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Pixel-Perfect

mmm.(website).pzq -are as far away from each of the letters you are supposed to type in.

Pixelmatic

The world does revolve around me… no it doesn’t- well it should. Artists proceed with an essence that pinches their surroundings- knocking on distance. Distance… just because you live in your own world does not mean the world revolves around you. In your world you are an undiscovered beauty, in the world you are nothing.
mmm. (website) .pzq
I never questioned this routinely rule, it had to be something right? It signifies nothing; it just serves the purpose of incorporation and awareness. It could have been anything- why think too much about it? It is heavy on the brain- It is like trying to imagine the end of space… even if there was a humongous wall that captivated this universe- what would be on the other side of that wall? There would have to be space, space is infinite… the more you try and conclude- the farther you stoop from the answer.
It wasn’t until one artist- found the edge. Implosive depression, he only existed within himself, he compares himself to everyone else which can give him a distorted version of reality, and at the rare prospect of forming a first impression into a relationship of romance or friendship would collapse on himself. You can blame THEM but the safe of yourself would vault in the presence of intruders- you tried too hard to impress- and only resulted to listening and replying absently. Everybody is a bridge apart- as we have established it is not THEIR fault- you blame yourself but it doesn’t quite do it justice- and so you turn to society- and rant like you’re leaking blood.
A vital part of this rant is when you thrust your laptop open- and stab the power on button. Swearing under your breath endlessly it is questionable if you’re inhaling or not. You have turned to your greatest enemy- the internet. And you have just realised this- and so in a marvel display of rebellion you go as far away from doing what society tells you. And this is exactly how it goes;
Grunting at the screen, “why the fuck is it mmm. Huh? And what the fuck is pzg?
In a snap-full attack you type in notice that the www and the com are as far away from each of the letters the government want you to type in. And this makes you famous- the battle is over. The internet of the past centuries have been uncovered- the world is in a frenzy and you my friend are rich.
One year after my story was – well sold rather than told, my work that was incapable of expanding has un-naturally attracted some attention. It has defied all logic and expanded, but only by everyone else applying their definitions, they are so far from the truth but their perceptions sound much better than the truth. And so when I am asked what does this piece of art signify- I practically just say “yeah what he said”.
I remember reading about Amsterdam- this infamous historical place that explicitly condemned natural drugs! I fantasize about this place as I am sitting in this inner city café- it has been decorated so rakish it is repulsive. Every seat in the house is confronted with a screen- the delinquent voice of a female emerging from calm water soothes out of the screen and offers you drugs. It is very easy to turn down- but just as easy to accept in the same way. It seems perturb to inhale, sniff, or my god inject drugs! The ancient people just didn’t have the technology. I order one of my favourite architect’s newly engineered trip. I sit back in the cushty chair equipped with a COCA COLA and a CHEESEBURGER and FRIES and roll down the curtain. The screen lights up, the base of the screen splits open, two pincers emerge from the HOLE and recede subtly gripping your face- finding your eyes and painlessly peeling back your eyelids. There often is a lot of flashing lights associated with a drug trip, one blink could mess up your high- thank god for this beautiful invention that force your eyes open. Flick, flick- Purple paint is being flicked at the screen- gas green eyes with inviting pupils sink into the screen, Magma-like hot fuzz erupts from the base of the screen. Liquefying the beautiful green eyes- the point of view changes and elevates to look down on this puddle of fusing colours- or has this puddle slid up and faced me? “Woahh this is some good shit!”
I consume the COCA COLA, CHEESEBURGER, and FRIES, and feel a rush of inspiration- I think I have the energy to express the shit out of my next mind-bending piece of art. Yeah I feel it- this is the ideal state to accurately and truthfully project the expression in mind. I confront the walkway that leads to the exit, the walk way has an audience of dining tables either side. As I walk through the walk way certain objects blow-up in size as though I were seeing through a magnifying glass. A whore of a French desendancy is setting up for her trip I sail by her table and her boobs cushion into my face then her COCA COLA pulls past my eye-sight- after a few more big brand supernova’s I am at the exit. Suck- I hear a vile sucking of air from somewhere behind me- followed by sickening mid-air jerking a tangle between the chair and table- and thud like a sack of potatoes- some guy is tripping out no doubt.
I bust out of the café door only to be flooded by Asians aggressively in your-face-presenting pirate programmes “only two bucks- get you very high- high definition- dvd- blue-ray- 3.d” Confused you scrunch up your face and retort “so which is it? Blue ray or 3d- they aren’t the same” “ahhh Yes- get you very high my friend” “Ah fuck it- I’ll need something later” you chuck them some notes retain your programme and go on about your way.
The city is menacing- there are many levels of transport, the higher they are off the ground the more wealth they have. I feel nothing here, there is no culture. Culture there is a word that you don’t and should hear every day. Now let me get back to this pivotal project!
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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