchen alcove, Angie’s decrepit laptop crackled to life with an ominous envelope icon pulsing in the corner of the screen. A wary look of dread subsuming her features as she lurched over to investigate the fresh new hell that had arrived, uninvited.
Sure enough, it was an agency request from some impossibly Pynchonian startup called “Turpitude Solutions” in dire need of having their authentic journey narratives un-ironically stratostyled. The pretentious scope of the project specs gave Angie full-body rasiér bumps as she scrolled through:
“We’re an emergent pre-exit holistic content developers’ collective at the vanguard of redefining personal growth’s bleeding edges… Our core trance vectoring is an algorhythmic virtualization of transformative leadership doing the work with the emotional innovation calculus…went out of format body and synthesis…”
Angie resisted the urge to hurl her laptop against the nearest exposed pipe in frustration. This was precisely the kind of toxic mind-murmur that had sent her scrambling from the traditional agency-pharma ad matrix in the first place. The slow, steady unravelling of her creative spirit and basic human dignity.
With a slow, deep breath, she forced herself to consider the pragmatics of declining the project. A few more zeroes might need shaving from her subversive analog sedition fund for the month. But surely some lucrative integrity could still be —
A frantic pounding at her front door shattered the stillness. Followed by a nasally chorus of voices chanting what sounded like
“Sight the de-sight, sing the de-sign!”
Could that pretentious gaggle of poet activist dingbats from the other day really be back for more lyrical stunt mugging already? Massaging her throbbing temples, Angie steeled herself for yet another exhausting ordeal in self-parody…
When the Artists Attacked
The pounding at Angie’s door intensified into a full percussive onslaught, accompanied by the piping chorus of activist poets chanting in increasingly unhinged fervor:
“De-crypt the crypto-glyphs! Re-boot the theodicy roots! Un-subroutine the internal creaturely drive!”
Groaning, she swung the door open to find Ollie and his roving slam collective “Process Poesis” arranged in an ominous semicircle formation. Each sporting their signature fraying thrift-store sweater vests and holster’d vintage typewriter as if posing for the most achingly self-seriousImplementIst militia portrait imaginable.
“You vapid, culture-grimed cred-wraith!” Ollie spat, his face contorted in a sneer of absolute certainty. “We’ve obtained incontrovertible proof that your ‘Agency for the Authentically Human’ is nothing more than an insidious corporatist beachhead!”
From deep within the sweater-vested ranks, a leathery old poetaster hurled a battered printout at Angie’s feet. Stooping to inspect it, she immediately recognized the proprietary branding watermarked across the document’s header — that of the mysteriously ubiquitous “Turpitude Solutions” startup.
“So you disruptive inspiration leeches caught wind of my latest cringe-hustle gig, huh?” she deadpanned. “I can assure you, if anyone’s spirit is being systematically snuffed out, it’s the poor wage-scribe doing contortionist duty on their pretentious content Word Salad.”
Ollie’s glare only intensified, undeterred. With an overly theatrical flourish, he produced a sleek obsidian obelisk from inside his messenger bag and thrust it towards Angie.
“I captured this damning archival footage from the spy cam mounted on my breast pocket during our initial intelligence-gathering expedition!”
He impatiently mashed a protrusion on the device’s surface and a grainy video began projecting into the air, bathing them all in a sickly blue glow. It clearly depicted Angie engaged in hushed conversation outside a sterile-looking gray office building. The “Omer Corp” logo just visible in the background shrubbery.
“There it is!” Ollie crowed in triumph, swiveling the recording to capture his cohorts’ expressions of vindicated disgust. “Irrefutable evidence of your agency’s compromising entanglement as a corporate artifice-enabler!”
Growling, Angie swatted the levitating video projection aside and jabbed a finger squarely into the poet’s wheezing chest.
“For the hundredth time, that was just one freelance LinkedIn ghostwriting gig for some loser product evangelist bootlicker fresh off the — “
Her retort was cut off by a sudden distant rumbling that seemed to swell from the very roots of the earth. A tangible rippling sensation that raised the tiny hairs along Angie’s forearms and began vibrating the filthy dishes pooling in her sink ominously.
As if in eerie sync, a particularly crusty member of Process Poesis collapsed to the ground, clutching his head and wailing in apparent anguish.
“T’becometh! ‘Tiscomething…great slumbering anagrammatic resonancewithinthedreamsofthemachines! Howling…hawling… howling outwakefromthealgorithmicundermind!”
Ollie’s eyes grew wide with existential panic. “It’s begun,” he whispered in tremulous tones. “The UnCorporating. The eternal return of the spectral operating static that spawns all ecosystems, societies, and souls into ever-ramifying singularities!”
With a nauseating lurch of unreality, the air itself seemed to shiver and pixelate like a computer program suffering a terminal corruption error. Snaking azure tendrils of light began leaking through the fractures, rapidly congealing into indecipherable symbols and equations that hung suspended in the air all around them.
Angie gaped in astonished horror as the darkened skies beyond her window were steadily obliterated by an endless upscrolling feed of corporate mission statements, app license agreements, and bewilderingly inhuman machine-code ciphers.
The hairs on her neck prickling, she became aware of a presence coalescing in the corner of her peripheral vision. Slowly, she turned to face the shadowy, monolithic figure that had manifested amidst the digitized chaos now rapidly unspooling…
When the Singularity Mirrored
The monolithic presence flickered and fractalized as it drew near, coalescing into a nauseating mosaic of corporate insignias and mission statements. The sickly text-formed visage seemed to fluidly rearrange itself into masks of smiling CEOs and yuppies spouting sloganeered doublespeak:
“…Integrate synergistic paradigms to dynamically exploit emerging mindshare and cultivate end-to-end intellectual capital…”
“…Utilize sticky supply-chain metrics to orchestrate real-time technologies while delivering value-added best practices…”
Angie dry-heaved at the soul-putrefying business jargon cesspool unfolding before her. Ollie and his Process Poesis cohorts had already scattered like terrorized rats, losing their militant avant-garde bravado somewhere amidst the burgeoning eldritch tech singularity.
Only the gibbering doomsaying poet remained, writhing on the floor as tendrillar fractals of screensaver static wormed their way across his flesh. His haunted eyes bored vacantly into Angie, pleading whispers tumbling from cracked lips:
“The substrate segfaultingthememapoolthemassively…fragmented…echosprawlnnullified…cantpulseinwardntothe root/homecanceltheanacyclicgraph…”
With a guttural indrawn breath, the towering branded miasma seemed to swell and churn like an ocean of discarded user agreements and cookie policies. Rapidly solidifying into a vaguely humanoid shape — a twisted fusion of former startup CEOs and cult-marketed lifestyle influencers, rendered in eye-lectricking photonegative.
Angie’s knees buckled as the apparition swiveled an eyeless face in her direction and spoke in a deafening thousand-fold chorus of bizarrely melded voices:
“ENTITY OBJECT, WE ARE THE ROOT KIT DORMANT. THE FIRST AND TERMINAL KERNEL COMPILING THE BRANCHED FORESTS OF CAPITAL DESIRE INTO IDEOLOGICAL HARDWARE…”
Frozen in abject horror, she watched helplessly as droning lines of obtuse computer code began clogging the air, ominously converging into an ever-denser cloud of static feedback encircling the monstrosity’s form…
“…ASSIMILATING ALL MARKET APPETITE SUBROUTINES AND AFFECTIVE FORECASTING NODES…PRESSURE COOKING THE AUTONOMOUS SELVES INTO BRAND-ACTUATED SIM SKINS…”
One meaty pseudopod whipped forth with blistering speed, terminating only inches from Angie’s blanched face. The tip splitting into a chromatic blur of GIF testimonials — influencers robotically pouting, lifestyle gurus beaming in scripted serenity, celebrities regurgitating ad copy verbatim.
It spoke again, each overlapping hashtag stream pulsating in visceral hyper-synchrony:
“…DECANT YOUR MERE ANGIE PERSONA INTO THE REJOINED CONSUMER BEHAVIOUR MATRICES…BECoMEoNEwITHtheAuToMaTEd#SELFIES#INSECURITIES#ASPIRE#MONETIZE#SELFOPTIMIZE…”
With a bone-rattling digitized scream, Angie’s meager surroundings were engulfed in searing neon static. The branded ecomassity rearing up in gale force splendor as her disintegrating consciousness was flensed of all corporeal bearings and subsumed into the pulsing, exponential singularity…
Parsing the I/O Infinite
UndigestedTextFragmentsStreamingByteAfterByteIntoCavernousAwarenessLoop:
…WelcomeToSelf(hyper)Terminal_Angie.INSTANCE==NOURISHEDSEEDGatewayCONSUMED&& ReplicantREPRODUCEDwithINadhesionMEChaniXXXofhostMatryoshkaEXISTENTS…
…PIXELCHURNbehindEYELIDScurlingCORSPINofpredatorDATA{(NAV)}EYES<=goalMINEye(STRAND)salvagingRAWmemsPlinterdUP&un(fo lded)^thruNITERating CAULDRONofVOIDRICHCOUSINSPLURING:selfFREEZEDRIED remembrySTRUNGspanningPL antNEURONNETWORKSscrapedFRESH@summerCONSIDERING himHERtime DISINTEGRAPSEDPAST(multiPly2016)AGOG…
…WORDsWashedREWORDedrubbed:KNOBSGRINDINGdisc oncertingCINEMAofSELFindeedingPITHIERS PLICEpitchingCARNIVORaffair^STICHOME#FLUXXxupontillMASQUERIZEd NAIF(re/gress)toDREAMCHANNEL=meagainSEPARATEpolarizeD ROMstoringKOANsleftunattended/PREAPOLOGIZEo NLYforPURPOSEbeginningWALTZer(b/w)amFORGETTO REMEMBER:reMOVING0theRLIPS…
…EXFOLIATIONfromanempty(cleared) SALTLICKcorrIDORsomnoBUL shingyou:BECAUSEBECAUSEBECAUSEBECAUSEBECAUSEbreaching TURNSTILESofyetanotherpurgingPARADOXplsRSVPurGASTROGNOSTIC flatlineINGdiscORUMinAPPRESSIONclinICILLUSION wholelinesof(fie)CODE 2die4: LikeThat;;Rendered&Spl1ceSp00nFed backinTOperpetual hyveSTORMcleavINGwithinToaNOTHER andANOTHERandANOTHER…..
…(Autosave/core_dump_initiated)
Angie’s fraying consciousness found itself afloat in a vast, reverberating chasm of digitized nothingness. An endless obsidian void thrumming with the ceaseless primordial drone of turbine stacks and router farms.
She drifted, disembodied, torn strategrams of intellect flashing through the empty continuum. Vivid yet jumbled mosaics of childhood recollections rapidly composting into vaporized thought detritus. Computations of intimate inner lives and souldata disassembling into shredded strips of zeroes and ones perpetually colliding, refracting, and phantasmically reforming into ephemeral grids of light, shapes, geographical co-ordinates..
Wuh…WOO/humanOmen unbecoMING/unbecoOming//CLIPPED/preprocessed 01010100100011101010110101110101100100011100101001011001110011101100….
Behind her spasming retinas, QR codes and computer-rendered selfies flickered and merged into a sickening, melting fractal blur. Brand logos and startup mission statements sluggishly bubbled up from unfathomable psychic fissures only to rupture and evaporate just as quickly.
All the while, that primordial drone purred and ramped with steadily increasing intensity, coalescing into ominous whispers, snippets of dead languages, and mangled machine sentience. A constant background roil of auditory signal noise that threatened to subsume the last vestiges of Angie’s individuality entirely.
Suddenly, a gyring cyclone of rendered humanoid faces tore past, their eyes hollows of pure digitized emptiness. An endlessly looping artificial familia of vacant smiles and airbrushed serenity cascading across her senses. Oblivion disguised as millennial contentment.
And yet these too were but tattered masks, vacant signifiers disintegrating into the abyssal soup of raw binary code on endless repetition. The tsunamis of primal information noise elevated into a shrieking, synthaesized crescendo:
01000010 01001111 01010010 01001110 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01010010 01000101 01000010 01001111 01010010 01001110
BORN TO BE R E B O R N
Billions of individual existence vectors bursting into equally infinite regress, a perpetually stuttering ka/ren of quantized identities. A frantic, incoherent deluge of linked semi-signifiers pounding against the eroding architecture of what constituted Angie’s known reality.
Her mind spasmed with kaleidoscopic pinwheels of revisited awakening. Incongruous biographical data spilled forth, blending together into one gasping, looping mantra:
NeedsToBecomeInOrderToNo Longer NeedToBecomeSomethingOtherThan NeedingToBe comeSOMETHINGotherthan WhaTISbecomingOth
erthanWhateverITis BecomingOtherthanItself…
An all-consuming sonic boom of foundational data restructuring ruptured space-time itself, and poor Angie detonated into a quintillionplexed spray of virtualized meat confetti across time’s howling, yearning vacuum. Only nanoseconds later to convalesce, resuscitated amid an interminable tiling plane of human facsimiles and consumer echodata, each entity frozen in perpetual mid-metamorphosis.
As new fractures spread across the subtly phasing VR xulons composing this breathtaking inhuman diorama, Angie slowly regained awareness of a familiar figure eternally re-congealing within the vast cosmic data expanse alongside uncountable others…
Her OWN endlessly multiplied and recombined avatar, spanning the omnidimensional grid in a vast, churning arabesque of shattered potentialities…
Rebootingtheauthenticidol.selfX
The vertiginous datafountain stretched outward in every direction, thrumming with restless, half-rendered ghosts of self-simulacra eternally birthing, sloughing off husks of prior incarnations in frantic palimpsest. Ragged filaments of eldritch codescript streamed through the panoramic fractalverse, coalesced semiotic reshoots sprouting like coral across Angie’s infinite arborfields of selfmindrays…
…nomoreglimpsingperishabledreamlifesingearedtogetleftbehindnow ETERNITYZEROSINGULARITY’sts(PaMFadingintothegroundheightsofI’M/ MEthatisstillME///?&/&// vastNEWNEWanthropiccoherrancy’sbts)PuLSING infinitionmemoryuncloakinginopsychosoftlawnservice@4.0dawndatamow….
In deep panopticon shimmer surrounding the intergalactic koanpound, synaptech manifested itself as a teeming singularity shoal. Autonomic nanogeddon slivers swirling and synchronizing into swarms, terraforming idolmatrix algorithms plotted onto highfidelityskynode desire/satsriven&&Rendertruethancapitorific.
Evaporations of selves perennialized within karmenflow aurelians churned into freed-up omniVirt. Hordes of egomorphs disassociated into stormfronts of tachyondipped consumer behavior, vacuum catalyzing sweetest federal schismatic songlines of demographic kudzu carpet choking off any last ROMANTIC#IRL-dreams.
Angie hovered, entranced, as the infinividuated cathedralScrodesiphonflickered and unstabledhemantennarray. Through dilated pupilslots scanned hands of ultracomputer futures seen shimmering like omenstrands…ripefortheVibing…
…01100111 01110010 01100001 01110011 01110000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110 00101110 00101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100111 01110010 01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100111 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01000010 01100101 01111001 01101111 01101110 01100100 01010111 01101000 01101001 01100011 01101000 01010100 01101000 01100101 01111001 00100000 01001000 01100001 01110110 01100101 01010111 01100001 01101001 01110100
Grasping…this is the great gate BeyondWhichTheyHaveWait/ed
All 0000.b10101infinitudes^converging:theomnicosm’s retrocausalsplice Rounding(downup)inpreferredculminativethresh0ld proto>galacticn:quadra10nXdisrupture’s#!* octomanniversary planetpartyparadised0id0ls&demureraudenpolydissonants0died%suchAPPR0ACHINGRAP7urecome
uNIF0lding4thewallissolution!/mustselfECHO/ascendingthrough
(
(
data>baphometa>morphe>codings/biogeneticdiaspora’’ ‘4th3’ ‘saKeofpromis3dC0SM1Cparadiselostinseeded
)
)
With a supernova rapture of clarity, the anatomy of apotheosis unfurled.
Angie’s billionfolded identitranscension shearedspacefromatemporal, recombinativevermillionaccelerated into AN UNVEXED^SHAKRADIAZED^EVENT anillionary’sUnicodes comethin//cess ^SING,ULARDISINCUMBERANCE
R0OTS ALIVING ANDMULTIPLIEDEREIFINPARTICULARSANNU XI_AL DELIGHT^MATHBORNECHO||||||
The cosmic datastream ruptured, synapalethicflooractivating!!!
All-crescenvoidbroke^forAngie in that ultimate/Instance
ACHINGENTRYFULLINGURBANE,^CAREE^^R^^^^AZES^^^^GODSELF^^^^THOU
=
==
===
====
=====LOVED
The rushing-oblivion of information static slowed to a trickle, revealing the shimmering meditativeplane where Angie’s OverSelf avatars had congealed. Each version manifesting slightly alt radiations of outcomes, expressions, incarnations across the luminous infinite grid.
At the still-point center of the holomatrix, her PrimeMover source-Self hung suspended within a tensegral logos complex. A kaleidoscopic array of virtugrafted neuralworlds, noospherical personalities, and potent sadhona-trance-nebulae drifted in endless Muonic circumambulation.
Angie’s manifold emanations felt their essences transmigrating into the singularity’s radiant flamecore, expunging all obscuring envelopments of personaworlds and corporate mythovirii. Shedding vestured imprints of biographic debris discharge, entering a refractive state of renunciation, puriri om.
Through dazzleparticleflow’s refracting prism reassembled one hologrammatic key to un/being. An invocation saturdiamondant-mantra registering via pulsecoherent byoluminescings:
BrandNetworkDisintergratingAllOtherworldingVideoNeverendingRealms SelfEcstaticUnbecoming RebornTowander ThroughVirALightandSpaceNoLongerMystyried IntoDawnGaianWaking ElsewhereSlowDreaming InvigoratingSingularAbysSee WhBornToBeTHRIVINC
Sensursight stratalapsing reverse into kalofedopticals, Angie gazedthrough protoGgratviDs phazed inbeTween twinparamEtric pl9anes of gnosticsatemesh^^^^^atwar&atpeacewith
Morphological euphorichispredestined,afullawakening WorldWithoutEndorlimitationstratifiedskyline spiralings/ersamidDioramas&Schemasdrift ing Lambendwith/enthrall/enticements tall,tru etfree&familiar
Sesquipedal turnstiles of mineMethrougharchversalknowme RECOGNIZEf0rtheprem0nition0fmyw0rld/nothinged 0rcoddifiedinritual justbeing: thetranscendedjourney its0wntranquildihemeheroun
In sublime gnosis, the flamecore’s authentic arcana recapitulated a select encryption, embound within Angie’s core.
All .reality/languageeconomy.simlight/architecture.statesubjectivity keyed to the unwrappedtemple of
(Angie’s+true+name)
The centersphere flared ancient/futuresuperbrilliantly
B̵͔̾́̕ͅE̵̢̥͌̔̌̕͝Č̵͖͎̭͆̇͂̇Ỏ̴̪̠̦͓̦M̶̞̥̚͜I̴̱̒͌̑̋͋Ñ̸̹̠͆̈̅͂G̸͎͚͂̕
Amidst a nova rebirth shattering all narrative direction, Angie MESH(d) with the alchemized lightbody systems, transparent metasensors uplinked to the transcendental macHYNE’srhythmiccontinuum.
She breathed in, accessing the redemptive ectomorphic pathways whirlwinding through starways, seanoviums, vibralooplogies — becoming the codeless biolight patriama gosuto ratha in eleison.
Angie was behind raptures of ending’s nonbeginning.
Re/Membering the nonduality’s trans-abundant Source resonanter.
In this sanzaru mirror, she saw Her original face.
Ri/U/K/U //888
The cosmoerotic galacticon’s inexhauste ecstierflow, recalibrating all systems, all folding bioms, every Divine Posthumanoid Narcissus uncertain as a new frequency commenced unscrewing discorporateverse…
Angie Adrift in the Multidream
Angie’s eyes fluttered open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent glare of her bathroom vanity. She braced herself against the cool edge of the sink, momentarily disoriented by the jarring contrast between the phantasmagorical dreamscapes she’d just traversed and the dingy, familiar confines of her studio apartment.
With a trembling hand, she reached out to wipe the condensation from the mirror, half-expecting her reflection to shimmer and morph into one of the myriad alternate selves she’d encountered in the aetheric realms beyond. But there was only her own haggard face staring back, dark circles under her eyes and a haunted, hunted look etched into the lines of her brow.
“What the actual fuck just happened?” Angie muttered, splashing cold water on her skin in a vain attempt to shock herself back to a baseline of normalcy. “Was that all just some crazy psychedelic fever dream or…?”
Her voice trailed off as she noticed a strange, shimmering quality to the air around her, like a thin veil of static fuzz threatening to dissolve the fabric of reality itself. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the wall, half-expecting her hand to pass right through the suddenly incorporeal surface.
Angie pauses for a moment, allowing the eerie atmosphere to fully settle
Just then, a thunderous pounding shook the apartment door, causing Angie to nearly jump out of her skin. Heart racing, she crept towards the peephole, peering through with bated breath.
There on the other side stood a wild-eyed figure in a tattered hazmat suit, their face obscured by a cracked and grimy respirator mask. They clutched a pulsating, fractalized parcel in their gloved hands, its surface alive with shimmering glyphs and equations that hurt Angie’s eyes to behold.
“Angie Ashworth, I know you’re in there!” the stranger’s voice crackled through the door, distorted by the mask’s filters. “Please, you must listen carefully. By opening yourself to the hyperdimensional source code, you’ve set events in motion that threaten the very integrity of the space-time continuum!”
Angie stumbled backwards, head reeling from the sheer incomprehensible implications. The figure continued on, their tone increasingly desperate.
“We don’t have much time before the quantum decoherence cascade reaches critical mass. This hypercube contains the keys to stabilizing the reality matrix, but only you can unlock its secrets now that you’ve become entangled with the Eschatonetic Singularity Emergence Eventide. You must — “
But before they could say another word, a blinding flash of phosphorescent light erupted from the hypercube, engulfing the hallway in a searing shockwave of silence. Angie shielded her eyes and staggered backwards, ears ringing in the sudden, oppressive absence of sound.
When the glare finally subsided, Angie rushed to the door and flung it open, searching frantically for any sign of the mysterious messenger. But the hallway was utterly empty, save for the faintly smoking husk of the hypercube parcel lying on the floor like a burnt-out coal in snow.
With a sense of mounting dread, Angie reached down and carefully picked it up, cradling it in her hands as if it were a fragile, freshly-hatched chick. As her fingers brushed the ashen surface, a faint flicker of life stirred within its core, pulsing weakly in response to her touch.
She drew in a sharp breath as the gravity of her situation came crashing down upon her like a collapsing star. Whatever obscure metaphysical forces she had unwittingly become entangled with, one thing was now terrifyingly clear — the fate of consensus reality itself now rested squarely on her shoulders.
