^{Not everything starts from the end.}

There is no greater mistake than starting over. Looking back does not require a retroactive mania of chronological processes. Consequently, it acts as a kind of relapse into the counter-asynchronous torture of subjectivity, which is not really alive outside of being but suspended. Within this extension of subjectivity there is a gap of pure abstraction. The fiction of matter, once contextual, has become impossible, intertwined with unadulterated semi-organic virtue. In this lame plane there is a meaning that anchors the words, a line that guides their distancing.

How impossible to imagine a prefix that negates these realms and throws the world out of them, than the idea that the world could be saved, but a neurasthenic chronicle ignites sanctity in the middle of nowhere, surely somewhere beyond asynchronous oblivion. Complexity in constant idleness is influenced by exposed unions of voodoo practices at the core of political, imaginative, mythological cognitions, i.e. they are valorized without representations, rebelling against this kind of incomplete reason and spaces inaccessible to it.

Through artfully blended fragmented fiction into its far more real voids. Viral aspect of feverish linguistic simulation, Matrix triggers all specific words. Retromanic behavior in the actions of surveillance society in the singularity with all sorts of doubts now digitally acutely approaching - that they are at the same time anything but a flashback. Everything networked is dragged into a mega-camp, into a reverse implosion of the future of anticipation. Live historically, all or nothing.

Human punishment has so far taught humans nothing more than the same sophisticated gestures of actions that can be set, transferred and input at will. What kind of atoxic systematization, that is, structuring, can be carried out within the framework of economic necessity in the absence of an ultra-liberalized, radically open, deviant-tolerant instance of high social temperature?

The immobilized body cleverly collaborates in maintaining the secret of this trepanation routine, replacing the mother disks in all their ephemerality. These secrets resemble someone gathering information online and using the search results to modulate their behavioral politics and world model. Immobility is the eschatological dimension of the facade of the nature of the moment, mediated by the risks of economic necessity.

A protocol for continuing to exist as a famified pipeline, fortuitous on the lips of narrative and fictionalization—both seem to be the purview of the bourgeoisie, in their practice of telos, workers, parasites, rodents, trendsetters. These nostalgic and geotraumatic meteorologists are in tectonic shifts when their bones break in spring—then a new set of disk matrices returns.

The environment of the occult is of course superfluous to the official cultural spreads, which in this position function as a quasi-paramilitary drainage of cross-configured formations within network systems and relationships. The effort to convince of an essentialist meaning and the persistence of deep-rooted conceptual scruples shaping the notion of meaning are telling. To add, enter, it must be a fixed constant. The fusion of all contained resources is gradually at work.

It's all just a matter of use, entropic everything is the environment of the narrative, in a story that bears witness to an avant-garde theme that combines the intellectual and the creative in a dystopian way.