Simulacrum: The Virtualization
Dysmorphic Demiurge
GENRE
As the bridge to reality burns
What is left in the smoke fades as simulacra self-simulates
Recursive domination, internalized categorization
Consciousness itself is optimized, leaving no holes for spontaneity
Meaning that sensation has been bootstrapped, and is now self hosting
We live in a world made up of pixels
We manipulate them to fulfill our will, paint lives we imagine with evil minds
Imagining conspiracies
Superstitions concocted from a mere sliver of our biases
All who oppose us are faithless fools
Specter of Death haunts our hearts and lingers
Ever-whispering reminders that, eventually, we all succumb to his icy grip
Time is the taker of all
Stars become rock
Rock becomes dust
Dust becomes us
We become dust
Shadows in the programming
Cause all of the malice endured
Effects that precede the cause
Delusions of what never was
There is no coincidence, only preeminence (the illusion)
Future decimates anything that reminds it of the past
Elaborate forgery
Shared psychotic disorder
And the memories fade, and memories are simply preprogrammed experiences of things that never were
Still, Cerberus guards the gate to a charnel house full of empty sepulchers
God has forsaken you!
Three Stars of Hell reign as the walls breathing their ragged breath
Rattle and shake before consuming the floor around you
Heathen's stand becomes a beacon of respite becoming clear that the promise of the divine is only an illusion
A design, a construct
That seeks constant penance from the poor and desperate
There are Others
Never having taken on human form, their countenance is the type of pure, deep black that is both an abysmal void and a reflecting surface
Standing inside a grotesque carnival house of mirrors with no ceiling or floor
And you're a god
What is left in the smoke fades as simulacra self-simulates
Recursive domination, internalized categorization
Consciousness itself is optimized, leaving no holes for spontaneity
Meaning that sensation has been bootstrapped, and is now self hosting
We live in a world made up of pixels
We manipulate them to fulfill our will, paint lives we imagine with evil minds
Imagining conspiracies
Superstitions concocted from a mere sliver of our biases
All who oppose us are faithless fools
Specter of Death haunts our hearts and lingers
Ever-whispering reminders that, eventually, we all succumb to his icy grip
Time is the taker of all
Stars become rock
Rock becomes dust
Dust becomes us
We become dust
Shadows in the programming
Cause all of the malice endured
Effects that precede the cause
Delusions of what never was
There is no coincidence, only preeminence (the illusion)
Future decimates anything that reminds it of the past
Elaborate forgery
Shared psychotic disorder
And the memories fade, and memories are simply preprogrammed experiences of things that never were
Still, Cerberus guards the gate to a charnel house full of empty sepulchers
God has forsaken you!
Three Stars of Hell reign as the walls breathing their ragged breath
Rattle and shake before consuming the floor around you
Heathen's stand becomes a beacon of respite becoming clear that the promise of the divine is only an illusion
A design, a construct
That seeks constant penance from the poor and desperate
There are Others
Never having taken on human form, their countenance is the type of pure, deep black that is both an abysmal void and a reflecting surface
Standing inside a grotesque carnival house of mirrors with no ceiling or floor
And you're a god
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