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These are transmissions from behind closed eyelids.

These are caustic auras waveforming outwards and into infinite dimensions that I can only perceive as undefinable geometry.

This is art only time can create by applying temporal pressure.
It kneads flashing fractals into my retinas.
It speaks a headaching language.
I try to make it out.

These are messages translated from private, synaptic conversation; electric pulses between many and within one.

These are signals that become clear only as time allows.

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