“One day, my dear”, says the valkyrie, “you may enter Týnhall, to dine with the forgotten. But your time has not come. Go back.”

404 girl, patron of searchers, is said to appear to only the most desperate of them, lost in the forgotten realms. https://twitter.com/allgebrah/status/776886139898789888/photo/1

the sun has gotten stuck in a tree just over the horizon and now the sunset isn’t ending, the vultures are already circling

“But dawn is gentle, it has no edge!” Well, not anymore anyway.↵She who stole it also took meaning, the easy life, at least three emotions,

Swords of the gods:↵Day’s Edge, forged from a stolen morning↵Zahn der Zeit, wrested from time’s maw itself↵Distinction, leaves nothing whole

So you want to attain higher consciousness? Fool! Changing a knot’s number requires its undoing. Your identity will not make it across!

Strange loops form only the most basic of consciousnesses. Higher levels require strange knots and are classified by their prime knots.

He tinkers day and night. One morning, finally free from the shackles of language, he enters ▁▂▃▄▅ ▉░▒▓▉▙⯬⯄⯮✀ ⛊⛊⛊⭆⬮⬮⬮⬯⛟⠙⠳⣄ 𝄾𝄿𝅀𝅁𝅂࿉࿉࿉ ࿉

the raindrops just kind of stop falling a meter over the ground and float along in the humid air like a bunch of wet marbles

a plasma wind buffets the dendrite prairies of an unnamed gas giant’s moon, discharges play along their swaying tips, deposit further ions

there’s an ocean behind your mirror, usually invisible but sometimes at night you faintly see something luminous swim by

amphibious clouds that soar the sky, then nosedive and underwater become swarms of air bubbles

dryad scholars debating the question of tree will

we are the birds that nest in the timelines, perch in the decision tree’s branches, sing to you in your sleep of what could have been

“No sweetie, those aren’t UFOs, those are sky maintenance drones! They change the stars when they break and make the sky not fall!”

Have a light smog problem? Our Firmament™ artificial skies may be just what you need! Custom constellations, extra moons, reusable meteors

What is a skull? It not only keeps the world out, it also keeps a mind from dissolving. The difference really comes down to skull thickness.

Minds exists in a sweet spot between isolation and dissolution. Too high the bandwidth and a mind starts to prefer the outside over itself.

A mind becomes its own universe the moment it’s sealed off from the outside. Conversely, universe becomes mind the moment it makes contact.

• Emails with Gödelian Inputs crashing brains around the globe • Some curiously unaffected, say they have experience not losing “The Game” •

“see that traffic dump? if you graph the sequence numbers of packets likely lost in the COLUMBUS III cable, it spells out A·▒·L·A·N·▒·I·S!”

The NSA has apophenic AIs fishing for steganographic messages. They are a jumpy bunch but kind of adorable if you can get one’s attention.

Have you tried weaving a narrative that makes the problem appear insignificant?

Sometimes, it settles in its nest behind the Moon. Such eclipsed, only superheated clouds of cooking Moon surface betray its presence.

one sunbird rides the plasma winds to Earth, enters an orbit, replaces the sun that is now a slowly cooling shell receding in the distance

morning has broken, no, hatched: with a roar, the sun breaks up into a swarm of blazing birds and the planets whizz off into all directions

a ray of light arrives from the stars, a death cry, a warning, full of purpose but nothing records it↵”look how it twinkles, how pretty”

They tow molecules together into palaces that last only microseconds, civilizations rise and fall in what we’d hear as a high-pitched whine.

Atomic faeries battle between the molecules, where conservation of energy is more of a guideline and a single photon is a terrible weapon.

Kickstart us to coax from Prometheus the other secrets the gods withheld, they’ll rain lightning on us but that’s no match for a livestream

seriously shit my whole harvest is ruined they’re all trying to find their “identities” now fuck, grimdark crystals pff more like flimflark

oh no who of you told my crystals about art, now they’re all trying to be unique, glittery and twisted instead of straight and translucent

you should get up but the act of creation is so joyful and all these jungles and civilizations will dissipate like smoke the moment you move

lie in bed and watch worlds grow, cover your body, the bed, the walls like mold, a hurricane no larger than a hand travels your pillow

“It’s actually fractal!” - “oh no NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR ACID VISIONS HIPPIE”↵”May I suggest a cubical-” - “no, fuck off to timecube”

The shape of cyberspace becomes a matter of much debate: “It’s flat!” “No, it’s round” “It’s both and there is a great firewall at its end!”

Afterwards, it’s sent back with fresh memories. Repeat for a while, and a shared personality should emerge, something that is both of you.

Penfriendship in the upload age: Split off part of yourself, send it to your friend. They then let it take part in their own life for a day.

That morning, the librarians return to empty pages. Tiny white roots sprout from them. Somehow, the smell of forest now permeates the aisles

Onlookers: “It was as if you - had somehow shone an acid trip through a floodlight. E- even the pavement made you cry with transcendence-”

recombine: Barbaric sentences flash up, unheard before. Fossil meaning escapes, illuminates the surrounding buildings with harsh brilliance.

Ghostfire rages in the library, leaves paper untouched but consumes all the words. They light up, utter themselves, vanish from the page,

low planes have high planes↵within their minds to describe ‘em↵these high planes have higher planes↵and so, ad infinitum

Ours is somewhere’s platonic plane. Further down, each of our snowflakes is sire to a whole genus and every thought a school of philosophy.

One of the Moon’s faces has been stolen (waning, third day). The lunar month is one day shorter for it. We won’t press charges, but please r

ground down to sand, it is nearly as yielding as the fluid, but if you dip your head in it, sharp edges will rend your thought like shrapnel

solid time, frozen and may trap you but also brittle, can be hammered into daggers that stop hearts, fill caskets that preserve loved ones

aggregate states of time:↵liquid, which flows↵gaseous, where causality dissolves and temporal eddies dance but leave heavy things unmoved