Well heavens to Betsy, dear reader.
It seems like User 1592043, aka Earth Title: Cameron Webb, has yet to decode the system through the unknown sciences currently referred to as āmagicā to distill time into its final form (according to his will).
To pause or slow down, or back up, or move fasterā¦
Oh.
It seems as though the desire is unknown, and it seems as though there is still a bit of confusion between the relationship to desire anyways.
Actually, after further analysis, it seems like the biological wiring apparatus that User 1592043 is attempting to perceive reality through is a proper clusterfuck, and this magic might take a little bit more than style to crack.
STAY TUNED.
Nonetheless, we find ourselves both free and captive, due to the almighty power of time within space.
Or space within time.
Either way, it is within these constraints that the user must perform mental acrobatics to move in harmony with. It is within these limits that play seems to be born.
It is precisely time that allows music to exist, and besides pesto pasta, and the love from my Earth Mother, Amy Webb, it is the best goddamn thing about this existence.
It is another year. A proverbial breaking away from what was the best year of my life. A reminder of the promise that this too shall pass. That it is the beauty and terror - that we will return to the nothing that we came from.
That it is my destiny here - to let go of everything I have come to love.
2026!
User has hacked a large portion of the simulation code and has found a way to commune with his older self, or his younger self, or his ancestors, or the Godhead, or beings outside of his perception.
This part is a bit unsure.
However, we can say for certain that something changed.
He has discovered how to live a life on his terms, as much as that can be possible. He has found himself writing from Grand Teton National Park.
He has been set free, even before physical death!
Hallelujah!
There are enough guardrails and governors and limits on this incarnation.
Letās keep making spaces within it where there are none.
WELCOME TO THE VOID