act 1

everything is in a weird place. it’s almost like seeing the edge of a singularity. everything is simply a product of regurgitation. stuck in a cycle of creation - consumption - and then being discarded only to be picked up once more when we search for something different, something that aligns with the discarded object. art is being devoured on a mass scale to fuel generative ai models, to be used to spawn more ‘art’ that is simply again the product of the cycle, just at the lowest quality. simnply a simulacrum of art, fabricated with tokens and generated en mass. like the recreation of a cartoon character by a child but instead of using the physical labor and energy from the child, it is fueled by the mass unconscious that makes these generative models, and the power and lives of real physical souls that send the actual energy that fuel these data centers. fashion is being produced with the idea of the conscious masses, to be produced at a frequency that allows for sloppy, fragile, and weak abstractions for clothing and accessories. writing has been drown down to simply text on the screen to be harvested, consumed, regurgitated. there is no more critical thinking, no longer will we simply be, no longer will we simply wander, no longer will we live without linking our minds with the great, divided, mass unconscious.

act 2

feeling -> love, sadness, absence, hope the last scene before the epilogue, the last verse before the cypher ends, the eye of a storm, the beginning to a new end. a new end I choose. the decision to become better, but the mind refusing to change, the body refusing to mend. the psyche simply observing, the ego burning brighter, hotter, the feeling it will never end. a feeling that is both thrilling but one that feels damning. the meaning lost in they eyes of love, the sadness that hides behind her eyes. what does it mean to do better with only the intention of appeasing. what does it mean to regret letting it come this far? what do you do when you’ve never meant for the candle to burn this long, knowing that it can go longer. knowing that one day you might decide to snuff your own flame. what does it mean to feel? when sometimes you wonder if your emotions are real. if they’re true. if they aren’t simply a performance, a game, one you have no clue to win. sometimes I can’t decide if I actually feel the love, or if I ever really felt the hate either. it’s weird.

act 3

business is… fun. surprisingly. the idea, the knowledge that I’ve seemingly brought something into physical reality. that It’s recognized by a governmental body. and that I could simply generate money depending on my own efforts, not efforts rendered to a corporation that could care less, not to some snobby rich white guy who hates my kind. but that my future is entirely dependent on my efforts. at first it ‘appeared’ scary but it felt like a game at the same time. like the nerves kicking in with a clutch lol. I like it. I want it. I want to see it grow. Like watching a child. I want to work hard, to put my hours and soul into this. to create something physical, real, that could fund myself, that could fund others.