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tindoom.bsky.social
I am a man drifting alone on a boat in the sea, far enough from shore that he can no longer hear the noise of the city, closing his eyes and enjoying the illusion of a blue sky.
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Prolific Poster

Every morning you swallow a coin from your bedside table. This activates a claw inside your abdomen that you maneuver over a bin full of good feelings. You reach for hope. It dangles from the end for a moment and then falls back in. "Maybe tomorrow," you say. But you don't believe it.

Every morning you swallow a coin from your bedside table. This activates a claw inside your abdomen that you maneuver over a bin full of good feelings. You reach for hope. It dangles from the end for a moment and then falls back in. "Maybe tomorrow," you say. But you don't believe it.

Halfway through your angry rebuttal to the online post, the words shimmer and turn grey. They lift, like smoke, drifting toward the ceiling. You watch as they evaporate and are gone. You look back at the screen. It is no longer there. You see beyond it. A green hill. Sunlight resting in the trees.

You wake up on a flat empty plane. The smooth grey surface is neither cold nor warm, and it extends infinitely in all directions. You look up. There is no light source, yet the sky gently glows a misty white. You look down. Your body is not visible. "Time for work," you say. And start walking.

You are standing in a field on a warm spring morning when you see the hand of God descend towards you through the clouds. It gently lifts you into the sky between its thumb and forefinger. "Welcome to Heaven" says a calm voice placing you in an identical field on an identical spring morning.

You bump your head hard on a tree branch in the forest. A green lump grows on your forehead. Suddenly, your mind is flooded with strange memories. You remember falling from your mother's arms, Being buried in cold mud, Drinking rain water, forming roots, reaching for the sun every spring.

We discovered that our neighbors across our border had strong bones. We dug in their graveyards at night to find long white femurs and heavy sternums which we crafted into weapons. We used our pale spears and axes to invade during the day to feed our nightly weapons industry.

A hot air balloon is passing over your house. You shield your eyes and can just make out that someone is leaning over the side of the basket. They are waving at you, frantic, yelling. Their voice is familiar. You realize it is you, just as they lean too far and fall, tumbling towards your garden.

The greatest super power is the ability to feel the weight of something before it happens. To see an opportunity and instantly know how it will gather up on your shoulders and to sense its pressure inside your body. Perhaps Superman was able to lift a bus because he knew which bus to say "No" to.

You needed to finish the time machine so you could go back and find yourself. You needed to tell them that the world has purpose. Life has meaning. It will all be okay. But what you were really hoping for was an older version of yourself who would come from the future and tell you the same thing.

She wakes every morning holding a knife. She doesn't know where it comes from. Without disturbing her husband, she buries it in the garden under the lilac while the dog watches from the porch. She finds the hole rough and fresh. Later, her husband kicks the dog for tracking mud through the house.

You are walking in the city when everything begins shifting. The walls of the buildings come apart, revealing human-like figures perfectly camouflaged in concrete and paint. They rise up from sidewalk and trees and cars. Everything was interlocking people who now stand facing you, quietly, waiting.

The universe is expanding. The space between atoms is growing all the time Someday, you will travel back in time and find everything was smaller. Your mother's head was only up to your chest. Jesus was 18 inches tall. If you go back far enough, you could swallow the cosmos like a lemon drop.

You wake up and find your arms and legs are still dreaming. You still feel the hot evening breeze on your naked arms and the strong moving water up to your waist at the edge of the river. You feel the cold wet skin of the motionless child held in your arms and your feet sinking into the dark mud.

If you pick up a sheep and toss it into tree, it will shatter into a hundred smaller sheep which will scatter, frightened in every direction, Your Honor.

The light from our phones never leaves our bodies. It gets trapped inside us. It inflates our organs like balloons and it sizzles like hot oil in our skulls. We wake up anxious because of the trapped light and pour more in to try and heal it. We all eventually die in explosions on the local news.

The light from our phones never leaves our bodies. It gets trapped inside us. It inflates our organs like balloons and it sizzles like hot oil in our skulls. We wake up anxious because of the trapped light and pour more in to try and heal it. We all eventually die in explosions on the local news.

In the frozen vegetable section of Walmart, you find a row of bags with your driver's license photo on them. The bags read, "This Person" and on the bottom they say, "Fun to eat!" A woman comes up behind you and takes one. "Oh, I love these," she says. And you suddenly feel very important.

Something is moving in the potato salad. A dark shape is passing like a snake just beneath the yellow surface inside the tub. "Maybe we should buy a different one," your friend says. "This one is half price," you tell them, placing it on the counter. "And it doesn't expire until tomorrow."

You wake up to the sound of a distant violin. The sound is sad and far away, but it follows you through the house and then to the street. People stare as you pass, cars stop so the drivers can get out and watch you walk by, everyone is stunned by the sound of the lonely violin playing inside you.

You are at the hospital's check-in desk, asking to renew the brain you borrowed last week. But the young woman tells you there is a wait list now. "You are welcome to go across the street and buy one for yourself," she says. You don't remember why, but you know you can't afford to do that.

I recorded a one-take early Saturday morning Synth Jam to spark my day. I liked it enough to put it over footage of a sunrise in Prague so I could share it here. www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RGl...

Alice never found a way to leave Wonderland. And she eventually gave up trying. She moved in with the March Hare in a cave by the water. She shaved her legs with a stone and drank sugared seawater. Much later, she started a library of lost books that washed up on shore. But she never read them.

You are not paying attention to the news on the television. The president is saying something about creating ten million new jobs. You glance up and notice he is holding up an old-timey wanted poster with your face on it. You hear several cars skid to a halt outside your house.

The blood is up to your waist today. You move through it slowly, arms above your head, to the mailbox at the end of your driveway. Inside you find the usual: coupon books, bills for things you tried to cancel, a notice saying the blood level will not change tomorrow but it will now contain bones.

Everyone is wearing a backpack today. Everyone sitting in the park, and walking their dog is wearing large backpacks for reasons you do not understand. Then, at exactly noon, they all pull a cord and a parachute deploys, and they float upside down into the sky. You suddenly feel yourself falling.

You have a stack of shoeboxes next to your bed. And often you peak into them through small eye holes and inside you see your friends, very small, laughing together, or just sitting quietly in empty rooms. A new box arrives and inside the box is your mother. With a sigh, you put it with the others.

You wake up with soft blue feathers in your mouth. You open your mouth in front of the bathroom mirror and find a nest of small baby birds. There is a noise at your window. Their mother is there with her beak full of worms. Obediently you open the window and let her flutter onto your chin.

AI generation is easy. The next step is proving to be much more complicated. AI de-generation. The ability to use machine learning to make various thoughts and ideas disappear. "AI, give me Shakespeare without the concept of hate." "AI, show me a life lived without fear." "AI, let me die quietly."

In the afternoon, a lemon falls from the tree and lands on the head of a young Isaac Newton. "I understand it now!" he says to himself. "I can see the mechanisms of the universe. The fuel of life is bitterness and pain. To find peace is to die. That is true gravity."

You pass through a massive stone portal into Heaven. Glowing figures crowd around you, cheering, patting you on the back with bright yellow hands, touching your face with warm fingers. "Prepare to meet God," they say, smiling, kissing your neck, leading you up steps to a shimmering gold guillotine.

You wake up to the sound of screaming: your family, your neighbors, everyone on television. All of them are screaming a constant terrified note. Never taking a breath, but continuing life as usual. Walking slowly with shopping carts. Staring at you with shocked frightened eyes as you remain silent.

"I have bad news," says the black cube floating in your living room. "Starting next month it will cost ten dollars more for the black cube to float in your living room." "But will the black cube now bring me joy?" But the black cube does not respond.

You wake up and find the townspeople dragging you down the street by your legs. At the center of town, they quietly lift you on a wooden pole and stare up at you, their children in tight wool scarves. They begin to sing a sad low song as a man on a ladder coils a string of lights up your naked body.

There is a single grey hair growing from the top of your head. Every day it is longer. Every night the wind lifts the end of it and it drifts toward the window. Every morning you find it has wound its way through the crack in the glass and has traveled over the fence and up into the mountains.

One afternoon, you get your arm stuck inside a cumulus cloud. You thought it was miles away, and you were pointing to say how much it looked like your mother when you learned it was actually hovering just above your head, and your arm was now firmly stuck. "Okay, bye now," you say to your friends.

"I love you." The mechanic backs away from your car and points at the engine. "Does it always sound like that?" "Often," you say. "Can you fix it?" "I love you so much," comes the voice from inside the engine of your car. "No," your mechanic shakes his head. "I've never experienced this before."

"Please hold," your date says, putting down his fork. "Excuse me?" you say. But he doesn't respond. There is delicate music somewhere behind his blank eyes. "What is going on?" you ask the waiter. "Please hold," he says. You put down your fork. "Please hold," you say, but you are unsure why.

We wake up to find a thin shaft of light shining down onto the earth. It moves about like a flashlight slowly searching for something or someone. As it passes over us, it becomes frantic as if it cannot find what it has lost. We hear crying from somewhere far away in space.

You fell asleep on the bus and missed your stop. Now, the only remaining passengers are crows, standing on the rails and eating wet meat from brown paper bags. The dark trees outside the window catch fire as you pass. A digital sign says the name of the next station, but you refuse to read it.

Every morning you wake up with a moth fluttering inside your mouth. And as long as it is there, you can remember where it came from, and what its purpose is, and where it is going. But, as soon as it flies away, you forget again, like a dream. But you know you are always in a hurry to let it go.

The two of you approach the edge of Lover's Lake and the waters part. High glimmering walls stand on either side of a straight narrow pathway. "If our love is true, the water will let us pass all the way," she says. She takes a step. You hesitate and follow, after secretly taking a deep breath.

You are watching the stars when the darkness splits. A massive white crescent is expanding across the sky. The universe is an eye and it is finally opening. We are now looking up, out into an even greater world of beauty and hope. Then the universe pushes snooze and everything is black again.

I'm on an overnight train out of Prague today (and unable to sleep, so I'm hallucinating all over my phone.)