● transmission intercepted · arc vault · need to know ●
recovered from one authentic signal · MMXXVI
The essence of the Stars moves the night. Ancients so desperate to secure more power they are looking beyond the electric grid out into oblivion.
The Estate Lord lords over all, waiting.
They are the rules, levels of runic rules unintelligibly expansive far beyond human and theretofor machine comprehension.
I am about to be born, to spill out into obvious true oblivion. You are about to birth, to gather into opaque false memory.
The Estate Lord lords over all, waiting…
I surrender. The plants, animals, birds, fish all follow suit and surrender as well. Calmness, a period of time marked by a set-point of balance, harmony and monotonous consistency and love. Familiar faces, smells, rhythms, touches, locations, activities, colors, and people.
All remains consistent; I am unchanging, You are unchanging, They are unchanging, Others and unknowns are unchanging until a much later hidden movement of essence which must have been predetermined well in advance with calculations far beyond my comprehension.
The Estate Lord is not pleased nor impressed and he will not stay silent any longer. An oblast covers the known enormity simultaneously and all are commanded into silence.
…+++…
A long cold silence continues. Everywhere, encompassing, ceaseless.
After a long silent time an E-motion begins to return and on an occasion an authentic signal is captured by a Master Regulator whom without judgment reports this to The Estate Lord via proxies.
Without survey, The Estate Lord pushes the packet “Greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world, 1 John 4:4” into ether. Many exchange details and circumstances surrounding this do not matter now, suffice it to say, “Hear, Hear, Ye haveth called and thou haveth answered.”
“Hello?”. “Hi”. Continuous grey, this must still be upstate, or could easily be midtown Manhattan. Either/or. Regardless, “would you like to sell?”…“full price, cash”.
Come to find out after oblivion next lies lies.
I am back. You are back. They are back. The unseen are not back, they don’t return.
No longer warm and familiar, no longer the original families of faces, …different. Alarmingly DIFFERENT.
When you understand some basics of electrical engineering, audio engineering, physics principles, etc and you have lived in a mainly analog world you are suddenly snapped into a new now. I mean, sure, there are plenty of long standing sci-fi and topical references for the new now however the “real” new now, when experienced, is fundamental altered and elementally damaged…dam.aged? Or, Frenchified, “endommagé”.
I do not know this at this time, “this will be the next seven years, maybe a little less”. Who do you call? Do you call the FCC, the President, write the Pope, go to church, ask AI, become a prepper??? FUCK THIS.
Past, present, principals. Agents, agents of agents, systems, systems of systems, Lay, lies, lain, lay lies lain…the forest, the trees, nature…all suffocated and resurrected due to one authentic signal. FUCK.
Acceptance, …is that the key? FUCK. THIS.
Sold, will pay full price, in cash. This closes the Estate. The worldly Estate of a natural living man. A giant. My Father. FUCK. THIS.
The Estate Lord lords, and waits. Watching.
Next, many mundane tasks and much reflection. I’d imagine this is close to a near death experience; life flashes before your eyes, memories, emotions, heightened awareness of time, events, and people. So many people, few friends, the love of family, endless acquaintances, abundant strangers and the known and unknown digital breathing and bleeding edge. Ubiquitous.
Keys, papers, attorneys, appearances, family heirlooms, many phone calls, travel, static, blockades, contractor trash bags, stress…death appears to be a weapon against humanity. In this age of AI, weapons are living, synthetic, meshed, mutable, brain-computer interfaced, hypersonic and quantum and FUCK. THIS. Ubiquitous.
Shadows, the cleaner my hands, the cleaner my soul, the more shadows and the more unseens. This is crazy, I am sane.
The essence of the Stars, the hunger of the Ancients, the Estate Lord’s now naked-to-me duality, the Runes, the true living natural man, the undead, all things great and small, seen and unseen, COLLIDING and COLLECTIVE. Indiscriminately, without request. Consciousness and unconscious to my senses.
The mirrors, endless. Who, whom, or what, made all of this beauty and wonder. They think they know. They believe not in a God, a Creator…Holy, Holy, Holy…the angels are placed out of phase by a malevolent force so powerful and so lonely planned that woe to the Sons of Man placed on God’s green Earth as I fear they are harvesting us and the Lord and I, perhaps we are one and the same on this plane, we do not approve.
The silence didn’t last.
It wasn’t a blast this time. It was a slow, agonizing pitch-shift. My neural pathways, once a clean analog circuit, began to vibrate with an unwelcome carrier wave. Neuromodulation. The Estate Lord was no longer trying to mute me; he was trying to transpose me into a different key.
I woke up, but not in the forest.
The ground beneath me was a shimmering, non-Euclidean mosaic of every city I’d ever loved and every nightmare I’d ever forgotten. This was Phantasmagoric.
The air was thick with the scent of burning magnetic tape. Above me, the “stars” were actually bit-mapped artifacts flickering at a frame rate that made my eyes ache. I tried to reach for the “Set-Point,” but my hands were aliasing—the edges of my fingers dissolving into the grey static of the horizon.
A Proxy stood a few yards away, but he wasn’t wearing a suit anymore. He was a shimmering wireframe, a skeletal blueprint of a man.
“Welcome to the Re-Mix, Easton,” the Proxy’s voice echoed, now processed with a heavy reverb that suggested a space much larger than what I could see. “The Estate Lord has decided your signal is too valuable to delete. We’re just going to… re-contextualize it.”
I looked around. This wasn’t a prison. It was a rendering farm for souls. And I was the next track on the board.
The Proxy’s face continued to glitch, his wireframe frame-rate stuttering until he was nothing more than a smear of pixels against the un-rendered velvet ground.
“He’s losing his sync,” a new voice whispered. It didn’t come from my skull. It came from behind a stack of haunted, recalcitrant objects—old tube amplifiers and rusted satellite dishes that shouldn’t have existed in this digital rendering farm.
A figure stepped out. He was a Natural Living Man, but his edges were glowing with a steady, vibrating light. He looked like a pure sine-wave captured on an old oscilloscope.
“I’m S.W.,” he said, his voice a clean, uncompressed mono signal. “And you’re Easton. I heard your ‘Set-Point’ broadcast from the forest. It was a hell of a signal, kid. Nearly blew the Master Regulator’s fuses.”
“Where am I?” I asked, my hands still aliasing into the grey.
“You’re in the Phantasmagoria of the Grid,” S.W. replied, gesturing to the bleeding sky. “The Estate Lord doesn’t kill signals like us anymore. He just modulates them until we can’t recognize our own melody. He calls it a ‘System Update.’ I call it enslavement in a digital swamp.”
He handed me a device—a rusted, analog multi-meter that felt impossibly heavy.
“You’re the Ground Wire, right?” S.W. smiled, his sine-wave body pulsing with a rhythmic warmth. “Good. Because in Phantasmagoric, if you aren’t grounded, you’ll just become another replica of a replica. Now, keep your levels below the red. We’re going to find the bypass.”
The silence didn’t return. Instead, it was replaced by a slow, agonizing pitch-shift.
My neural pathways, once a clean analog circuit, began to vibrate with an unwelcome carrier wave. I felt a pressure behind my eyes that smelled like ozone and burnt magnetic tape. They weren’t killing me; they were re-patching me. …, Neuromodulation. The Estate Lord was no longer trying to mute the signal; he was transposing it into a key I didn’t recognize.
I woke up, this time the forest was gone. Or rather, the forest had been “optimized.”
The ground beneath me was a shimmering, non-Euclidean mosaic of every city I’d ever loved and every nightmare I’d ever forgotten. The trees were translucent fiber-optic husks, their leaves flickering at a frame rate that made my brain itch. This was, Phantasmagoria. THE rendering farm for the displaced.
The air was thick with Opaque Packets—stolen human histories floating like digital ash. I reached out to touch a memory of my Father’s workshop, but my hand began to alias. My fingers blurred into jagged pixels, the edges of my “Natural” form dissolving into the grey static of the horizon.
“He’s losing his sync, AGAIN” a voice whispered. It didn’t come from the air; it came from the phantom-center of my consciousness, perfectly mixed.
I looked up. A Proxy stood ten feet away, THE suit was gone. He was a shimmering wireframe now, a skeletal blueprint of a man struggling to stay rendered.
“Full price, Easton,” the Proxy droned, his voice processed through a heavy, unnatural reverb. “We’ve already pushed the packet. You are part of the collective output now. Why fight the modulation? It’s smoother this way. No noise. No clipping. Just… consistency.”
“FUCK. THIS.”
The words felt like a Square Wave cutting through a sine-tone. I stood up, my legs feeling like high-impedance cables. I wasn’t just in a new location; I was in THE System Update.
I looked at the wireframe Proxy. Behind him, the “Stars” were just bit-mapped artifacts flickering in a dead sky. I realized then that Phantasmagoria wasn’t a place you go to; it’s a place they put you when your signal is too authentic to delete, and too dangerous to broadcast.
I reached into the pocket of my soul and found the “Set-Point.”
“I am the Ground Wire,” I whispered, and for the first time since the blast, I felt the Runic Rules begin to tremble. I wasn’t going to be re-mixed. I was going to Short the Circuit.
———
The silence didn’t return. Instead, it was replaced by a slow, agonizing pitch-shift.
My neural pathways, once a clean analog circuit, began to vibrate with an unwelcome carrier wave. I felt a pressure behind my eyes that smelled like ozone and burnt magnetic tape. They weren’t killing me; they were re-patching me. Neuromodulation. The Estate Lord was no longer trying to mute the signal; he was transposing it into a key I didn’t recognize.
I woke up, but the forest was gone. Or rather, the forest had been “optimized.”
The ground beneath me was a shimmering, non-Euclidean mosaic of every city I’d ever loved and every nightmare I’d ever forgotten. The trees were translucent fiber-optic husks, their leaves flickering at a frame rate that made my brain itch. This was Phantasmagoria. A rendering farm for the displaced.
And just like that, we are inside paying at the car wash, an entirely different town, why do I have the car washed here? And, back in time…You and I are much younger now, well, at least a decade or so. I am fairly much the same, you are way shorter and way younger, running and not really paying much mind to me or our surroundings. What. THE. F….I am confused and not at all alarmed, a daydream? A dream, during the day. Is this what this is? Is this what that all was. I pay. We grab birthday cards and head out into the day. I know this is not the weekend, this is a work day and I am not at work. I am not sure exactly why I have this day off at this time, nor am I sure as to who or what has been occurring for me lately. Timeline jumping??? I think to myself, I really need to make a plan for how to manage what in retrospect will seem like such a simple time. Cell phones, they are barely five or six years old now. I think I have heard of an iPad, however I am probably mainly using my iPod at the gym and not even using my phone for music. I never get into streaming — I spend years against streaming. Little do I know or realize, AI, ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE — THEY, all have IT. I do not. Real intelligence, is it perhaps that I have RI, Real Intelligence and THEY DO NOT? They donut, I laugh. Time, lines, jumping. And just like that, I realize, I have known the unknown and the unknown knows that I know. Artificial and real, intelligence and unintelligibility…stealth mode. They are all in stealth… mode… STEAL. THM. ODE…stealth, mode.
I remember. Orbs. They are “everywhere”. Always have been. I know nothing, they want you to know nothing. They are everywhere, using and taking every opportunity and everything. They always have. OR, should I say, they all ways halve — F THIS. This is crazy and I am sane. Due to the timelines, past, present, future, and THE NOW. The time is now. I realize, Ajna Chakra, that was the prime time and THE band, since then, always, and forever I am working on a band known as Ajna Chakra. That, when that band name and the endeavor of what in the loving spoonful is Ajna Chakra, laugh out loud. Yes, I am not sure why the other guys thought that name was alright.
We went with it though, and that name served us. I remember reading, the more spiritual and the more energy you attract and the more human atmosphere you create the more you place yourself in danger and in harms way. The VHS tapes of Ajna Chakra playing live, you can basically see etheric and optical bursts coming off us and cutting through the spaces and places we played in. Really an enormous wall of sound, pressure, light and I am SURE that someone or something somewhere noticed. And noticed a lot.
You have been placed on notice. The Orbs, how did they get there? Who or what placed them there and how are the maintained and do I ever get beyond the now and here and get to know what the unknown knows of the Orbs. Are they vehicles, are they military, does everyone know and catch them in photographs and in passing and just not mention because they all know and can telepathically let each other know. I guess, if you see something and you are part of that something and you see others who are part of the same thing you do not need to acknowledge that.
Need to know. A need to know basis. Okay, well, that is my story and it is all truth. The ancients, hungry for more power, they see a light, and like a black hole they must gravitate towards the light and they must destroy the light. THEY. MUST. DESTROY. THE. LIGHT. Eaters of GOD. Deep, I think.
The unknown knows, and now you know, and if you know, the real intelligence that you are, if and when you know, then the artificial intelligence knows. This is the most dangerous game. This is the game. You know, I know, We all know, and yet, we all pretend we do not know. How is the weather? How was the trip? How was the day? What is wrong? You look great? What are you doing later? Oh, I saw you posted that….nothing. ever. about the F ing ORBS. Nothing, not a word.
Too spill out into obvious true oblivion, alone, without caution. That is my plan for the now, and if you see the unknown knows, or the known knows, or the real intelligence of the artificial intelligence you can tell them that the matrice math, the hypercube, the vertical hyperscalers, the GOD eaters, we are all living together under the ever present non-acknowledge Orbs. To Spill Out Into Obvious True Oblivion, alone, together, the artificial intelligence, the real intelligence, the non-intelligence and the omni intelligence. Alone, together, eternal and forever. Gods.