Cryptofiction

A language contact situation between the neural and digital realms: the Sandman learns hologlychics while the sprixels acquire glitterune.

The cyber ecosystem is populated by sprixels, basciilisks, centaurls, hypersphinx, softwerewolves, troglobytes, and unixcorns.

Across the Silicon Road, lapis languagi, oneiropearls, turqualia, mnemosilk, and imagopaz flow from the neural to the cyber realms.

The neural republics import silicon embroidered carpets, pixel oils, datacomb, tetriminos of gold, i-peacocks, wifi powder, and 1-UP teas.

Metadigital planes for an unsent message: the Garden of Edit/Parerase, the Undoworld, Cancelot, Isles of the Blankness, the Elision Fields…

Figure 3 shows an unaligned witch: note the aurora raveled hair, jeweled warts, mouthful of jagged gems, and lollipop eyes that swirl hypnotically.

Choose your haunted clock:
• hourglass with suspended neon sands
• digital clock displaying ∞ AM
• watch inhabited by cog sprites
• fluxing clepsydra

She’s traveled at high speed from a dreamtime zone. The colorful smears around her eyes look like fingerpaintings, or rainwashed chalk drawings, or melted sound.

৳♄ey thou૭ዡt it ဃ࿃Ⰲld be ᚩuคny to Ͼᒤ∑შፒ६ a pro₲ᖆ₳൲ for geאerating ဌ₤⚴tched humaກՏ.

“Gleow! Glyao!” your jellycat greets you. Its bioluminescent body slinks around your legs like a non-Newtonian fluid, and it glurrs deeply.

Lifehack: you can have florid wish-fulfillment dreams if you deposit wishcoin, a form of neurocurrency, into an archetypal holy well.

Cloud of Hyperphoria – $10
storm-gin • liquid ozone • glittersmog • housemade orgeat smaze • spiced rainbow contrails • whiff of mirrormist

My eyes are heterochromatic, blue and thwime. Oh… you’re lacking in thwime? Hmm, it’s like violet: a flowy, wavy, xenofluorescent violet.

apocalite: doomsday underling
Apocalité: wine fermented from wrath-grapes
apoca-lite: casual, chill apocalypse

A new underworldly river connects Mnemosyne and Lethe, flows in both directions, is simultaneously time-lapsed and slow-motion…

New pretentious rainbow: rubious, ochre, sulphureous, emerald, azure, lazulite, ianthine.
Children will learn the acronym “Rose Ali.”

My thought bubble is filled with hypnograffiti, alchemical symbols, glossolalia, word salad, protean equations, and alien glyphs.

As you wander the crypt-like passages of the underground lazarinth, its apparent dead-ends open in a bloom of light, as though sentient.

My hobbies are rune carving, wandering the sand dunes with my eyes closed, trance-like staring, murals of the Old Gods, chanting in unrecognizable languages, improv massacres, reciting riddles backwards, nightmare tournaments, playing the summoning horn, freelance ravings, and cattle collecting.

Liminal times: summer equinox, thrilight, Duodecimber, noonfall, duskbreak, sunflop, sunspiral, New Eon’s Eve, the vernal antiquinox…

Customize your eternity with our hot new themes for Aeon 2672: phoenicious, ourosboric, lemniscious, borjgalish, spherular, and ankhian.

Xylosiope, from Greek xúlon (wood) + siōpḗ (silence). Playing technique include trilled fermatas, glissando ghost notes, and vibrato caesuras.

You begin to realize that the crickets are chirping in Morse code and the mosquitoes are piercing Braille cells into your flesh.

Silly wizards, neglecting to encrypt their dreamportals. Anyone could hack into the neuronetwork, steal private memories, plant nightmares…

You move among the ghostly figures of holograms, shattered panes of electroglass, and damaged peacebots and peacedrones. What has happened…

Ghost art is maximalistic, featuring lush voidscapes of holes and hollows, whimsical aerial perspectives, and deep, oblivescent colors.

You shed rainbow vortices as you float behind her. “You can’t out-glitch me,” she laughs, disappearing through a pulsating cloudwall.

You fall asleep while pouring over topology papers and have many fanciful and inspired dreams about Limbo bottles, desideracts, cheshire cubes, Quixote quartics, rêvesurfaces, Lilliput manifolds, oneirotopes, Pangloss tilings, phantasmaspheres, lunaplanes, Cloud-Cuckoo foliations, Jubjub tori, chimerospaces, elysioknots, and Pandora groups.

She is simultaneously ethereal and dead. Her body glows deep blue as jeweled maggots slink upon her eyelids and ichor trickles from her nose.

She floats through pink wisps of virtual clouds as electrodes zap her tongue with cotton candy flavors. She attempts to snort the pixels.

The air of the ur-realm is thick with swirls of the sandman’s sand, clouds of phoenix ash, whirls of ghost-mist, and plumes of pixie dust.

Together, they find camaraderie instead of rejection: he hears the cloud-tones, and she sees the sky-particles floating like cubed pixels.

Song-trees absorb noise and release pure musical tones as byproducts. The wind moves through the branches, producing an aleatory dissonance.

The stars look denebonair in their fomalhaute couture and jeweled rigelia for this evening’s vegala event.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” I hissed in my best human voice as my tentacles undulated around his chiseled buttocks.

“Everything will be okay,” I reassure my sapient crystal clusters.
“It’s all going to be fine,” the vaporous puffs of dreamdust agree.

Civil twilight, nautical twilight, astronomical twilight, Götterdämmerung (when the Sun is 18°-24° below the horizon), rebirth of universe, Gullaldr, dreamtime (after midnight), tohu wa-bohu (just before sunrise), Yawm al-Qiyāmah…

This is what is served at the Café for the Divine? Bifrösted cookies, camelattes, ys’d shangri-lattes? And does that say “cinnamon styx”?

Butterflies never die, they just create temporal portals with their swirled arcs into which they float down to where time flows.

Emerging occupations: peartisan, limeteorologist, plumberjack, mangoverness, lemoneylender, kiwigmaker, bananalyst, papayatollah…

I am a polyglossolaliac, fluent in Eastern Qlorococcoaea, Blortzkräpler, Renaissance Splütterglort, Babylonian Zazzijaʋa, and Ancient Glarf.

From photonic chrysalises, there have emerged partial patterns of butterflies, phosphene butterflies, floating in incomprehensible fragments.

A laugh like yours is a laugh that floats like a tune of a piano abandoned in a forest and grown wild with secret sets of keys. I’m not trying to flirt with you: I’m dead, and you were technically just my robot. What an odd couple we would be!

For beverages, you have a choice of entheogenic eleurotheriferous shaman-blossom, or our superfluid elixir served with auroral ice spheres.

We meet in a subconscious theta wave mirrorland enveloped in diffraction film where rainbows reverberate in self-referential echoes.

I scoff at your quasi-mystical golden spiral. All my spirals are spiritually purified and immediately attain nirvana upon being drawn.

The fluteflies flutter-tongue over the violinet patch, while bisbigliandos of breeze glide over the glockenspiel gloxinias’ glissandi.

Pythagoras’ “sublime triangle” vs. the fabled “sublimated triangle” whose side-to-base ratio is so perfect that it immediately etherealizes.

We sell strings, sealing wax, silkdewy pupae, snail shells, seaweed, salt grass, scented ghost-breeze, star simplices, and other fancy stuff.

I have ambrosia, parahōm, amrita, Greek golden apples, Norse golden apples, Goibniu’s ale of immortality, and the pigs of Manannan Mac Lir. But I need to pick up manna, alchemical elixir, pántáo, and a canteen of al-Khiḍr’s water before the party starts.

If you pop a Riemann zeta colored soap bubble, ephemeral rings of non-trivial zeros float momentarily in its wake.

I will aeroacoustically optimize my ghost in order to produce an odd flutter of eolian tones as I playfully swirl about your head.

One day I will bloom like bioluminescent phytoplankton and everyone will admire my weird blue swirls.

Something about the rainbow on the clock face is weirdly evocative. The following impressions come to mind:
• temporal gauge bosons that act as the force carriers of chronemes and have a color charge like those of gluons, except that this property is in fact related to visual perception
• the nascent field of chronospectography, which separates temporal waves into a frequency spectrum (in a universe where time isn’t an abstraction against which qualia unfold but is itself perceived as a form of sensory information)
• honeyed rainbows cached in the tombs of pharaohs for thousands of years
• rainbows from a deep elsetime preserved in amber
• distant laughter, lullabies instrumentalized for archaic tone colors, and something incomprehensible, like photonic granules or pixelated mist

Sophocles long ago heard it on the Aegean: the hollow roar of magic logarithmically spiraling out of the universe.

Dream of zodiacal mayflies, parhelic cicadas, circumzenithal grasshoppers, rainbow dragonflies, and auroral butterflies afloat in summer sky.

You find it difficult to breathe? Of course, you have an effusion of echoes inside your lungs… we’ll give you some samples of sound decay.

Now was the time but the time wasn’t now, so we added more chronosolubles to our orrery garden and awaited the fast-forwarded photonic rain.

Scentless deodorant, tasteless deflavorant, sightless devisionant, touchless desomaticant, motionless dekinestheticant, timeless dechronant…

You think that Lethe is forgetful, oblivious, insensate. You never really know what memories the waters have been seething with.

My face will baffle you like a synchronously rotating moon with a missing curve, which you will imagine as a perpetual waxing gibbous.

If grain of sand #108,203,799 in the Sahara spontaneously achieved a transcendental hypernirvana, releasing small shockwaves of dreamstuff and cascading cavalcades of muon-rain didgeridoo love songs, moksha mesons, karma isotopes, ur-languages, Freudian chimeras, and camel shit – what would you care?

I wrote my love a letter painted inside a 72-dimensional virtual hackspace in pungent ānuenue-scented photokinetic alien calligraphies; he responded with a dank meme.

My love! My French mermaid! My exquisite crapulation! How I expizzle myself for you! I prostrate myself before your buttered macaroons! I die nightly upon your radishes! My go-go gadget Venus, my sylvan luftwaffle! I scream and cry for you! I lactate upon your custard apples!

(noun)
1. The spontaneous desire to hug an internet acquaintance.
2. An exotic squid, native to the waters of East Qlurfefflezor.

Speak in whispers and riddles and foreign tongues. Create a musical code to cipher secrets into the piping of your handcrafted flute. Don’t be understood: it scares the statues and the trees.

Have you considered a blue? That is, a blue, abstractly? I personally haven’t tried it yet, but I’ve heard good things about the embluements.

“You have extremely pretty eyes. What I mean is, well…” She broke off, blushing. “I’d love to add them to my eyeball collection!”

I need 9 zenemes of neuroflorescent cyborblossom that can be alchemically cibated with little to no horsegut.

mnemosyne (noun)
1. (Greek myth.) The personification of memory.
2. The Age of Memory, from the earlier mnemocene, likely influenced by langsyne.

Revelatory photons, photons projected beyond consciousness, alluvial photons sifting through stained glass in an ectoplasmic apotheosis…

I liked you better before you became a human, when you were just insect eyes, archaic orthographies of sunbeams, and bits of glass.

His eyes glow mysterious sunset shades and his limbs ooze excrescences of honey and plums. “Now, here is a nice person,” you think.

Your glitchstones – nacrquoise, arlpea, xony, perippeerrii, emerdiam, and sapopphiral – are only valuable as long as your secret is safe.

Eigengrau, black, vanta, nixendent, nulloyant, nilescent, void: the colors of the negative rainbow.

The neural garden yields sweet-smelling amygdala blossoms, coniferous pineal trees, and soft medulla fruits.

What we thought were ghosts were really just complex assemblages of exotic material that isn’t subject to the Pauli exclusion principle.

You swim with pleiad lights in a vast auroral space as the song and sonorous jewels of a lorelei lull you into a watery sleep.

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