“Intimaticom subscription deficit” — this is the 10th time; permanently severing our 4th luvluzt chain — our emotions left to whip around like an endless gif of a downed power line. The idea of being on shame boards again with another deadbeater/“fuct-badge” is simply too much. Don’t think we’ll be able to handle starting over with a pillory and a suspended avatar license, dim web or otherwise. No limit to depressing prospects it seems. And the recent passing of the practicable cloned likenesses act has serious ramifications for practicable suicide. (“Even the dead won’t be safe.”)


Outside another platform on a hardware curb, stuffing the equivalent of 16 bit cheese puffs into our bluebox-level maw. ᗡO⅁ only knows the state of our binarteries — prolog stroke likely — get ready to mummy stare at a single traffic light through erlang goggles for eternity. “Sir, your trepan is dripping goo.” 

Maybe go back to friction mining for the call.of.looty, grand.effed.automaton militias — not that there’s any terrestrial snail markets left to tumbleweed or flagboi hqs to drone. 


“Comments locked.” Oh the good ol’ days of rerouting corporate compliance from actual fiber optic marionette strings. Stains of comment pattern density fading. A shadowbot/palimpsest paling outside the apple orchard; “good luck hacking back you pwned fruit-ghost (nice fuct badge too).” 

A single viral unit within the filaments of a boundless North Hollywood condo carpet application. Disgusting doesn’t begin to describe what we’ve seen.