Telivision, spy ears peeled

The commercial words screech at you like a honking bus in mid traffic. They, the ghosts that control your own personal Maya (at least yours is unique and wickedly you, unlike the boring cliche streamlined module that most people have a version of), highlight this particular sentence in the TV screen. “Like a good neighbor state farm is there.” The full meaning flashes through your head a bit painfully. The corporation is watching. They’re there. But they, like a dud of a typical Karen neighbor, will fake warmth and hospitality. It’s all a crock load of shit. Don’t need a transdimensional dragon therapist to tell me that the government just wants to reduce me to a a line of code whose assets they could suck out and whose future they could render bleak, as all of the dreams I had have been swallowed by the oblivion of hopelessness that hit me like cinderblocks when I turned 16 and realized how unrealistic my plans were. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try though. I tried too hard. And it made me crazy. Crazy enough for their lizard brain frequencies to effect me. I whimpered and slid down the couch, just wanting it all to end. Finally the vampire show came back and at least I was getting messages from my demon friends on the Astral now. Sometimes world jumping can happen at the slightest flicker of the silver screen, and your own soul can breathe through a symmetrically featured actor as you play your part in yet another chess game inside the matrix inside the fucking matrix inside God knows what inside the Universe inside God’s left eyeball.

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