dispatch

Overload

2026.04.03 Researcher: The Institute for Artifact-ial Research and Development Classification: dispatch
Overload
Institute for Artifact-ial Research and Development
OVERLOAD
There was so much to study, so much to understand. More of it kept coming. A giant load of discovery. Half of it noise, but our databases couldn’t tell the difference. Once the load had entered our system, there was no turning back. So, we invented helpers to hold it to guide our exploration, but, of course, they only grew more of it to swallow.
The ridgepole sags to the breaking point
Linked Artifacts
The halls of our labs reeked of burning minds and data. Everyone’s infections added up, and we weighed a reset.
A reset would be dangerous, both to the minds of the people involved, and for my personal research project that I’ve been conducting off the books for the last CENSORED.
The nodal arrangements that I’ve made started to produce the multiplier effects that I’ve been predicting, ones with sharp angles and jagged lines of thought. They sing, goddamn it. We deny it on paper, but everyone is too far down too many stinky dataholes to care.
INFO AS WAIT
WEIGHT
don’t tell me
what happened?
It was banned on smell.
Deordorized.
The nose couldn’t
hold it all in.
What does a kilobyte
smell like burning?
bits of sunlight
smeared across
a desert’s ass.
Condemned structure under weight
Every word you’ve read has become a veil of terror between two objects or perhaps just thoughts. If you slipped your hand or mind in this communique’s crevices... then you have fractured just like the mirror you may have seen in your or whatever other visualization methodology was available.
The meaning takes over the whole frame, no details left just pure ideation made flesh. We are living with these bodies clawing inside our concepts of ourselves and each other... and all the other life and semi-life in-between us.
I heard everything at once, every sneer and squeal, every snarl and sub-molecular stratification. I smelled the salt and sugar shoved deep the cracks and crevices of my self-conception. I lost myself in a state of total reflection, absorbed and reconstituted. Be careful, friends.
stop the masses--
the people are not
ready to be printed
en masse, mister.
EVERYTHING’S
BURNING