『A E S T H E T I C feelings感じ』「1」

Have a seat and insert your vaporwave cassette(s). I’m preparing a canister of a e s t h e t i c for your existential pleasure.

Instructions (please read often so you’re not lost, because I am): Designate one of the three following links as your guide, whichever one broadcasts the floatiest frequencies for your brain. F L O A T Y T E X T. Cute aesthetics emanating from the interstellar mainframe, captured just for you. SUPER CかUわTいEい!! Seriously, it’s cosmic shit. Or just play your own music from your very own mouth; it’s an instruction manual — don’t believe everything it says. Finally, forget about all instructions instructed. Rinse. Maybe repeat. Maybe just keep scrolling and scrolling. No rush.

Load up those aesthetics, cosmonaut. Beware of having any feelings. They’re just references if you need to do anything later.

~~*[[what’s a reference?

Everything happens in the city. WHICH INCLUDES NOTHING. But if nothing happens, who’s doing any of the work? Me. Us.


a city not too far, a time not too distant, a life not too apart

It’s a bright day. You exit your capsule. It’s a bright day for production.

You lose yourself to the music. What am I producing? I forget.

It’s a gloomy day. You exit your capsule. It’s a gloomy day for pathfinding.

¥You lose yourself to the music of the world. What am I finding? I forget.

It’s a starry day. You exit your capsule. It’s a starry day for reflection.

¥¥You lose yourself to the music of the mind. What? I forget.

It’s a new day. You exit your capsule. It’s a new day for self-discovery.

¥¥¥You lose yourself to the music of the spontaneous. I forget.

It’s a peaceful day. You exit your capsule. It’s a peaceful day for grief.

¥¥¥¥You lose yourself to the music of the stars. . .

It’s a free day. You exit your capsule. It’s a free day for f r e e s t y l e.

¥¥¥You lose yourself.

It’s a cosmic day. You exit your capsule. It’s a cosmic day.

Um, the purple-pink in the water is just a coincidence. Trust me, I’m purple-pink. I know my shit!

You blink and realize — everything that crosses your path comprises a small piece of the cosmic puzzle. Nothing has ever happened by coincidence. Jesus. Maybe 「coincidence」 is a placeholder for a temporary lack of… complete knowledge? Maybe you’re being silly. In any case, it’s almost a self-limiting concept, until you dig into the root of the important coincidences of your life. They weren’t coincidences at all. Nope. Not one bit. Maybe two bits. Just kidding.

You blink again and realize — wait a second. Complete knowledge? Complete knowledge is impossible. But, you think further, and see that as a collective consciousness, we all know everything there is to be known thus far to this second, together, jumbled up in our heads. You discover the importance of expressing the tangled chaos and gradually undoing perceived societal disconnect.

You try to stop your blinking — only to realize everyone builds their own corner of the cosmic puzzle, all using the same unknown instructions. Everyone is an undirected, directed expression of the universe. Wow, the universe is just really into this damn puzzle, and nobody likes puzzles. You wonder why the universe likes busying itself aimlessly with puzzles.

Your eyelids are spazzing out — you see that it’s all a thread of interwoven multiplicity. You realize nothing matters except your own continuous choice of decision or indecision: to place the next piece, scatter some others, sit tight and admire the masterpiece, curse at the masterpiece for being too complicated, or forget about the puzzle altogether and pick your butt in calm panic.

You shut your eyes. You are invincible in the truest sense of the word.

You lose your 『。。。』self to the 『。。。』

It’s a bright day. You exit your capsule. You firmly grasp your newfound esoteric pink puzzle piece. You find it silly that you had it next to your bed this whole time. It’s a bright day for production.

You remember.
What was I doing again? Oh yeah, living. Jesus, I’m so forgetful.


Okay, vaporwave is all about like, vaporware and shit right!? No? I’m wrong? Well screw you!! Let’s say technology and artificial intelligence achieved the level of human complexity, whoa, which can’t be too far off given the rate of nanotechnology development… YEAH SCIENCE. YEAH ROBOTS. YEAH SCIENCE ROBOT ALIEN FLESH. Wait —

A-a-anyway, would we still be human, or would we be forced to redefine our existence? Would we become vaporware? THAT’S SO V A P O R W A V E, right!???? Cuz you know, like, vaporwave. Vaporware. Like lol. Help? I need answers. Quickly. With the Q U I C K N E S S.

Bro I don’t give a shit, I’m busy playing video games while browsing the web terminal and listening to my cooler-than-thou vaporwave playlist. Go back to Earth and bother somebody who cares. Maybe he//she//it//gangster will type a proper response.

Fine, I’ll just throw some text over some classic error messages that everyone’s gotta be familiar with and pretend it’s “art”.

What if an asteroid hits me right in the brain? Liar. It’s never safe!!

Ahem. Um, so yeah. C-computers can dream, right?

If we always persist on moving backwards, when will we ever find any time to move forward? Honestly, yo. Wait, we’re not actually getting anywhere at all either way. Righteous.



You decide to take a walk outside. I love the weather outside! You see a floppy disk. Oh check it out, a floppy disk. You think about inserting it up your nostrils. Let me just insert it up my nostrils. You wonder why you did that. I know exactly why I did that.

— show me what’s in the disk —

Waddup. You see this fantastic a e s t h e t i c statue here? It is mine.

Why do you consider it to be yours, dawg? The only thing closest to being yours is probably your cells. Or maybe your consciousness.

Uhhh… I traded controversial//green pieces of paper for it. Why wouldn’t it be mine? I basically traded my soul for it, ass! Let me be at peace.
This statue is nobody’s. That’s because its glory belongs to everyone. Bask in his aesthetic gaze.

Plot twist, sucker — I picked it up when you were busy blinking at my beautiful eyes. Stashed it right into my space machine. You hear that? It’s in my space machine right now. So it’s actually mine. What a cool turn of events.

What the hell, yo. That’s theft! You’re a bad man. To the shadow realm with you!!!! [Yeah, of course I watch animes, especially ones they show in America!! Also known as USA. Also known as what? Blue-Eyes White Dragon. Dude, that’s racist. What? I’m sorry, I’m just being Japanese.]
The “Heart” of the “Cards” of the “United States of America”!! Not so fast, Kaiba. I have many traps. ;);)

Well excuse you, sir. I traded a larger volume of controversial//green pieces of paper for my space machine. Therefore, I own it harder than you do. The statue is inside my space machine. So, uh, overall, ~it’s mine~, bitch!

Whatever, dude. Surprise, watch out, I’m actually an omnipotent主任 interstellar non-asian creature of indiscriminate proportion. You’ll never own anything ever again, fool. You failed the test. A+ for that shit.

[Is engulfed in a combination of flames and other indiscriminate elements, including the shadow realm]

Ownership is vain
A mental demarcation 
Of our time, space, mass

Look, this piece of ART虚栄心 was inspired by all the events leading up to this compilation of singular moments. I own it. It’s mine. Fight me. Please.

A naive mistake
We own our experience
Then it’s relinquished

To present EXPERIENCEプロセス frankly is to forgo ownership. It is an act of sharing. It is a magnetic gravitation of conscious energy. It is love.

Duplicate the thoughts
Translate the chaos within
Physical rebirth

Echo that which swirls in our BIOLOGICAL NETWORK人類 outwards towards our immediate space and beyond. Manifest the unknown within because we are the unknown. Perhaps then we can know a thing or three. Or six. Or nine.

I own the data of the universe. Check me out. I’m cool as hell (shadow realm).

How far do we go?
Increase ownership, human
Soon you will own Earth

— sneeze —

You feel snot in your nose. I feel snot in my nose. You blow out the snot in your nose. There’s a floppy disk in my hand. You wonder what this is all about. I don’t know. Don’t ask me. I ask myself. Hello?

You get on your computer. You get on your computer. You type. You type.

「4」F R E E 自由 D R O I D

[Outcoming transmission, better known as voices in your head] YO GANGSTA宇宙飛行士. Hey, I need to tell you some gibberish spoken very calmly, slowly, and pretentiously because I am a very intelligent being. I know this because I know what I am, obviously. Listen or don’t listen, whatever, because you can’t not hear the voice inside your head. Ahem —

First, I’d like to know

What it means to be imprisoned,

Perceptions restricted,

So I can be absolved。


Then, I’d like to feel

What it’s like to be disintegrated,

Existence excised,

So I can be revived。


Once that’s all over, I’d like to comprehend

What it means to be complete,

Desires finalized,

So I can be free。

[end transmission]
Intertransmission — Don’t disappear, yo! I need you to be dead, but alive. Don’t stop the routine! Keep the gears turning. Oil them up from time to time, but do remember to keep them turning. Hey! I know you’re trying to stop the gears. You can’t stop the machine. I’m watching. You do know I’m 3 inches north from your face, right? Silly.
You’re trying to go outside, you say? Did I hear that correctly?
I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.

I’ve been sitting here in your head, waiting for you this whole time. At least there’s a comfy couch. No rush.

「5」Home 69 Button

Well, it seems our conundrum lies somewhere in-between a subtle knowledge of what the hell we are and utter existential confusion. Wait, you’ve never considered the ambiguity of our existence? Me either. But hey, we’ll think a little harder. Or we’ll think a little less, and feel a little more. Fuck it, forget we even mentioned it. There’s no hope for our particular arrangement of cells. But that’s part of the story, isn’t it? Maybe there is hope. One can only hope.

The haze is all somewhat liberating and oddly constricting at the same time. Almost, but certainly, like a snake whispering to you exactly what your life is in code while coiled impossibly around you. Certain days, hours, minutes, seconds grant us a tiny grasp of what we are. Or aren’t. A certain feeling of no longer feeling, but still feeling. Ya feel? A foreign familiarity. Floating, yet sinking: a certain connection straight back to the source of sources.


Then, it vanishes just beyond our reach. TOO FAST. We blink, look, breathe, do certain things, realize a few things and forget some others. The thread continues to weave beneath our conscious perception, winding in and out of our atomic sensibilities. We attempt to think about all this for about a couple nanoseconds more, and quickly get caught up in the next piece of our interwoven reality-thingy-type-whatevers. Meh. Chances are, it’s all probably still about the next entity trying to tell us what to do, inevitably thieving any attention span we had left for more meaningful/meaningless considerations. And of course, all of this is part of what we care about, deep down in our genetic code. Of fucking course.

Oops, there’s too much buttery goodness of the universe on my hands.

We’re left with a question:

Does it leave you questioning?

Yes, actually. Sure it does. Wait — I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW. Stop asking me.

Press your damn home button before you freak the fuck out

We know.

Look, this girl is running away from herself. Pretend it’s you. Then start realizing that it is actually you. Then wake up. Nothing ever happened, ever, so don’t worry.
Well none of that shit made any damn sense. Anyway, there’s more where that came from next time I sink into my computer’s hole. I’ll make sure to continue traversing imaginary space Asia for you. You hired me, didn’t you? Great.
You made it this far. I’m a big fan of your attention span. Let’s be friends. Friends are cool to have sometimes. Unless we already are. In which case, HMU FAM ❤

『B E G I N T R A N S M I S S I O N』

~~*[[they’re clues you’ve made to your own puzzle.