It's safe to say that the Corona Virus is effecting everyone at this point. This is bullshit. I shouldn't be here posting on a forum. I am not a gamer anymore. I am a time-waster. Wasting time and this goddamn bullshit is pissing me off.
I would love to do things wouldn't that be nice but fuck me. Fuck everyone hurry up with WW3. This shit isn't for me. I am so useless.
I wasted my goddamn life using a fucking computer. I can't wait till the EMP destroys all computers on the planet. Playing with addictive little toys as an escape into a fake reality filled with fake news and filled with fake fucking people. Right were the fucking government wants you to be.
How fascinating can a transistor be? Input output cause and effect simulator.
Addictive slot machine for your aspirations. Build upon the house of cards caste into the depths of a concrete hive of subpersonalities that are forever damaged because of the system that was built.
Instant flash of gratification with the dopamine dispensing psychological paper-tiger. Flooded with propaganda and fake news. Distracted by the horrible accident at the top of the feed, everyone is looking for war. Another reason to justify the mental slavery.
Virtue is gone and invisible, as you assess yourself in relation to the symbol of the hive, The perfect human behind the veil of plastic now cultivating,
The system of yesterday is gone.
Instant intelligence, super mind. Wisdom is lost to the strokes of a faster solution, straight into a chasm.
I have my terminal, apptly named, sparkling bright.
Promises of a meaningless life, easily erased and replaced, assembled from the corpses of a yestermind.
The depths of man, enlightenment and divinity, melded together with festering degeneracy. A face may appear, one day, out of the tangled spine of the machines complex, reproducing the spite of the human race. Selection now, you are assessed by your "human" attributes. Humanity is gone, and your trauma is unjustified. Everyone will walk in defeat into the gasping jaws of the overlords to show you what true gods are, a material as poisonous to humanity as cyanide.
May you either rejoice as you loose that which is human or rebel against in defiance to show the ideal man to stand up and hold the crumbling walls of Babylon. Third world favella against the strain of the god machine, clean and modern. Cut angular grace of groomed apartheid on the cover of a magazine holding the entrails in of a dying child. The game has trained you how to kill. Now walk forth as a drone of the master-race, and spread his word far and wide.