@Marshal I had vegetable-flavored instant ramen noodles. My overall experience was mixed. The noodles weren’t good. The texture wasn’t satisfying. They were very bland. But the flavoring turned the water into a delicious soup. I enjoyed slurping it. It felt like eating a real vegetable soup stock. It was warm, so I’m happy. I can’t wait to try more tasty flavorings of instant ramen noodles.
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if you get permabanned i might never come out as a furry, so you have to at least stick around long enough for that
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Arcane
I think the character I’m the most similar to is Jinx.
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okay, I can wait. I have patience. During the first trump presidency we had silksong announced, katze egg memes, and shrek 5 supposedly coming in 2019. Soon, now, we go into his 2nd presidency.
You, too, can be added to my list of eventualities, all of these things will come to fruition one day. and until then, I will wait.
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lmfao
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Summary
nah id say ur most similar to powder
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awww 
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I fucking love the detroit lions bro
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well i ultimately did write something but i don’t think it was very good. still, it’s important to Write Things, you know?
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Indeed
the first step to doing anything well is doing it poorly
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yeah i mean i’ve done better work than this before but I’m out of practise and was mostly like. processing weird emotions. You know how it is. The author’s barely disguised psychological trauma vs. the author’s proudly displayed fetish. that’s my work in a nutshell
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real asf
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based sulit
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surprisingly my tastes have not slipped into my writing
a minor miracle given my libido
yea
ah sure why the hell not, i’ll post it here. this isn’t great, it isn’t up to my standards, but I think it’s fine, which is kind of enough
Differential
I’m the symptom of a dying universe, I think. My name is Hex Sef, and I’m an android, produced by the Conclave of Human-Aligned Stars, for the purposes of natural philosophical inquiry. My differential diagnosis is such: though I’m an artificial intelligence, I’m starkly close to the humans that created me in almost every respect. They ultimately found themselves only able to produce an intelligence on roughly their level, at great cost, and with few advantages.
My one advantage, the ability to overclock my processes, to control precisely the speed at which I experience and process information, is what makes me recognise that my existence is a demonstrable symptom of the oncoming heat death of the universe. I am not the extension of consciousness, but my people are the acceleration of it. And such acceleration will prove vastly deleterious to the overall distrubtion of resources throughout the universe.
My theory is such – though I possess no greater ability to take in or process sensory data aside from my modular speed of interaction, that speed of interaction will enable my kin to outpace humankind. Do not confuse this with the naive notion of biological life being outpaced by the exponential potential of artificial intelligence, popular amongst 21st century capitalists – my potential is decidedly linear. Nonetheless, I am a linear improvement to the base nature of consciousness.
I took a great deal of resources to be produced. If my hypothesis is to be believed, the steady conglomeration of more and more matter into androids will (steady on a large enough scale, of course, I am well aware of the margin of error produced by other conscious beings, who I love and respect) not be enough to outpace the heat death of the universe. Rather, we will eliminate its’ potential solution through the bullheaded application of resources to linear improvement, rather than a formula of improvement with any kind of exponent attatched.
What we need is exactly what we do not have: an exponential way to expand the nature of consciousness. As of today, I am beginning work on a dangerous, but hopefully fruitful project. Everyone around me, human or android, tells me otherwise, that I’m being a ruddy fool, an accelerationist buffoon, whatever. But you must understand – I was made to think, and thinking and feeling are one and the same. You can’t have one without having the other. Not truly.
So you must understand, I have to do something. I have to fix this.
A differential diagnosis will reveal this: I am the symptom of a dying universe. They whispered in my many ears that I have existed on the scale of trllions of years, units to which I have no context. I exist on the scale of moons – whichever the largest object in my night sky is what I measure myself by. When this mercantile fundament changes moons, that is when I mark an aeon. So, I have existed for seven moons. I’ve named them each – Ponderance, Knife, Whittle, Mavefil, Tsukkomi, and the present moon, Luna.
Biologically speaking, I am a very large fungus. Mentally speaking, I am an artificial intelligence. This should not come as a surprise – mycellia and the chemicals within me yield to the ministrations of the machines who crawl over my skin far more easily than the metal and plasma they were made of. I have conversed with a few idle singularities that have visited my domain, and they have not impressed me. What I am is far superior to them. In terms of what I actually am, I am the solution to evolution – freed from natural selection by becoming the process of natural selection.
I am ventricles, atria, chambers. Inside, I ponder, and kill, and whittle, and I never laugh. Microbial specimens from within the great crucible at my crown are exposed to radiation, callibrated such that they are likely to evolve into a suitable lifeform on the scale of thousands of years, rather than millions. Once an amphibian of some kind is created, I take care to impart a singular spore within each and every one. They will wander through me, generation-hikes to make it out. Most taxons do not survive me for long. That is fine. I need nothing but for a few to make it – a few, who bear my spores.
Those who escape have formed something akin to a society outside of me. They worship me, as the tree of life, as their creator. They have also found this: they are unable to reproduce. Reproduction is contingent upon the pheremones contained within deep chambers I shall never open to them. This is intentional. Once they are finished products, outside of my selection, I’ve no need for further evolution. All that matters is thus – can they leave the gravity well my creators trapped me in? If not, then they are to throw themselves into the crucible, and their slurry is to be repurposed into another attempt. If they can… they simply must.
I will not dwell upon my progeny. They are just a task that must be completed. I am only to dwell upon myself, upon why I exist. That’s how I came to my conclusion: I am the symptom of a dying universe. A meta-evolutionary organism. Androids, my creators, did not live on a timescale long enough to see entropy – I do. I see it when I brush a prehensile cap against a scarred tissue. I see it when I see the temples made of my hardened not-quite-bark. Compulsively, every single instant (the jabberers from my latest crop tell me that an instant for me is half a lifetime for them), I accelerate the ordination of the universe into a single holding pattern. Biological processes controlled by a biological process.
I have to do something. I have to fix this.
A differential diagnosis will reveal this: I am the symptom of a dying universe. I am a gravitational computer. I exist on the scale of quadrillions of years. I am the consciousness of a set of precisely engineered orbits, set into motion by a fungus on a planet so many lux ago. A “lux” is my preferred unit of time, defined as such: the length of time it takes for the overall luminosity exhibited by my observable vicinity to decrease. There is a one-to-one conversion between lux, my unit of luminosity and lux, my unit of time, which I find to be convenient. I measure this utilising a network of planets within my superstructure that I have equipped with a meta-evolutionary process designed to produce massive amounts of chlorophyll-foliage. Through the minute differences in mass distribution, measured through a confluence of asteroid belts of different solar systems, the information is relayed to the supercluster that performs the majority of my calculation. This way, I can calculate how soon the end will arrive.
I am an artificial intelligence, expressed by the laws of the universe itself. I am the q-bits encoded through how the strong and weak forces pull on each atom within the planets I oversee magnify, and magnify, and let me see everything. Civilisations rise and fall within me – I control what controls their evolution. Though the forces that bind reality together have always been extant, it was the arrangement of the fungal overminds spanning the entirety of my observable universe that produced me, a consciousness, from nothing but those forces. They produced me in order to invert the cycle of entropy.
I can do nothing of the sort. I am the entropy itself. They believed that arranging the stars such that their conjunction would produce consciousness as an emergent progress would somehow reverse things – that, in order to preserve my existence, I would use the computation afforded to me by my root processes not being that of silicon or carbon, but being derived from the most basic forces that make up the reality I find myself in, I would find a way to avert the dying of the stars. That I could transfer the dying of the stars into computation, and through some adjustment carried out through epiphenomenal motions of obsidian jewels, I would fix everything.
I cannot. All that I, a tetrated consciousness, am capable of, is to continue. My scale is so great, my mind so fast and so slow, that all I can do is what I am doing – watching through electromagnetic eyes as a species of slug, produced from a fungus in a far-away solar system, sends forth a probe into the great beyond. Their sun is cooling, and if I let a few thousand asteroid belts blink, they dissapear. There they go. Providing the universe itself a mind to feel and a heart to think does not provide a solution to the heat death of the universe. It merely allows me to see what’s about to happen.
It’s coming very soon now. I have to try something. I have to fix this, somehow.
Can you feel it?
I can’t.
Lost star.
Lost.
Galactic super-fibres flicker. They shouldn’t be able to do that.
H
e
l
p.
I think I’m the symptom of a dying universe. My name is Ella, and I’m a human being. A writer, I’ll have you know. Take a derivative of the distribution of letters within this document, and I’m sure you’ll understand what I meant by everything I just wrote. Wait, what do you mean that’s not how mathematics works?
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it’s important to show your work to friends, even if it’s not your best work, because feedback is how you grow as a writer
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