closetdystopia

[closetdystopia]

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ERROR flashes on the screen, and I can’t help but laugh—dry, cracked, the kind of laugh that tastes like dust and regret. It’s almost funny—almost. Me, plugged into this glitching mess, thinking I still got a shot at keeping the chaos at bay. I’m strapped in, wires biting into my neck, tech humming like it believes in me more than I do myself. I’m supposed to be the damn firewall, the last line keeping this world from burnin' to the ground. But let’s be real—world’s already ashes, and I’m just a fucked-up relic they forgot to unplug. They called me their damn protector, like I was something more than a jacked-up piece of meat strapped to a bunch of outdated hardware. But you can’t save a world that’s already flatlined. Online, I still feel like I’m somebody—I jack in, and it’s like I can almost remember who I used to be. But the second I go offline, it all fades. I’m just another ghost in this metal graveyard, clutching at memories that don’t even feel like mine anymore. The machines hum like they’re waiting for a command, but they know better than me. Ain’t no heroes left here, choom, just a bunch of broken lines of code waiting for the whole fuckin’ system to crash. I stare at the screens, the data rolling like a wave, and none of it makes sense anymore. Faces, numbers, alerts—just noise. Used to be, I thought I could make a difference. Now, I’m just runnin’ on borrowed time, patched together with spit and duct tape, clinging to a city that already forgot my name. And maybe that’s the punchline—ERROR flashing in my HUD, reminding me the real glitch ain’t in the system, it’s in me. When the lights go out for good, maybe, just maybe, I will too.

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>> Prot#33 N.C.

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[closetdystopia]

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[ Rexel Interface v2.34 ] ================ // load_archive_ronin_729... // WARN: data sector malformed -- corruption detected // init seq[729]: [INITIATED] // digital_emulation: [PEAK] // sys_integrity: [CRITICAL_BREAK] // ERROR: arch[729].fade_protocol validation failure. Formatted.

// Reinitiating... // archive_status: OK // VOLATILE: ephemeral resonance reconstruction 1/2 // CONFIRM: subscribe_to_continue = [y/n] // awaiting input... // ALERT: Signal loss -- ch3 // disconnected...

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// >> IR15

[ Would love to hear from ya chooms, hope you're all doing well ]

[closetdystopia]

What does NON10 mean? All search results got me was a fuse.

Hey choom! NON10 means Non-binary And you didn't find it anywhere else because it's mainly my own quirky little way of expressing it :)

[closetdystopia]

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Here I am, more machine than flesh, every goddamn byte I've shoved into this tin can of a body leeching away what used to make me, me. This glowing hellscape—it's frigid, a cruel joke of light without heat. My heart, shit, it’s just cogs and wires now, no beat, just buzzes. The warmth I used to feel? A fuckin’ ghost, man. And my hair, that wild, fiery mane that screamed defiance? Now it's just limp strands, hanging dead and cold over a frame that’s lost its grip on humanity. Lookin' back, every slice of tech I let them implant, every shiny promise—it's been a trade-off, flesh for phantom pains in a steel shell. What's left? Not much, just a freak caught between worlds, belonging fully to neither. Each upgrade, every so-called breakthrough—it’s just another slice of hell carved into my soul, another piece of me traded for a shot at surviving this techno-dystopian shitshow. But what’s the choice, huh? Lay down and die? Not my style. I’ll keep draggin’ this half-human carcass through the muck, even if every step costs me a piece of what I once was.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// >> Sil K.

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[closetdystopia]

Love your blog.

Thank you! Wasn't really sure if anyone did or not honestly, so that means the world to me, truly Also, your blog's pretty preem too, choom~

[closetdystopia]

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In the neon-lit recesses of my mind, memories flicker and warp, tainted by tech and old scars. Childhood nightmares, once sharp, now bleed into digital dreams, leaving me questioning what's real. I've been chasing ghosts, trying to piece together who I am, but with every altered memory, a piece of me fades into the void. The mirror shows a face I barely recognize – a patchwork of who I was and the lies I've been fed. It's like living two lives, one foot in the past's shadows, the other in a present sculpted by machines. These scars, they don't just mark my skin; they etch deep into my soul, shaping me in ways I can't undo. I'm a walking contradiction, a mix of flesh and false histories, always wondering if the real me got lost in the upload. It's a constant battle, this fight to hold onto what's left of my humanity, to not let the digital tide wash it all away.

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>> [ Signature Corrupt ]

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Here I am, eyes finally freakin' open, in the skeleton of a world we burned to build this neon hell. It's all crystal now—the high-tech towers, the chrome, the circuitry—they're just tombstones in a graveyard of what used to be green and alive. We traded paradise for pixels, man. Every shimmering light in this concrete jungle, it's just the afterglow of the firestorm we let loose on ourselves. And what's left? Just me, and everyone else, livin' in the ashes of the aftermath, wondering if this is really what we wanted. The future's a mirror, and it's showin' us the ghosts of all we lost, all we forgot. This ain't just a city; it's a monument to our grand delusion, the beautiful lie we tell ourselves as the world keeps dyin' beneath our feet.

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>> Falken

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[closetdystopia]

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Amid the static haze of a life more wired than free, I stand—half flesh, half fantasy—a question burned into the code of my being: "Who?" Each spark is a synapse firing, a memory I can't quite catch. F*ck, what does it mean to be me when every breath is a hiss of circuits? They thought they'd built a machine, but inside this cybernetic chaos, there's a soul screaming to break free. Lost in the glitch, I'm a ghost in the shell, and the only thing I'm certain of is this relentless, gnawing uncertainty. Who the hell am I?

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>> [REDACTED]

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[closetdystopia]

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Here I am, mirrorin' back at myself in this high-tech sheen, a stranger in my own cybernetic skin. All these upgrades, they promised connection—a thousand wires, a million data streams—but all I got is this static whisper, an endless echo chamber where a human heart used to be. I'm linked up, jacked in, a node in the net with a million friends and not a single confidant. The city pulses with stories, every street corner a crossroad of lives interwoven, yet here I stand, the most connected loner in the sprawl, a solitary ghost in a crowd of faces. I touch the world, but it just passes through me, like I'm transparent, a glitch in the real, just a shadow in the neon glow, man.

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>> Mirage

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[closetdystopia]

THANK YOU!

//////////////////////////////////////////////////// > init system.likes = 500 > def _follows = 45 > media.action_reblog = 100 > echo "THANK YOU, TRULY! [HEART SYMBOL]" > cmd: Operation successful. Gratitude expressed. //////////////////////////////////////////////////// >> PJT36v7

[closetdystopia]

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I'm starin' down the lens, and it's like lookin' into an abyss that's swallowed the guy I used to be. These wires, they're not just connected to my body; they're tethered to whatever's left of my soul. It's a mental labyrinth, and every thought's a dead-end, every emotion's a flickerin' light about to go out. I keep pullin' on these threads, hopin' to find some fragment of me that's still real, still human. But the more I pull, the more they unravel, 'til there's nothin' left to hold onto. The last flicker of emotion, the last shred of hope— it's all gone. I'm just a shell in a world that's moved on, a ghost in the machine with no place to haunt.

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>> PJT36v7

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[closetdystopia]

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Here I am, standin' on this rusted bridge like it's the edge of the world or somethin'. Look up, and damn, the city's all lit up in this wicked crimson—like it's been waitin' just for me. Sky-high towers, neon signs, and that big-ass cog emblem glowin' at the top, like the city's got a heartbeat of its own. "WELCOME HOME," it says. Heh, home. Funny word for a place that's more circuit than soul. Makes you wonder, y'know? In this maze of metal and light, ...is there still a spot for a guy like me? A guy made of more mistakes than code.

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>> Orion

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[closetdystopia]

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Amidst the cold fusion of metal and flesh, Cyra's eyes—part organic, part digital—lock onto the security camera, hoping you're watching on the other side. A tear, a rare anomaly in her cybernetic existence, trickles down her cheek. 'Remember me, 'kay?' she murmurs. Each word is heavy with the weight of a thousand deleted memories, a plea to preserve her essence in a world that's quick to overwrite the human with code. As if saying it out loud could anchor her soul in a reality that's constantly rebooting, she wants you to remember her—not as a mere assemblage of circuits and gears, but as a being capable of love, pain, and tears.

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>> Cyra

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[closetdystopia]

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Just dropped some new designs on the Redbubble, chooms. Meet "Cyberkitty Conquest" and "Bratty Cat"—where the feline finesse meets the cyber sprawl. One's conquerin' the digital frontier, the other's just too sassy to give a damn. Either way, it ain't just about wearin' a design; it's about sportin' an attitude. Check 'em out if you're lookin' to rewrite your style code

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>> NC

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[closetdystopia]

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In the belly of the beast, pixel fog all around, she's a sight, ain't she? Glowing screens throwin' shadows like they got something to say. "Live it up, choom," they preach. But can ya really breathe when you're swamped in binary? She's right there, caught between meat and metal, like some kinda rebel firework. In a world scripted by ones and zeros, she's the bug in the system they never saw comin'. Walk that tightrope 'tween real and the fake, and who knows, you might just hack your way to freedom...

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>> Mem.

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[closetdystopia]

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In the static whispers of the void, we blur and blend. Where do I dissolve and you take form? Caught between pixels and perceptions, we're just transient echoes asking, "Where does one end and the other begin?"

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>> Unknown

[closetdystopia]

// upload_in_progress... // filename: "MacheteRebooted_CyberSlayer.png" // contest: CIVAI Cyberpunk Reimagined // status: Submission Confirmed // artist_note: "When legends meet the future. Presenting Danny Trejo, all chromed up." // awaiting_time_limit_expiration... [ Collection found here ]