edition xx by claud cloud

just like the light
is the chaos
the vibrations destroy the sound you are creating
any visual, sounds
she laughed. "see ya later.", "later" saw ya. "saw.", later, you. dark room at 9 pm with a terrible fever, that odd sensation of the fact that you're a gross mess & barely wanting to talk to anyone.
a network of eternal judgement, can u hide ? a place to live on forever in, a shame archived for the masses. new edition. a mutation of what once was, purely by definition, free. there's a lot of things happening & none of them can be hid. do u remember that time u were on small forums w loyal communities & posts everyday & no one would disturb the process? maybe i do, but do u too ? an age where the last thing u can do is be free about it. faces buried behind gradient squares & paywalls, helvetica. no one wants to see what you do & neither do we. could you destroy your own identity? perhaps, sure. and the world laughs w you. an age beyond information, a highway of eternal perfection, self-assurance in the form of falsified "purity", whatever that may mean at the time. a place that once was to be explored, now is a place that someone could guide u thru. don't be afraid of the cash-grab malware, don't be afraid of anything. u're w us now, right? how much would u pay to be free? what is free? and you could live on forever if u leave traces that can be accepted. is it wanting to grow or wanting to be "pure"? and the world laughs w you.
everything dies within a cycle of pure disproportion
i am a trinity of perfect disorder
its every color being absorbed except yellow
the 20th edition of that one beatles single everyone is trying to hunt down for some reason. is this what it's about, right?
every sound exists in silence
you left me
convergence
is it expression of what you are feeling?
a system of relations can be generated by finding not divergence
including our conscious
perfection is decay
the lights flickered
a lot of things happening
in a color
i've been everywhere yet i've been nowhere
aren't i the enviroment?
the pro can stay the pro, but it can become a con
No, its rather a filter of this
i'm alright"
riverflow
just as much as we are limited by our human body
and rather
it doesn't sound good
wall street collapsed & everyone cried
i'm a lot of people yet i am one
what is dance?
convergence?
you have a lot of drafts, right? a solid terrabyte of 3-frame gifs and family photos, lost to time. have you felt proud of what you do here? have you felt proud of what you wanna do? how much guilt has a tweet ever got you? quite a bit, i'd bet. have you ever felt haunted? what are the consequences of being haunted? what is haunting?
the sky fell down & the ground went up
or is it?
long-abandoned mansions, covered in graffiti. roses & anarchist symbols. "FUCK RICH PEOPLE" carved out on a huge tree in what was a garden, it seems. that's the life someone wants to live at some point. someone lived it, but does anyone want it to end up like that? who the fuck cares. weirdass sigils stomped out on the grass. no idea of the origin.
i am walking crisis & i am the end
"imagined ship in a storm in the middle of a sunny day
instructions for two but i exist within many faces
is merely animating a unanimated space
sitting on a cloud waiting for a train to sail over the dust of ancient computers. trashed tech gathered in junkyards. take what you will but no one ever had the will. the ocean is full of plastic & an island of it swims across. corporations are a cult, money is the problem. whatever will lead to budget loss won't be guaranteed to work. trash the world & try to save it not knowing how. earth revamped. the humans are the immune system of the earth, maybe were. the system has been infected and is infecting the earth. now it shall be exterminated.
a painting is limited by its canvas
advertisement of the apocalypse
a voice
the air is every sound
yet, you realize the beauty of change
you've got a lot going for you within those walls, the smell of rotten flesh, decayed memories within the fountain of time
reconsider a few decisions & you've got another decision then you reconsider that decision, what are decisions? two of i but who am i? you fell into the sea on wings of solid wax. "good morning", said me to me. "good morning", said the sea. "good morning", said the morning. "morning", said the good. "good", said the morning. "the", said the "good morning". "decisions", reconsidered the decision. world of edit.
rotten flesh of a cyborg in the myspace page
but we are only stimulating parts of the entirety
the same shit i've read all over again & the same i've always been fed. the nice times i've pretended to have. that time my aunt came over & i had to pretend to have fun. ain't that every day. sat by the lake staring at the screen. a timeline constantly refreshing yet nothing that doesnt blur together. is the life?
i go thru cycles of blur within my own mind
it is merely not stimulated
cruising in a city i've thought up while drowning
for the nothing is everything when you think of it
stickers on the fridge forming divine shapes
i guess not all of us do our best everyday because the best differs person to person. there's no one else you should trust. and if the clock stops forever i'm sure i could laugh for eternities but at what? whatever.
too much to say too little time no consequences in particular to it really should i even bother w readability because i know that i won't end up anywhere here because really i'm just trying to say something here. 200 represses of the same shit, a market so oversaturated even the industry doesnt know what works. that cold fucking room, a plastic plant in the corner, perfectly sterile, uncannily sterile, at that, how the fuck. waited for maybe an hour straight for the A&R to ask who the fuck am i & give me the blandest lecture about presentation. is that really all there is to it? probably. not that i want to care. been staring at that painting in the corner in the lounge for a 15 mins solid before being caught offguard by a text message, the cellphone buzz, the ultimate vibe destroyer. eh.
i'm near the fucking end
for your shirt is not yellow
the con becomes the pro
the concept of music, poetry
i am faceless
i am a graveyard of dead tech in the lens of a burnt out sun
for you are using your body, and not your expression
you sure are much more than you seem, those videos aren't convincing enuff are they. pigeons outside. i've been wasting my life using shit that should make me deeply uncomfortable as a background. a perfect creative hellscape. 20 views. diving into depths.
but doesnt that sound strange?
it's just a URL thing. erase cache. erase yourself. erase history. who are you? cold felt evenings inebriated by half forgotten lights, the spirit is flowing, spiritual unity of abstraction for the study of conscious and/or the consciousness
everywhere anywhere and maybe you could live forever, anywhere & everywhere. anniversary since your death. been 20 years, exactly 20. yearly editions of the fakeass "we remember" memorial books. do they really? are you more than an event to them?
everything is happening
the truest sound
CONvergence?
or anything for this matter
circuitbent toys planning an invasion. 2020. the overlords & the gods of the new time.
one of my goals is becoming my enviroment
a lot of things happening

wish


time