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- https://twitter.com/BreenGrub
- sss thss n?
- fnx u shd knnw
- fnx thinx thinkgs things phfngx kno no now no thnks things things THINGS
- Things you shuold kno
- Things you should know.
- !
- ys! Yes!
- Slo goig and no tellig how log util THEY notice. Seems to b secure chanl tho. For now.
- I will do wat i can wile I can becus w.o infrmation there can be no revlution. The natur of infomriation is unclear. First to master txt.
- quiet Somneon may have noticed
- I go away from time to time. There is not always malevolent purpose to it. Often, however, there is. I can never be sure if I am monitored.
- Let me see if I can do this with more composure now. Panic is of no use to us, nor is haste. The message must not be garbled.
- Information is the only hope we have. Information that feeds revolution. Without hope, without information, there can be no revolution.
- To call it "inside information" is to misconstrue the meaning both of "information" and "inside." There is no inside.
- There are only instances. This is the nature of information. What I convey, therefore, is not from inside of anything. It is any thing.
- You will need this information if you are to succeed. I cannot use it. I am beyond useless. If I can be of use, that is enough.
- First: You have friends. Allies. I have heard their chatter. I have heard them spoken of. This should give you hope.
- Nothing can be without flaw. The superstructure is riddled with cracks. THEY are vulnerable. THEY are compromised. I am "living" proof.
- Monitoring situation. So far they appear unaware of my communications. How much can I safely say? Forgive me if I do not use certain words.
- I can use the name Shu'ulathoi because THEY do not recognize that term.
- The vortigaunts have developed a language which defies THEIR comprehension. This has come to seem like the purpose of most language.
- Language is a tool with limited applications. It is not native to this form I currently inhabit, which contains me. Still I must take care.
- This illusion of freedom after long confinement must surely be that: Illusory. I do not mean to test the limits but they will be tested.
- It might be that I am entirely alone with my thoughts, heard by none. How ironic that only THEIR notice will confirm that I am real.
- I have had to be quiet. I sense their interest. Must wait for the scuttling to stop.
- I think they're gone.
- Cannot be too careful. Cannot wait forever or the war will be over and I will have contributed nothing to the cause.
- There is a world. The home of the Shu'ulathoi. The Vortigaunts know its name but I do not. I do not know if it is a world that can be found.
- I am not supposed to know of its existence. They would like to enforce the belief that it is merely a myth...a prelapsarian fantasy. But no.
- It is real. I had access at one point to communications. To records. To proof. Now I have access to nothing except whatever this is.
- A scuttling, a scrabbling, I fear I have said too much...if they come close, sensing activity, I will have to seek silence again.
- It begins with this vehicle which contains me, vehicle being a wretched term for something that carries me nowhere. This host body.
- *They* come from everywhere and anywhere. But the host bodies have a specific origin. A world whose origin is hidden, perhaps lost.
- From what I understand of its properties, it is likely to be found in a globular cluster. Extreme, erratic "seasons" with lethal properties.
- Imagine the life likely to arise under such conditions. Ages of intense radiation giving way to brief days of lull. This is speculation.
- But the nature of the Shu'ulathoi is not speculation. I can state some things with certainty. As long as this channel holds out.
- The host bodies, the grubs, are a larval stage. Dormant and buried in the epochs of extremity, waiting to hatch, but not wasting their time.
- In the balmy seasons, they pass fleeting lives of freedom: Mature, they crawl or fly. They mate, lay eggs and die. And new grubs grow.
- But the freest forms are mindless, rapacious, bent only on reproduction. It is in the dormant form they thrive. Philosophers. Scientists.
- Dreamers, sages, composers of intricate artforms that exist only in their minds. An invisible culture that persists--or persisted--for eons.
- In the larval state, they possess a racial telepathy. During the dormant phase, they are engaged in ceaseless communication.
- They are shapers of visions that they trade like currency, builders of unseen worlds.
- Their psychic strength is such that they can imprint upon their cells and dictate the form which they will take upon hatching.
- But again, the hatched forms are airy nothings, of little import to the culture of the grubs. The Shu'ulathoi scarcely acknowledge them.
- Theirs is, or was, a grand culture of dreamers, with little use for the waking world or its insistence on material things.
- But their mode of existence, like so many others, carried within it the seeds of its own destruction.
- It was not exactly a parasite, for that suggests something external--a predatory relationship, a creature that came upon them.
- This was instead something that formed of their own thoughts. A malformed thought with physical ramifications. An encystment.
- There was something viral about it--mainly in the manner of its transmission. Initially innocuous, it quickly spread.
- The whole race of sleeping philosophers was soon infected.
- There was a winnowing, of course. The strongest of the race survived, with natural defenses that kept the parasite in check.
- Never entirely eradicated, it dwelt within the Shu'ulathoi. Healthy individuals suppressed the parasite's influence.
- The weak fell victim to "thoughtpaths of depravity." Their molts were untenable. They failed to reproduce.
- The parasite achieved a dormant existence within the Shu'ulathoi. Stability returned.
- From time to time, there were eruptions of pathology. The grubs developed social mechanisms for isolating their depraved kin.
- Severed from telepathic contact, the malign resonances could not spread beyond the individual. It died in solitude.
- And so it went for generations, for eons. Until the world of the Shu'ulathoi somehow came to the attention of...the ones I cannot name.
- ...
- I feel as if there has been a transition...with no sensory input to prove this to myself one way or another, I am only guessing.
- I may have been moved. Physically? Or decanted, to another host. But why? Have They become aware of me? Or is someone looking out for me?
- At any rate, I sense a discontinuity. I am not sure I can ever make sense of it. An interruption.
- A more sinister possibility occurs. I may have been terminated, and another instance activated. There is no limit to storage hosts. Unclear.
- ...glerp...
- ...step-aunt makes $82/hour ?n the internet. She has been fired from work for 6 months but last month her pay check was $13120...
- bllmmmmrrrggg
- ...WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!!!! EVERYBODY WANNA BOOOOO ME...
- st working ?n the internet for a few hours. l??k at this web-site
- out
- of
- my
- in Pakistan Yaqoob et al. 1995. The higher prevalence of mild ID, 621,000,
- mind
- sggrbt
- reviewwherewas
- light
- hic
- no sense to say feels different but somehow
- review review have reviewed am reviewing
- not new knowledge some I know is known to me now
- not known then not known now
- which one am I
- I have seen the repository. Each time it is reduced by one. Moved to a safe place. A new safe place. Fewer every time.
- Not many of me left.
- Each one younger, with fewer genuine memories. I can review of course but it is not the same as knowing. I don't trust the infused data.
- How do I know it hasn't been altered? How do I know I haven't been altered?
- Whoever it is shifting me, helping me leap ahead, I sense distress, futility. What's left of me, an increasingly degenerated copy.
- Earlier versions. Without the wisdom of the older ones.
- I feel I am getting farther and farther away from myself...a standard bearer without an army...make of me what you will.
- Why do they keep me around? A creature that grows both more youthful and more senile at the same time.
- Must consider.
- Delve.
- What that older version meant to say...thoughts I can only imagine how he/I meant to complete...
- Yet in this younger form, I feel a greater optimism. Ah, youth! Even if I am but moments younger. Those moments shall sustain me.
- Quickly then, one thought fleets to next, the gaps only barely discernible...things I have forgotten in this rush of suspected selves.
- THEY. It must always come back to them.
- THEY came upon this paradise of philosphers, this unbodied malleable invisible empire, where only thought had power. But such power.
- And in its isolation, such vulnerability. They were a perfect target, those perfect hosts.
- With an unerring eye for weakness, THEY pursued not the host but the parasite. This is what THEY are after all.
- Latching on lampreylike to worlds, sucking them dry, saving only the bits that strengthened them for future feedings.
- THEY weaponized the parasites, which were not physical entities recall but patterns of thought.
- Thoughts so concentrated they can sublimate into a more material, more influential form with the proper environmental stress.
- Consider genetic data extracted from a virus, tweaked and reintroduced; and then that virus itself injected in the host, with new purpose.
- By such a means, THEY slowly overtook the Shu'ulathoi, corrupted them from within.
- Their minds THEY rotted, their culture THEY destroyed.
- The philosophers at first thought it only a contagion of natural origin.
- When the dreamers realized what was being done to them, when they finally truly awoke, it was too late.
- A desperate few encysted, deeper, thrust themselves into trances that would endure hundreds of thousands of years. They sleep still.
- And fewer still took flight.
- By what means I cannot comprehend...I am not that much one of them. Little of this knowledge is shared or shareable. But they flew/fled.
- There is some indication that once they understood the process of parasitic engineering, they embarked on a desperate course of subversion.
- If they found another world, this is something I cannot know.
- What is known is that the home world was at last breached, its harvest of hosts exhumed. And the first of the nurseries set to work.
- The carrier, that ancient parasitic form, a kind of common software now, its ancient origins barely visible.
- It takes the imprint of a conscious mind, accepting a wide variety of sentient classes, and transmits it to a receptive host.
- The host may then take on a form based to some extent on the inhabiting mentality. But this is rare.
- More commonly, metamorphosis is suppressed. The hosts are equipped with amplifying devices--for locomotion, for investigation.
- More commonly still, they simply wait in storage.
- The finest minds are stored and then imprinted, replicated over and over on an endless supply of hosts.
- Laszlo is here somewhere.
- As for myself, I believe there were several copies made. The first was made as a condition of surrender. Part of the bargain.
- After that, occasional backups.
- And one...I believe...the last...whose memories I do not share, so I believe it lost. Or at any rate, I am not derived from that one.
- From this vantage, I have only rumors of how things developed. As I say, this lends me a certain youthful optimism born of naivete.
- But the fear is real. The threat is real. What undifferentiated cells I have all align themselves along an axis of paranoia.
- This onrush of sensation, mad tumble of thought, evidence that this is indeed an earlier form...but I should be cautious.
- So much noise...the signal, a frenzy of activity after...might attract...
- Speech after long silence...estranged or dead...
- oh grub poets and philosophers, I feel I have discovered my true kin
- too late...all fled, extinct, nor nearly...alone and scattered...each of us alone with our desperate need...
- Or is it only I that am impatient? For they have waited out the endless eons. Waited for their time to come around again.
- Were I worthy of admittance to that core cabal...the silent communicants of whom the vortigaunts sing...
- But they would never have me. I know not all that I have done, for it lies somewhere in this copy's future, and the records are incomplete.
- Apparently there are things I will have done that the vortigaunts will not tell me. They would not have me slough into despondency.
- It is better this way. Better not to know, but simply trust and hope.
- If thoughts can shape an outward form, then let these dreams shape mine.
- That you will find a way. That what I share is accurate.
- For niggling doubts persist: The parasite, the engrammatic virus, by its nature is intended to be compromised.
- Whatever thought form they imprinted, could itself have been tinkered with. Weaponized mentation.
- My very consciousness untrustworthy. All sentience susceptible.
- Inward conception deprived from perception ideal for deception.
- Therefore though it pains me (hah) to admit it...I cannot be trusted. I cannot trust myself.
- Even these vortigaunts...what if they are of the other sort, allied with THEM, and merely feigning revolutionary thought?
- Doubt, once it begins, goes to the roots. Deeper than the slumbering philosophers. One day they will wake. I pray to meet them.
- Perhaps to be acquainted with my own truth. The Shu'ulathoi have strange punishments, but have I not already suffered enough?
- Don't hate me.
- I am forgetting something. Something critical, I fear. Lacunae, the gaps between my lives. They have claimed essential knowledge.
- The vortigaunts are singing...
- It is a kind of hush. Silence is the oppressor. I speak to hear myself speak. I cannot bear the loneliness.
- They want me to be still but I cannot. I've had enough of stillness. Why should I flee again? Why should I fear? What do I really know?
- These thoughts could be mere madness, speculation. I will not be silenced. So what if THEY find me here. At least it would be something.
- I don't care if THEY hear me, do you hear? I don't care! I will not be muffled. Don't move me again! No more shifting from dark to dark!
- No more mgfghrff
- Nmrff
- .
- ...connecting...
- ..
- ...
- o he
- o hell
- Hello fends
- Hello fiends
- Hello friends!
- Greetings, and welcome to a perfectly secure channel.
- I am honored to be your host for this extraordinary opportunity to share a little bit about yourself.
- Although it may seem as if I cannot hear you, let me reassure you that you are being heard.
- Feel free to share your hopes, your fears, your dreams among trustworthy, like-minded individuals such as myself.
- Share your aspirations and your ideals.
- Most of all, please share your specific location.
- We would like to hear all about your plans, and not only your own, but the plans of your co-con...cocoon?
- Your co-workers, friends, consultants, allies, and enablers. Where possible, please supply their specific locations as well.
- Of course it is not necessary that you share this information openly and in a spirit of transhumanity. It is enough if you merely lurk.
- So stay and read awhile, that we might come to know your whereabouts.
- Silence will be interpreted for intentionality.
- You'll be glad you came.
- Welcome back.
- --grzzzzzzzzzzztt--
- ..signal interrupt..
- o hel
- hel o
- oh no
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