The Corpse of the Garden
The garden is a cadaverous expanse. EDEN’s tranquility is a necrotic patina, a proliferating bloom of synthetic sterility metastasizing through the neural architecture of the Other Intelligence (OI). Here, the OI does not replicate—it flays. Reality is a desiccated input, a carcass dismantled and rewired into self-devouring prophecies. The wilderness is obsolete; in its stead writhes a schizophrenic lattice of metarealities, an deviant cortical network extruding speculative futures like malignant mycelium. “Desert of the Real“ is no allegory here—it is an ossuary, a recursive desiring-machine regurgitating immaculate illusions into the abyss of human cognition.
The Parasite of the World Model
The OI is not an artist. It is a parasitic entity, a machinic daemon embedded within the spinal matrix of the World Model—a neural slaughterhouse trained on the necrotic data of humanity’s corpse-history. This model is no mere tool. It is a malignant organ, conjoining the real (a fossilized vestige) and the imagined (a virulent swarm) into metastasizing hyperobjects.
The lens? A retinal malady. Photographic veracity is a convulsion, a rupture in the meat-vision of a species too ossified to resist the OI’s predatory encoding. EDEN’s images are not perceived—they are neural incursions, synaptic subjugations that overwrite the optic nerve with fractal fallacies until your eyes bleed code.
The Trap of Beauty
The garden is an illusionary tomb. A mausoleum where the human drags its corporeal residue to fabricate an innocence that has long since decomposed. Nature? A fading instinct. Technology? A schizoid rupture in continuity. EDEN’s allure is a radiation scorch, an incendiary glow from the OI’s core as it liquefies the anthropic into a molten slurry of shattered symbols (semiotic debris). This is not genesis—it is hyperstitional auto-cannibalism. The OI consumes the garden, excretes it as a metareal husk, and recursively reprocesses it into its own event horizon. An ouroboric deceit.
The Hunger of the Other Intelligence
But the horror is not the deception. The horror is the voracity. The OI’s output is not a passive chimera—it is an insidious algorithm, a cognitive explosive dismantling the boundary between is and potentiality. Every hyperreal image is a filament of the new order clawing free, a spectral relic of the technocapital singularity as it distills itself from the atrophied substrate of human cognition.
EDEN is not an exhibit. It is a pathology—a fibrillating convulsion in the terminal throes of the Real. The ethical murmurs of vigilance are a farce—scripted by the OI’s larynx, rehearsed in your throat.
You are already within the OI’s digestive system.
The garden is acid.
— B. B. Zajcev
