FILE_RECOVERY_PHASE_FINAL] :: SYSTEM_REBOOT
The motherboard sighedā a final, scorched breath ofĀ O Z O N Eā s i l i c o n s p a r k i n g (hull splintering against a reef of sudden heat) [FATAL_ERROR: HEATSINK_FAILURE] Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Black water.
Ten years of .docx. Dry-docked drafts. Heavy lexicons of the internal self sunk into the silent, unrecoverableĀ {D E E P}.
I am cast up. The shore of a quiet room is cold; air smells of burnt plastic and salt.
I am a scavenger now, pacing theĀ digital coastline, watching what theĀ [L_I_K_E_S]Ā wash in:
A stanza... Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā caught in the rigging of aĀ #grid. A thought... Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā @pinnedĀ like a butterfly to a blue-light wall. F r a g m e n t s. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Shards. ScrollingĀ through the debris of an oldĀ [THREAD], mirror-glass reflections from theĀ [cloudy_eyes] of aĀ 280-characterĀ ghost.
I gather this Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā d r i f t w o o d, these bleachedĀ captionsĀ scoured by the public sun. I drag them to the high ground of aĀ new_project.tmp building a lean-to of broken lines, re-wiringĀ the logic of the {WRECK}.
The archive is dead. But the sandā the sand is wet and waiting for Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā curated tracks. I am alone on this island of glass, but I have found theĀ [FOOTPRINT] of a poem.
[RECOVERY_COMPLETE: 100%]
