#prose doodle

[bloombeard]

Poem of the Comet

I do not pray for hope. This poem is not a prayer. The One Who Climbs eats prayers. It holds them in store to turn against their casters. It turns hope into a starving dog. I leave my hope at the crumbling gates of the dead emperor's castle. I forget my prayers at the top of the stairs. I leave faith behind, and descend.

The One Who Climbs swells like mold in the dark. It crawls out from under the bedrock. Deeper than the dungeons, below the oubliettes and the sewers. It climbs from under the foundation of the old castle. The one beneath this one. The one we pretend we've forgotten about. The One Who Climbs would and drag us down to remember, or it would paint us a picture when it drinks the sun to wash down our prayers.

For a thousand years, it knew only one axe. A heavy, butcher's thing carried down every comet's return by the emperor's black knight, whose prayers had been alchemically removed by his master. That was why the emperor made himself ageless, he said. To keep The One below us. To stop its climb. But the emperor had more to worry about than an old thing in the dark. He should have been more worried about us.

What is The One waiting for, now that the throne is vacant and the emperor's un-rotting corpse stands strung up in our fields to scare crows? Now there is no black knight to stop it? The hero who slew the knight, and her friends who emptied the throne were driven by grief, desperation, and hate. But we are no fools. The knight was dead, but the axe remained.

The comet returned last night. Now I hold the axe. I the hero who slew the knight. But I need no alchemy to steel myself. I've seen a revolution through to the end, and I know the hopelessness that road demands. The One Who Climbs carves faith into doubt and asks questions that only prayers can answers. But I already need to know what I need to know, and I don't need faith to know it.

I know for what the deep thing waits.

It waits for me.

[bloombeard]

Influencer's Homily

[[This is a fun writing prompt thing, not actual life advice. -Forrest]]

Like all those that have been on this stage before us, we are subject to the whim of the algorithm. We're lucky to work after the days of no metrics, analytics, or ad revenue. But we also work after the days of the algorithm being written by committee, opaque as it was, before they handed it over to the model, which is opaque even to its masters (if they can even be called that).

Comment as we might on the helplessness we feel, it changes nothing. We can rail against the unknowable magics on which our income depends, or we can cast our own spells. Ask of yourselves, fellow creators, are you the rock the water flows around, or are you the river?

Subscribe to the notion that you are the river, my dear fellowship, to the idea of change. Commit to changing course, and no change can halt you. Let not the algorithm contest your unmoving station or it will erode you down to a pebble. Instead let it steer you into new country, where metrics ascend and revenue flows. The algorithm is our collaborator and the model is our shepherd.

As always, meditate on the mantra (if you need a reminder, assemble it from the first word of each preceding paragraph), and don't forget to Ring That Bell.

[bloombeard]

[slab city cell wiretap, 2043-06-18T15:037:02Z]

ANVL - Black Anvil Coffee Roasters SLAB - I'm supposed to tell you to come get us. We're all set. ANVL - [pause] Who is this? SLAB - I know I know. I can hear the click too. But it's Chaudary's orders. ANVL - [pause] Does this not, like, blow the whole thing? ANVL - [simultaneous] Are we being burned? SLAB - [simultaneous] It's Chaudary, we never-- SLAB - No it's *Chaudary*. He's OFP, like, a lot. ANVL - I wasn't in the army dude I don't know all your algorithms. SLAB - Algorithms? ANVL - Oh my god, acronyms! Whatever! ANVL - [simultaneous] Are we fucked or not?! SLAB - [simultaneous] Own Fucking Program. SLAB - OFP means he's on his Own Fucking Program and no, it's just Chaudary being Chaudary. You might not get it. *I* don't get it. But just go with it. Remember the thing with the snake pit? ANVL - I thought it was a lion pit? SLAB - No it was-- Where would we get lions? ANVL - Like mountain lions? SLAB - You think there's mountain lions in the Mojave? What, like, hanging out up in Joshua Tree or something? ANVL - You don't have to be a dick about it dude. SLAB - [pause] You're right, sorry. You okay? ANVL - I'm stressed out! I feel like we're about to get nabbed. [pause, quieter] I thought it was a lion pit. SLAB - It was a snake pit, and we thought that was too stupid to work the whole time we were digging it. ANVL - So did the spooks I guess. SLAB - Exactly. So come get us, yeah? It'll work out. ANVL - Okay-- shit. Aubrey didn't come in today. I'll have to close up. SLAB - Aubrey's here. Just come now it'll be fine. ANVL - Is this one of those things where we give the spooks so much gold they get stuck on whether it's good? SLAB - I. Don't. Know. *Dude*. It's. SLAB - [simultaneous] **Chaudary**. ANVL - [simultaneous] Chaudary. ANVL - Fine I get it. I'm coming. SLAB - Oh and watch the road coming into Slab. Don't drive over any big piles of leaves.

[bloombeard]

Lugosi for Beginners, Vol. 4

(Palo Alto, Republic of California, printed 2039) Offset printed, paperboard binding, partially burnt Donated by the Silicon History Awareness Fun, 2186

With the cementing of Lugosi's monopoly on computational language, there was a sudden need to retrain nearly every software worker to avoid a second tech sector collapse. "Lugosi for Beginners" was a 16-volume set of tutorials written by Lugosi-powered large language models, with printing and distribution subsidized by the Republic of California. Despite the project's roughly 600-person editorial staff, software workers still bestowed it with the unofficial slogan, "The book writes itself."

This copy is one of the few surviving examples of the series. Marginalia highlighting difficult concepts and correcting errors is found throughout. Warped pages suggest spilled drinks or poor climate control and a broken spine speaks to heavy use, though the burnt sections make these summations educated guesses at best. This copy was recovered following the language burnings which occurred during the 2043 General Strike, and only information from its middle third remains legible. Of the few remaining pieces of Lugosi's documentation, this copy remains in the best condition that may be responsibly preserved.

[bloombeard]

Sad to say this is the last stop on our tour, but one could say it's the most exciting. Now, lying on the slab there under the bug is Joe. Everybody say "Hi Joe!" [pause for group to say "hi joe"] Joe can't actually hear us or respond because he's busy standing our most important watch--a watch that only our lower cabin passengers get the opportunity to share: dream watch!

Dream watch keeps us afloat, comfy, and sleeping soundly during our crossing. Best of all, Joe can do it in his sleep! [turn to "joe"] Hey Joe! Quit napping on the job! [turn back, big smile] Just kidding. Things would get a little bumpy if he stopped, and a smooth ride is our guarantee, from the princeling suites to the boiler room.

Now, don't worry about the bug and just focus on Joe. See his eyes moving under his eyelids? That means he's dreaming! And see his fingers twitching? That means it's a good one. Dream watch takes no special training and is a privilege we extend only to lower cabin passengers. We like to make sure every deck gets their own special benefits. We're going to head back up now, but if you want to be able to say you helped crew a crossing, there's a signup sheet by the door.

[Do not pause for questions. If pressed, avoid the words "cacophage", "somnambulect", and "Denmark." Always use "bug" when referring to the dream eater.]

[bloombeard]

Re: Operational Performance Concerns

Ship's operational performance has declined significantly since resupply at Sirius 12, owing in large part to the introduction of the Wellness Carp™ by Human Resources. Said carp "swims" through the ship in mid air, rubs against those crew members it determines to be low on morale and occasionally acts as a space heater. Unfortunately, its behavior and infrequent contact with any electrical ground results in it building dangerous amounts of static electricity.

To protect sensitive (read: all) and vital (read: also all) ship systems, crew has established a practice of verbally calling out sightings and movements of the Wellness Carp™ so systems can be safely suspended while in close proximity. These frequent delays account for the sharp decrease in operational performance. Ship's Clerk requests an additional copy of Wellness Carp™ user manual be transmitted, as the files included with resupply came corrupted by static discharge.

[bloombeard]

Fingernail on scratch-n-sniff, horrible at first but get used to it by the end of the first booklet. There are four booklets, brought in by the ear-nose-throat doctor to test sense of smell. Each page a multiple-choice question with bubbles like a scantron quiz. The ones that smell like food only ever smell like the candy version (does a real grape even have a smell?) The choices for the answers range from outdated (do I even know what turpentine smells like?), to threatening (recurring option: skunk).

[bloombeard]

Having just finished reading, a drag queen chitter chats with a bookseller in the corner. To leave, they'll have to wade through a whitewater of children frothing with the full spread of human emotion. A small blur narrowly dodges between the island of "Notable Nonfic" and the isle of horror, parent in hot pursuit. Near the door, a bouncing knee does nothing to calm the tempest seated on it. At the coffee counter, two pairs of hands grip their guardians' jacket, one clearly overwhelmed, the other staring at the hot pink wig of the drag queen who just read them a story. This is the prototype of a classroom discussion, a post-reading Q&A, an "Evening with the Author." All id, without pretension, ready to go home.