diff --git a/Plain text books/plaintextbooks.md b/Plain text books/plaintextbooks.md index 0fa9ded..0f35034 100644 --- a/Plain text books/plaintextbooks.md +++ b/Plain text books/plaintextbooks.md @@ -116,7 +116,7 @@ Later, much later, scrivened yet unhappened: they will return to the spot. A pro # An Ode to Slog -### I. +### I. Nighthowl a courtier, a tunnel of the vision took the knife, first care set by the builders, @@ -239,3 +239,28 @@ a covenant in kind: time-lag this mishapen alba carve caesurae through I, a bl||inking en||voi||d and unbind aorta from inocciduous ague. + +# Addressing Conflicts Honorably: A Proposal + +Your Majesty, + +Enclosed, a few thoughts pertaining to our last exchange about the brewing tensions between several factions. These thoughts may seem preposterous, but I ask that you read them thoroughly and consider what such endeavors may resemble in practice. + +I believe a yearly competition between tribes may be best in order to resolve grudges, grievances, resentments, debts, and other forms of discords not easily addressable through current rulings. + +As you know, such events once existed but have long lost their appeal. Indeed, with the technological marvels that surround us (many of them the result of your governance) how can ancient practices such as tug of war, ball games, or spear throwing be seen as worth engaging in? They may be respected as traditions--as one respects an out-of-touch elder--but they do not reflect the reality in which we are embedded, nor do they quell deep-seated feelings. + +What I propose embraces the cultural import of past traditions, yet modernizes these practices through the use of two technologies: geomagnetic disc launchers and flume-fliers. + +You may find yourself aghast at these lines, given that such apparatuses were designed with warfare in mind. To this potential reaction, I say: indeed, that is why they should be used. Certainly, they should be modified to prevent serious injuries or deaths. That is, unless the competitors unanimously agree that fatal exchanges are warranted, or unless Your Majesty sees strategic value in "matches of death". + +This competition, which I tentatively name "Celestial Siege", requires two teams. I leave the number of competitors to your discretion, but believe a total of thirty-two may be optimal. Each participant shall be given a geomagnetic disc launcher and flume-flier, as well as a custom-forged suit of mechanical armor matching their community's chosen aesthetic. Both teams shall begin the game in their respective "strongholds"--structures specifically built for the event. The goal of this competition is to retrieve an item from the opposing team's stronghold and to bring this item back "home". While open to other possibilities, here I would suggest a flag, a coat of arms, or any other heraldic symbol to which a faction may be attached. A team achieves victory by capturing the symbol ten times, or by holding the highest number of captures by game's end, or if the opposing team forfeits. + +I already see how vehicles may play a part, or why other armament types may be allowed to highlight a participant's skills and preferred forms of "sieging". Different rule sets may be implemented as well. Though I shudder at the notion, I suspect the aforementioned matches of death may become gruesomely popular with certain crowds. + +Rather than specifics, which shall come later, for the time being I invite Your Majesty to simply envision what these competitions would look like. Picture pride-seeking fighters soaring high above the dunes and hills of your dominium, the most talented mechanically-enhanced warriors disc-hitting their targets mid-air! Others, I am certain, will swiftly adapt to the subtleties of flume-flying, and use their devices to glide--for lack of a better word--along the terrain at dizzying speeds. + +I pray you will see my proposal as one worth pondering, rather than the foolish ramblings of an aging star-gazer. + +Your esteemed scholar of the Under Spheres, +Liyana Osis \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/The Rhizomatic Library/Books.xml b/The Rhizomatic Library/Books.xml index 3a835c1..453c882 100644 --- a/The Rhizomatic Library/Books.xml +++ b/The Rhizomatic Library/Books.xml @@ -1,245 +1,270 @@ - The wall will not stop screaming; I have not known peace since sentience first took hold. - - I write these lines in haste, as I doubt the concoction I cooked-up haphazardly to dull my hearing will last long. Truly, the animating device worked. It is one thing to parse the theories, and another to inscribe them into still matter. Given the lack of reliable data, I took certain precautions. The wall I chose for this experiment barely deserves the name: a half-collapsed concrete slab, traversed by fissures and cracks. The price was only justified by the trader agreeing to deliver the purchase to my basement. I dared not consider fulcrete or a sturdier material, yet needed an adequate amount of structural stability for the animator to function. Indeed, a wall that was concrete enough--pardon the word twist. My basement is empty and, if the wall were to attempt escaping, it would need to ascend a perilous set of stairs. - - The wall has not tried to escape. The animator, once activated, latched on to concrete in a gruesome, perforatory embrace. The exact process through which the animator bonded with the wall eludes me, as the device deployed itself with a shocking haste. I glimpsed flesh-matter--what seemed like flesh matter--being injected. It is as if the animator rearranged concrete while strategically spewing ooze and connective tissues, orchestrating the displacement of pre-existing material with great care for the logic of what makes a wall *a wall*. My language does not do justice to materiality--could it ever?--and I invite readers to approach this sleep-deprived ekphratic burst with skepticism. Should I acquire a second animator, I intend to create a local time dilation and chart the sentience-weaving process to the best of my ability. For now, there are more urgent issues. + The wall will not stop screaming; I have not known peace since sentience first took hold. - What does one do with a screaming wall? +I write these lines in haste, as I doubt the concoction I cooked-up haphazardly to dull my hearing will last long. Truly, the animating device worked. It is one thing to parse the theories, and another to inscribe them into still matter. Given the lack of reliable data, I took certain precautions. The wall I chose for this experiment barely deserves the name: a half-collapsed concrete slab, traversed by fissures and cracks. The price was only justified by the trader agreeing to deliver the purchase to my basement. I dared not consider fulcrete or a sturdier material, yet needed an adequate amount of structural stability for the animator to function. Indeed, a wall that was concrete enough--pardon the word twist. My basement is empty and, if the wall were to attempt escaping, it would need to ascend a perilous set of stairs. - - +The wall has not tried to escape. The animator, once activated, latched on to concrete in a gruesome, perforatory embrace. The exact process through which the animator bonded with the wall eludes me, as the device deployed itself with a shocking haste. I glimpsed flesh-matter--what seemed like flesh matter--being injected. It is as if the animator rearranged concrete while strategically spewing ooze and connective tissues, orchestrating the displacement of pre-existing material with great care for the logic of what makes a wall *a wall*. My language does not do justice to materiality--could it ever?--and I invite readers to approach this sleep-deprived ekphratic burst with skepticism. Should I acquire a second animator, I intend to create a local time dilation and chart the sentience-weaving process to the best of my ability. For now, there are more urgent issues. + +What does one do with a screaming wall? + + + - How I wish to behold the sentient tree-city of Chavvah! The very thought invokes a series of sensical bonds. What is a city but a network? What are trees but assemblages? What is a sentient tree-city but moving parts performing as one? I am mindful of imperfections and discords, of course. Cities and forests are cacophonous, chaotic, wavering multiplicities forever on the brink of collapse. Surely, they disagree on much. And yet, *yet*, they hold together enough to warrant their names. This holding-together, regardless of tensions spawned by coalesced enactments of heterogenous nodes, would prove a welcome respite. After all, the sentient tree-city chooses to be a sentient tree-city. It upholds itself. + How I wish to behold the sentient tree-city of Chavvah! The very thought invokes a series of sensical bonds. What is a city but a network? What are trees but assemblages? What is a sentient tree-city but moving parts performing as one? I am mindful of imperfections and discords, of course. Cities and forests are cacophonous, chaotic, wavering multiplicities forever on the brink of collapse. Surely, they disagree on much. And yet, *yet*, they hold together enough to warrant their names. This holding-together, regardless of tensions spawned by coalesced enactments of heterogenous nodes, would prove a welcome respite. After all, the sentient tree-city chooses to be a sentient tree-city. It upholds itself. - Pardon me. Names and objects and things have been on my mind. I have not slept in three days. The wall stopped screaming the morning after its sentience-injection. Soon after, the wall began talking, repeating the same thing over and over. What am I? What am I? What am I? +Pardon me. Names and objects and things have been on my mind. I have not slept in three days. The wall stopped screaming the morning after its sentience-injection. Soon after, the wall began talking, repeating the same thing over and over. What am I? What am I? What am I? - If I have not slept, it is because there is no satisfactory answer. Still, I tried to communicate, and have little to show for it other than these miserable scribblings. I have read stories to the wall, introduced myself, asked questions, inquired as to whether it needed help. The only hint of recognition involved the water ritual, to which the wall replied: What is live? What is drink? +If I have not slept, it is because there is no satisfactory answer. Still, I tried to communicate, and have little to show for it other than these miserable scribblings. I have read stories to the wall, introduced myself, asked questions, inquired as to whether it needed help. The only hint of recognition involved the water ritual, to which the wall replied: What is live? What is drink? - How should I know? +How should I know? - It occurs to me that I take facets of this experiment for granted, and must loop back to basics. How does a wall speak at all? How could it scream? Why did it stop? The wall has no mouth yet screams. The wall has no tongue yet speaks. As much as I can discern, the sounds emanate from somewhere within, or around, the wall itself. Its voice, should it be called that, matches the elusive notion of concrete as a vocalized phenomenon--subjectivity be damned. Each word resonates as if formed out of the *concepts* of growls and grumbles. Syllables are sluggishly brought forth by rock-like aggregates gnashing against their neighboring parts in arrangements meant to produce the desired vibrations. I lack the tools to prove whether that is indeed happening. This may be, instead, esper-like mimicry. A trick, an illusion--and I am the fool. The Nano-Neuro Animator, through complex processes, analyzes the object to which it is applied and deploys rudimentary emulations of what the target *should* sound like. Sentience as artifice--a cruel deception. +It occurs to me that I take facets of this experiment for granted, and must loop back to basics. How does a wall speak at all? How could it scream? Why did it stop? The wall has no mouth yet screams. The wall has no tongue yet speaks. As much as I can discern, the sounds emanate from somewhere within, or around, the wall itself. Its voice, should it be called that, matches the elusive notion of concrete as a vocalized phenomenon--subjectivity be damned. Each word resonates as if formed out of the *concepts* of growls and grumbles. Syllables are sluggishly brought forth by rock-like aggregates gnashing against their neighboring parts in arrangements meant to produce the desired vibrations. I lack the tools to prove whether that is indeed happening. This may be, instead, esper-like mimicry. A trick, an illusion--and I am the fool. The Nano-Neuro Animator, through complex processes, analyzes the object to which it is applied and deploys rudimentary emulations of what the target *should* sound like. Sentience as artifice--a cruel deception. - If that is what I believe, then why does rest not find me? - How do I tell an object the story of what it is? - - +If that is what I believe, then why does rest not find me? +How do I tell an object the story of what it is? + + - Tomorrow, I will make the trip to Grit Gate. I doubt the Bathrumites will welcome me, of all people, but perhaps my company will draw the tinkerers' interest. + Tomorrow, I will make the trip to Grit Gate. I doubt the Bathrumites will welcome me, of all people, but perhaps my company will draw the tinkerers' interest. + +The wall walks. It has been four days. + +I do not understand how, and I cannot bear to look, but it is capable of following me. By now, the wall remains silent unless it hears my voice--at which point it asks, what am I? I prefer to hold my tongue. I refuse to shatter the wall, despite having the tools at my disposal. I do not know what this entity *is*, and it is not for me to know. I only wish to let it return to what it once was--a simple block of concrete, cracked and fissured, unmoving, unpleading. + +Perfect in its unthinking. + +Last evening, and until the sun rose, I wondered about all the sentient things roaming the world's expanses. I do not refer to those of us seemingly born with it. I speak of the *other* sentient things, upon whom consciousness is imposed along the way. Do they all react as this wall did? Do some of them speak in full sentences? Does sentience spread over days, weeks, or months? Do certain walls walk soon after being exposed to an animator? What makes this wall *this wall*? Would it protect me from harm? Is it *my* wall? What differentiates an object from another? - The wall walks. It has been four days. - - I do not understand how, and I cannot bear to look, but it is capable of following me. By now, the wall remains silent unless it hears my voice--at which point it asks, what am I? I prefer to hold my tongue. I refuse to shatter the wall, despite having the tools at my disposal. I do not know what this entity *is*, and it is not for me to know. I only wish to let it return to what it once was--a simple block of concrete, cracked and fissured, unmoving, unpleading. - - Perfect in its unthinking. +These are not questions I would ask any newly sentient being. The questions are reserved for us, the things who make other things think. Are we so alone? Are we so alone that we are willing to bear an object's wails to shield us from silence? Do we not deserve this loneliness, then? - Last evening, and until the sun rose, I wondered about all the sentient things roaming the world's expanses. I do not refer to those of us seemingly born with it. I speak of the *other* sentient things, upon whom consciousness is imposed along the way. Do they all react as this wall did? Do some of them speak in full sentences? Does sentience spread over days, weeks, or months? Do certain walls walk soon after being exposed to an animator? What makes this wall *this wall*? Would it protect me from harm? Is it *my* wall? What differentiates an object from another? - - These are not questions I would ask any newly sentient being. The questions are reserved for us, the things who make other things think. Are we so alone? Are we so alone that we are willing to bear an object's wails to shield us from silence? Do we not deserve this loneliness, then? +If the Barathrumites can excise the wall's nervous systems, free it from sentience, then I will pay whatever price they require of me. I will retrieve artifacts from the Deathlands if they so demand. I leave these notes behind so that they may wander, as all things are wont to do. I am afraid of how every object feels about us. I hope the Barathrumites will understand this predicament and that they have the means to carry out my desired undoing. - If the Barathrumites can excise the wall's nervous systems, free it from sentience, then I will pay whatever price they require of me. I will retrieve artifacts from the Deathlands if they so demand. I leave these notes behind so that they may wander, as all things are wont to do. I am afraid of how every object feels about us. I hope the Barathrumites will understand this predicament and that they have the means to carry out my desired undoing. - - Should these notes end up in your possession--I have one request. If you ever cross paths with a walking, talking concrete wall, do not try to explain to them what they are. Simply acknowledge that they are. You may tell them, as well, that I am sorry. +Should these notes end up in your possession--I have one request. If you ever cross paths with a walking, talking concrete wall, do not try to explain to them what they are. Simply acknowledge that they are. You may tell them, as well, that I am sorry. - How I wish to behold the sentient tree-city of Chavvah. - - +How I wish to behold the sentient tree-city of Chavvah. + + - What they were hoping to find in the Deathlands does not matter. Later, when the story is shared, taleweavers will ascribe motives and polish surfaces because they cannot bear the grime. That is their problem; it does not have to be (y)ours. Pray believe the grime. Concealed under flesh masks and polished teeth, core functions spew honesty: it's all survival. + What they were hoping to find in the Deathlands does not matter. Later, when the story is shared, taleweavers will ascribe motives and polish surfaces because they cannot bear the grime. That is their problem; it does not have to be (y)ours. Pray believe the grime. Concealed under flesh masks and polished teeth, core functions spew honesty: it's all survival. - They were looking to survive. - They were looking for trouble, too. +They were looking to survive. +They were looking for trouble, too. - So they left the forests and the rivers and the empty home till there was nothing but the taste of ash and sand filling their mouths, separate buds tasting different grits. They walked for seven days and six nights, only ducking into makeshift alcoves and ruins in deference to the future. I am not resting because I am tired, they told themselves, but I will be soon, and how foolish must I be to forgo that which I may miss once impossible to re-have? +So they left the forests and the rivers and the empty home till there was nothing but the taste of ash and sand filling their mouths, separate buds tasting different grits. They walked for seven days and six nights, only ducking into makeshift alcoves and ruins in deference to the future. I am not resting because I am tired, they told themselves, but I will be soon, and how foolish must I be to forgo that which I may miss once impossible to re-have? - See them now: huddled in another's cloak though the other's smell is long gone, gazing at a tarsludge sky unmoved by dead blinking lights. Such a small figure, they--carnivorous nights acknowledge zero legends. Insects and people and giants squashed hierarchically by unmapped firmaments carouseling above. Still, traces of defiant despair emerge post-zoom. See them now: circuit board mouth, dermal plating from oblique girdle to maxilla, machine vision canvassing chittering spectra, fullerite-supported carbide in lieu of flesh-wrapped bones, port-filled torso fused to threaded motion machinery engines, homespun gun rack (four pistols, two rifles, one cherished sword) a purposeful burden, schemasofted data bits adrenaline-ensensed crowding stretched pathways and begging to be enacted, matter recompositer replacing dead person's switch, anchor spikes against brute-forcing hulks, thermal sensors wired to gel-bloated sacks for flame-singers, volcanic stew kept aglow in jittery phials, and glove-tucked vibro dagger awaiting charge to unravel the blueprinted denouement. +See them now: huddled in another's cloak though the other's smell is long gone, gazing at a tarsludge sky unmoved by dead blinking lights. Such a small figure, they--carnivorous nights acknowledge zero legends. Insects and people and giants squashed hierarchically by unmapped firmaments carouseling above. Still, traces of defiant despair emerge post-zoom. See them now: circuit board mouth, dermal plating from oblique girdle to maxilla, machine vision canvassing chittering spectra, fullerite-supported carbide in lieu of flesh-wrapped bones, port-filled torso fused to threaded motion machinery engines, homespun gun rack (four pistols, two rifles, one cherished sword) a purposeful burden, schemasofted data bits adrenaline-ensensed crowding stretched pathways and begging to be enacted, matter recompositer replacing dead person's switch, anchor spikes against brute-forcing hulks, thermal sensors wired to gel-bloated sacks for flame-singers, volcanic stew kept aglow in jittery phials, and glove-tucked vibro dagger awaiting charge to unravel the blueprinted denouement. - Always strapped for death, but never their own--doomed to hoplomach living. Perhaps the morning shall prove them wrong, they think as they summon a perfectly calculated melatonin overflow--a slumber designed for rest, not dreams. +Always strapped for death, but never their own--doomed to hoplomach living. Perhaps the morning shall prove them wrong, they think as they summon a perfectly calculated melatonin overflow--a slumber designed for rest, not dreams. - -- +-- - The pyramid loomed, a fortress-sized arche-body. +The pyramid loomed, a fortress-sized arche-body. - The pyramid waited. They did not. +The pyramid waited. They did not. - Follow in the tense of now. +Follow in the tense of now. - Overclocked threads chew dunes up. Oiled gun rack clicks into place, rifles lead the dance. Auto-locked in one breath and four bullets forward. As expected: from oversonic frags to nothingness as ethereal forcefield rejects the advance. Snapshot the scene: a charging flesh-machine and a mountainous artefact kept apart by a barrier roaring loud enough to be naked-eye visible--compressed lightning arcs like pixelated water weep suspended over the desert. Then, gone. Where? They slap sensors awake, cacophonous frequencies overlap in the skull. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, no, here, subterrean tremors felt subdermally, quick dodge now and +Overclocked threads chew dunes up. Oiled gun rack clicks into place, rifles lead the dance. Auto-locked in one breath and four bullets forward. As expected: from oversonic frags to nothingness as ethereal forcefield rejects the advance. Snapshot the scene: a charging flesh-machine and a mountainous artefact kept apart by a barrier roaring loud enough to be naked-eye visible--compressed lightning arcs like pixelated water weep suspended over the desert. Then, gone. Where? They slap sensors awake, cacophonous frequencies overlap in the skull. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, no, here, subterrean tremors felt subdermally, quick dodge now and - --matter unhinged-- +// / / matter unhinged / / // - spaces-between impossible to capture save for this: absence/presence worthless; randomness/pattern best allude to the blink and return. Distance too short--re-patterned as the pyramid explodes out of the sand and rearchitects the environs with an explosive shrug. They feel the forcefield's heat-cold-if-else network slash past. They do not feel but understand two kaon lives later: left arm gone. Panicked subcortical nuclei respond anciently (must. flee.) and call upon the compositer again. Randomness, tick, tick, pattern. - Safe, yards away. They do not look at their missing arm. Ubernostrum already enclenché'd--old brain's gift. Arm sprouts once ticks pass; numb for a while but no need to mourn this. +spaces-between impossible to capture save for this: absence/presence worthless; randomness/pattern best allude to the blink and return. Distance too short--re-patterned as the pyramid explodes out of the sand and rearchitects the environs with an explosive shrug. They feel the forcefield's heat-cold-if-else network slash past. They do not feel but understand two kaon lives later: left arm gone. Panicked subcortical nuclei respond anciently (must. flee.) and call upon the compositer again. Randomness, tick, tick, pattern. +Safe, yards away. They do not look at their missing arm. Ubernostrum already enclenché'd--old brain's gift. Arm sprouts once ticks pass; numb for a while but no need to mourn this. - The pyramid waits. They do as well. Two mouths in unison speaking to the opponent at de-facto volume: "You pre-cog?" +The pyramid waits. They do as well. Two mouths in unison speaking to the opponent at de-facto volume: "You pre-cog?" - The pyramid does not react. Pensive in the silence, then two mouths again: "No, not pre-cog. You're...enjoying this? Motivated?" But they knew as soon as the words took air: it was something much sadder. Sad enough to cross ontologies. +The pyramid does not react. Pensive in the silence, then two mouths again: "No, not pre-cog. You're...enjoying this? Motivated?" But they knew as soon as the words took air: it was something much sadder. Sad enough to cross ontologies. - The pyramid's reflectance twitches--anger? It teleports to a new spot--not closer, only different. Heat detected, data points converge. The pyramid births rockets by the dozens, a monstrous mimicry of the opening salvo. Another freeze-frame as projectiles bloom: a hovering metallic bornhardt unfolding fiery wings over its barren desmene. - - This is what they waited for. - - They accelerate and kickstart a chat between thermal sensors, matter recompositer, scanners, and motorized treads. Routes materialize through a field of detonating reality. They *weave* through explosions, blink out, blink in, from nothing to barely-there then beyond again, a dance of undoing algo-rythm-ically charted as the pyramid keeps firing, but overheating processors adapt, another blink--face third-degree'd, acceptable--and, the dance ends before the conscious catches up: they're there, right below the pyramid. Within stab distance. - - Something's wrong. Alarms shriek: another, right below. Kin. - - A second pyramid? - - Alarms puzzled: confirmed, but unmoving. - - Vibro-dagger unsheated and booted up; other hands holding four lava-filled phials. They grant their brains and systems a raven's wings flap to sense-make before proceeding with the plan anyway. That's all it takes. - - Pattern recognition intrudes. - - Raven? - This place. - The Deathlands. - Sand and ruins arranged purposedly--before being disturbed by they. - Sensors and scanners concur: yes. How did we (you) not see it? - Lands of death. - - Another below. - - Brain pulses hijack plots and motion again, but core remnants have nothing to do with it. Periaqueductal gray, amygdala, and insula commandeering, unanimous in what comes next. Unexpected serotonin flush seals the deal. - - Gone. - - -- - - Randomness better than pattern to describe the ensuing shell-shocked hours. - - -- - - Later, much later, scrivened yet unhappened: they will return to the spot. A promise to themselves, and perhaps to countless others. They will return and undo their disturbance. Let there be no ambiguity as to what it will be: not kindness, not respect, not ritual, not an apology, but survival of a different shade. Because it is all survival, regardless of symbolic formations, for those who understand what surviving entails and the chasms that separate dirk urges from dirges. - - - - - I. - Nighthowl a courtier, - a tunnel of the vision took the knife, - first care set by the builders, - solutions thought planned, - a painful writhing and i demand, - below long the neighboring land, - flesh as to weaken, - a cult child days have passed bitterly, - measure upon the ammonia, - a bright grin in coals, - might either of gigantic sea or slime? - during the many small holes, - individual lover foils, - light of circuit or past the mountains, - as i unclosed my toils, - glow, or human nails? - things but the night that deem sadness best sensed, - miles deep trouble never fails, - with that at the joints, - our cognizance of the preceding, - admission for soul-dried points, - songs of toxic mud, - disease grew swifter than by little clips, - air the vengeful and bleak thud, - crisis of our eyes, - hidden within the prophet to its channel, - machine for that of the sighs, - cover it with sand, - miasmic life now cast upon I the painter, - who grows committed to the end. - - II. - - Damage done you have muffled my shouts, - fact says end lane guilt be like mountain peaks, - their skulls open with gatelodge and touts, - pflaap! tally ho worship's green yellow streaks, - that night's walk me for instance need by bode, - had augmented obviously mammal, - heaven and affidavits dignam owed, - red yes cur forlorn court of the fallen, - gaze the templar in the misread poxy, - who it required naught from engine's woe, - nettlerash calomel purge i hope one proxy, - veil and smiled pleasing mow if ever know, - organism specially designed saturation, - bask in the marrow of imitation - - Open line of the pity of my wick, - replied as overreaching as death hath bin, - say is it any point of solid brick? - disorder of dirt would dare not dream i had been, - around the lost sight many attempts at times, - none followed me no light and were to go, - presented little more than can only in time's, - mistrust was about churchyards no, - the revel in my power of bodies, - howling phlegethon below the augur, - widest and has declared him from the autos, - incarnated portions of torn turbine, - but that which is found an adept selects, - away and fiendish malevolence gin. - - III. - Horror a hideous blood in the weir, - i say why do you have fallen petals, - don't dawn the sulfur of sown and cheer! - full tension of natural that awful, - ashamed so hellish that i shall never failed, - now i saw when brave earnest and lolling, - the scale the inheritors being nailed, - but i who has gathered first in falling, - heavily it was brought the evening when struck, - truly curse the past word that strained, - all the working out of agency muck, - even to them carefully thought it be pained, - sorrow now i feel it was empty seats, - throw a courtly bow i shall kill the metes. - - IV. - True slug's bodies showed, - a large gilt letters republica del, - previous place and politely bowed, - hack-felt derris, - few green tunnels whence in one insular, - two orchard twig in Joppa, - wings flew forward not, - below as befits the idiom, - 'tis well worth trying to rot, - into such deep cups, - your far dreams of old exiled royalties, - my blade gently carving husks, - their canvas wilted, - chanting guaita who howled at first breaking, - splash to have almost melted, - darting long past the seam, - punctilious murderer in our mazes, - i gladly perceive a scream, - others form gable, - tomes that embraced me in black and title, - faux kin who craved to label, - ah a fools' paper! - such a general pausing there's a line, - but dithering things taper, - they cannot sustain, - lies undressed and i reflect yet stare, - forward with a common mourn-trek, - solemn words of beasts, - ushering bonds others wished long felt. - - ?? - Oubliette, - - - Oubliette! - sea gutted lauzengiers yours to keep, - a covenant in kind: - time-lag this mishapen alba - carve caesurae through I, a bl||inking en||voi||d - and unbind aorta from inocciduous ague. - - +The pyramid's reflectance twitches--anger? It teleports to a new spot--not closer, only different. Heat detected, data points converge. The pyramid births rockets by the dozens, a monstrous mimicry of the opening salvo. Another freeze-frame as projectiles bloom: a hovering metallic bornhardt unfolding fiery wings over its barren desmene. + +This is what they waited for. + +They accelerate and kickstart a chat between thermal sensors, matter recompositer, scanners, and motorized treads. Routes materialize through a field of detonating reality. They *weave* through explosions, blink out, blink in, from nothing to barely-there then beyond again, a dance of undoing algo-rythm-ically charted as the pyramid keeps firing, but overheating processors adapt, another blink--face third-degree'd, acceptable--and, the dance ends before the conscious catches up: they're there, right below the pyramid. Within stab distance. + +Something's wrong. Alarms shriek: another, right below. Kin. + +A second pyramid? + +Alarms puzzled: confirmed, but unmoving. + +Vibro-dagger unsheated and booted up; other hands holding four lava-filled phials. They grant their brains and systems a raven's wings flap to sense-make before proceeding with the plan anyway. That's all it takes. + +Pattern recognition intrudes. + +Raven? +This place. +The Deathlands. +Sand and ruins arranged purposedly--before being disturbed by they. +Sensors and scanners concur: yes. How did we (you) not see it? +Lands of death. + +Another below. + +Brain pulses hijack plots and motion again, but core remnants have nothing to do with it. Periaqueductal gray, amygdala, and insula commandeering, unanimous in what comes next. Unexpected serotonin flush seals the deal. + +Gone. + +-- + +Randomness better than pattern to describe the ensuing shell-shocked hours. + +-- + +Later, much later, scrivened yet unhappened: they will return to the spot. A promise to themselves, and perhaps to countless others. They will return and undo their disturbance. Let there be no ambiguity as to what it will be: not kindness, not respect, not ritual, not an apology, but survival of a different shade. Because it is all survival, regardless of symbolic formations, for those who understand what surviving entails and the chasms separating dirk urges from dirges. + + + + +I. +Nighthowl a courtier, +a tunnel of the vision took the knife, +first care set by the builders, +solutions thought planned, +a painful writhing and i demand, +below long the neighboring land, +flesh as to weaken, +a cult child days have passed bitterly, +measure upon the ammonia, +a bright grin in coals, +might either of gigantic sea or slime? +during the many small holes, +individual lover foils, +light of circuit or past the mountains, +as i unclosed my toils, +glow, or human nails? +things but the night that deem sadness best sensed, +miles deep trouble never fails, +with that at the joints, +our cognizance of the preceding, +admission for soul-dried points, +songs of toxic mud, +disease grew swifter than by little clips, +air the vengeful and bleak thud, +crisis of our eyes, +hidden within the prophet to its channel, +machine for that of the sighs, +cover it with sand, +miasmic life now cast upon I the painter, +who grows committed to the end. + +II. + +Damage done you have muffled my shouts, +fact says end lane guilt be like mountain peaks, +their skulls open with gatelodge and touts, +pflaap! tally ho worship's green yellow streaks, +that night's walk me for instance need by bode, +had augmented obviously mammal, +heaven and affidavits dignam owed, +red yes cur forlorn court of the fallen, +gaze the templar in the misread poxy, +who it required naught from engine's woe, +nettlerash calomel purge i hope one proxy, +veil and smiled pleasing mow if ever know, +organism specially designed saturation, +bask in the marrow of imitation + +Open line of the pity of my wick, +replied as overreaching as death hath bin, +say is it any point of solid brick? +disorder of dirt would dare not dream i had been, +around the lost sight many attempts at times, +none followed me no light and were to go, +presented little more than can only in time's, +mistrust was about churchyards no, +the revel in my power of bodies, +howling phlegethon below the augur, +widest and has declared him from the autos, +incarnated portions of torn turbine, +but that which is found an adept selects, +away and fiendish malevolence gin. + + III. +Horror a hideous blood in the weir, +i say why do you have fallen petals, +don't dawn the sulfur of sown and cheer! +full tension of natural that awful, +ashamed so hellish that i shall never failed, +now i saw when brave earnest and lolling, +the scale the inheritors being nailed, +but i who has gathered first in falling, +heavily it was brought the evening when struck, +truly curse the past word that strained, +all the working out of agency muck, +even to them carefully thought it be pained, +sorrow now i feel it was empty seats, +throw a courtly bow i shall kill the metes. + + IV. +True slug's bodies showed, +a large gilt letters republica del, +previous place and politely bowed, +hack-felt derris, +few green tunnels whence in one insular, +two orchard twig in Joppa, +wings flew forward not, +below as befits the idiom, +'tis well worth trying to rot, +into such deep cups, +your far dreams of old exiled royalties, +my blade gently carving husks, +their canvas wilted, +chanting guaita who howled at first breaking, +splash to have almost melted, +darting long past the seam, +punctilious murderer in our mazes, +i gladly perceive a scream, +others form gable, +tomes that embraced me in black and title, +faux kin who craved to label, +ah a fools' paper! +such a general pausing there's a line, +but dithering things taper, +they cannot sustain, +lies undressed and i reflect yet stare, +forward with a common mourn-trek, +solemn words of beasts, +ushering bonds others wished long felt. + + ?? +Oubliette, +- +Oubliette! +sea gutted lauzengiers yours to keep, +a covenant in kind: +time-lag this mishapen alba +carve caesurae through I, a bl||inking en||voi||d +and unbind aorta from inocciduous ague. + + + +Your Majesty, + +Enclosed, a few thoughts pertaining to our last exchange about the brewing tensions between several factions. These thoughts may seem preposterous, but I ask that you read them thoroughly and consider what such endeavors may resemble in practice. + +I believe a yearly competition between tribes may be best in order to resolve grudges, grievances, resentments, debts, and other forms of discords not easily addressable through current rulings. + +As you know, such events once existed but have long lost their appeal. Indeed, with the technological marvels that surround us (many of them the result of your governance) how can ancient practices such as tug of war, ball games, or spear throwing be seen as worth engaging in? They may be respected as traditions--as one respects an out-of-touch elder--but they do not reflect the reality in which we are embedded, nor do they quell deep-seated feelings. + +What I propose embraces the cultural import of past traditions, yet modernizes these practices through the use of two technologies: geomagnetic disc launchers and flume-fliers. + +You may find yourself aghast at these lines, given that such apparatuses were designed with warfare in mind. To this potential reaction, I say: indeed, that is why they should be used. Certainly, they should be modified to prevent serious injuries or deaths. That is, unless the competitors unanimously agree that fatal exchanges are warranted, or unless Your Majesty sees strategic value in "matches of death". + +This competition, which I tentatively name "Celestial Siege", requires two teams. I leave the number of competitors to your discretion, but believe a total of thirty-two may be optimal. Each participant shall be given a geomagnetic disc launcher and flume-flier, as well as a custom-forged suit of mechanical armor matching their community's chosen aesthetic. Both teams shall begin the game in their respective "strongholds"--structures specifically built for the event. The goal of this competition is to retrieve an item from the opposing team's stronghold and to bring this item back "home". While open to other possibilities, here I would suggest a flag, a coat of arms, or any other heraldic symbol to which a faction may be attached. A team achieves victory by capturing the symbol ten times, or by holding the highest number of captures by game's end, or if the opposing team forfeits. + +I already see how vehicles may play a part, or why other armament types may be allowed to highlight a participant's skills and preferred forms of "sieging". Different rule sets may be implemented as well. Though I shudder at the notion, I suspect the aforementioned matches of death may become gruesomely popular with certain crowds. + +Rather than specifics, which shall come later, for the time being I invite Your Majesty to simply envision what these competitions would look like. Picture pride-seeking fighters soaring high above the dunes and hills of your dominium, the most talented mechanically-enhanced warriors disc-hitting their targets mid-air! Others, I am certain, will swiftly adapt to the subtleties of flume-flying, and use their devices to glide--for lack of a better word--along the terrain at dizzying speeds. + +I pray you will see my proposal as one worth pondering, rather than the foolish ramblings of an aging star-gazer. + +Your esteemed scholar of the Under Spheres, +Liyana Osis + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/The Rhizomatic Library/ObjectBlueprints.xml b/The Rhizomatic Library/ObjectBlueprints.xml index bf8d8f4..63c1d23 100644 --- a/The Rhizomatic Library/ObjectBlueprints.xml +++ b/The Rhizomatic Library/ObjectBlueprints.xml @@ -9,6 +9,7 @@ + @@ -46,4 +47,11 @@ + + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file