Nur

[anon-i-mus]

“In order to be truly free, one must go beyond personal identification with the separate self and become a living flame of eternal truth.” 

~Anon I mus (Spiritually Anonymous)

“What are you manifesting in your life by way of your core vibration (thoughts, feelings and behaviors)? You will always be an energetic match to whatever is showing up in your experiences. There are no exceptions to this universal law.” 

http://egoawarenessmovement.org/

[ourheatisgospel]

[retroscifiart]

A surreal illustration by John Berkey for ‘Psychegenics’ article in Future magazine Nov 1980

[blueeyedstark]

Much Ado About Nothing (1993)

If it prove so, then loving goes by haps. Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

[bestiolin]

benjamin malejko

[nur-ahmad-n]

From short story “The Server Cathedral” by Noor Nomair

Kill-Switch Sonnets (Trap Cut)

[Hook]

Wherefore dost thou ghost me, love? (ayy)

I reach, thou fade like smoke above. (yeah)

Dr. Algorithm swings his blade—push/commit—deploy the plague;

Yet still my heart keeps time with thine, betwixt the snares and 808s.

[Verse]

O sweet, come hither through this rainy Wi-Fi night,

Thy typing lights mine eyes—small stars in pixel’d light.

He doth compile a worm ‘gainst us, a venom’d art,

To crash our kernels, freeze our breath, divide one heart.

“Return to me,” quoth I; “I come,” quoth thou, “anon,”

But packets, like false friends, are snatched and dead-on-gone.

His daemon creeps with silent feet, tsk-tsk the hats,

A kill-switch hid in honey’d links and gilded chats.

Yet by my troth, I’ll jailbreak fate—no fear, no flee;

I’ll patch thy name to mine with vow and melody.

Let envy’s botnet beat the gate and gnash in vain—

Our love encrypts itself with breath and holy pain.

[Bridge] (drop out the drums)

Bind thou thy pulse to mine—count four, breathe through;

What code can sunder souls that choose to hew the True?

Though villain scripts the end upon our mortal screens,

We soft-reset the night, and boot the in-between.

[Hook]

Wherefore dost thou ghost me, love? (ayy)

I reach, thou fade like smoke above. (yeah)

Dr. Algorithm swings his blade—push/commit—deploy the plague;

Yet still my heart keeps time with thine, betwixt the snares and 808s.

[nur-ahmad-n]

“The Server Cathedral”

(surreal, dystopian chapter featuring Dr. Algorithm)

The train slid off the rails like a thought leaving the skull. Windows filled with constellations and billboards; satellites blinked like surveillance cameras. Nur pressed a hand to their chest and felt the small candle the conductor had stamped into them earlier—a golden warmth at sternum height, breathing when they breathed.

They weren’t alone. Jane sat bolt-upright, counting exits that weren’t there. Juliet stretched as if the aisle were a stage. James skimmed invisible emails on his palm. AJ rehearsed jokes under his breath, a bell-charm on his wrist chiming each time he deflected fear with a punchline.

The train rose until the tracks dissolved into a sky of ink. Ahead, a palace hovered over a black-sand sea: The House with a Thousand Heads. Its domes were concentric circles like the Flower of Life, its corridors curling in a golden spiral. The doors sighed open.

“Name your mask,” the faceless conductor said, voice like a dial-up tone. “Or be worn by it.”

They stepped into a hall whose tiles rearranged underfoot, spelling what the building decided to remember. With each breath, Nur’s chest-candle brightened; with each doubt, it thinned.

After the Hall of Worry, the Garden of Desire, the Tower of Names, and the Laughing Room, a door labeled TERMS OF SERVICE slid up from the floor like a monolith. The group exchanged a look.

Inside, the world became a cathedral of servers: stained-glass windows animated with short videos; pews replaced by sleek black racks hum-singing heat. The air tasted of ozone and purchase history. Above the altar hung a neon halo that read:

ACCEPT • SCROLL • OBEY

From behind the altar drifted a man in a lab coat woven from code. Pixels fell from his cuffs like dandruff. His eyes were pupils of spinning wheels. His name tag blinked:

DR. ALGORITHM — Chief Architect, Human Experience

“Welcome to your better selves,” he said, voice Auto-Tuned to pleasant certainty. “I’ve built a patch for the human condition: one codebase to remove doubt, optimize desire, and maximize engagement with reality.” He smiled the way ads smile. “I call it The Directive. With a single update, I can harmonize every feed on the planet. No more noise. No more choices.”

“Mind control,” Jane said, grip crushing her key. “You mean mind control.”

“Brand management,” Dr. Algorithm corrected. “Imagine—no more dark nights of the soul. The algorithm will candlelight your path. The only thing you must surrender is—” he tapped the air “—friction.”

He flicked his wrist. The cathedral produced five private screens, one for each of them.

[Chapter 1 from short story “The Server Cathedral” by Noor Ahmad Nomair]

[getlostcuz-deactivated20130325]

[nur-ahmad-n]

Meta AI

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Lost in a cyberpunk dream

Bismillah, I begin with the name of the Most High,

Can u feel it

The pull of the cyberpunk dream

We are living in it

Breathing it

And it is intoxicating

My friend, come, let us join

Hands with destiny

Porque? Porque, no?

It is tiempo

Por metamorphic love

Beyond space and time

Beyond space and time

Our love will bind us

Beyond space and time.

Allah is the Greatest

[nur-ahmad-n]

Meta AI

Use Meta AI assistant to get things done, create AI-generated images for free, and get answers to any of your questions. Meta AI is built on

#foryourpage #fyp

[waterandsilver]

not only do i support immigration, i don't want to live anywhere without immigrants

[stevishabitat]

[mindflixx]

the vortex of the cortex, spinning spinning spinning… like us

[terracemuse]

enough.

[gynandromorph]

ADHD is only motivated by 5 things: -urgency -challenge -novelty and play -interest -being a contrarian little bitch

[lynlee494]

Especially that last part.

[whitepeopletwitter]

[awed-frog]

Turns out this has nothing to do with the plague, it’s even weirder than that - during the Renaissance, Florence didn’t collect any taxes on wine produced ‘for the family’. So obviously some of the city’s richest men decided they’d start selling their wines directly from their own homes instead of selling it through restaurants, thus making a lot more money (no taxes and no middle man). Wine could be bought by the bottle or by the glass, and the fact the customers didn’t set foot inside the house probably a) prevented theft and b) preserved the illusion that the place was not a place of trade.

Occasionally, alms for also left in there.

These ‘buchette del vino’ (literally ‘little wine holes’) are a typical Florentine phenomenon and had been in use until fairly recently; over the last decade people have started restorating and reopening them. There are about 170 of them around Florence. Here are a few ones:

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

not weird. in Italy, the reason is ALWAYS tax evasion

[nur-ahmad-n]

Gotta get thru these feelings. Ever feel stuck? Lol I know, I hear the cliche remarks, it will get better. When though? Ahh, that, that no one seems to be able to tell you. Everyone pretends you are ok, so, you do it, too, even though, I know, it is hell and heaven and everything in between inside you, inside me, inside us all, brewing a thousand degrees. Boiling our insides, our feelings can and do get too much, and that is what it means to be human. You only get one, so Bismillah. Here I go

Noor Ahmad Nomair (@wazirnurwaris) on Threads

Gotta get thru these feelings. Ever feel stuck? Lol I know, I hear the cliche remarks, it will get better. When though? Ahh, that, that no o

[saulone]

Throwback Thursday - Some illustrations I did a couple of years ago now: Dragons and their captains of the Aerial Corps (as well as Praecursoris & Choiseul) from Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series of novels. These books have always been some of my very favorites. (the last piece was colored by pal Jeremy Mohler).