Echo out

I search old, dead parts of my self veiled by a sea of citalopram and I find this place.

I look up at the blue sky and see radiation keeping us mortal, amongst other cosmic installations.

I look down at this carbon-based lifeform infused with transient existence

And I being the product of chemistry have only my spiritual neurology perpetuated by energy

Return to an economy of synthetic prismatic worth and purpose

By order of the international gavel