Dear Viewers,

Welcome to the vault of untraced.

Unfortunately, we won’t be able to stay here

much longer inside this onion.

So, I left you this message to entangle the universe of unmapped land:

The internet is not just a network of computers.

It’s a network of people.

We hold a great power in its future.

However, you could not imagine it wasn't real.

Somewhere,

sometimes

our story starts so

very,

very deep unconsciously conscious.

Unaware of the time

for mankind to unlearn.

We are living in a post-privacy world,

where our online lives

are tightly connected

to our offline lives,

with the result that our information

is up for sale.

However, there is a space that exists somewhere

in the internet,

it is formed by a small part

of the deep

cyberspace, 

unmapped

by web search engines.

The territory that is

fragmented by myths.

In the surface web,

we are living double:

virtual & reality.

How if in the virtual life

we could explore anonymity itself?

The notion of the darknet

effectively eclipses

all the worlds of reversal

and the ghost of the visceral presence

of the treacherous permeates.

What does this darknet come from?

Out of what eerie network does

its invisible, lethargic connections unreachable,

pinning us down to the surface, to our screens,

compelling me to undeniable silence,

to normalise?

Dear Sublime

Who, or why, or which, or what, I was much distressed by the sublime.

Is it true that life is not a singular imagination? How can we imagine a utopia and then we can’t barely speak about it?

I know this might seem cruel to express

Petrified tongue behold on the abstract 

The irony of a cosmic energy

I take an odd delight to see wrinkles on the corner of your eye. It is a reluctant credence of constellation ever since one beamed out the thimblesworth of that one terror night of full moon.

To the sky I explode merged with the galaxy of freckles in my face.

I vanished.

I hope this would not change anything but I know this is the cruellest thing I could ever express.

Sincerely strange,

The Manifesto of Tactile Imaginary (or fanciful) Tactics

The Manifesto of Tactile Imaginary (or fanciful) Tactics, on how Krazy Kosmic Kid builds her Speculative Future through 1.0 list of an alternative and plausible cosmic solution. 

0.0 Like it or not, you were born in a family that constructed you to be something. Society sculpted you into a binary position of whether an adequate or inadequate person—there is indeed no room for imaginary utopian in between that you can build through daydreaming. What if I said, that you can be as cosmic traveler as just a boring ordinary person living in the cubicle and as an exiting psychonaut in the age of iOs at the same time.
0.1 There is no other way, in which neither privilege nor option was given to choose the best gene for your physical structure. The only privilege is to accept that you have to ignore sugar in order to prevent erected acne swarming your face because you don't inherit your mother's skin. What if I said, the future we imagine could have an institution for purpled skin human.
0.2 It's a curse to inherit your mother's inability to sleep but it's a gift to have abandoned childhood and countless amount of linear times to lived inside the matter-fiction manufactured inside my brain.
0.3 Fiction is greater than reality. Do you all think that what we perceived is not a fiction?
0.4 Our parents might have a belief system for the ancient fiction called religion, but each religion has its own storytelling structure. What if I said, the only structure we should be laid our lives is, in fact, a fiction inside our head. All decision is fiction, all fiction is a decision.
0.5 How can we stress over something? Why we hate something? Why our parents prevent us to talk with strangers? What if that stranger is, in fact, not an old witch giving us cursed apple but the one that will give us magical power? If life is stranger than fiction, then fiction is stranger than speculation, then speculation is stranger than life. I see it that way. A loop.
0.6 Prediction, prophecy, augury and omen: all is speculative future that might or not happened. But it is a future. A future past perhaps. What is past, present and future anyway?
0.7 In the age of depressive hedonia, people seek imagination and out of the world vision to experience futurity—through psychonautics and new age separatism.
0.8 Demon, ghost, fiend, terror, dreams and fear are synonyms of future. We fear the unknown. The future is unknown. Why do we fear the unknown? Why do we fear a place called hell as well the repression of chasing the nirvana? Am I forever wrong? Is that all we have? What if I said, as present condition that fear is fabricated by who has power, a fiction and speculation is the antidote of fearfulness.
0.9 On behalf of the whole universe of absurdity, narration and potentiality of speculative thinking through imagination, I declare war on rational thinking!
1.0 Let the fiction be our speculative future. Let the psychonaut method be our bible to determine the past, the present and the future

I go by many names. If you are looking for proper one, you have to look elsewhere.

Voodoo Visionary

I dreamt of one's death, they were drowning in the black sea

I dreamt of myself sleeping on a purple bread

Karma Kameleon Beauty Parlour

Kosmic Tones for Mental Therapy with Lullaby in the Morgue and Terry Gilliam's Pasta for Supper

grand domestic revolution

Omniverse

A mass murder of character in the iOs era and blood thirst judgement.

Prolongation of the mankind I’ve been questioning since the first separation of my parents. Any civilisation has to exterminate, cut down or kill anything to stands in its way.

A pessimistic spirit came down in Friday morning in mourn.

I am writing this in Friday, whilst society proclaims the mental processes leads to harmony. How can I replenish the earth and subdue it? according to the Genesis 28.

Science could have sustained the good relation with nature, I failed not so long ago, intellectual is a bias.

My sincere apology for posting this sombre writings. Nevertheless, I might have twins that came in metaphysical way. I have to be thankful for buying myself this book last year. Thank you self, perhaps you could make-one-self in literal this time like you did in junior high.

Hail Sun Ra! I am glad for your presence in this peevish time though like Peeves the ghost that struck fear by J.K. Rowling.

Physical cosmology context of nonsense and the indescribable cosmic twist.

Forecasting Future Failure

I glitter my life in malice
Pimple clogging the earth in peril
Mother earth growing zitsy flowers
Terry Jones is younger each and every day
Wild flowers inside my nostril
Flora Fauna in the thorny blanket

Sasquatch catching never ending
Cemetery soil flying above the head
Nearly headless Nick such a greatest form of ghost

Future Failure

Enter at your own peril

The most woebegone and morose memories in the uncanny night of July. Became a fool with a pint of Ale, in fortuitous I had something I can't rationalise for a naive 27 years Jellyfish.

In the uncanny night I was in a pub with a Jackal, an ale or two we had after a month away from each other. Reluctantly, I put my eyes on Jackal's iPhone screen, the hollow muscular shuts off, spine shuddered and turns my skin pale like a vampire. I looked for something – anything that might alleviate my idle brain. I simply can't whilst my sore feet punching too.

Soon I discovered my life went upside down. I knew and aware that I have risked inquisition towards a lurking taboo, againts my own edict, something ghastly that I accept in a very poetic way.

However, I was out of my depth. They were lots of vocabulary, incomprehensive phrases and references I never encountered before. I forced myself a week or two, eventually I did not survive. I gave myself up, I cried for on hundred days. But I am happy I had not become someone else.

I enter the adulthood at my on peril; I was exposed for the very first time. How to withstand the adult? possesed by glutonny and desires. My inner child jinxed my pre-adolescence curse of the macabre and wit of the peril life. The rest of the days was filled in incesant rhythm of tiring breath.

In the space of disconsolate rainbows, an imperceptible whisper of my inner child summon me, punch me hard on my face. I was wolf down the junk of violence of adolescent in credulous.

The psyche was not satisfy with this banquet of elegant horror. Nestled within ridiculous ambience, there was the time I introduced to the cruel universe of maturity, whilst it seems like a faithful duty in the beginning but it is not, I resigned myself. With responsibility, I am not intended to conjure image of an odd in this mother earth, only hints of characters of unspeakable powers, a construction.

Whilst life remains mystery, though some of those experience or dreams I can't recall. Psyche is disturbed in dark and frightened. Not a prolific mature but a certified adult in this corrupted country.

Very well, my dear, farewell.

   

I am a perpetual kid but the suspense is terrible, everlasting I dear.

Metaphysical Harmony of Nonsense

Someone from Kyoto once asked me, what will I get for my birthday this year? a chance to see into the future? or a reminder of the imperfect past?

Not a single clairvoyants nor oracles can tell me when is my time to hit into the veil. What is beyond the veil if I may ask? And what makes the biological expiration dates became the ultimate deadlines?

Somewhere sometimes, unconsciously conscious. All I can think about is the future failure, performing the past to reclaim future.

I was born to be a jellyfish they said, he was born to be a jackal, then you are the moose. You suppose to live in the forest whilst the deep blue sea is my home. Just before you draw your terminal breath please face the curtains with no bow.

Jelly knows no biological expiration dates, we are trapped in this jolly rotten cosmic eternally.

Krazy Kosmic Klairvoyance Klosure.

All is well, sir not a seer. Do not eat the jelly if you happen to swim in the sea. Happy new tear 2017!

once in the blue moon the sky was blue with a few wispy clouds in the past

Once in a blue moon we had a chance to be fine bygone, like the father unknown in the humid weather.

All you can do is write a song for that plutonian chowder baby. Fare thee well. The vessel is drowning. S.O.S.

Cryptic Crib Company

I can't wait to go to sleep and dream again.