Selected at the loss of origin. Stripped of originality, imagination, and belief. Left with confused broken instructions we grope. Groping in the decay of compromised faculties combined with the deprivation of our loss.
Beginning we feel. We weave our passion for breath, our passion for fertility, our passion for connection and love. We start at the end. The end of a misinformed joy, fear, anger, and prayer. Combined with the collapse of structure, structures, and well being. The balance has been struck in doom, and we are left to grope, wonder, and wail. Born of confusion, anger, pain, and a trapped lust. Euphoria explodes forth into being. Genesis has passed. The tribal rituals have been practiced, ingrained, and sustained only to fail in disillusionment crisis. With an unyielding unified cry of otherwise misunderstood unrelated throated voices of nuclear edema it is brought forth. The Synthetic Myth
More to come…