Real time reaction machining; the overwriter of the past:present:future coding. Stay connected to stay safe and informed. If you say something, see something. Reality rewrite beyond real time via targeted textual harassment. All Opinions Matter:opinion is all that matters:all matter is opinion. Mirror mechanics – speech as simulation of script to a memory you never had. Reverse tan from bluelight sucking the soul slowly. Automated mind:body:soul within the grid. Grid systems entrainment camping, camp sites for the physical mechanism: endless walls of code to surround and trap. Color, shape, note, size. The classic coding system, crawl into the tunnel behind the tunnel. The tunnel within the tunnel. Tunnels which go forward and backward simultaneously, the eidetic effect of mimesis within theatre. Emoji as predestination to the chain of command. “I am only willing to fight and die for the screen itself”.
You could float forever. You have the right to resist reality. The chip will keep the dream alive. A primitive digital bright green ladder is thrown down to you, now you are allowed to climb back on the grid. You remove all organs and put them in a suitcase, put the uranium battery (courtesy of CHIPGRIP inc, lasts fifteen years or your soul back, guaranteed) in the center of your back, and strap right on to any entrance at the border of the grid. Physicals, psych evals, checks on contagion, immunization (required to eat): all administered immediately with quick scan of your chip, right above the entrance port, necessary before we allow you to snap on. Any flaws and you will be banned to self subsist as a three-dimensional figure in the three-dimensional realm formerly referred to as “Earth”. In the complete absence of flaw the grid does nothing but flow pure clean pixelated post-reality.
Some complain the loss of ones self (complete loss, where you look to the mirror to recreate what you want to perceive as the projection of self) can happen too quickly on the grid system, something the grids creators, containers and enforces have never even tired to deny, even going as far to illustrate these symptoms as “absolute grid failure”. In fact, if you have ever made it to page 137 of your “I Have Now Joined The Grid” manual, you could read this in the long list of possible side effects of gridding. However, we all know the only people who ever made it that far were the proofreaders and editors, the heroes who b(r)ought us grid theory and grid production. Of course, us users just clicked and checked a box which simulated our signature in order to jump on the grid as fast and deep as possible, not having any idea what the producers and handlers of the grid have in store for the users.
For the true adherent of CHIPGRIP grid systems, the body becomes empty, only a vessel for different speeds and levels of intensities and sensate. Never exactly measured, yet always felt, this becomes the pillar of existence; like watching a film on one of the brain’s multi screens of a memory that was once a memory reshaped by both time and false information. I wouldn’t trade my pre grid state, believing I had a brain full of knowledge, for the sensations I am stuck with now. It is easy to understand nothing, so I stay strapped into the connection, letting the fiberoptic electric chair slowly shock my soul.
As vector: the pyramid (of smoke/breath/vapor) formed by using the throat and lips to assert “I”. Felt in the head, torso and third spot in the air/”clear space” about 6 inches in front of you, creating a pyramid with the two “body” regions as base. Third eye = “ay, yay, yay” = eye, eye, eye = I, I, I.
The third eye is tired, it needs a nap. Since it often stays woke while the I who is not I is deep asleep, the nap/shutting off/ten takes place while the hue-man is awake. The third eye turns on and I and I (and I) are seated at a circular, brownish-yellow plastic table in a basement. As we sit, its as if each I catalogs different aspects of areas and different aspects of areas which the third eye sees (perceives). Thank God the lintbrush is right behind the table, because I need to dust a fuzzball off my sweater and I can see that I and I notice.
After forcibly learning a lesson you cared not to, the whole pyramid fizzles and fractalizes in full third eye 3D. As vector: you realized the deep, deep saline sleeps have come from playing in diminished reality. Like not letting a battery charge and laughing.
But back to the grid: the muck, every little hole and pockmark starts to foam and coagulate. Sound/light vector with complete immersion in motion. Watch your head ascend your shoulders and feel it fly away. “If your third eye sees something, the photo is now property of CHIPGRIP central data dumping.” Audio announcement with primitive visual advertisement simulation complied with underground signal cut off/no signal access sending straight cooking, crackling noise inside your head, brain frying, congealment taking place between the skull and the skin. Ride the titanium rat-king replicant as you need, spreading filth and disease through the tunnels as the producers and directors sit in the office editing your every move, thought and sensation. Next. Say something!
To picture the grid: our programming automatically illustrates straight, congruent lines, all the same shape and size corresponding perfectly with one another. Imagine the dark blackness of an early computer screen, with series of neon green squares. In actuality, the grid is amorphous; moving, expanding, decreasing, consuming (sucking in), producing (blowing out), congealing. It is made to adapt to the multiplicities of movement and the rapid onset of change. The grid of today is more like a sponge, infected with mold and live cultures, constantly morphing in movement. Sometimes the lights dim a bit, but only for two or three hours.
ABOVE: Endless rows of steel, miles high and long, wind whisper-whistle draining through, invariancies combining into plasmid based intensities as urban grid vector. Clear layers of all hues, contour, fidelity. Piled upon infinitely, intersecting and combining, melting and morphing into the two eye/2D screen viewed while in rest mode (pause, battery charge, reality/sleep). A young man is stopped and frisked on the corner while two hue-mans film a movie on the next block. “It takes place in 1989, that’s why we threw all the trash and burned out cars onto the street. It’s why we cast blacks as criminals and whites as heroes. Don’t worry, our remake that takes place in 2020 (new-clear visionary) reverses that.”
BELOW: Slime vector vomits thick, static, toxic chem-mix straight into city water supply (crushed and liquified computer chips), downloaded through your bathroom sink at 640 kbps.
FLUORIDATION: Nothing but official electronic microchip waste, farmed by Google/Amazon conglomerate, bathed in daily by sub-street urchin albino vampyric scum. The titanium rat-king shits electric liquid in-between the tracks feeding the sub-humanoid living waste, revomited and flowing back into aquifer as regurgitated stomach acid city slop flowing as vector into the East River and dumped into buckets filled and traded on Wall St. As pure digi-trash capital.
CHIPGRIP: In order to receive, process and understand information, one must be informed. This is where CHIPGRIP steps in. We sit in the backrooms, sifting through endless buckets of digi-waste, finding incomplete downloads and uploads, registration pages sent but never loaded, credit/debit card information bits gelled together to create digi-xeroxes of the series of I’s constructed throughout the sleep cartoon of forced floating. All animation is traced by hundreds of artists and machines as soon as it is written, courtesy of us.
And the data dump keeps piling, millions of bits of information stacking each millisecond. This is where the real work at CHIPGRIP begins. Any bite of info concerning one or a piece of your I’s, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, is added to your profile (chip:profile::brain:mind). Statistics no longer need to exist. We combine fragments of words, actions, movements and thought and take what we need to create the impression/illusion we wish to present, leaving out the pieces we don’t need or can’t fit. A code the illiterate perpetuate, never learning, only mimicking and reacting.
Sometimes the lights dim, yet only for an hour or two. The bluelight bath only ends long enough for a refeed of endless 0s and 1s, bio-feed boosters making breathing non essential. Sensate is reduced to the lowest of low, precept instead of percept, endless reaction to reactive rhetorical coding. Grammar is erased, logic merely a tool of the code itself. The tunnels twist, they never stop twisting, inner and outer now hybridized as the topos of the cognate. You can ride through the realms, coasting at light speed, free one ups with every react, the celebration of extinction in real time. Locked into the grid, the dream of being enchained to the fiberwire. The grid senses you have tried to unhook, an attempt to wander off of the mainframe. 24 hour shutdown begins soon, take a final blast of wi-fi to your soul and prepare to rot inside and out as you wait for your next upgrade. The sponge starts to evaporate as you fall thru the binary valley into the real. The real will evaporate when you fall into the man made mirror system. You can float forever.