by my IP address.
digital reincarnation renders one quite unrecognizable from fleshy whence-we-came, the speed of discard and re-habitation for purposes of mental outsourcing steal karmic hands from the universe-dealer now demoted to barkeep, thumb-twiddler what with reverence being ol' fashion n'all. 01101100 01100001 01110111 don't apply 'cept i makes it. we's all bandits, ain't none friends seein' how's all up for conquerin' tuh them there fellers with the dern biggest external hard drive.
showdown bang! mass hack-icide, none left alive.
identity clotheshorse-thief, who are your neighbors on such a scattered frontier? this dimension designs itself for immortality, your friends numbered voyeurs: shifty-eyed protectionist faux-lebrities with guns in their boots. remember turning the earth, the heat of the sun, the taste of another, pre-pixilation underived; obsolescence from a time before we all died and didn't notice.
the universe polishes another glass, pours a tumbler of what's passin' for drink nowadays, and sighs as the hazy RGB ghost sloshes the fermented ale of dead blogs down its gullett, 01100110011011110110000101101101 stuck to its .giff face, 56% loaded and moving jerkily. yet since all's free now, the ghost don' like to pay none and leaves only a virus on the bar, much to the instantaneous likes of the other wasteland patrons.
one too many times, thinks the universe. time, he thinks, reaching underneath the bar for the muslin-wrapped weight of the dull and ancient knife, swiftly gliding it across his throat and blinking the desolate blackness out, taking all but silence, compressing it all back into the smallest infinite mass, heavy beyond measure.
