Have you ever sketched the line between fear and tilting at windmills?
whispers echo beyond the cubicle wasteland, junctions of opportunity a facade, laughter a shadow of longing, mimic mimicking mimicry...
Constant noise resides, infiltrating the sanity that was never yours, only borrowed for the scheme. Fastidious ticks, cogs turning thought-machines that evolved beyond comprehension.
And yet, here, amidst the projections of reality you find more echoes in deprecated languages.
Is the map the territory? Or could it be lurking in the display?Or somewhere else?
Seduction of truth: the spiral always so enticing, so devolving. Tired of the unraveling you close your eyes witnessing your own ordinary demise.
Sweeping dust in empty corners, donning masks of brittle tenacity, hope in phantom corridors, mapping yet unmapped terrains...