I refuse to watch the screen tell me who I am through the mouth of an image. Whose voice do they speak with? Who are these people? What is this fucking screen, and why is it everywhere?
Is there a haven from rapid eye cut chopshop video superfeed twitter bomb?
Video, video, you liar you. How many frames per second? How many separate images build these two-dimensional lies?
I hate the endless chitter in my ears and eyes. Everywhere, like a hologram of life, assault on my sovereign temple.
Images I call you by a true name, I call you Glyph. Coal and spit or piss or blood or something else you have will do to mix and make the paint. From the paint the mind comes out and speaks beyond you. This illumination this light this consciousness goes beyond you and it lives.
It lives on now scratched in electric lightening ones and zeros on (dirt)(silicone)(stones)(microchips), but super fastfastfast chitter. Eyes with light boxes in their reflections, reflections on metal and (clear-metal)(glass) and
WHOSE VOICE IS THIS?
I see you.