I am a time traveler, mapping an imaginary universe. Where the self is just a circumstantial representation of the self, hurtling into the future at the rate of one minute per minute. Where the notion of escape implies its desirability. Where the future contains all pasts, even paths not taken – an abysmal present – infinitely fractured into gone and becoming. Where we’re running on a treadmill of dreams, as if we had an option.

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