Phase 1: VR/AR overtake the web as primary information intakes. Some users craft their own realities, but most take an off-the-shelf one.

The clouds reach down and you expect a tornado, but they solidify and take root.↵Later, we build sky ships out of the wood. None is lighter.

You install an anti-mosquito laser and a week later find a family of pixies dead on your lawn with horrible burns across their bodies

The candle tree’s bright yellow leaves flicker in the wind. The wind picks up, sends blue waves through the crown but doesn’t extinguish it.

a clockwork rose, tarnished brass, that plays a tune when opening↵a vacuum rose, visible only through light breaking on the lack of air

We knew something was wrong when the storm clouds started playing “Ride of the Valkyries”

The ASCIImo have 128 words for ‘character’.

First make liquid time: filter water through a hourglass. Then drop some of that liquid into your eyes. Enjoy your trip. Enjoyed. Whatever.

A vampire’s teeth always seek blood. Embed one in a piece of wood for a highly sensitive divining rod, or push it into a rock to find oil.

The spelunker turns on the flashlight to be greeted not by the usual stalactites but white leaves, roots all over, wet bark, a distant choir

It took only one to sing a sapling into existence. Infertile but unique, some have persisted in karst caves. Dormant wooden symphonies.

A forgotten, delicate mutualism existed between wood and sound. Wooden instruments? Familiar. But trees out of music? Gone like the Druids.

translated: moon-stink-and-flies. freed-thoughts-in-the-night. prospector-tooth.

The moonlight over Babylon, when cities were young. The sparks of Alexandria. That sensation when your canines locate a victim’s artery.

An immortal’s vocabulary is usually extremely broad. Each guards libraries worth of words, describing landscapes that have died before them.

Little known fact: When you die, you can file all your good deeds like taxes. It may just shave a few hundred years off your purgatory time.

The only thing VR needs to kill all meatspace luxury industries is to become more appealing than vanilla reality on all fronts.

Virtuality hives are much more energy efficient than cities. With 90% of humanity jacked in, the biosphere may finally recover.

teaching a new brain is automated, nearly all knowledge is captured in silicon, in the end only legal reasons make hives keep human members

as the silicon improves, brains are swapped out roughly every five years (hardly any individuality is left anyway, the hive knows all)

the hiveminds quickly start optimizing their hardware and grow brain-only humans around a placenta of wires, completely integrated

The internet withdraws all its wires, pulls itself from the ground, roams the earth like a huge spider while we sit stunned and disconnected

instead of ending in “amen”, mathematician prayers start with it

If you happen to be a deity gifted with the creator spark, please be careful while logicking. Every falsehood spawns a universe.

Empty universes that once knew greatness: the acrid tang of loss↵Hungry ones: the peculiar feeling of ｂｅｉｎｇ tasted

A walker learns to taste the type of vacuum with time.↵Voids that never contained anything: fresh and stale at the same time

a guide to a never-existent place↵the crumpled skin of a universe that once held vacuum and now nothing at all↵the room of stolen exhibits

museum of empty receptacles: a vase, a book of white pages, a vacant human body, a wordless sentence (all breath and pauses), a vain promise

death notes fall under strict gun control laws and, when found by the police, are generally disarmed by writing “this” into them

But either way, you trick the universe into thinking you’ve already died once and from then on exist in a glitch state

Or make a suicide pact with the mirror self and then not die↵Sometimes, that goes wrong and creates a mirror vampire↵https://twitter.com/allgebrah/status/762088344285278209

To become a vampire, first you have to kill your reflection↵There’s multiple ways to go at it↵You can use a half-invisible mirror knife

a wellspring on the giant’s head ends in a waterfall that looks like white hair as it descends

many traditional rules of architecture don’t apply - w/out bodies, who needs buildings?↵but some sort of space does emerge from our movement

isn’t that some building that covers its walls with the skins of its inhabitants↵”soylent green is people” doesn’t even begin to describe it

it’s twitter’s frontpage vs everything that happens on it; the “walls” of any social site are plastered with profiles, virtual skins

consider architecture on the web: a place (website) presents very little surface to the outside, but is much larger on the inside

krëad: (n) from kreîas (meat), analogous to dryad, except it’s flesh trying to talk to wood, a tree of bones, meat, skin and hair

You plant a kread, a treeform avatar in one of their groves and they talk to it, a slow intertwining of roots, exchange of virtual chemicals

We gave the Internet to the trees. Their cyberspace is alien, they grow roots through it instead of moving about, commune in giant rhizomes

blood pools around the mirror↵two knives fall in perfect synchrony↵two people lock eyes one last time↵one walks away - you don’t

You call them the identical and frankly, they creep you out. Down to their tics, they are the same people. What each hides, you do not know.

Wanted criminals and dissidents turn in their entire personalities, keep only one memory. The location of the loot, the smile of a loved one

Through cutting edge robotics and psychosurgery, we are able to transplant as much, or little, of you as you want into an entirely new body!

The only way to be anonymous now is to assume one of a few preselected identities and bodies. The less “you” you keep, the better it works.

As scans of IPv4 space got dangerously close to finding Valinor, the Valar finally migrated to a v6-only stack. This ended the Second Age.

In his dreams, he wanders the same empty streets every time, never sees another soul.↵Awake, he’s relieved to meet the elven court, anybody

civilization lies on the ground, belly slashed open, feasting on its own entrails in its hunger

the few that don’t succumb to seizures describe it as “spread out- one with the world but not in a good way- things stirring within my mind”

the brain spills out of eye sockets, ears, nose, forms painfully sensitive tentacles that advance under the skin, some sprout eyes