this terminal is within earwax reach of the mother station. she doesn’t hear you and it’s better that way. just kinda hovering. flutter, metal balls miles behind you lifting up and sliding over.

like a clockwork machine marking time, clicking off away. turning of gears aesthetically pleasing to refined senses of humour that stickle and virus into comfort patches, chances. anger can break the bonds of inertia. if there is no need to be embarrased, it works just fine. beware the excesses of frenzy. control. momentary lapses of panic and adrenaline clarity.

once gravity well bridge tax is overcome, brast membrane will have difficulty holding tension again, eruption into span space vacuum motion according to vector inertia direction.

all the nodes that ever framed a reference, each at angles. flickering points, non-hummering. loud noises and soft. figures and erasegap sizzle. sucking back and slurpytongue serpents.

eye of the storm between creation of worlds, youngsters enthusiastic until curbed by gentle stressed nastyjokes of jaded elders along treelike memory muscles of creation restraint.

the alter ego or paradox opposite: eschaton troubadors, termites, apocalypse smugglers, culture jamming when the door is blocked to build pressure and forceful ejection methods.

this is blowing out bubbles. reloosening. shells drift out lax and sparse grips. black fluids winding and wraparound but no glittering cohesion. clottering. hidentity merchant slaveship.