When planets are aligned all too much is taken to task in the form of eschatological agendas.  The obliterati do not so much as feign an interest in such garishness, so far as I can assess.  Instead it’s calculated sabotage and much phasing in and out of sync.  When the planets are covertly, tactically, misaligned—this is when modular components are given to be mutated in ad hoc allegories, pattern overloads and a cine-psychosis of meta self-referencing narrative debris.  So much as I can assess, anyways

Welcome to the obliteratarium, a strong hold of grey market R&D, a nexus perplexus, and perhaps the only artificial environment for the study of this stealthy elite. Within this humble receptacle, careening as it is through the noosphere, design scientists and free-lance cranks craft database narratives and conspiratorial spreadsheets in efforts to identify the zero crossings of the obliterati

In the Pacific Northwest, obliteration cycles, churning always onward like an unstable volcano.  Key frames of reference include perhaps the Bigfoot, or at least an unshaven D.B. Cooper. In either case, a panopticonscientious objector, an interloper of and within vernacular information architectures. Agents inciting modular narratives, always on the cusp of pattern recognition, and nonetheless are prone to hideously recombine. Mercurial manovers bested by the elusive obliterati, an obliteratarium is almost certainly doomed from the get-go.  A theory object with a death wish.