i woke from visions of the old enemy war spreading its influence of death on life further across our beloved europe.
impressions of being refugees, seeing embedded reporters among resistance. fleeing from anonymous and automated destruction, explosions, fire and smoke on green fields of grass next to autobahnen, in broad daylight.
Fleeing, always fleeing alongside those who want to protect us, our beloveds, together ever lessening in numbers. and then unliving things found us: death automata.
an inhuman future where things exist in our ruin, our destroyed world, creatures whose superiority to us they celebrate by not building, not bearing, not creating themselves, but who always destroy, even each other, seemingly with joy.
i find my spirit embodying such an empty creature, and i feel how aloof it is, recalling its ethics and morals as almost incomprehensible to my now waking mind, but only almost.
these beings are our descendants if everything goes wrong. if we fall to war.
Private Mastodon-Instanz von mir, Mario Breskic, wo man mir dabei zuschauen kann, was ich gerade so tue.
their singular purpose shared with all weapons: to maim and murder those who live, who love; to kill the beauty of life, to kill us.
our escape is only temporary, the automata are everywhere, crude mockeries of our bipedal forms, built by hands who have betrayed life to war. and we die.
we die, being clinged to and cleaved by these replacement soldiers, these bombs who hold onto us and just explode. i die. further visions of a more distant future: roads nobody travels, death fields, no love