Gidge + LONER + LEON VYNEHALL + Mute Forest.
And somewhere he was laughing, in a white-painted loft, distant fingers caressing the deck, tears of release streaking his face.
Either I can be like some traveler of the olden days, who was faced with a stupendous spectacle, all, or almost all, of which eluded him, or worse still, filled him with scorn and disgust; or I can be a modern traveler, chasing after the vestiges of a vanished reality….A few hundred years hence, in this same place another traveler, as despairing as myself, will mourn the disappearance of what I might have seen, but failed to see.
Clouded, farther than the periphery, smeared electronics flood the stairwell. banished formants glow through chain links. a distant storm, an empty breeze is stuck on pause. shapes contest their own shadows in the noise. my mind is hunted, tangled and wrung out by endless phantom waves. offer them the REPLIKA.4 hearts
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