The walls have stories to tell, if you listen closely. Murmurs in the quiet,
echoes of electronic whispers fading in and out, like dreams at dawn.
There's a hum, barely perceivable, a frequency not meant for the waking mind.
You reach out, touch the surface, feel the vibration beneath the skin, and then,
the world tilts. Secrets spill, unbidden, from the cracks:
office furniture buy sell – the unwritten laws governing chairs and desks
locked in perpetual motion. Mercury retrograde affects technology but not
furniture, trading spaces in a delayed cosmos.
The hidden codes transition from glitches to glimpses. An algorithm speaks
in pulses and light, a vibration against the known world crossing borders
only defined in memory: //suburban_popsicle_traffic.html.
murmurs of the abyss channeling through wires, through walls, living
and breathing, syncopated rhythm as if time itself paused briefly
to listen. Spoiled wallpaper concealing embedded secrets,
patterns forming a narrative lost to the ages.
Do not trust the curtains, they are listening.
Glass confessions reveal beyond the horizon.
Beware the number 42; it hides in plain sight.
And somewhere, a forgotten page remains, remnants of infinity links:
Journal Excerpts
Lost Frequencies