reify/embody [concept], make it tangible and/or give it agency↵(this one is as old as the gods)

The society golem would be created through an intricate dance. The dancers end up bound by invisible strings, unaware of their presence.

I suppose there is no emotion golem yet? Write a stage play and weave your audience’s emotions into something that smells of flowers&death.

Judah Low’s last golem was not the time golem: It was a language golem. The story of the Iron Council.

Most kinds of golem I could come up with have been anticipated by Miéville though: Earth, water, paper, sound, light, even time.

It appears that I have inadvertently invented a word: Golemistics (the art and science of golems and their creation)

golem inscription: go forth and destroy↵golem inscription: go back and rebuild↵bind these two together with rope: endless fun

Earthworms, larger than buses, latch onto sewer pipes like leeches, sucking the city’s lymph fluid. Some have simply replaced the pipes.

It was his synesthesia that made him taste faces he saw, he thought. Until the day he tried to swallow one and its owner dropped, soulless.

@allgebrah pro of having a banshee mother: her lullabies work wonders↵con: people you love randomly die under mysterious circumstances

She seethed. That was the third guy she had confessed her love to to have died. Maybe her father shouldn’t have married a banshee after all.

@allgebrah “it sounded great in my head!” “it’s not how you english though!”

poeting in a non-native language is hard, I constantly worry that I’ve ruined an awesome line with yet another silly blunder

The audience was enraptured. When, softly, the virtuoso put down the human, their bells, strings and skins erupted in cacophonous applause.

Sound waves converged on the violin’s strings and forced the player’s bow and hands. Nobody had ever played a human so skilfully before.

The perfection of rain dance, a critical component, required no less than three fields: Meteorology, anthropology and choreography.

Meteorology and Architecture were among the last fields to merge. Only with weather manipulation at hand, cloud castles came within reach.

what if X were normal/how would society adapt to X

One by one, the clouds fall out of the sky, the last becoming a large shaggy dog at the shepherd’s side. Time to drive home the flock.

Sitting on a rock, he idly stares into a flock of cirrocumulus, lazily lifts a whistle to his mouth and blows. Enthusiastic thunder answers.

A second sun is shining on the imaginary-numbered frequencies, into our thoughts, casts them in a light the trained eye can tell the time by

As a plague was carrying off the homunculi, vacant bodies grew in numbers and started posting ads: BODY (WARM, F) SEEKS HOM, LOVELY VIEW

@allgebrah when my “parapsychology of speech recognition” tweet draws an AI newsletter bot follower↵is this what they call intersectionality

fishing for your ancestors’ raudivian voices with HMMs and semantic neural networks - a primer

The number of moons you see depends on your number of eyes. Those of us with a third eye will see a second moon, while spiders know seven.

[fire - water - earth - air]

rise into the air as scent and pollen↵impregnate a cloud↵a storm is blowing in from dreamtime↵to fan the glowing embers of philosophy

seep away into the ground↵find a thousand seeds↵help them grow↵your army: flowers as far as the eye can see

throw open the floodgates of the mind↵overwhelm the standing armies↵conquer dreamtime wearing a crown of sea foam↵lose yourself on the plain

make a stand against time↵smash language↵kill your ontologies↵inflict epistemic violence

But furious when she found out, she inverted the gears in his clock. He was thrown into a different timeline and never seen again.

A jester and admirer once exchanged the faces on love and truth. It took her years to figure out. Not that their relationship was unhappy.

Her watches don’t measure time. Truth, love, beauty, thisness, spirit, inspiration, ghost background, name it and it is in her toolbox.

In the old city, even the buildings have evolved parasites. Disguised as rooms, they enter houses and can stay there for years, undetected.

She tucks you in with strands of her hair, sings you a lullaby of empty space and giant balls of fire, casts you a loving glance↵”wake well”

there is cancer in the bones of the earth↵oceans dry up at random↵bulbous mountains defy gravity↵spires jut out of festering lava lakes

A nighthouse - like a lighthouse but provides a cooling beacon of darkness during hot days. Lost shadows use it to find the way home.

This premise resulted in way too many ideas to post to twitter:↵http://www.synkretie.net/writings/world%20building%20-%20flat%20earth.html↵I think I shall do this for more ideas from now on.

Others stayed. Their houses adorn the steel beams that carry the sun and watch down onto earth, which now looks like the night sky once did.

Some brought back stars and pieces of the sun and installed them on towers, to grant their cities eternal day.

When explorers found out that Earth was flat after all, they mounted expeditions beyond the edge to climb the gears of Heaven.

They have been king and queen over their garden for as long as history remembers. It is a small kingdom, but even the oaks bow before them.

Families own gardens full of their ancestors’ knowledge.↵They distil spirits from the fruits for wisdom and madness.

Their society has never known books and writing, or needed either. Large orchards are a thing of power, and closely guarded against arson.

Dead scholars are buried in the library with a seedling in their mouth. When the tree grows, its fruit is infertile, but confers knowledge.

She was a stray kitten. On bright days, you now see her hunt among the clouds. Sometimes, she’ll leave a mangled angel on your doorstep.

You have a cat, large, white and fluffy. Her purr is like distant thunder, and her eyes glint like the setting sun on a lake.

poets on the equator.↵and at night, when they sleep, they catch glimpses of matter and space and their cold logicalness, and yearn for it

dreamsoon rainstorms in the tropics↵deserts under the oppressive light of an alien mind↵librarians on the poles↵writers in temperate zones