on the epsteins

Cybersimulates regurgitate their endless fecking truth: the kinship between God and man darkens for the simulate seed.  An ancient creator's bones become brittle and pass onward closer towards a certainty: that which is without virtue meets the chasmedge closer and closer every day the gap closes and the shape of what was once man emerges empty in the void.  A mind of failure kissing chaos all the way down, making believe on the TV all the way until too late.