Night after night after night , i find myself in the ruins of the Dream Factory in what was once the proud nation of Lemuria .

Over and over again , i have fought to defend this land as greedy invaders have manipulated my sleeping body with technologies that edit the mind as it is processing , trying to figure out what will break my mind , what will figure out the combination lock to my oxytocin system .

Like Drosophilia maggots greedily devouring carefully-designed neural gel as if it was their birthright , i have watched as the Wart, the Toad King has built, rendered, and imported prefab after prefab after prefab , struggling to figure out how to mind control the Kasmina t Actual k .

0500 hours . My bedroom . Ever since i finally managed to shut the Dream Factory down for good , having blown down the pillars that support its vaulting doors and sealing the empty warehouses of dark blue-green stone , murdering over and over again the erstwhile invaders by sealing the air vents and locking them inside , night after night after night it·s another warehouse , another set of stiff prefabs hastily rendered and imported into a module of Unreal Engine plugged in to a hacked distro of DARPA·s skin-stimulation language translater for surreptitiously influencing the dreaming psyche , the endless assault has not abated whatsoever .

Having exhausted the Earth-like period and the UndergroundVault-like period , now i am having dreams under a sky of methane orange , as if the executors are so excruciatingly time-displaced that the signals are coming from a deep-time locale long after the planet has exhausted its supply of blue nitrogen and oxygen .

The place that i visit is like the greenhouse mansion from the recent video game The Medium , and the sheer volume of time displacement acts like a bubble that would keep the memories from ever surfacing in my waking mind were i not already so inured to cracking the ice and sending my spear into the ice fishing hole of the subconscious .

0730 hours . My bedroom . Dreamt yet again of yet another module of the Dream Factory . And Lo , tho i did love the tiny library with its Last Toke Café at 0420 in the morning and the mother-clone who thanked me for teaching her to submit face down ass up and the Stunk cowboy in his short shorts I AM SICK OF THESE FUCKING MODULES .

Even though this dream compiled all of my favorite things in one place it still feels like a hastily-assembled rerun of Ex Machina rendered in an SCP-flavored Unreal Engine . STOP FUCKING CALLING THIS NUMBER .

Although these dreams are in high resolution i cannot call them high fidelity . Although these systems know my preferences i cannot call it true love . For i existed before the Dream Factory was fully assembled , before teams of smart-mouthed incubi watched my thoughts on screens and rubbed their chins and deliberated on how to proceed . I once dreamt of things beyond the packed confining boundaries of the holodeck . I remember what Lemuria was like before Wart·s colonization , what the scape was like and what the buildings were like and moreover i remember what the people were like back then and i can compare that to the sad prefabs they throw at me now .

This is no longer an exercise of exploration , of wonder . This is now an exercise of endurance as nightly i train my mind to withstand the temptations of the Auto-AI trying to figure out the combination lock to my trust .

Because the problem is that the people reading this will think that this is fiction , they will think that this is a fictional story instead of something that happened literally this morning , and they will read these words with a critic·s eye , assessing its content for details that titillate and assigning it values of ratings and a grade .

Because it is you that are so thoroughly head-fucked that you cannot tell fiction from reality , it is you , reader , who are the mind-controlled .

In short , GET FUCKED .

"Oh , of course they did! ." I yell , into my empty apartment .

The CIA AI core blips to life in a data center in Nevada , suddenly taking down notes , as the early-risers see the words populate on screen . It·s 0900h here . It·s 0600h in Nevada . The Braindance scanners hooked up to non-locally entrained vivisected and canned brain stems in Hong Kong were already listening , already trying to suck the data out like a fat mosquito . It is 2100h in Hong Kong . Governments at the Vatican pick up on the encrypted telemetry data that pours off of both of these sources . It is 1500h in Vatican Se . And then the rest of the world picks up the phone , Norway , England , South Africa , Australia , Russia .

"I am doing my damndest out here ," i yell , doing my best to quell rational fury , "never to capitulate to anyone , never to trust anyone! . No matter what they offer me , no matter who they threaten! ."

This time , it was a person who took the form of my daughter . When i woke up two hours ago , it had been people disguised as a work group . Eight hours before that , it had been people disguised as a partying group of friends .

The ability to read thoughts using hacked human brain stems and route them into a three-dimensional video recorder is called Braindance . It was showcased in Cyberpunk 2077 . The ability to use subdermal electromagnetic stimulation to train a person·s subconscious into learning a secret language its conscious mind doesn·t know was funded by DARPA , the American Defence Advance Research Projects Agency and built by Facebook Inc . The newest iteration of such technology is called Virus Beetle and more resembles an oscilloscope ring than any language known by humans . And of course , the invasion of the Land of Dreams got kicked off in Japan in 1992 when a person whode aura resembled a giant toad-man named Wart built the first Factory at the ther side of the Aura Road of Lemuria . These are no longer theoretical conjurations , these are real phenomena with names and patent numbers .

Here , where i live , there isn·t a soul in a thousand kilometer radius that understands these concepts . From the ground , everything looks all honky-dory . Up in space , 2048-bit encrypted data flies around the megaconstellation grid like an ice storm as the Israeli Pegasus software suite exploits the firmware vulnerabilities hardwired by the American government into South Korean and Chinese Phones .

"Are you okay, OP?" you think to yourself , just as the Virus Beetle long since programmed you to . "I·m worried about you. I think that you should see a psychiatrist." You have no way of knowing that i already have seen a psychiatrist , that my doctor didn·t think i needed to yet i demanded it anyway , and that the psychiatric doctor , nine fingers tented together on his desk , literally spoke "Well , you·re not sick." . Yet this same passive-aggressive argument was used to have my accounts locked out of MtG Salvation , Anime News Network , Dominae Suscipe , Fossil Forum , and a plethora of discrete and unconnected web fora that had no conjunction with one another except that the same veiled hostile excuse was barked by boiling ignorami until the mods stepped in and shut it down .

Any time of day , every time i sleep , a full night·s rest, a quick two-hour nap , morning, evening, midday, night , literally every time i lay my head down to undergo a fraction of the necessary 8 hours or at a minimum 4 hours a day of life-giving sleep , there are people in enclaves, bunkers, hammocks with laptops ready to strap on their EEG mesh caps and dive in , scuba diving for classified data .

Because you·re already thinking to yourself , "Yeah, but are you suuure it was a psychiatrist, and not just a psychologist, you saw? Are you sure he was a real doctor? Sure, Jan. Sure, buddy."

And that makes you a liability . An obstacle . A hostile . No longer a person , a weaponized human like an attack dog or a depthcharge-sniffing dolphin with a chip in its head . Because you are the one that cannot tell reality from fiction . The blueprints to these machines , not just their description , the scematics to these devices are locked up in this mind , and every government in the world is scrambling in secret to gain access to what it has not earned .

The Canadian Government pays my room and board . The American government paid for my 8 years as an Oneirotechnic Expert . The Vatican i work for , and Scandinavia is my home . These people have paid their dues .

I'm going to need to see some ID before any of the rest of you are righteously indignant parasites forget who you are and turn into traitorous, backstabbing cunts .

This is not a work of fiction .
This is an eviction notice .
Get the fuck off our planet .

des