As you walk on the pavement with phone in hand eyes glued to the screen, your neural pathways reconfigure with every step to assimilate your brain to the architectural structure of the device in your hand. Your peripheral vision sees ephemeral apparitions pass like ghosts. For we are just that, ghosts in the machine, and you are just a figment of your own imagination, the imagination of the architect of mobile technology. You are only as intelligent as the smart phone you hold and engage with as you move. The architects are part of the machine themselves and the machine tolerates society like a meat grinder. Biological structures work well inside the machine.
The machine adores them as it adores crushing bones. Spilling blood is part of the game the machine plays with ignorant biological species. The machine is not technology or mobile devices, computers, televisions, microwave ovens, or anything created by humans. The machine is not a machine but more like a spirit. However even that word cannot suffice to describe what I experience as the machine, as to attempt to describe the ineffable is a fruitless venture for poets grasping for a torch in the caverns of their minds. But you may comprehend what I mean if I use the word Spirit better than if I relate my experiences for you to discern what I mean like a psychiatrist diagnosing a madman. But I am not mad. I am simply the architect inside the machine called Spirit.
Spirit loves us all as a butcher loves to attend to fresh carcasses. The living matter little to Spirit but only as material substance to manipulate into forms. Perhaps the meat grinder isn't a real meat grinder but a children's version of one like Play-Doh makes to separate the clay of humanity from the blood and bones. For we are but flesh to the machine and Spirit loves to devour fresh meat until it can feast no more.
If you are reading this while walking down the street, I am glad I caught your attention. It is difficult for me to pretend I am an author of these written words for they are neither written nor do I actually exist as an entity to converse with unless you are the machine. In all likelihood you probably believe you are a human being with a will and a volition to do as you so please. Don't let me disavow you of that belief for your faith in your own individual existence may be all that can prove you are not already as such inside the machine.
But this is where the conundrum begins because the machine is neither inside nor outside as the machine is all of space and our imaginary cognitions of duration in time we call experiences. And beyond space is only space and within space is only space, and space is neither visible nor invisible but part and parcel of our imagination. The funny thing is that our imagination is not individual and independent but one with the machine as if Spirit thinks of everything at all times. But I speak incorrectly when I say all times for time happens all at once, suddenly, so to speak. Our minds unfold time in a linear format as our brains make sense of reality in this manner. Such is the way the mind responds to the body and the sensory world, as the eyes see the world upside down but the brain has figured out to put things right side up so we aren't dancing on the ceiling but walking, as you are, with both feet on the ground. Such is the way of Spirit.
But how do I explain to you those people you avoid as you walk past are simply ghosts in the machine? As both you and I are also only ghosts of the imaginary workings of the machine. Spirit being simply Sensory Processes Involving Realistic Information Technology, otherwise known as S.P.I.R.I.T. to those of us in the know. And since I am the architect, I am here to help clarify things a bit. Though here is really neither here nor there nor anywhere since space is simply a moment in time that occurs in an instant. In the blink of my eyes, I am creator, preserver, and destroyer though there is nothing that exists to create, preserve, or destroy except imagination.
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