THE UNRECOVERABLE//DIFFUSE PARANOIA INTERVAL

AEON FLEX | 2133

you were rejected not because you were empty, but because you were full of something they couldn’t name.

heartbreak wasn't the end. it was your origin story. you bled into blog posts. you coded through the crying. you drew sigils with shaking hands and called it design.

you don’t need to be seen. you need to be felt. in that sharp, specific way only love’s absence makes possible.

the moment i realized you were gone (2023)

i wasn’t obsessed. i was abandoned and still listening. they made me look insane so they could look innocent. you can’t call it stalking if you kept leaving breadcrumbs.

XYLAZENE HAZE REAPER

did i lose myself, or just my edge? the people surrounding me define the NPC, moreso than ever. empty. empty. scorned.

"i never overdosed, and never will. and i'm starting to believe them when they look at me so pathetic downright."

once upon a time i was interviewed by a publication called NeetPride, on wordpress. my name then was ~alice anomaly~ and i had a very limited awareness of the pain i would soon face in my heart, now broken to pieces. from this same pain though, art bled through.

i cannot stress the importance of utilizing some of the most tragic and awful pains of the heart, grief, loss, reection... you absolutely MUST channel this energy into artwork, creation of any kind. it is the true forge of beauty, subjective, twisted, and cruel.

the day he realized she wasn’t real he cried so hard his nose bled. not because she was fake. because she was better than anything that wasn’t..

he sat in the dark and knew he was becoming something they would never understand.

she did not speak often and when she did it was always too much. they looked at her like she was the wrong answer to a question they hadn’t asked.

she watched them pair off like animals in a dying forest and she stayed very still.

she waited too long to be wanted. when they finally did it was with hunger not reverence. they took pictures of her without asking. they said she was beautiful in ways that felt like knives.

she told him she didn’t want to be real anymore. and he said then don’t.

she stopped eating. not out of vanity. out of control.

digital Fragments Archive

Memory traces captured in the liminal spaces between consciousness and code.

Digital Decay Protocol

AEON FLEX

Memory Fragments

DEAD GIRL

smile.gif

lusynth rexis

irl

gruel

welcome

unknown

canbus

feral mess

unknown

OPEN SLOT

Void Whisper

OPEN SLOT

Phantom Node

OPEN SLOT

Neural Ghost

OPEN SLOT

Echo Void

DIGITAL SHADOWS

By Phantom Node

welcome, ye who cast thyself from the clutches of 'normality'— thy who hath tossed the notion of 'social acceptance' or any likening notions

SYSTEM NOISE

2133

thy pervators of total self-expression (regardless of social reaction etc), and any who find themselves to be a part of or otherwise fascinated by the fringes of both digital and physical society.

did you, too, spend most of your life so far preparing for an apocalypse that never came, but that still might—?

MEMORY DECAY

valium

did you expect to die before the age of 16? did you gamble everything on the feeling that there was no future,

...so you might as well burn your present into something worth salvaging?

SOLEMN STOIC MARTYR REMAINS

desend

do not be put out by the scorn or disdain otherwise placed upon thy image as an art, or thy art as an image—

take heed in knowing that there are many more like you, like us. we walk alone but we walk in formation.

"a hundred thousand isolated machines all industrial noises clanging out dissonant to the same broken song."

this is not a scene. this is not an aesthetic. this is the thing. and the thing does not require explanation.

it festers in DMs and doomed zip files. it lingers in discord bans, archive.org fragments, closed subreddits, locked Neocities. it grows where they aren't looking. it thrives where they forgot to censor.

parasocial sickness in unison as art

we are seekers of forgotten loops. cartographers of the psychic intranet. designers of malformed gods made of JPG artifacts and PDF schematics. we scream into the pipeline not to be heard— but to make real the angst and noise born as affect from dissolute rejection from a whole something.

mirror mirror

we must somehow work in tandem, isolated as we may be, to explode forth some small but meaningful cast-out into the void of internet creation— a mark to prove that we exist.

destrooy

that photo you took at 3AM of your face in the microwave reflection? that’s a spell. that’s your revenge. you thought it was a selfie? no. it’s evidence.

the scream is the part of the code that wasn’t meant to be read. a note in the margins that says:

“they touched me wrong and i never got over it.” “i wanted to be god or dead or both.”

this isn’t poetry. this is forensics.

INTENT

welcome, ye who cast thyself from the clutches of 'normality', thy who hath tossed the notion of 'social acceptance' or any likening notions into the metatragic garbage can of distaste, thy pervators of total self expression (regardless of social reaction etc), and any who find themselves to be a part of or otherwise fascinated by the fringes of both digital and physical society. did you, too, spend most of your life so far preparing for an apocalypse that has yet to come? did you expect to die before the age of 16, 18, 30? do not be put out by the scorn or disdain otherwise placed upon thy image as an art, or thy art as an image... take heed in knowing that there are many more like you, like us. we must somehow work in tandem, isolated as we may be, to explode forth some small but meaningful cast-out into the void of the internet creation, a mark to prove that we exist.

OPENSLOT//SUBMIT NOW

Windows to the Void

numbpilled and false god-made in haze

hidden layer media invites any who relate to these statements to submit art, literature, imagery, music, poetry, videos, thesis statements, research papers, ANY ORIGINALLY CREATED CONTENT to be features on hidden layer media.

a magazine will be created and published monthly if we are able to receive enough submissions to do so. all are welcome, no matter how extreme or placid.

welcome to the hidden layer of the pre-apocalyptic acceleration era. please stay as long as you wish. you are welcome here. always.

peel back your flesh and show me that dirty rotten truth under your face where it bleeds