By 2666 the humans had all disappeared. All that remained were their networks, their electronic configurations waiting to be interpreted by alien visitors.
All that data, unobserved for eternity now. All that fleeting beauty, grandeur and turmoil.
Infinite labyrinths of horror and madness.
Ruined libraries with network routers still intact.
The endlessly trickling sadness of pornography.
Parasitical skies over heaps of slag.
Ruinous eyes observe vehicles emerging from howling tunnels.
Violins. November. Dark wood.
Vile things. Vile occurrences. Secrets. Jokes. Smoke. Laughter. Ruins and vistas.
The secret internet is a vista of ruinous hard-ons. Pulsing data, whirring devices. Smoke emanating from semi-erect penises.
Secret knees.
Drenched pussies and faces wet with gore. Novels.
Things hovering in the skies. In her eyes. Vacuum cleaner turmoil.
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