You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
My entire face tastes like salt and blood (well, everywhere that I can reach with my tongue), but I made a snow angel, and I learned about the importance of layers!
Extroverts are loud obnoxious brainless viking warriors who will shit on your table and uproot all of your potted plants. Their minds have been trapped in the party rock dimension by an evil sorcerer while their corporeal forms exist in our own plane of reality, causing them to stumble around in a constant unaware daze.
Introverts are super-genius shy fragile literal wood nymphs that shatter when exposed to direct eye contact subsist entirely on a diet of nothing but tea and the written word. Extending offers to social gatherings causes them to actually die
As long as I'm on Tumblr, I will never stop following coelasquid.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
After more than a century of awkward, border-overlapping politics, on August 14th 1578 all Dutch provinces were officially removed from the Holy Roman Empire. The weak Emperor Jobst II of Brandenburg could do little but protest lamely.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
The basic idea is that They will come and shut off the water first. The cryptozoa who live around the meter will be paralyzed by the great inbreak of light from overhead . . . then scatter like hell for lower, darker, wetter. Shutting the water off interdicts the toilet: with only one tankful left, you really can't get rid of much of anything any more, dope, shit, documents, They've stopped the inflow/outflow and here you are trapped inside Their frame with your wastes piling up, ass hanging out all over Their Movieola viewer, waiting for Their editorial blade. Reminded, too late, of how dependent you are on Them, for neglect if not good will: Their neglect is your freedom. But when They do come on it's like society-gig Apollos, striking the lyre
ZONGGG
Everything freezes. The sweet, icky chord hangs in the air ... there is no way to be at ease with it. If you try the "Are you quite finished, Superintendent?" gambit, the man will answer, "No, as a matter of fact. . . no, you nasty little wet-mouthed prig, I'm not half finished, not with you. ..."
So it's good policy always to have the toilet valve cracked a bit, to maintain some flow through the toilet so when it stops you'll have that extra minute or two. Which is not the usual paranoia of waiting for a knock, or a phone to ring: no, it takes a particular kind of mental illness to sit and listen for a cessation of noise. But -
Imagine this very elaborate scientific lie: that sound cannot travel through outer space. Well, but suppose it can. Suppose They don't want us to know there is a medium there, what used to be called an "aether," which can carry sound to every part of the Earth. The Soniferous Aether. For millions of years, the sun has been roaring, a giant, furnace, 93 millionmile roar, so perfectly steady that generations of men have been born into it and passed out of it again, without ever hearing it. Unless it changed, how would anybody know?
Except that at night now and then, in some part of the dark hemisphere, because of eddies in the Soniferous Aether, there will come to pass a very shallow pocket of no-sound. For a few seconds, in a particular place, nearly every night somewhere in the World, sound-energy from Outside is shut off. The roaring of the sun stops. For its brief life, the point of sound-shadow may come to rest a thousand feet above a desert, between floors in an empty office building, or exactly around a seated individual in a working-class restaurant where they hose the place out at 3 every morning
- Son, been wondering about this, ah, "screwing in" you kids are doing. This matter of the, shooting electricity into head, ha-ha?
- Waves, Pop. Not just raw electricity. That's fer drips!
- Yes, ah, waves. "Keying waves," right? ha-hah. Uh, tell me, son, what's it like? You know I've been something of a doper all m'life, a-and -
- Oh Pop. Cripes. It isn't like dope at all!
- Well we got off on some pretty good "vacations" we called them then, some pretty "weird" areas they got us into 's a matter of fact -
- But you always came back, didn't you.
- What?
- I mean it was always understood that this would still be here when you got back, just the same, exactly the same, right?
- Well ha-ha guess that's why we called 'em vacations, son! Cause you always do come back to old Realityland, don't you.
- You always did.
- Listen Tyrone, you don't know how dangerous that stuff is.Suppose someday you just plug in and go away and never come back? Eh?
- Ho, ho! Don't I wish! What do you think every electrofreak dreams about? You're such an old fuddyduddy! A-and who sez it's a dream, huh? M-maybe it exists. Maybe there is a Machine to take us away, take us completely, suck us out through the electrodes out of the skull 'n' into the Machine and live there forever with all the other souls it's got stored there. It could decide who it would suck out, a-and when. Dope never gave you immortality. You hadda come back, every time, into a dying hunk of smelly meat! But We can live forever, in a clean, honest, purified Electroworld -
"The basic problem," he proposes, "has always been getting other people to die for you. What's worth enough for a man to give up his life? That's where religion had the edge, for centuries. Religion was always about death. It was used not as an opiate so much as a technique - it got people to die for one particular set of beliefs about death. Perverse, naturlich, but who are you to judge? It was a good pitch while it worked. But ever since it became impossible to die for death, we have had a secular version - yours. Die to help History grow to its predestined shape. Die knowing your act will bring a good end a bit closer. Revolutionary suicide, fine. But look: if History's changes are inevitable, why not not die?"
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
As long as I'm on Tumblr, I will never stop following coelasquid.
Knee Thing
yin tikt
ful cull
BULL shiiiiit
FUCK youuuu
YEE hawwww
YEE hawwww
well this is a neat event
I already finished my classwork for the day, so it's time to slack off and play vihdeoh gaem
Hooray!
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
the SNES version never came out in Europe because they couldn't be bothered to translate it for us
i believe it's on the Virtual Console but i never bought anything on that
mequisitionmequisitionmequisitionsitionsition
mequisitionmequisitionmequisitionsitionsition
You should anyway. It's quite a lot of fun.
[swing rhythm]
is this some kind of puzzle
also, couldn't translate it for you? what language do you speak?
ZONGGG
Everything freezes. The sweet, icky chord hangs in the air ... there is no way to be at ease with it. If you try the "Are you quite finished, Superintendent?" gambit, the man will answer, "No, as a matter of fact. . . no, you nasty little wet-mouthed prig, I'm not half finished, not with you. ..."
So it's good policy always to have the toilet valve cracked a bit, to maintain some flow through the toilet so when it stops you'll have that extra minute or two. Which is not the usual paranoia of waiting for a knock, or a phone to ring: no, it takes a particular kind of mental illness to sit and listen for a cessation of noise. But -
crap i forgot
no wait i'm going to make it a puzzle
Except that at night now and then, in some part of the dark hemisphere, because of eddies in the Soniferous Aether, there will come to pass a very shallow pocket of no-sound. For a few seconds, in a particular place, nearly every night somewhere in the World, sound-energy from Outside is shut off. The roaring of the sun stops. For its brief life, the point of sound-shadow may come to rest a thousand feet above a desert, between floors in an empty office building, or exactly around a seated individual in a working-class restaurant where they hose the place out at 3 every morning
- Waves, Pop. Not just raw electricity. That's fer drips!
- Yes, ah, waves. "Keying waves," right? ha-hah. Uh, tell me, son, what's it like? You know I've been something of a doper all m'life, a-and -
- Oh Pop. Cripes. It isn't like dope at all!
- Well we got off on some pretty good "vacations" we called them then, some pretty "weird" areas they got us into 's a matter of fact -
- But you always came back, didn't you.
- What?
- I mean it was always understood that this would still be here when you got back, just the same, exactly the same, right?
- Well ha-ha guess that's why we called 'em vacations, son! Cause you always do come back to old Realityland, don't you.
- You always did.
- Listen Tyrone, you don't know how dangerous that stuff is.Suppose someday you just plug in and go away and never come back? Eh?
- Ho, ho! Don't I wish! What do you think every electrofreak dreams about? You're such an old fuddyduddy! A-and who sez it's a dream, huh? M-maybe it exists. Maybe there is a Machine to take us away, take us completely, suck us out through the electrodes out of the skull 'n' into the Machine and live there forever with all the other souls it's got stored there. It could decide who it would suck out, a-and when. Dope never gave you immortality. You hadda come back, every time, into a dying hunk of smelly meat! But We can live forever, in a clean, honest, purified Electroworld -
Flavortext: (none)
[the code of samurai] _ [feudal lords with lots of private land]
[John Adams's birthplace] _ [infamous witchhunt location]
[molecular weight 91.22] _ [molecular weight 79.90]
...okay, this puzzle is taking far longer than I expected to write.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead