Stream(s) of Consciousness

The streets were paved with dog piss. Filthy from years of unconscious cognitive excretion. The populace was slain by Oprah Winfrey and metaphysics, peoples corporeal obsessions leisurely sedating their sentience. The poets who rejected artificial reality were crucified by the Pilot’s of contemporary appointment; nothing was archived, nothing was spared. The philosophers who condemned the media were set to burn on stakes Judicial and Executive; the fire’s searing tongue tested their faith, the engulfing serenity that is Death wrapping fingers around their throats, claiming their fact, condemning their theory, enforcing his creed.


My voyage through time was refreshingly swift, depositing me somewhere betwixt archaic professionalism and SNES games. The bit rate of my elephants encephalon was comparable to that of a Gameboy, acutely illustrating my own rational dilapidation. I am writing to you this in the furious, unconditional ecstasy of non-existence. I am in a place where time is but a breeze; tickling your senses with irrelevant and trivial value. My thoughts are animated by not Sigmund and Albert, but by chocolate and trampolines. Nonsensical monologue is easy for the infinite to fathom; the ones who have tasted the sunrise; those who have framed and constructed the fabric of conceptual and practical reality. We, who in our limitless knowledge of continuation, have shaped the ability to perceive and understand; there is no room for misconstruction, no matter what vindication you seem to have found. Yes, the limitless creators made sure to limit their precious cherubs.

Any feedback/criticism is greatly appreciated.

This is just a suggestion, but I suggest that you move this to either the General Writing or the Short Story Sharing sections.