I am experiencing the equivalent of struggling to get into a tight pair of jeans, but internally
there's something beautiful about 320x200 VGA graphics on a CRT
You're reading something and you realize
- this means nothing, and was not written by anything that thinks
- it took me slightly longer to realize this than it ever did before
What happens when you can no longer tell?
What happens when the nonsense builds on other nonsense, making islands of mutually reinforcing plausibility with no tether to reality?
There's something new growing out of the old, like rot on a corpus
Something that doesn't fully exist yet but you can smell it on the wind
An endless empty babel
(a tower built too high, a sudden flowering cacophony)
(a library saying everything and meaning nothing, an Uqbar dreaming itself into being)
every tongue, every tone
tied up and thrown
together
a sound and a fury
alecto
a lexeme
asemic
a seeming
a teeming
stumbling stuttering stammering to be born
before my health crashed i was working on a game where the world's response to this and several other predictable Future Problems was "let's blow up the internet and start over"