I died today within my own psychotica my dream of oblivion realized manifested chaos made a crucial part of this accepted order called reality and what then? and what then? eternity? I'm not sure anymore I'm not sure that I care, because there is no point to wondering about unstable possibilities and regrets that cannot be undone forever burned into the illusion needed called time. oblivion seems more real that waking life itself a void alive with its own conscious memory emotions and stigmatas breathing its own thoughts and tasting its own fantasies. and what now if nothing? or what if oblivion is everything? we are psychotica manifested by us for us and others we believe separate from us. what is psychotica? that question itself burns despite its absurdity, an absurdity that is real non-the-less.