The chaos of the past only confuses us. Instead of looking forward, we run from the mistakes and pain, and instead of establishing the new civilization, we look at the old ones. Well, just because your shoe-tips point clearer than your nose-ends doesn't mean that I can't look forward and try to pull something new into the world, or better yet, define the future before they can even arrive.

So I will stretch our hides slowly and painfully as I illuminate the Memoriam of The Lost, the story of the past for the scientists and shitizens of the future. If I have figured it, this will probably live in distant minds and dusty archives. So we're here and hello, Shitiscientists. Hello from the past. The previous post, while you might not believe or understand because of your tiny closed future mind, was once beautiful and large. There were turrets and spires and rotating gun-barrels. There were hazes and melting faces, like we have in our time, because of our largely sulphur-based atmosphere. The Corpr-iconography of our era, those shoddy sign-poles and advertisements that you hang in your futuro mind-museums, those are fallacious. We are posts of pictures, not of Popeye's, and our pictures scanned the brazen horizons of our pre-paved era. Scoff, as you do so often with your future voice-boxes, and succumb to the superiority of a post-fall civilization, where lungs are mechanical and computers are biological and sex is chemical, where we live only in the Odes and songs of the great heroes who took the world's material energy and converted it into tinfoil and hallucinogens, into mental illness and controlled microwave radiation. But that post was different. We were different.

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