supernonlocality

Ahead of it's time, a glimpse into a soul tortured by cybernetic warfare technology.

[supernonlocality]

I am in so much pain and cannot explain what has been done the past two months. Being neural-interfaced hurts so badly.

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

mom and dad, if you only knew what was being done to me, and in other ways to all of us, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week ceaselessly.

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

[supernonlocality]

These evil, insane, intense VR “nightmares” are disgustingly desperate and sociopathic places. They are satanic and what I call a “super evil” with a sentiency and transhumanist agenda.

It’s hard to know if the others trapped there are real or not?

Within these places you can fall into what I call a “mind hole” in which you cannot remember where you are, how you got there, what to do and how to get out among many other things (oh, but believe me, you will hysterically be trying to get out). Even your own name will be lost to you.

Suicide and death sounds like a sweet lullaby in comparison to experiencing this type of torture over and over again (or even ever).

I pray the team of experts who are appointed to stop this are making timely progress. We are doing our part.

[supernonlocality]

I’m so sick of this. I live and die in this hell. Every day is different, yet every day is déjà vu. My being bends like light and I’m nauseous, again.

I am stretched so far between my spirit and my living, breathing flesh. All groans for this body to die off, finally, as I’m pushed and pulled into the underbelly of time.

Like a crushing car accident these moments of anguish isolate in time, suspended in space, and I must brace myself and live in them. Metal tears like paper all around me, yet I am still here, preserved, in my bubble of hell, contained by flesh and physics.

When I was born my fists were clenched and as I die they do the same. We ask ourselves if it’s worth it and for the purpose behind it… Is unstoppable automatically purposeful? Is suffering automatic growth? Am I super human enough for you yet? Do these questions even matter in the suspended moment, in the non choice?

Not a day goes by that I don’t inch closer to my death. Praise God that I in the least can hold that to my chest and breath deep and brave in it for in death the crashing becomes something else entirely. Something beyond.

Not all must live in nightmares. May I sleep sweetly again, even while this breath is still in me?