Your browser lacks required capabilities. Please upgrade it or switch to another to continue.
Loading…
<<audio Deepthought loop play>>
<p class="static">And something goes wrong
What we call intelligence is the brief precipitous machinations of a deeper consciousness, which only displays itself to you, at best, in dreams by which you are attentively sat at a mere television box receiver, tuning in a<span style="color: black;">d</span>s if you are switching channels.
You are sat in a very dark room, a room so dark that you cannot see its edges, a room so dark and vast that it may be <span style="color: black;">a</span> space, without stars. Some scientists say that the<span style="color: black;">y</span> Universe is drifting apart, that, for sometime in the future, it may be starless, black holes so populous that the dying <span class="yellow">g</span>asps of light from the old age cannot reach you if they tried. In such a world, you would not know if you are blind, or if the world… the world has nothing to offer, that is.
The most important things would be invisible things. If you send out a signal, like from a radio or a television broadcast, it continues along into this world like a lonely, unmanned spaceship. Only once manned, piloted into the unknow<span class="blue">a</span>ble by the last moment of intention. If it other reaches another moment of intention…
What would life look like for the last Star Child? Born blind and deaf, for no, but only in unknowing. With no parents, with no… who? When would spontaneous generation occur? And are the stars our children too?
Static is not the absence, it is the presence of too many things… which we cannot understand. Invisible things made visible, but only <span class="red">p</span>artway. A long exposure photograph of a jet engine is nonsense. It is just another form.
How would one Be There with nothing else to look at? How does one know there are Being There inside of their own Mind, if there is no senses or nothing to sense. It is the same. Mind evolves with the associations of the Universe not only to observe them but because there is something to observe. It is the same event — observer and event. An event is always observed, no event is left unobserved. There is only one Universal Mind to which sense gives the black being there-ness an opportunity to realize itself. You are nothing wedged between something, somethings. You are ‘the gap’. So you ask, What is it to die? It is to be You.
If time does not list then how can we use it? How do our computers compute a non real as a real? How do they show us what we want to see In [[Time.]] </p>
<p><span style="color: red;">.two.</span>
<div style="height: 600px;"></div>
[[start|Static]]</p><div style="width: 100%; display: flex;">
<div style="width: 33%; max-width: 200px; flex: 1;">
[img[golden fibre one.png][fibre one]]
</div>
<div style="width: 33%; max-width: 200px; flex: 1;">
[img[golden fibre one.png][fibre two]]
</div>
<div style="width: 33%; max-width: 200px; flex: 1;">
[img[golden fibre three.png][fibre three]]
</div>
</div>
<div style="width: 100%; max-width: 600px;">
[img[golden fibre four.png][fibre four]]
</div>[img[left hand strand.gif][keyhole]]<div style="width: 100%; display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap;">
<div style="flex-basis: 40%;">
<<link [img[TWIN OSCILLATION carpet.png][into the fire]]>><<set $carpetburned to "twinosc">><</link>>
</div>
<div style="flex-basis: 40%;">
<<link [img[two carpet two.png][into the fire]]>><<set $carpetburned to "keyopen">><</link>>
</div>
<div style="flex-basis: 40%;">
<<link [img[two carpet three.png][into the fire]]>><<set $carpetburned to "microchip">><</link>>
</div>
<div style="flex-basis: 40%;">
<<link [img[polarbear.png][mistake]]>><<set $carpetburned to "microchip">><</link>>
</div>
</div>
<div id="particles-js" style="width: 100%; height: 100%;">
<p>“Something is going on,” she whispered to him through the wool of his upturned collar ands into his ear canal. The cold air bit at her blonde hair and dyed it a little whiter, a little greyer, a little closer to death and entropy. And the blood rushed to the ends of her cheek and nose to compensate.
His eyes shifted nervously, behind the collar, but they were above her, and looking far off, and she couldn’t see. But she could feel it. All around them was a white haze. There was no horizon, except as a suggestion dreamed into visual superposition by their own mind. If they took one step, they might walk to it, or fall off; all into the same White. And as soon as she finished saying it, she forgot where she was saying it from. Neither of them knew where they were, where here was, but they did not know where they had been either. Only that they were there No Longer.
It was a desert in reverse, one that flushed them of their heat immediately. Her legging were not for this weather. She clutched at them, clutched at the bottom hemline of her coat, pulling it down. He shivered and bundled up his thin clothing ever tighter against the layers underneath, unbeknownst to him worsening his problem as pockets of body warmed air were dispersed into the sterile and unforgiving ocean of grey air. The air had a weight to it, like there were icicles not only caught inside of it, but growing off of it, weighing them down.
Against their better Judgement, they took a step forward, half surprised to feel the crunch of endless sand powder on their feet. There was no suggestion of a sun, of a moon, of day or night. The sky was neither beaten blue or black by the presence of planetary systems of meaning. Only: endless White.
They made their way to a building. It was a round dome, offset from its surroundings, land sea and sky, by only its slightly deeper shade of grey. Like an accidental pupil, a muscular degenerative eye opening for them. It had appeared out of nothing — which is what this dead air was. Each particle, each atom an insect buzzing. Or a fossil, dead and silent, yet still orbiting as a cosmic funerary dance. She thought she could see the red diagrams of the nucleus buzz, but of course, that was not what they looked like. Not that they could look. It was what they had taught her in [[school.]]</p>
</div>
<p>Inside was a small long and low room with blue carpets and deep windows betraying a particulate snowfall that was never on the outside. They must be television sets, or dream machines, or mirrors of the hopes in their own eyes. The room was cold — colder than the outside — until you stood towards the fireplace, betraying a sense of warmth and humility, sending its smoke undoubtedly to nowhere. The room was a littered with artifacts of what seemed like another age, but — they could not remember their own. Only grasp at the appendages which seemed to have no match even in their vague intuition. Board games and vending machine, pinball machines, arcade machines — all machines, aside from a polar bear splayed rug on the carpet, itself crafted by machine — was what surrounded them. They were covered in strange symbols. She tried to read them, she felt as though she should be able to. They were proudly displayed and engraved like titles of things she remembered being titled. But, she could not see them, could not really see them. Or maybe she could, was now: seeing the symbols and not the meaning. It was meaning-;less.
<span style="color: black; text-align: center;">THIS PART IS WEAKER I WAS INTERRUPTED</span>
On the far end of the room, tucked between the shadow emanating from the stone fireplace and the harsh light of the snow fragments drifting past the false window, a green velvet chair stood. It smelled of mustiness. She could see mites crawling in it, but then again — she couldn’t. She was only being them because SHE EXPECTED THEM TO BE THERE. An old man was sitting in the recliner. He was stout like a mall Santa and with an equally red face and vulgar, scraggly beard. It was grey not so much with the youthfulness robbed from white but with a soot caked on. His eyes were green, bewildering, piercing, but small and shifty, set far back inside of his fat cherub like head and glazed over in a state of altered consciousness. The man should have wreaked of booze but he didn’t. She realized she could not find a doorway to the room, not remembering ever opening a door to come in. They saw the Spire shape and appeared here. He saw a door. He saw something they couldn’t.
“I see two doors,” the man said, without moving anything but his neck from the chair, “You will need to find them. And to find the keys, one for each door.” They looked at each other. He closed his eyes as if powering down. They were perhaps recognizing each other for the first time, in this, another life — as human beings. There was viscous burning of familiarity in their eye contact, a history of love in the voids of black inside their eyes.
“I will not go underground,” the cherub man said unprompted. This diverted their eyes to the rugs on the round: they were also odd patterns, clearly non linguistic but more maze like, mantras and motifs w2oven into Persian like rugs, piled atop the blue false waves and under the bear, its dead head and eyes protruding triumphantly and with forlorn.
“we have to throw one of these into the [[fire|carpets]],” the man with the black hair and green wool coat said to the woman while thinking How do I know you? With great self hatred.</p><p>The rug was tossed into the fire, the Cherub man seated with his pig hooves feet dangling above the ground indifferently, the man throwing it with his hands trembling. His beard at once smelled like singed hair. The carpet sung as it was thrust in. Small spiralling squeals were let out into the air, that evaporated upwards like echoing smoke. The lips in the movement disappeared. Small frays were left in the burning embers, golden strands illuminated on the black. Though the fire still raged.
“God is a firing squad,” the cherub man said[[.]]</p><p>“God is a firing squad,” the cherub man said. His eyes were fixated as bobbles floating in a solution behind glass; his head a mere jar containing some fetus; they were fixed beyond him, beyond both of them. He was looking not at something else, but a whole else; another world.
“How do we know each other,” the man turned to the woman. She bit her lip in predisposition. It brought about very real roots but very vaporous thoughts.
These were all symbols, they could tell, but they could not tell them, nor him, nor each other.
[[Small frays were left in the burning embers.|Fire]]</p>
<p>
You found a [[key]].
</p>[img[polarbear.png][polar bear]]
[img[midline strand.gif][keyhole]][img[right hand strand.gif][keyhole]][img[bottom strand.gif][keyhole]]<p>The polar bear shuffled and sank as the maze branch past him was disrobed. His head was turned over. The teeth barred an entrance to a great black hole. And this gave the Woman an idea. She tried to step inside.
To her surprise, her foot fit. She could feel the sensation of its dull teeth grazing around them, with no warmth, sharpness, pain, fear or bite. Though she could not see. When she looked her mind melted like a migraine. The world slipped away from its relative shape and sizing. She was not sure if she was shrinking to get inside, if the great thing’s jaws were expanding, or if the two had always been this size, in this world… and what always would have meant.
[[end]]
</p><p> and something goes wrong. looks like you're not getting out of here so easily, or at least, think about it -- ONLY TIME WILL TELL.
</p>
[img[fakemath.png][Static]]
<<cacheaudio "Deepthought" "Deepthought.mp3">><p>Story, artwork, animation and supplemental code by Cole Webber
Music: Sanpole by Carl Sagan's Ghost
Made with Twine</p>