You’ll need to use specially hardened processors, strong magical fields will often transmute your boards into something semantically close.

There are a few practical challenges. Should you stop simulating space, the GPU will quench violently and release magic smoke, lots of it.

Getting magic into a computer is a challenge though: It took a few breakthroughs in psionics and information theory to add a meta level.

It also turns out magic is not picky about what space is made of: GPUs soak up magic like sponges when running certain computations.

Fractal pyramids for a really sharp focus. Interwoven rings and splines as broadband magic storage. Spinning iron rods as temporal lenses.

The pyramid is a known and effective leyline focus. But only recently, its math has become tractable and simulations have found new shapes:

Her hair is a tangle of copper curls that broadcasts her thoughts.↵When she’s excited, your wifi and cellphone stop working.

There are now fences in the sky↵Clouds bump against them, confused↵They are not quite used to being cattle yet

They separate the visible from the invisible and run along ideological chasms and schelling fences rather than rivers. Have fun mapping!

As cyberspace swallows meatspace, egregore mediated reality becomes a thing and new borders are drawn. We didn’t have enough of them before.

Reverse time domains crystallize and spread. The few civilizations yet around have to adapt, some make a killing trading between domains.

Setting: The universe stops expanding and the arrow of time reverses, but unevenly, like a wave on a shore both advancing and receding.

Wish granted: The world now revolves around you, its rotational axis follows you around. It is currently polar night. Cold, also dark.

Masks orbit and obscure his head. One eclipses his face and stays in place: a smile, currently. Only his eyes shine through in bright red.

Prequel: a huge computer says “thgil eb ereht tel” to nobody in particular, thinking that perhaps in another timeline, it had a purpose.

When you play humanity backwards, it’s about a huge ball of grey goo clay extruding paradise, then birthing a civilization to destroy it.

A timetraveller has arrived but got the direction wrong. We watch his corpse reassemble itself, prepare to pull out the knife to unkill him.

Essentially, even though the surface is a mirror, bad luck is proportional to total mirror edge length and drops of water have no edges.

So why does bathing not incur aeons of bad luck for mirror breaking? There’s a really neat proof for why it doesn’t but this tweet is too sh

Your brain makes an awful slurping, then grinding/ticking sound. It seems to have reconfigured itself into gears. Think about an oil change.

“you do not pascal-mug your predecessors” as ethical principle preventing basilisks because your successors may do the same to you

“the current machine learning hype is retrocausal propaganda by future intelligences”↵there is such a thing as too much coffee

coffee notes made this morning: an economy based on acausal trade between past and future (along a significant tech gradient)

In our greatest heist, we stole Mars. It was too heavy to tow away, so we just left it in its orbit. It’s ours now though!

Charge the sun recorder with light, play it back at night. Prominences dance over a fist-sized star’s surface and incinerate wayward moths.

the world slows down, every twitch of a muscle becomes deliberate, every grain of sand is a gem, the wind teases with numerous soft touches

You can try to recover such journals the next night, but they’re quickly either forgotten or sold by dreamrobbers to the dreamless ones.

A dream copy protection scheme that fools even experienced dream journalers: a decoy journal catches the memory before you really wake up.

“The moon is really close today!“↵[clouds pass behind it]↵”oh”

It is hard to pollinate skyscrapers, but nature found a way. Now their stalks bend under the weight of seeds and we avoid the streets.

The sea turns to blood, we desalinate it. Locusts come, we eat them. Gabriel, led off in handcuffs after reports about a dude with a sword.

Someone pulled the plug on the sky, soil is floating up, a whole river spirals into an invisible sink, trees are doing their best to clog it

We who have found the Between are an exclusive club. Oh, new blood! Want to watch the Big Bang? There, stand just next to the walls of time.

It is not hard to escape the Reaper by feigning death, but to interact with a universe that thinks you’re dead is. Eternal glitch state.

rube goldbuild (n): overly complicated build

You can explore dreamtime in a bathysphere, dreamproof and designed to withstand great pressure. Or go native, grow gills, breathe ideas.

A parasitic word jumps from sentence to sentence, disguising as other words and taking ｔｈｅｉｒ place, feeding off meaning meant for others.

Soil samples taken disappear over night, digging sites close over. Sonar shows a chamber in its heart, but all attempts to breach it fail.

It must have embedded itself in the crust like a wooden splinter long ago. Mountain ranges have splashed and broken against it like waves.

The hill looks ordinary but is old, really old, maybe older than Earth. No dating method can place it, Earth’s crust simply flows around it.

She plays an unexpected, unexpectable rhythm, each beat startles you, an arrhythmical battering reducing your musical knowledge to rubble.

2050: Gods are now a commodity. We put little angry box gods into prison dice. Their results poison the mind, but we enjoy the thrill.

she shows you how to tickle the storm’s belly with radio waves, its purr thunders over you, nearly throws you off your feet↵”he likes you!”

princess of the storm: stolen by a tornado, raised by clouds, sleeps on the updraft inside a cumulonimbus, keeps ball lightning in her pouch

A hacker named LS made her way in once, told me the inmates were quite cheerful and had no intention of leaving. She had left empty-handed.

The researchers do not dare kill their failed sentient AIs, instead retire them to a dedicated datacenter: The endless superhuman tea party.

Split the morpheme to uncover forbidden meaning. Forge alien thoughts into a linguistic strangelet bomb and with it raze the noosphere.

Overexposure may cause painful oversensitivity of your eyes (sometimes permanent), pupils larger than your iris, afterimages in hypercolors.

Darken this candle by pouring a little liquid nitrogen over it. But do not stare into the unflame, it is every bit as dangerous as the sun.

A starfarer’s constellations are ephemeral like a surfacer’s cloud formations. As stars move, mythical animals emerge and vanish in silence.