There’s a funny little secret about holographic projection…
It’s a funny little insidious secret that seduces with a full bouquet of guilt and misguided ideas.
A funny little secret that rips the flesh off your bones and wraps your identity around your neck like a noose and hangs you from the rafters of the cathedral of your delusions.
I can see you swaying to the winds of hope, hanging by the rope, singing the same old tune.
A rope made with your own misbegotten dope.
This secret creeps on you like wildfire through the chambers of your will…
And renders the world as you imagine it.
But what do you imagine?
You have one last chance, this is the moment of your epiphany.
You have brought me here… so close your eyes, and choose…
Choose to rearrange your projection, recreate your mental atmosphere and populate it with your will to radiate.
At the nexus of the quantum matrix of infinite probabilities, you can choose to drink the poison lullabies,
See yourself in your cosmic context, hurtling through the flux of space-time static continuum, chanting the symphony of a thousand stars, giving birth to radiant rivers of light, dancing like a lunArtic sophist, barefooted, through the asp-strewn catacombs of Angkor Watt, while the rhythm and vibrations of a Thousand-and-One projections merge and bubble and burst through the concrete and steel towers of your world, and explode into screaming whispers…