Chemical meltdown synaptic style

Disembodied space, jacked in over low bandwidth remote. The meat still processes commands, performing languid functions. It sends vague impressions of touch, but it is only the music that comes in clear, as clear as medium quality MP3 and insufficient output allows.

I feel the brain sitting uncomfortably inside the bone prison. The flesh droops, eager to secede from the confederacy of structures that push ever on against gravity and logic. Retreat to the primordial sludge. None of the components are particularly happy with current relations, the enforced symbiotic cohabitation of systems. The microorganisms that inhabit the vast megastructure are entirely unaware of the potential crisis brewing. At least, that’s what one may assume. For all that is known the little bastards are holding emergency talks and think tanks on how to coerce life from the tired biological golem. Likely, they are drawing diagrams for plans to stimulate the lizard brain. And phase two, enforce crippling sanctions on the conflicted processes in the prefrontal cortex.

Well, let them gag and blind the executive! Airs of individuality. Thoughts and feeling and self. All noise! So here I am dreaming of shutting down amid all this wonderful, horrid and crippling noise. Let the executive head-butt its rubber stamp on everything. Just leave me out of it a while, to unload the cores. And be at null.

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