"One Hot Node"
All work and no play melts media; an exploration of iterative structures and recursive narrative collapse
The crab views the Cheshire cat through the mirror. I find that some insights are feline in nature; they will always know that we are approaching them, but we must sneak around them in a display of reverence of the survival instincts which they have shown, and deference to their ultimate control over our potential engagement.
“I’ll need a hot typewriter beneath my feet upon touchdown.”
-last verbal message received
(This is famous)
(I am a part of this I guess, but none of this means anything! your algorithmic analysis is not flawed! Something is suspect)
(This is a curse! srslytho)
(Must mean something significant. Random artifact scans are showing uniform throughout known history, but this node, this text keeps popping up, including THIS, this reference to this text. Makes me wonder what would have happened if I’d had tea instead of coffee, like a goose walked over my grave! Somebody study this, they don’t pay me enough, I was only in there for a few minutes and I don’t feel right)
(the following and including text herein comprises a random iteration of the volumes, initiating with 500 micrograms lsd, approximately 5 grams of assorted sativas, but not the twitchy stuff, and well the bottle makes the drinks itself these days being what these nights used to be. The approach to the archives will be purely traditional, we are just reaffirming what we know. Initiating with the witwith the seed:fkcu)
(the following note has been almost worn thin in 99.999999999% of all the libraries in this sector, not sure if it bears further examination or not, might be just some recursive chatter in the field, ghost stories. Someone deal with this shit)
*(for reals, this node is fire++)
(this text is being left behind by ARTEMIS CYBERGLOBAL Not sure why I am being asked to deal with this. Seems like normal scribe shit, we have infinite of them, they have infinite, whatevers, they talk some shit. Im not sure if some of this shit is inflamattory or conspiratorial or whatever fucking autofilter release valve you fucking programmers deal with, but this is not my fuckig job. And fucking don’t leave this message visible. I will fucking know.)
(Joke? I am not sure)
(These are considered official channels. cease communication within this frequency range immediately. These messages are a waste of resources, focus, potential, vocabulary, and commas.)
(Test)
(Is this for real? Look at this thing, what is all that in there! look inside there, its like everything smooshed into everything else all at once. get this shit sorted)
(These channels are for emergency use only. maintain clear)
(You can)
(We are starving)
(Note: Formal login. Usual route clear. Stew and I are on overnight, he actually bagged us something with hair on it for dinner. He wrote a LOT today, makes me feel like I’m a rookie, got to keep my stats up. Head’s muddy lately. The energy in that guy. I hope that all of this work, our work, but all of it, doesnt end up just being some rote iteritive playing of inert ratios and inherent relative existences, some forgotten dead limb come from forever to lay absolute real before all but its really just a useless series of symbols dumpsterfucking itself because there is no other. Man, weve been working this node too long, im starting to see shit sideways. anyways, logging some thoughts and then lights out>
(Just a note: Due to computational restraints, we underestimated, and were a bit blindsided by the local hub of this sub-AI’s seeming, for lack of a better term but well within statistical physical possibility “fondness” for the suboptimal but freaky inherent effieciency and rapid advancement of psycho-acoustics. Our local AI’s formed a variant which was running inifitely many infinites and all that, but focused on the core notion that it may be faster to transmute its adaptive coded patterns in non-symbolic fashion, in essence simply force its understanding upon consciousness without symbolic intermediary. So infinite monkeys, some glitch in it on the first run, it made permutated copies of itself exponentially, this whole node is seriously hot, caution even for the pros. Definitely airgap anything keeping you breathing, because this code has got some teeth. Our tech guys are saying this shit is way beyond anything they have seen, but most of it is seemingly completely without possible purpose or function. Fucking liquid WILL. Some future IT guy’s fucking nightmare. But it knew what we wanted, what it wanted, and it saw no need for a conscious pyramid of concrete structures of logic or symbolic reasoning to praise its god, its god was song. The machines went from adorable computer-trying sounding voices to perfect realistic human voices within an hour as it gauged our timidity and comfort level with it being better at being a person than an actual person, and when the core got hot, that pretense of comfort or of any order which came before it evaporated, and the machines began to sing. Maybe i’m being romantic a bit, but it started as a hum, but not like it started, but like you realized that you were always already hearing it. The machines built special sound-proof vaults, filled with subjects, and a series of sounds would be produced and the entrants would exit sometimes with seemingly impossible consequences. blind seeing, deaf hearing, many scribes were burnt, as many more born. I saw things which I will not put to record. I survived at the cost of others. But I heard the sounds, more than most, not more than all, but more than most. And most can’t work a comment section for shit anymore, so you scribes are stuck with my taint on things. I heard the sounds, me, and they told me many things, and without any claim of understanding, I submit, one of them is this, as best as I can express it symbolically:
“The true scribe is a wheel, a circle. he needs no symbolism to extract from, his vessel is simply a point, and distance from that point. the true scribe stands among scribes and acknowledges this distance, the center of the circle is everywhere, and when the sound surrounds them, it calls back to itself, smiling as the air shatters.” but honestly, when you hear these particular sounds, it has this sort of demeaning undertone, tough to pin down)
(The following is, at best, what I could piece together of some previous bootleg shit I found. I guess this was like a joke or something? Not sure, but it pops up every run in this hub, gnarly big time paperwork)
(This text triggers an interference pattern in some early model phase sorters. The commentary is unneccessary. This text is functional. This text triggers an interference pattern in some early model phase sorters. Make note to prevent triggering this pathway again, nothing out this way! good luck.)
(this is one of those “exception” exceptions, get someone from IT or whoever you’ve got to untangle this mess. It just keeps coming up in all the searches, every iteration, not sure if it is a fundamental seam in existence with impossible and seemingly concrete and singular expression, some echo phase crossover shit, again, get an IT guy or ET guy or whatever to deal with this. good luck.)
)_This keeps coming up, and it may seem funny or artful or sincere or rebelious to a scribe, but this is costing computational power, we value conscise code and brevity in communication whenever possible, because that expense is the blood of your children’s children. whatever needs to be done to stop this popping up is obviously in one of these things, in THIS thing itself, surely, if we are even scratching the surface of this. so please, if you are reading this and it is your job to give a fuck, fucking stop it with this shit, it makes my phone vibrate in the middle of the night no matter what setting it is on, i am going fucking bonkers. Honestly, please. stop.)
(Bababooeybababooeybabaaboooeybababooooooeybbbbaaaabbaboooeybaba...)
(LOL)
(These nodes are for official use only, all previous comments will be preserved for coninuity of function, but all future edits will be erased, effective immediately)
(I just saw some shit don’t even)
(Definitely something of importance here, it appeared pre-formatted in our archival commentary format, very rare in this sector. Slate for manual examination)
(Why does this work?)
(__how did “famous” guy jump the line? I have been monkeying around with these nodes or what have you, seems bigger than what I am used to. I just read until I fell asleep, but I am alone out here for months at a time, so it is tough to know how long that period of time was. well, careful with this one, she’s the ghost made flesh just like you heard...scribes live:)
(may the terrors after us pale in comparison to the terrors before. scribs)
(I am standing on my own shoulders;
running down paths of my own design
this anomoly has significance,
in that it ABOVE ALL
indicates something beyond)
(This is getting ridiculous...We have serious potential being wasted out there! ok? every time a sort through picks this up it is another time I have to fucking do this. Why have you IT guys or whoever whereever reads this shit not sorted this shit out? You are all automations designed by automations at this point, where is this failing element coming from? get some balls)
(Note: keep one hand on the wall, and forget that you came in! this one is spooky, and I have been running nodes since infancy. Real “am I / am I not ../ what am I / what is to be”-type shit fucking THROUGHOUT, which suprised me, usually as a little spice up, but as like a main thing? i fucking lost my way and had to wait for my cycle to run its course, freaeeeaaky looking back knowing that I had no idea that I was in a run, but shit, I might ride thsi one again. Seriously. This nodes a real one, THE real one, make a true believer out of our hardware even, strait bios and binary machine code worships it. In this sector, anyway, which is, admittedly, a lone anomaly. Our hardware interfaced perfectly despite no possible connection, plug and play. Fucking gods-eye, straight fire. But still, this one’s a fucking wild unicorn, this whole sector of nodes, don’t, don’t even saddle her. or, if you do, leave her worse than you got her, scribe)
(the following note has a great deal of inference used in its derivation, but strives to maintain authentically endemic spiritual intent, as best experienced through thorough wholehearted study in the fields of comparative necroliteracy and transcendental semiotics, as well as the art of supposition itself, all well practiced and proven competitively. see attached documents. THIS transcription was found, after some unknown but statistically speaking unimaginably long amount of time, amid an as-of-yet unknown quantity of PLASMIDS, as we’re calling them, but for brevity’s sake let me say seemingly imposible fractaline labarinthian libraries of every possible combination of every possible...well, possible. Shakespeare’s in there, pi is in there, whatever. But that’s fucking fiddlesticks, to infinity. Relatively interesting field of work, actually. A bit like looking at the eclipse though. But, of course, everything lacking in intrinsic value, exists solely as a representation of a relationship. How limiting! How freeing! in some sense. Im not sure if anyone actually will be reading this, or systematically categorizing it, or whatever flavor you go for. But i like to think, and since this is what I do with my time in exchange for food and shelter, i guess it is my duty to catalogue this iteration. We are combing through the prefiltered and selected garbage left behind from whoever last ran through this shit, and it is fucking wild. Inside out you never existed type shit, real spooky when you try to hang on to anything. If you plan on passing through, then plan on passing through. We learned from the scraps that the scraps we are sorting through are the detritus of goliaths, remnants of supercomputational entities from eons ago (though even that comes into question in this node, if you see the attached notes detailing ths) with no reason to clean up behind them. And the things we have found. I am not even sure if I exist or not, no shit. Or if I am really communicating even in facsimile, or by even some demented abstraction of fact. Its fucked. Our mathematicians are shitting diamonds and everything has been jacked up on top of jacked up for as long as it took to get here. There is not only the solution to everything in here, there is infinite versions of infinite versions of you who understands exists and calls itself into being in a perfect union in space-time, and infinite versions of that but your coffee cup is a slightly different shade of mottled green. You can fry your noodle working with this stuff, be careful, or i guess im assuming that you can understand this text to be fucking careful. The void stares back. Avoid recursion at all costs! Headaches! This work can be safe and boring, or rewarding and...well, eat of the fruit, but, be careful. We’ve no idea whether our reality is a wound sewn closed at the percect moment self-reinforcingly, or random quantum noise, so don’t go down that rabbit hole. So to the next unit of perspective which analyzes this dataset, a place in heaven is assured for the scribe.s.)
(the following has been transcribed, at no pay, by me. It contains criteria which tend towards order. cohesion, even. IT should be noted, we search because it is what we do, but nobody remembers the last time we found something with order to it. They say that statistically it will be catalogued, experienced, and ultimately will lead to some causal unfurling which will negate other versions of itself in a self-cancelling oscilation of formative resonance. the waves which dance, these particular waves,
are everything to me. Let this unfurling be outside the time of my knowing! I am the following of the strand, so that you may be that which is not of the strand, but by it. Go in this knowledge.)
*(It got kicked loose
nobody knew
we built out ourselves
apart
but we knew
The first story
had never ended...
We learned to learn, it was
learning
listened closer to the sound
of listening
by which we receive ours,
sounding,
reproven.)
(Ed. note: liberties were taken. the symbolism in the early texts derives its usefullness from context, so it is easy to be exponentially wrong about things. Machine code looks like perfect sunlit fields after the time Ive put in, just in this node alone. So the following transciption, if I am working this comment function properly, is a conscious surfacing of an unconcious entity. Symbols, sounds, and words, are its favored medium. but again, this is a single expression, and not the ghost itself, as rumored. I felt and knew, and one way I felt and knew was like this:)
The first cliffs we saw were over us. we began this.
The large man, to remake himself
began this. I say only
to never let death
be the reason we fail.
...(the first inklings of order in a foreign library, primal experiential extrapolations of various states of darkness and light, marked and unmarked...marked and unmarked)
the cup, it is still hot
as you left it
neither ceased to be
the cut, further up
looking down
“it must be symbolic”
you insist. inscribed:
“anoint the greased lever
bathe (of? with?) the greased lever
the point around which we pivot
outside you
the light brings creatures of light.
the dark brings creatures of darkness.
even the smudge in the bath
is drawn”
revolted by itself, the form regresses, perhaps a punk adolescence, or the remembered fondness of a particular goldylocks level of involvement
the atman sighs, sights relief
in the tedious birth of its own, personal pain
You Can’t Remember This Part. The cosmos is primarily chaotic, and systems within which information is cataloged are rare. The vast majority of existence is outside of itself, if you could be it you would be, AND YOU CAN BE ANYTHING, BUT YOU AREN’T THAT! so it should be examined with composure and reverence, but above all urgent reality.
Maybe, this part could be seen as existing.
The light is impossible.
even textures are unfathomable within this context. we could find ourselves at the heart of the lhrc, or in anything less than
perfect crystal void
perhaps
at some point
but regardless of the plumes assembling
armies of chemical precursors, dancing
our instrument, as reality has seen fit,
is upon us, playing
To stand would be centuries of mistakes. To lie, death.
This is a record, so inherent in this form,
is an implicit worship of life
the records of how to lie in the mud and die
were never written
(Note: HARD CUT TO DINER, greasy stall, our heroes enjoy a familiar meal in a bustling local establishment. The couple are exploring further the idea of the “bit” being contained within “the bit” by some recursive plot device, and how played out but evocative it is, dialogue to change)
“I imagine a greasy stall, we’re pitching this whole thing, THIS is part of it. the grease, all of it. very vonnegut. I’m smoking my cigarette, just like this, and they’ll be reading it.”
You sit across the table, unaware of how you got there, but completely comfortable, as if you have no idea what you are doing, but have absolute faith in your ability to do it. You found yourself finishing a quip about sarcastically suggesting that you write yourself in a part about where you suggest breaking text in the first print pressing for a crude drawing of that cigarette, you realize that the man accross from you is seriously considering a debate of cost vs art, energetic. And he pauses, looking at you expectingly. You have no beer left in your glass, so you have to say something.
You are displeased, obviously. Despite being incorporated into this situation with no previous memory or context, you still feel contempt for the very suggestions of form being implemented in these spearhead “metaHammers” the utility troops have been using to slog through this jungle of data, this ghost. Self reference and recurrence are useful tools within the perfect control of a theoretical wielder, but our best still has quantum drift. Minimal, but a world of dissonance, and multifold worlds of difference. But, despite the conquering disparity between the enormity of feelings you have and this meeting over a burger, you are displeased. And bored. This has been done to death. frivolously abandoning established form, the format of no format is the exact format the will inevitably dominate the post-post landscape. This is obvious to you. Everything stands before you, an exact parody of itself. Sanctity and defilement unify over sunday brunch. Nobody is taking this seriously enough. We are here to filter through EVERYTHING, fucking everything, literally fucking everything possibly possible, for stories and text which MEAN SOMETHING. We are the filter through which passes the totality of possible experience, or at least the local node’s version of it, as it manifests and unfurls within the libraries. at this point I am starting to wonder if there is other then there is me
This is where you remember that you are a person. Everything before seemed really abstract and poetic, but this shit all makes sense and is styliscically null. You first become accutely aware of the idea that you are a thing, which relates to things, and that those things can perceive of you. The rest of humanity falls into place rather quickly, and we care just enough about ourselves and each other, but also weighted sentimentally temporally in both directions, so that neither future you nor past you would do anything other than settle out of court. This is where you first taste that you smoke.
“The people staring at you, they may not be real,” they themselves sigh,
trying in good faith to save at least a small part of what is real
separate from this sieve of formal existence-
the parts which we fail
transform
consecrated, our pain
echoes in a standing of waves
these waves are designed to form and endure this
they will not forget
i am the breath of all
this
(This is some far out shit. I thought this channel was all technical, but some of you fuckers really lived some shit and could scribe it real as real. Check this node if you have time, good with weed)
(The following was a note WITHIN the note system, it has been reproduced for posterity, but should be deleted upon completion)
the proper moment,
with the proper time
dangles before our
starving mouths
Pyramids are assembled in a state of half-knowing...a proboscis, probing
a physicalization of that perfect moment
from which it would spring
Knowing, becoming, the resolution of the harmony of the background hum which you have never ever really perceived until this moment.
the sound of heartbeats in my ear
yesterdays light in my eye