Margot Marlenka

the world purely in itself is an unidentifiable cluttery static noise-filled manifold. a primordial sandbox of glitches of unassorted fragments interacting, resisting, intermingling into a vomit of opalescent matter.
sometimes there is a little fuckup inside one's artificial cells which leads to a lack in ability to filter out all the redundant overrepresentation of little apparatus. the patient shows symptoms of seeing the manifold, but they might showcase a difficulty in interpreting these glitchy invaders. in severe cases of the condition it is advised for the patient to try mapping out the abyss of the manifold manually into something more cohesive, as it might help them not to get completely lost inside the raw-experience soup.

when a light beam hits an atolla jellygirl from the proper angle, a rainbow of phantom holograms might appear and get dispersed in a shimmering trajectory.
a luminescent apparition from your subconscious, it brings a strong feeling of artificial flatline, impending doom in its little sack. a beautiful but not so benevolent wave of refracting fragment dreamillusions resulting in a complete inundation of all the senses.

so there are rumors about a previous friend . a very dear and precious one.
memories are great but they might fog up what is already cloaked in thick mist, tangled up in an interface of deadends and overpasses. forgetfulness' charm quickly dissolves when you start to put out posters of the aforementioned friend, sticking their picture on milk cartons, because isn't that the sort of action times like this require? and when soon it turns out the friend has been chilling in a comfy cozy nest of your mesoglea you rightfully might feel a bit silly.
solution: always navigate on autopilot if you interact with the environment on a purely subconscious level, the guilt will be transient, you’ll be always prepared to lodge new tenants in the gaps of the hollow structure that is your body.