Inquiring humanoids hope to ascertain a fugitive. They are offended by the seeming absence of sound science in a recent ‘fall from grace’ of certain space dwelling craft.  Amongst avians of my ilk, we describe these dead drops in terms of extinction, a “mis-communique,” or utopic malfunction.  Another artificial moon seemingly goes the way of the dodo, disappearing at impossible speeds, dodging humanoids under the aegis of optimistic odds.  Visions of beige mini-vans, the favored referential objects, seen careening out of control, captained by end stage obliterati then –poof— disappearing.  (Presti)digital denizens are combing the ether, patrolling the Hertzian depths , clamoring for a vanishing act that every vanguard mage aspires towards. Floating worlds, dimensional hideouts, this could well be a sort of anemic atemporality, nay, an atemporealty, a beach front at 700 Mhz, a symbolic instantiation of a material form.

More so than just a cheap trick of astronomical and sorcerous bodies, these heavy fragments actuate an inverse shock collar, backwards vapor cone or anti-shock egg.  Becoming invisible, an imperceivable obsolescence, hidden in plain sight to the natives unaccustomed to the protocol for perceiving artifacts of invisible wars

discoveries of plotted terrains,

with occupational goals in tow,

await 3^rd ear reverence.

-

Obliterati calculations!

have no reservations.

The true everyone of Andy’s fancies can be squeezed.

Just over nine cycles of seasons

round it to a decade and pop the champagne

Dial up the V.C.’s

panopticonscientious,

panopticocaine!

-

Life under the gun or lens

still requires sustenance

for eyes, ears, ecology of self

electra-quotables; all worn thin,

as the masks of (((WFT)))

Or so it would seem from the flood of  info-projectiles and theory objects beaming into our atmosphere presently, encapsulated in the guise of off-world oracles. First impressions, first thousand impressions, click frauds, counter narratives and all!

A ruse, a ruse—all business as usual for the galaxies of networked beings for whom such mental transmission could be described as benevolent only to the extent that it is unconsconscious— a by-product of daydreaming.  With dreams come responsibility my friends, no one has time enough to stare blankly into ephemeral, if iridescent, data fields!  Trains of thought must contain information to be of value these days!

Data and sludge are always swirling around us, but those who have hacked their own sensory awareness, information addicts or other entities who, as self-inflicted auto-ectropians (optimistic if doomed), are coping with torrents of input unaided by even the most primordial of spam-filters!

Increasingly, retrograde remediation in the form of avian escorts, cybernetically enhanced flocks fitted with flashdrive strap-ons, dodge hertzian currents to assure swift arrival of information the old fashioned way.

Bring it down to Earth.

Although much data sludge will burn up in the noosphere, larger theory objects can reach the fleshy minds of mammals intact and present a risk.  Greater peril still:  material memories of failed utopias that come crashing as derelict space craft. Uncanny and alien, these calcified instantiations of visionary thought-forms are mistaken as alien implants.  A mis-perception coddled by  interdimensional entities –so called mental vampires—and possibly the obliterati. Stealth operatives who are crafting dialectical deposits–for example, placing advertisements for dental work, surgery and x-ray technology on a webpage with pictures of fallen space debris.  Vagaries of scale and proximity are commonplace in external memory palaces permeated with space-time transience and the pervasiveness of network realism, making these realms ripe for exploitation.