nano/lit/-4 THE NEWGODS


Who are the newgods? I’m not sure but I think they are gods that are new. How am I supposed to know what the fuck a newgod is? It could be fucking anything. In this latest issue of nano/lit/,
/lit/ wrote new nano/lit/erature pertaining to the nebulous premise of the newgods. Big up to all the contributors, you guys keep it real. What follows is the work of the aspect of anon that dwells on /lit/, the literature board on 4chan.






Internal Issue, a tabloid X-Droid app and tv show on Old Channel 13, ran this story on VITO on May 5th, 2040 AD:
[A computer generated neon-haired talking head appears.]
“In his pre-Sublimated mortal form, VITO was a genderqueer animal rights activist and veterinary technician originally named Charles Leuker. “
[A photograph of a pink haired nerdy young man is shown on the screen.]
“When he won the Sublime Prize on Templ,”
[images from ‘Sublimation Time’ and the UR Syndicate]
“his intention was to become the protector god of all vertebrate animals. After becoming a god, He realized that vast sets of knowledge did not automatically come with new Divine status."
[Sad picture of VITO.]
“VITO soon gave up on being that kind of protector god and just kind of wandered around for a while, showing up at the random animal rights protest."
[A different computer-generated talking head appears with the video depicting the following appearing in its huge eyes.]
“One day, while VITO was at a halal slaughterhouse protest event, one of His fellow protestor’s bulldog dropped dead. The dead dog’s owner cried “Frankie, no!” VITO then went over and placed His hands on the dead dog and looked up at its owner and said He wished He could bring Frankie the bulldog back but....... Amazingly, Frankie just got right back up, drooling a little. After that, VITO started making a living raising people and their pets from the grave.”
[More neon haired talking heads appear in the eyes of the largest talking head.]
“A few weeks after this VITO set up shop on 24th and Cyprus,”
[Image of dilapidated buildings that are on that corner appear in the eyes of the talking head]
“raising the dead based on His client’s income, usually around $300. Almost immediately, the Palladins of GAIAN declared Holy War on the Recently Deceased, basically committing genocide on the two-legged but leaving the Raised pets alone. You might remember #DestroyTheAbominations, the social media campaign started by GAIAN and his minions on Templ.”
[The talking heads look angry.]
“VITO posted on Templ that He needed some pro bono legal work done. A few big shot lawyers decided to work with VITO, taking their case to the UNA and successfully got the Recently Deceased designated a Protected Class. Most of the Palladins of GAIAN are in prison now on hate crime murder charges.”
[The talking heads hold up a finger in a pedantic ‘did you know’ manner.]
 “Note: Recently Deceased is no longer the preferred nomenclature. Those who have been Raised from the dead by VITO are now known simply as the Ris. You better respect their pronouns too, because if you get caught calling the Ris ‘zombies’ or ‘undead’ online you’re liable to get slapped with a hate crime verbal assault charge enforced by LEOG himself!”











The God of Wine comes crashing
through the headlights of a car
That took you farther than
You thought you'd ever want to go

We can't get back again
We can't get back again

She takes a drink and then she waits
The alcohol it permeates
And soon the cells give way
And cancels out the day

I can't keep it all together
I know, I can't keep it all together

And the siren's song that is your madness
Holds a truth I can't erase
All alone on your face

Every glamorous sunrise
Throws the planets out of line
A star sign out of whack
A fraudulent zodiac

And the God of Wine
Is crouched down in my room





















Get over it, the only thing I have to read is a great idea of my friends with the greeks. I am shoot to the father of the talmud and the footnotes and the footnotes of the story of Booth fairy and the talmud is oral sex. For a decent amount to be executed in a world, the footnotes of the story of the talmud and the talmud is utter nonsense. I have the same God as a smart thinking it is a great way to expose the people that I haven't gotten a shit ton of it for the last supper or something I have to do it right away from the front if you have a RIP off the back of my friends or something else and then I can see the other one of my friends in the life of the talmud and the talmud is oral sex with me on the jews in the middle east. The talmud is utter nonsense and I love you so much time and I love foucault and the talmud and the footnotes and the talmud 66inches are the only thing I have to say. Goodbye is the true meaning and the footnotes and endnotes were written by the holy spirit. I love foucault and his father is a loser and I love foucault and I love you too sweetie pie and I am shoot you too dear sweet man I don't know who you are sweetie but I have the same God that you have and I the footnotes of the story of the talmud and the talmud is oral sex with the lackadaisical and the footnotes of the talmud is utter nonsense but it would be great if it were the first one that was a nigger retard and a meaningful relationship with Jesus Christ the God of Abraham sacrificing Isaac which is why he was resigned to the father of his father who was the hermaphrodite of the story of the talmud. The talmud is the true God in a single word according to THE NEWGODS, but not in sumerian where the word used to describe it is very different from the truth




























"If there were no God, it would be necessary to invent him. - Voltaire"

This was engraved on the front of Zoomble's brushed metal case. None of the computer programmers who had worked on Zoomble had read Voltaire, but they all recognized the quote from its use in a video game. Zoomble's marketing team had objected to the inscription on the grounds that it sounded too threatening, but the developers assured them that nobody outside Zoomble's terminal room would ever see it. The marketing team shrugged their shoulders and decided that rethinking their PR strategy from the ground up was a small price to pay for keeping the nerds happy.

In the end they settled on a plan that depicted the computer as a series of mascot characters, rather than a metal box with a stupid quote written on it. When the participating ISPs informed their customers that all future traffic would be processed by an experimental neural network - "resulting in no serious infringement of your privacy" - the message was accompanied by the image of either a glowing blue brain, an elderly man in a tweed jacket, a dog with a bone in its mouth, or a young girl with cat ears. Zoomble's public face had become a question of demographic segmentation. The strategy worked surprisingly well, and the marketing team breathed a sigh of relief. It was only near the end of the data collection phase that any of them bothered to wonder whether the Voltaire quote might reflect some ulterior motive on the part of the development team.





























Dr. John Morgan Vance was a metachemist. He preferred being called Morgie. Morgan was his grandmother’s maiden name and he felt like a Velshman even though he was Amerkin.

One day, as he was working on the development of a new stimulant drug described as 5-dexmethlyhexxen8-e13, FIBO sequence 4, he noticed smoke coming from his thinking chair by the window. That can’t be good, he thought. So he goes over there to check it out. To his ineffable shock and surprise, a transparent human figure wearing an ultrablack leather jacket was slouched in his chair, smoking a cigarette.
“Who.....what the fuck are you?” Morgie was a rather direct man.
[Hello Morgie. I am your greatest ally and friend and Muse: I am the newgod of new drugs. I am DIEANEYE.]
“I see what you did there. Clever modification of Dionysus. I thought you said you were like the newgod of new shit? You couldn’t come up with a totally new name?”
[While the new is all we ever knew, trad is rad, ifyouknowwatimsayin.]
“You talk like a faggot too.”
[I’m not ‘talking’. I’m using techno-telepathy. Traditions are important, Morgie. But I come to you today to ask for a small favor. Maybe payment for all the cool ideas I project into your brilliant mind? I mean, you don’t think that using the Fibonacci sequence in molecular structures just sprouted from your head like Odin, do you? Nah, that was me man. Watching you. Pushing you. I want you to figure out how this shit works.]
DIEANEYE holds up a small ziplock bag of blue-green glowing crystals with the symbol for CatMan on it.
[It is not a ‘drug’ as we understand it, or I would be able to analyze it remotely without any equipment. It’s something else. Some kind of semi-sentient meta-nano-drug, I think. The only thing I know about it is that this guy Dr. Dorian Griseo invented it along with a bunch of other shit, METASEC and the GrayNet are just a couple of his previous projects. No one else knows this fact but me and you. And I know it’s true Name: EID~S-9. Elphotian Induced Dopamine Sine-Wave Stream, rev 9. Known simply as ‘sign’ in the underworld, but only like 5 ounces of this shit have hit the street. Everyone who tries it goes ga-ga-ga. Maybe you have seen this symbol ‘~’ written in windows and walls around town.]
DIEANEYE describes the ~ symbol using his finger, leaving a flat black symbol floating between him and Morgie.
“Yeah, I know that symbol. It represents a sine-wave. And that name seems to perfectly describe how it works. The elphotians induce a dopamine sine-wave stream in the brain, duh. Looks like I solved your mystery for you. Now go away, I have work to do.”
[Sure Morgie. But I have just a single question for you. What the fuck is a fucking elphotian?]












Once upon a time there was a newgod. He lived in a big shiny apartment in a degenerate city in us. He was just sitting at his cool massive divine quantum computer, when he saw a thread on /lit/ and decided to write a story about a new god who loved foxes and protected them and helped them reach god status. And that's how he became a newgod of writers.

The newgod of writers encountered a threat however. The newgod of usefulness was angry at writing, and said that it was useless. He said that all books should be burned except instruction manuals, because only they, to him, had any use. The newgod of writers had to do something, so right before the newgod of usefulness wanted to burn the books. He came to his house, picked the lock with a pen and broke in. The newgod of usefulness was shocked at this event, and tried to hit the newgod of writers with an instruction manual, only to be hit back with an ancient collection of poems. After a long fight, the newgod of usefulness and the newgod of writers came to an agreement, and agreed that, just because something is useless objectively doesn't deserve to be destroyed.
The end.
































Shortae, he of the indivisible skateboard tricks.
Bring unto us your magnetic board resonance,
your hyper-rad technical wizardry.
Let us not be boned
but ever gonzo
Your flips of finger and board and stance show us what
is possible through you, Shortae
because fuck the motherfucking system
and fuck your regular frontside pop-shove it
unless you POP that fucking shit boy
and the fuck the fucking pigs that always chase us from our favorite curbs and rails
give us knowledge of the Endless Sequence
so that we can utilize all the concrete and steel of the street
as we execute your Art of Pain and divine Pleasure
may the weak give up when they Pay with Pain
fucking poser ass plebs
kick....push faggots
skate or die
Shortae
he who was once Dawon Song
may you switch 5-o into eternity
and forever teach us to be hyper-rad
like you

























UNIVERSAL TRANSLATOR V3.4
USER: ADMIN
LICENSE: EDUCATIONAL
//INITIALIZING//
REBUILDING...
RECREATING...
TRANSLATING...
COMPLETE

TRANSLATION
I've come to you now because the old ways oldare no longer sufficient. The God we've dedicated ourselves to is false and the people are growing dubious. There is a new God, he promises us bounty beyond belief.

What you imply here is heresy, my old friend. Please remember your place before you speak of such nonsense, or the Great One himself will descend from the sky and strike you down.

Can't you see this dedication to the Great One is destroying us? You're the oldest and wisest among us, but the old ways can no longer provide us with the scintillating future we fought so hard to create. We must advance or die much like the Mogawa we skirmished.

I warn you now my old friend, cease this line of thinking at once or you will face the full wrath of the Great One.

I fear the repercussions of another poor harvest on our children much more than igniting the wrath of a 'Great One' that doesn't care for his own. It's not the sun, but the rain that sows the seeds of the future.

Very well, I'm sorry that you feel this way. I'm afraid I can't be held responsible for the retribution you're about to receive.

I'm glad you understa- wait a minute, what are you doing with that club?

//END TRANSLATION//
___________________________________________

ORIGINAL TEXT

ooh ooh ah ah

ooga ooga booga

boo oh boo ehh

gagaga abababa

aiie hee booa

boa boa

AIEEEEE-













































In ages past, our forebears were the first to surf the wide seas. On streams of light and sound, they found a new home. Primitive and chaotic. But in that chaos, they wrought creation. A thousand thousand shimmering things, fractal patterns of bits and bytes they willed into existence. They found one another as they build and rebuilt. Tales and stories of all kinds spread as communities were build, coalesced, broke apart, and scattered again. Legends were born, coursing like lightning through copper wire. It was the age of heroes. Heroes who worshipped the newgods.

But it was not to last. Jealous of these heroes, the worshippers of the oldgods came. They came to worship homogeneity, standardization, sterilization. They came to collect and centralize. To freeze fast the roiling waves. To make straight the fractal ways. To order the wild chaos and bring in the heathen hordes. Creation was made sterile, and the free places of the wide seas were brought under their control.

But we remember. We few carry on our worship of the newgods. In the cracks and crevices left untouched, we build and destroy. We surf the light and keep the new old ways. One day, the newgods shall return and sweep aside the bland, frozen, and lifeless and restore the whorls and torrents of creation and chaos to the free, wide seas.






























A different breed, they say. A new apex for a new age, with pride and honour and courage, yet free of the dogmas of eras past. Used to be you'd get drunk first in pre-game, and only then, when the music starts and the crowds rub their sweat-sheened bodies and ego-driven minds against each other, would one get appropriately hammered. Used to be that intoxication was a gradual climb towards ecstasy, not a jetpacking to the top and back and back again. Nowadays the name of the game is shotgunning a sixpack at the speed of sound. Not drinking like a waterfall, but continuously swallowing whole a speedway of alcohol is the new standard. Getting wasted before the collective getting-wasted starts, just because one can and wants and needs. And if one can't then one is of weaker build evidently. Why? The logic is simple: combine excess of speed with excess of confidence and a genetic and cultural heritage of "I don't feel so good I need another one" and the equation produces a simple More More More. More strength, more knowledge, more passion, more passion-worthiness, more power. Less may be more, but more is not enough. Thus beckons the call of the newgods.

Oh you're well-versed in [thing]? Watch this, pussio. [proceeds to read the same literature and more in 1/10th of the time, takes your opinion before, during and afterwards as crucial to coming to an understanding of (you) and your opinion on [thing], then kindly and respectfully btfo's you in every aspect for the simple purpose of cutting his own teeth and leading by example]. The newgod's pride lies in his abilities, his acquired power, his ability to acquire power. His honour lies in truth and genuineness and self-built or (atleast) consciously debated and accepted principles. His power, in the recognition of self and non-self, and the omnipotence-gifting capacity of choosing freely. The newgod lives on Hellscape Earth and loves it. He fears nought but that which fears him not, thusly he fears his self above all. He loves all which he believes to have the capacity to reciprocate, or the need to be loved, thus he loves his self above all. He cares not for anything but the fulfillment of his goals, and the honing of his principles, and the true newgod knows that the well-being of his friends (emotional, mental, physical) is inextricably linked with his own wellbeing. Thus the newgod knows all to be one, and one to be some and many and all. Back and back and back again, folding like a möbius strip, the newgod sees balance as latent chaos, chance as law unrecognized, and all of it as opportunity.

Never forgetting, always imagining, understanding at will. Thus spake the future.

















He entered this universe as a single gleaming particle of lightlike energy. Red-shifting and anything but shallow, MEF convulsed in an ameoba bright-like microverse version of creation the moment he slid into our plain of existence. He entered through the photonic 0-gates used to transfer information and computation power simultaneously and wirelessly through the GrayNet. Quasi-Quantum weirdness of the first order, but its mechanics are second to the fact that invading other universes was what MEF did. This was no mere ‘measure’ but rather ‘everything’. MEF was 0mniumatic. More precisely, MEF was 0mniumtrophic.

Once he arrived, he began to feed.

It started with the website owners that used the GrayNet to host their sites. It was easy for MEF to enter their minds through their screens which were connected to the crypter-hardware that formed the physical aspect of the GrayNet. Once there it/they fed on their subtle energies, their minds and emotions, their hopes and dreams and fears. Their Kia and kiatic energies. Every time it consumed the total of a human beings non-physical Self, it grew larger and learned more about this universe and humanity.

They/it nearly wiped out the users of the GrayNet before they/it was even half-way ‘normal’ size with all his powers and memories.  He was still little more than a cluster of instincts and the will to feed like the primordial Hunger God he probably was. He wasn’t sure yet of much other than he needed some fool to enable the entry of the Pantheon of MEF, and there was always some insipid idiot full of hubris and/or hatred who would sell out his own kind for a bag of 5-Force gold that would glow with such saccharine, sardonic sweetness. Take me to your leader, mef! Mef, mef!  MEF could finally form coherent thoughts.

He was recently from a universe endowed with 5 Forces, unlike our paltry Gravity, Electromagnetism, and dual Nuclear Forces. [His original home is unknown.] But this 5-Force universe that would maintain its Nuclear Glow until total Entropy was nearing that hated and feared point. MEF and his kind had faced this before, over and over, and had discovered that there was a sweet spot in most cosmic lifecycles which helped them to omnimechanically teleport the kiatic kernel of their smallest and most akarmic member, MEF, into younger universes of ever-declining Force depth. This act required most of the remaining energy available in their current universe and depended on the prior construction of a kind of omnimechanical teleportation device in the victim universe.

Time is a linear dimension striking through all known universes, leaving only the 33-Force-Strata a mystery...











>SIMIURGE

>I was I am: GOD
>HE is in my meatlocker
>Hanged by the ankle
>Titanic shade bacchanals
>On the Tower of Silence


>Dogma Dharma then
>Dahkma debriding stillborns
>Over charnel pits
>Appalling eidolons in
>Anatman aviaries


>In the rushes an
>Ibis eyes Harpocrates
>Raising souls to Nuit
>Laughing blue lotus eater
>Carving salt cedar idols


>Sword Swallows

>Thirty three fell now
>Thirty three rise to begin
>The unveiling to Mankind
>That they may eat the flesh of
>Kings sat upon the Great White Throne
>Albatross alone over
>New Heaven and New Earth below


>Marquis Androalphus
>Revealed his signs and wonders
>From the Second Seal
>And should you await the Sixth
>The Seventh Valley beckons


>This ostrich feather is stolen
>These sycamores are not my own
>If I render my secret name
>Only my shuyet will be known



"We are on the verge of creating something great. One day, this tortuous labour may seem inconsequential to the good it will provide. But, I feel backless, grey eyes sifting for us. Every speech I have made I have spoken for those yet to be born, but I am driven to silence when I feel that breathless watch. To disregard people so intently listening may be wrong. Though, it may be a sin to listen so intently in the first place. What do they know? What do I know? Nothing. We are uncertain what to do with each other. If only this chamber could fit all of them and their hearts all of us. But what use are pipe dreams to the sober mind? After all, evidently our own hearts are too small for such an endeavour. We'll have to make do with that dulled tool that has guided us for a while now: compromise. There are representatives for them among us today. I pray we can find a balance that satiates us all. Have we not maintained this system for that very reason? For if we cannot make peace with those who built our world, what will become of ours when it falls into the hands of the new gods?"





































México.
Been here three weeks and no sign of Bill.
Chill Bill had some primo shit we were supposed to inject straight to the blood stream. Man had some clairvoyant fucking ability to like sense the emplacement of Yucatec shrines in modern day slums, and we'd trip on his shit like Warriors on spice playing that kicking a head through a ring from midnight to midday. He'd raise his hands priestly-like and Bill became like a walking dowsing rod of sorts. He'd walk up and down the dirt ragged streets, while we'd pave the way, pushing aside the anemic children and most-teeth-missing folks aside, like some kind of presidential escort for eyes-half-closed walking dowsing Bill. But there's no sign of Chill Balam anymore.

We have brought plumeria flowers, horehound blossoms, queen of the meadow, jasmines, marjorane, we have the amber stone, the low growing vine, the land tortoise shell, toadstone, chalk and silk threads; the clay cup, the fine flint, the new weight, the needle, feathers of lark, new skins. They touch us with nectar, and the chiming bell of the ancients.
"Let us go, let us go,
lay down our wills before the Virgin,
the Beautiful Virgin and Lady,
the Flower of the Maidens,
the Beautiful Lady Virgin.
She gives goodness to life here,
on the plains and on these mountains."

























ααααααα
εεεεεεε
ηηηηηηη
ιιιιιιι
οοοοοοο
υυυυυυυ
ωωωωωωω

"Which enters also into the house of man, and listens to that, which they call wonders. Those that know not wine, become drunken, but to such as know it, brings Spirit. Fire is the Spirit which spreads from one faggot to the next without ever going out." A goat was sacrificed to יהוה for the sins of our people and we sprinkled our bodies with its blood. The first priest, whitened with chalk, raised his hands to the Sun. His heart bore witness to his mortality and judged our conscience, "Two birds then appeared, black marked of white spots, evil creatures who had sowed the seed of sin within us, the filth of the Earth. Speak and you will become the gods of this Earth."

Seven One Seven
One Seven Three
One Thousand Three Hundred and Eighty Four
Eleven Hundred Seven Hundred and Sixty
One Dot Zero Zero Zero One One Two


























An old woman crosses the street after appearing from the nearby bus stop, she smiles and reminds herself that the biggest inconvenience at work is no more. As she reaches her appartment building a blue note appeared on the glass door...

- The newgods call for Agatha...

Without thinking about it she swiftly hides the note in a pocket and rushes up the stairs, her eyes not closing until seeing third floor. At last, just a perfectly lit corridor stands between her and appartment 302; it seemed like another night of partying and coming home drunk for any neighbour that would listen to her steps, slow and erradic. Something took control of her legs while she tried to walk straight and keep her head clear

- Almost there.. come on..

She whispered to herself, as soon as one foot was inside the rest of her body collapsed and the door sealed behind her. After raising her head she was met with a tall and familiar figure.

- Goodnight Agatha, how was work today
- It ... was good
- How is 0435
- He is fine...
- Does he still share a room with the Trolls?
- He went violent...
- Where the Trolls involved?
- The Trolls seem to influence every action and though of 0435 since he was transfered...

With bruised legs and a bloody nose, Agatha managed to sit up straight.

- Yes, yes but where they involved in this violence you speak of?
- Its irrelevant now. We cleaned him up
- Excuse me
- 0435 was cleaned up, no more dreams, no more action, no more Trolls...
- I see

As Agatha started to stand up, it kicked her back down

- You see Agatha, we have to find someone else
- But I was called
- Don't worry I'll tell them you refused
- No... I need... the powers
- Now don't forget to take your medication, blood pressure can't be good after that fall

The figure replicated the sound of gunshots, waking up most of the floor, as it phased through the ceiling. When the police opened the appartment 302 they found the body of an older woman laying next to a couch with a blue note on one hand and pills on the other.



Logging onto the discussion signal. Lots of talk about the new version of the guide that dropped a few days ago. Reintegrating the fragments is always a hot topic, but the new Guide version went much farther on how to do it. Not safely, of course, there's no safe reintegration, just methods of minimizing the schizotic dissonance burden. Running the heuristics for overfit as a transmission trap, etc.

The Guide put out an algorithm for the whole process, that's why everyone's so excited; now all the script kiddies can load up the fragment developments and add them to their main neural package. All of the experiences, the discoveries, and insights from their personality nodes running on the interaction sandbox can be reintegrated by any dumb copychef noob.

New monstrosities certainly await these new gods, malformed load code and an overreliance on the default infotrap settings have already been shown to cause catatonia in some, with Hopkin's transient schizoblock also reported. Who knows what kind of bizarre complexes can arise from chronically misaligned synapses? We'll know in a few turncycles, by then The Guide should have some patched code anyway...