What you do and don’t have names for is an important feature of your ontology. Un-naming things is an underused technique.

a river of ink is drawing itself across the plain, it is its own map

Two-way endings act as narrative beam splitters and you can use them to set up quantum entanglement between your readers.

white light that refuses to be split into colours, passing through prisms unbroken

a car’s fifth wheel is like our third eye: used for travelling other dimensions

Cthulhu is not an entity, it is an action: civilizations commit Cthulhu and are eaten by their cyberspace instead of exploring the void.

the skyscrapers are swaying in the storm like a field of grass

kaleidoscopic writing: take [collection of shiny things], let it tumble about and assume many different configurations, describe them all.

the wood of freshly felled hashed quadtrees makes excellent spaceship material (among others, ⠨⣀⣱)

But you can also always wander into the city and be welcome, while villages are suspicious of newcomers.

Cities scale better, but are somewhat anonymous and amorphous: you can wander into a different part and just not know anybody anymore.

The distinction being that villages have one to a few well defined centres (fora) while cities are just these large sprawling masses.

Idea: Cohesive communities are the villages of cyberspace, pluralistic sprawls like twitter/FB the cities. It’s a difference in philosophy.

he’s an antiquity dealer, but not in furniture↵sells what was forgotten when our grandparents died, their smells, hopes, rituals and dreams

Thought superconductors are impermeable to memories due to field interactions. The mind inside experiences everything in the same instant.

waiter, I’d like a glass of sparkling water please↵oh but without the glass and the water, just the sparkle against the roof of my mouth

force with no reaction↵a bubble in water, without the water↵a border separating nothing↵time going in only one direction

Collect some of that frost before the sun does! Keep in a ziploc in the freezer, fashion an ice bird from it when winter comes. Let it fly.

The late cold caught even the birds’ songs in hoar frost. As it thaws in the sun, thousands of thin bird voices pipe up from the grass.

The sun clucks happily as her children throw off their shells and unintentionally incinerates most of what is left of humanity.

Lately the quakes have been many and devastating. One morning, a titanic beak breaks through the pacific. The sun’s egg has finally hatched.

So you have a sleep cycle? Yeah? That’s cool but do you have a sleep bicycle? Guaranteed to get you around dreamtime at ten times the speed!

The morning after, you pass the house. It has a huge crack going up to the roof and the police are currently evacuating its inhabitants.

The flames are clearly eating him, but the tear isn’t widening. The only sounds he makes are the crackle and whine of a burning log.

In the mud, a hole appears, much like a tear in paper. Flames lick at its edges. He steps forward, grabs the edges, pulls them together.

It tastes metallic, sand crunches between your teeth. Before you, the wall and the entire house around it collapse slowly into mud.

He stops at a wall, seemingly unaware of you. “Why are you here?”. You do not answer. “Not you. The wall.” Water starts seeping through.

He slowly walks towards you, past you, onto the street. You see no cars, or anything else that moves for that matter. “Wait for me!” You run

You enter the alley and see him, transparent. He turns, fixes his gaze on you, gains substance while the world loses its colour. “Finally.”

Dream’s temple, by design, is nearly entirely ritual, reflecting dreams’ intangible and ever-changing nature:↵https://twitter.com/allgebrah/status/706999800437334016

This is especially evident in sacral architecture which encloses/protects/directs religious service. But every building knows its rituals.

Architecture is ossified ritual, alternatively its exoskeleton.

Your timekeeping device literally keeps time, in a battery. You can discharge it to gain one hour of contemplation.

He sells them in sets of five, together with ideas for rituals. Priests are encouraged to trade their temples and find new ways of worship.

But no less consideration goes into them! They are carved out of metal with micron precision and interrelate in endless and surprising ways.

He once designed entire cathedrals, but his clients ran out of money. Now he specializes in portable microtemples, no bigger than dice.

transpose X from environment Y to environment Z↵(via https://twitter.com/ctrlcreep/status/707291326631579648)

“And she did really steal a street?“↵”Yeah! It was gone even from the maps!“↵”I wonder what her hoard looks like with loot like that?”

On my shelf, unsolved, sits a rubik’s cube. It consists of only one cube.

Markovian writing, in which you try to sound like a Markov chain while still making sense on another level.

A glitch in the GPS signal lures unwitting drivers onto uncharted field roads, where it ties them into a reality knot to slowly digest them.

The monks only leave the field for one hour each day to follow earthly urges.↵They weave their lives into the Dream and dream of its fabric.

Dream’s temple is an empty field, but on it the monks dance day and night in a never-repeating pattern and sing a never-repeating song.

Each spire contains a central room in whose floor a series of concentric bronze rings is embedded, the smallest one invisible to the eye.

Space’s temple is a number of stone spires arranged on a straight line, each twice as far from the first than the one before.

Around it, oaks grow in a circle, ever older as you walk along it, the oldest replaced by a sapling. A stele keeps track of its revolutions.

Time’s temple is a giant hourglass. Every morning, an acolyte fetches a bucket of sand from the bottom, trudges up and refills from the top.

Contacts lenses for a hyperopic mind’s eye, which finds it difficult to focus on concrete concepts and perceives only abstractions clearly.

What is the world? A miserable pile of voids. A bubble bath, vast bubbly superstructures containing more bubbles down to the immeasurable.

A vocoder but for thoughts: it removes their humanity and lets you modulate them onto the emotions of a machine.