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    Art of Trans(c)e

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    As always, searching for the perfect day, the perfect weather, the perfect description of the state of the world, the perfect being for the perfect relationship, the perfect words, from which snake skins and longings crystallize, a reality is stamped into the present, the most diverse storylines find themselves in a prose that floats, impatient for success, rosy-colored, how one should allow the one who mines it from the depths of his consciousness without trying to understand every nuance to take the many steps, it is perplexing to be me.


    You wake up and think about the

    Expose the future

    in which the technological singularity has created the nonreality that feeds the entire work. It suits you not to have to compromise, the nature of time and the nature of space and new dimensions in between, respectful complex structures of absurd imagination that lead ever higher, to the pinnacle of what could ever be conceived or created. 


    You stretch and stretch, you hardly recognize yourself, you want to be like a girl as quickly as possible, you think of the young gentleman you drove home with, to his impressive loft, you also realize that your parents have put you on standby, in this skeptical attempt, this test mode as an eternal waiting loop. 


    Too much alcohol makes

    Male tails

    sluggishly, you lick around a bit, it's fun to see your own greed reflected in the other, to encourage it, to ignite it. He can't penetrate your ass, the closing reflex of your rectum is very pronounced, as is the case with many who were born with fear. And this one hasn't been trained for quite some time.

    You switch around a bit, but you are definitely more interested in the girl role. Are there any in-depth surveys and studies on preferences in the multisexual worlds? What does science say about some of the almost absurd imprints?

     
    But whatever it is, the party of his existence is always a gathering place for weirdos. He is constantly on his toes, perhaps even frightened. But then you have to examine the endless carelessness that was the basis of that, and to this day his otherness does not seem to follow a standard pattern.


    The need to found another of the despised religions is self-evident. Let the fool have free rein. But what is still unsaid? Even Discordianism has already been invented.

    THEN IT'S BETTER TO INFUSE SODOM AND TEACH PEOPLE TO GET RELEASED FROM THE SYSTEM AND HELP TO CREATE IT ANE. DESTINY IS AT BEST A LITTLE BIT OF ATHEISTIC EPIGENETIC IN FAVORABLE SOCIAL CONSTELLATIONS. 


    But then, but then, the

    FAKE MESCALINE

    to work. You recognize yourself as an almond bread tree in a fractal community of self-similarities. All the synergies and miraculous coincidences, guys, all these things happen in a magical-mystical overworld, you are completely sober when you pull your Arabian Nights rosette from your lover, slip into your biocotton, excited by the fibrous smartlight shadows that influence you colorfully.

    Everything here is very minimalistic apart from that; in about eight or nine months you'll be out of here, the cocoon will no longer be necessary, your mother's ashes will be scattered in the sea.

    The fine blade of horror does not give the taboos a break. Nothing is happening on the dating portals and messengers this morning, but diving deep is already a skillful way of living.


    The mescaline takes effect weeks in advance and these are the real secrets of life that we seek to create reality embedded in a compromise of illusion, reassuring each other that we are not alone in the megaverse. We can adjust our internal networks, we are self-programming entities. Transhumanism is all well and good, but

    TRANSREALITY

    that's what makes it really fun.

    And it's not for nothing that he falls asleep during Expanse, a delicate attempt, but again one that only projects today into tomorrow, better than many others perhaps, which in turn is threatened by the banal action. Like many things, crammed into time, only necessary to be able to assess the market and the competition. 


    His current mirror woman is celebrating her birthday today, he ejaculates with moderate joy when he thinks about all the potential of this relationship. And he loves his deromanticized polypragmatics, his beach self-sufficiency.

    AN AUTHOR AND TUTOR AND A FAG, THE HOLY TRINITY. SLOWLY THE SUN RISES, A MISTY SLUT. DRAINED LIGHT FLOODS THE OFFICE HOME.

    WE ARE STAR CHILDREN FLEEING FROM THE BANAL; SINCE THE BEGINNING, LIFE HAS WANTED TO CREATE AND SHAPE ITSELF, TOWARDS CONSCIOUSNESS, THE COSMIC GAME.

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