The Internet becomes self aware and our radio dishes pivot to point at Proxima Centauri - first thing it does is call a therapist.
Contact is rather one-sided. They splatter against protons like flies against windscreens and we scrape them up, hoping to read their minds.
The first aliens we meet turn out to be boltzmann brains in our particle accelerators. You know, those places with the deadly radiation.
a river in your mind↵of snaking churning protean sludge↵remakes what furrows it flows over↵never finds a sea to end in, only joins itself
there once was a race of primates through whose veins ran alcohol but we’ve rendered them extinct and now have to make do with rotten grapes
Modern neural interfaces are not implants but rather chrome ticks that attach to the skull, to drill a hole and inject a nerve growth agent.
life as we know it is merely a virus that needs reality to support it↵real, hardcore, life needs nothing but mathematical structure
Knowing this, gods are usually kind to their subjects. But some are simply insane. Others hate their younger selves and want them to hurt.
You can contact your universe’s god by figuring out its great unifying theory, simulating it and then talking to the resulting entity.
Maybe for this reason, there cannot be a single theory of meaning, only one for each of its aspects, uniquely adapted to its nature
Destroying what it meant to enlighten, it wouldn’t be a very good theory
warm and heavy in your hand, susurrant buzz swelling and ebbing like breath, you’d expect it to wake up and scamper away (but it doesn’t)
What happened to the eagle? They pacify it with regular liver, spiked with various drugs. Pay the right sum and you’ll even be given a ride.
At the foot of the mountain Prometheus is chained to is now a restaurant. Every morning, they fry his liver over an open fire. A delicacy.
In their liturgy, the Church of the Algorithm encode a program equivalent to our universe. Worshippers execute part of it each service.
police helicopters orbit the master thief’s lair, drawn to crime like moths to light
this old remote allows you to tune in to another’s sensorium, experience the world as them↵you spend evenings just switching channels
The swarm is well protected but recently new passages have emerged, part of no text ever seen. The guards swear to have seen nobody.
The royal aviary houses thousands of parrots, bred for their memory. Each year, the crown elects one text to be taught to a hatchling.
In their now virtual world, they’ll go to the usual places, meet all the usual people - and unknowingly give away all their best friends.
Depriva™ virtuality enhancer allows you to focus on what is important by shutting out all nonvirtual senses. Don’t let reality distract you!
đź“š Finished reading Meteorology: An Introduction to the Wonders of the Weather LECTURE TRANSCRIPT AND COURSE GUIDEBOOK by Robert G. Fovell
đź“š Finished reading Meteorology: An Introduction to the Wonders of the Weather LECTURE TRANSCRIPT AND COURSE GUIDEBOOK by Robert G. Fovell
Later on, burglars start facehugging victims. With (illegal) sensory overrides, it often takes them a week to figure out something is wrong.
It would probably be fun to implement a #gopher interface for taz.de. I have to talk to our webmaster about that… :)
It would probably be fun to implement a #gopher interface for taz.de. I have to talk to our webmaster about that… :)
We tie spacetime into complicated knots to produce artificial gravity. Our space stations now look like tangles of thorny tentacles.
You rush to the copier to capture the queen, one fat hypercomplex letter sprawling over a page spread, while soldier letters bite and sting
to scrub a mind clear, feed it conceptual noise, everything-but-reality, to untie and undo all concepts it has learned, one by one
@freemor@freemor.homelinux.net Interesting post about sharing. What’re thoughts about closed sharing community where you have to contribute to get something?
@freemor@freemor.homelinux.net Interesting post about sharing. What’re thoughts about closed sharing community where you have to contribute to get something?
Let’s be honest, it seems to be impossible to use twtxt without adding new stuff to the client. So much fun.
New plugin for #txtnix: Upload your twtfile to a ftp server. Hello FTP world! Now if someone would like ftp retrieval… :)
Let’s be honest, it seems to be impossible to use twtxt without adding new stuff to the client. So much fun.
New plugin for #txtnix: Upload your twtfile to a ftp server. Hello FTP world! Now if someone would like ftp retrieval… :)
The first dryad is said to have been imprinted from a dead maiden dumped at a tree’s roots. Soon, it became a popular method of burial.
Scale one of their spires before the morning, sneak past its sleeping protectors, watch and hear thousands of bells ring to greet the sun.
Onomants, able to reveal and change true names, are feared by other wizards: Having fire renamed to buttsex badly messes up your fireballs.
So, after weeks of neglecting my twtxt feed, i try to tweet more often. I think i was simply a little burnt out after roster and txtnix.
Worked the last weeks on https://github.com/mdom/tapsig/, a tap library to test unix commands. Would be interested in any kind of feedback!
So, after weeks of neglecting my twtxt feed, i try to tweet more often. I think i was simply a little burnt out after roster and txtnix.
Worked the last weeks on https://github.com/mdom/tapsig/, a tap library to test unix commands. Would be interested in any kind of feedback!
It is critical to an alkahest’s functioning to constantly dissolve itself into new forms, to find one that can attack or escape the problem.
Like cylinders of a lock, the planets revolve around the sun. Take the key, align them, and it will open to reveal what is behind.
Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but it was lost on us when the beautiful androids the net was extruding began to replace us
To create a hunger golem, take a thousand starving paralyzed rats and a paper slip of names. It won’t rest until the bearers are devoured.
The Pharos Morgana, a saltwater will-o’-the-wisp, lures ships beyond the horizon to feed on their wreckage at the bottom of the waterfall.
to still have sailed the seven seas, of which one dried up and one was simply lost, no one remembers where it lay, maps don’t show it
in some 20 years we’re going to tell the kids in their content siloes how w̲e̲ used to get outsite at night & explore abandoned imageboards
Books hang off the author’s mind, fat and lazy memetic ticks, yet she works tirelessly to feed them. What is it with these authors?
computationalist’s fallacy (n): not pursuing a theory because it doesn’t point to an elegant algorithm (but is it a fallacy?)
teardrop naiads, tiny witnesses of tragedy↵blood naiads, often seen after battles, trying to play with the (usually humorless) valkyries
this staff is most powerful: made of wood and lightning, both alive, intertwined to wreak creation
the abyss does not judge you or pretend to hide its endless hunger. but that makes it at least one entity that cares about you
The mage steps up to the campfire, a roaring column of blue fire ascends and branches out into yellow leaves: The tree stands one last time
A huge fireball, paradoxically both dark and too brilliant to look at. Its edge dissolves everything. We dare each other to dance along it.
We like to visit the part of the city where a nuclear explosion was frozen in time by the city’s glitch-powered missile defense shield.
the mosquitoes here penetrate skulls to suck ideas↵if you swat one, it’ll leave an ink-black smear of words and images on your palm
2040: Contracts that bind ghosts to their loved ones for eternity are banned, a decision criticized by both ghost industry and many bereaved
cut reality to see if it bleeds: it does↵liquid time flows out, traps you like amber↵reality’s skin heals over and you’re caught under it
A tale of caution, citizens! Remember to dispose of oneiroactive waste! Don’t leave it around, turn it in, lest it sprout or reactivate.
You open the book to wind up a music box attached to its back. With every chapter, a new soundtrack slides into place and plays.
We radioed a few, no answer, no signs of life. But the stars… stirred. Something large was moving. Whatever it is, it’s now on its way to us
He built a telescope. Used a mirror of amber and silver, the better to see ghosts with. Found them: entire nebulae. Eurekamen.
Advances in image recognition show certain classes of captcha solvers to be vulnerable to Langford inputs. Antispam quickly weaponizes this.
instrument a mind with debugging hooks to catch all “at least they didn’t come up with […]” thoughts
“Then graverobbers, now saverobbers: Watch our report on how a shadow industry adapts to changing circumstances”
a flock of raindrops, hesitating to fall, circling over its prey
When you die, they give you a choice to restore from a savepoint, however you will share a realm with everybody else who has restored once.
we feed the reconstructor networks with noise to get eigendreams, the semantic skeleton of the oneirosphere
the smell of sweat, fear, blood & machine oil in a nuclear bunker↵hiveminds insane from isolation, seeking to escape through hijacked radio
Noobasis: Object level.↵Nootroposphere: First meta level. Still mostly plebs.↵Noostratosphere: The skyhook may deign to meet you here.
microcosmos: really tiny cosmos↵millicosmos: somewhat larger↵decicosmos: fits in a bottle, ideal size to put on a shelf and forget
New World Order? Tell me, have you seen any order to our world?↵New World Disorder is our cause. Stronger and more fertile than any order.
Devil priest: “You know there are rules to this? We don’t just take any punk, low quality souls are of no interest to us! Prove your worth.”
Space is viscous here, slows down light to walking speed. Hair standing on end, any sudden movement makes you glow with Cherenkov radiation.
You carry out a heist on Pandora’s box to free Hope’s little sister, but only manage to let Heispair and Fumousity escape. Good job hero~
Stroke your stormcat’s soft gray fur, elicit an explosive purr. (And lightning! Owners, take care to ground your belongings properly)
a society so atomized that even your subselves do not talk to each other anymore
Your opportunity to escape lasts about as long as this sentence - there, gone.
Our new roommate is one quarter frost giant and everybody wants to have him around during summer, dip feet in the cool air wafting off him
a glass knife to cut a light ray, not along its frequencies like a prism, but across so that it shatters and can be harvested
Black will-o’-the-wisps do not glow and cannot hunt in the night. As an alternative, some pretend to be treasure locations on maps.
You find a little mirror on the flea market that looks an hour into the past. You use it to spy on your cute flatmate in the bathroom.
@allgebrah I recommend to google-images what that is http://twitter.com/allgebrah/status/744991210960470017/photo/1
The theorbo is basically the double-barrelled sniper rifle of lutes. Impractical but sometimes used to banish especially tenacious ghosts.
Should you visit one of those old stone circles, take care not to wake it up. The maw these teeth belong to has claimed many a fool.
a lone sunbeam, scattered by dust, presents an austere beauty, but one only attainable at great pain to the beam - need it suffer for us?
An architectural teratoma grows in our orbit, a corrupt beauty dedicated to no god, jealously protected against pilgrims by its gargoyles.
Gargoyles contort in search for a city to look down onto, or a sense of where down is. A bell tries to chime but the vacuum does not carry.
hunt down a tornado, wrangle it to the ground, mount it to ride the skies, conquer heaven
Someone’s taken a hammer to this day and shattered it. Despite cleanup efforts, second-long shards of night interrupt the afternoon.
The Venus city is built as a giant floating rotor, always ready to slow down to sink further into the clouds, or speed up to escape a storm.
after it’s burned out, you’re among the first to log in and play in the ashes, not dust but devoid of color and reduced to random low polys
alternative ending:↵the road to well is paved with strict abstention
the road to yell is paved with loud contention↵the road to cell is paved with drunk detention↵and that to smell is simply bladder distention
a world in which seeing someone’s aura is mainstream and we use text colors and fonts to convey emotion
Sleep dervishes shorten their diurnal cycle to mere minutes. In their dreams, their planet’s rapid rotation makes them weightless.
He plucks notes from light rays pulled taut between the stars and your eyes. Your soul wants to leave with the song but you won’t let it
That one time Mercury stole Jupiter’s shadow and pretended to be him in front of the sun, she kissed him and there went his atmosphere.