Texty: Ion Dissonance. 101101110110001.

gazing at a silver screen, I wonder not... what am I waiting for? streaming?
wait, wait, loading binary instruction. drowned in surrounding CPU
resolution, absorbed by this unique light of data drone! in this machinery's
lore, I'm constantly seeking some pixel-rendered answers. powerful imagery
and sweet numbers A.I. yeah man, you really are the master, masturbate,
on/off this pitiful creation of yours... that's right outside you ain't shit
you porno-induced zombie! shut my conscience (and delete it for good) it
never helped me anyway; it's a critical error. what is it? a discreet
anomalism... and I'm distracted, from this not so obvious purpose that I'm
trying to reach (in vain). disturbed, yet it's just a coffee spot, lyin' on
the table. one of many, and and maybe the only fragment of reality I had in
weeks. I can't tell, haven't count I remember now; this substance must be
injected by oral means.