The high frequencies chirp and the input engines sputter and settle, now idling for the duration of routine system checks. The air is dirty and barely breathable. Pressure valves hiss and release the smell of burning chrome. Suddenly a connection is made. Your eyes shut through no will of their own. A construct is forming. Mind and technologic space are conjoining, seeking an eternal escape from the sprawl, its smell and its decay. A ragged symbiosis between man and machine wrought with duct tape, dust and fraying wires.
“Canadianoise” for the acceleration age.