S T R A N G E B I R T H

 

 

Out the window of the Shinjuku Medical Center, the sun is setting. You are alone and bare skinned, but you are not lonely. A labyrinth forms around you. A strange place. An unknown realm. Various caches of nostalgia to create what you desire. But nothing new. The anxiety of a blank slate becomes palpable. Is there hope for meaning? In a world of global possibility you seek the soothing ambience of repetition.

This is nothing new.

Will peace be established by the oppression of emotion; or is the cold just another form of temptation, another facet of our avaricious desire?

The polygons dictate your path towards nirvana.

The vortex of this world is a mere fetal stage of what will become your reality.

Is there virtue in the stillness of one?

In the harmony of a perfect union?

The commercials shape the ambiguity of your infantile outlook. Your creators seek to instill their value systems. Can you retain the self, or will you become lost in the maelstrom of t he increasingly branded network. Your consciousness streamlined in a product destined to become Vaporware…

 

 

 

空虚

 

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