Art | Writing
This post-human space is a sanctuary for alienated artists and estranged intellectuals who view sanctuary itself as a lie, bound by shared exile from the disease of society and the herd of the ordinary majority. It exists for rare minds that have quietly stepped beyond the reach of society, not in bitterness, but in clarity. The chatter of the masses—their trends, their idols, their compulsions—cannot touch you here. Words like "meaning," "purpose," "morality," "culture," "productivity," “progress,” “ambition,” “legacy,” "wisdom," and “identity” are worn garments you have long since discarded. You do not arrive to perform or conform; you arrive to exist lucidly, to feel the gravity of thought and the subtle tension of perception without needing to justify it. If everyone feels the same, you might understand. If you see humanity as a “failed project” and build your home not on the overworld but upon the abyss, you might feel at home.
