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Ramble an utterance, a musing murmured into the void

The Void have you ever watched Wreck-It Ralph? Or The Matrix? Do you recall scenes from media where an electric signal from some anonymous web-surfer's device — perhaps a computer haphazardly placed on a circular, too-small, stained wooden table with a cup of coffee nearby (and of course, coffee-stained napkins that feel hefty enough to scribble some revolutionary equation upon) — is transmitted across the globe, scurries through underground, underwater fiber optic cables (nearly missing the bite of a naturally curious shark), pulses through countries whose languages are florid and whose architecture is futuristic yet arcane, and arrives somewhere else, transmitted into another anonymous web-surfer's machine? Well, the Void is an imaginary place that dips ever so gently into the fabric of reality. It is a place that some may tune in to, provided the timing is opportune and that several threads of the multiverse are sufficiently entangled, and converse with one another in one-sided (but ultimately reciprocated) correspondence.

Cable the everyday person's medium of staying connected (for we make use of so many chips every single day), as well as an essential material in certain local techno-occultists' rituals of worship. By a stretch, with associations to the umbilical cord, cables contain a biological siginificance to technoculture that makes their use in art fraught with the implications of a pseudo-Freudian perspective.