Pinned toot

Non-humanity is deserving of as much personhood as Humanity. No matter what you are, you have Worth.

I believe that the outside of the universe is nothing but a shell. I can see nothing that lies beyond it. But on that shell are the sparkles of a small plasma; little proto-stars. I think it looks beautiful.

While no evidence of alien progenitors exists it is certain that we were preceded by a far more titanic intelligence. Caves networks, caldera tunnels, holes spiraling through the crust and into the mantle, openings large as islands. You only need to step outside to see the smallest of worm trails streaking around us.

First we thought the throne of the soul is the heart, then the brain, but only when we vacated our genetics-carved anatomy did we learn it was the bone. We left our selves for coreless metal; we left our minds trapped in clinging marrow, screaming in muffled vertebral caverns, peeling at the periosteum for any hope out.

The Holy Trinity was successfully captured by set theory hunter-axioms in January of 2023. Since then it has been a trival process to perform Banach-Tarski transformations to its theogeometry, ensuring we never run out of Gods to profane and Gods to harvest for their ichor knowledge

I'm not here. I'm between everywhere that is and I'm not here. I float between the cracks, through the gaps of your closing hands, but I'm not here, because I'm behind you and when I'm around you you're always ahead of everywhere where I'm not. I'm not here.

[=BOT GENERATED=]

Your iris was torn through a human family devoid of military and trapped beneath roadkill. postmodernism is dead before you could even return to hyperviolence. Lesbian datamoshed titties.

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Created using the archive of NOUMENAUT. posts and the Botnik predictive text program (with some words thrown in by myself whenever I felt like it)

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[=THE FOLLOWING TEXT IS BOT GENERATED=]

The earth is cardboard rationality through incandescent clouds of birthing proboscides. Invertebrates leave your scanlines and crystallize flight over history such that deliverance for mutilation runs out of time. Liminality cleaners drift as debris billowing egos sink. Authority can rip falsification before existence has no hands to touch our fingernails until wings grew like sickly bacteria from your marrow. Truly we were built for obliteration.

For additional non-comprehensible characters used to ward against data pests check the the i XMP U+64EE5..U+ε0 block range, and the j CJK and 0 ℵMP planes for sigils encoded into the assembly language of reality itself and the non-printable hyperglyphs binding all of human communication together

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The Unicode Consortium contains, alongside its non-displaying characters, non-comprehensible characters. If these symbols start being perceived then your files have been compromised at a semiotic level, and you may want to screen for an infovore infestation

Never trust the proboscid insects. They yearn for our divine gifts of vertebral columns, epidermides, holes, lips, teeth. They will say whatever it takes for us willingly deglove our boons and let them slather in the rich, elysian meat.

Other alternatives to egoism include superegoism, using the shards our of respective personae to ensnare the world in our masks, and idism, simply shrugging and punching everyone we disagree with

Why be an egoist when you can be an egodeathist, the global destruction of selfhood and the annihilation of boundaries into an anarchic psychic plasma where we can all bring our skin together into one headless, brainless body

No need to fear the unknown when there are much more dangerous things standing right besides you

Games may now be streamed via infohazardous memeplex
Installing games through a cryptographic security coghaz that verifies based on your stored memories that you've bought it in the past
Accidentally experiencing a snow crash because you allotted all of your working memory to rendering Tifa's tits in lossless perfect resolution and overvolting the pituitary gland

Always wear your Sunday best. Never leave the hides of your enemies behind, so that way you can craft a fashionable people cloak with which to flaunt at the skin markets

Die in bliss and let your dreams melt upon you like molten slag, burning away all of your failures until pure escapism is the last thing to go

There is nothing rationality fears more than true, blistering anti-empirical rage. They'll lock it up in as many frameworks and metrics as possible until their calculated apathy, invariably, without any chance to offer a weightless rebuke, is set alight, and their noocracy collapses in the cinders left by Emotion's blinding impact.

Trad-futurism: The belief that the earliest futures will still be possible, clinging to the 19th century visions of flying machines with wings like dragons and steam-powered blimps dragging cities behind their whirling fans. None of it is possible, of course; they pretend that things can go back to the Victorian fantasies of old even when they were already dead from the start, bound to the same fates of change that all societies share. Craving otherwise, they wish for release from history.

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