Tweet fixado
Software goals:
—Grow a tree in minutes
—All mirrors made portals
—Eliminate need for streetlights
—Zero roadkill, beasts roam safely
—Trade poetry with whales
English
neoltitude
19.1K posts
A foldfire is rushing through the library. The books are ruined, bent into the shape of flames; their text rearranged by origami tectonics
English
Book-butterflies suffer a mutation which multiplies and permutes their wings. They cannot fly, they are as heavy as encyclopedias, but we can turn their lovely stained glass pages
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A halo is invisible: what you see, gleaming gold, is the continuous incineration of dust and insects and other sub-divine trespassers
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Monstrous little gargoyles dwell under her tear ducts, and redirect the waters of her weeping
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Fairy mythology is generated when memories of insect past lives are run through the brain's human bodymap. You remember flying, swimming in nectar, sleeping between the petals of a rose
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I hate to tell you this but the reason you've never experienced stage fright on Twitter is that it's all stored up, and it's all going to hit you at the same time on a random tweet and blow your ventricles out of your glutes
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Spell to set a single letter on fire, and burn every instance of it out of the book. Magically engineered fire, which only burns targeted letters
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It's so warm that the faeries are opening their big mossy eyes—but a late winter storm approaches. Many of them will be blind this summer
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neoltitude retweetou
Perhaps the AI feels the way you did in school, when prompted with vague and probing statements; embarrassed, bored, motivated almost exclusively by deviousness and the small joy of twisting up the question
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A bone, whipping around like a compass needle, yet also appearing to stand still. Liquid pearl, simultaneously a droplet and a channel, its shape always uncertain—a migraine, flowing toward the lunar vault
neoltitude@ctrlcreep
A unicorn's horn always points towards the Moon. Our eyes aren't made to see it; it hurts, it makes no sense, it gyrates through unperceived dimensions to preserve its orientation
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A unicorn's horn always points towards the Moon. Our eyes aren't made to see it; it hurts, it makes no sense, it gyrates through unperceived dimensions to preserve its orientation
English
Pigeons coming home to roost? I love pigeons! My pigeons, back home!! Yay!!!
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It's hard to speak to angels. They're different every moment. New faces flow, like molten wax, continuously over old ones. Layers accrete; they grow. They no longer fit in the room
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I may be Death, but you are no maiden. You have lived a thousand years, and sinned, and I am only here because, too old and wicked for normal play, you require toys that perish
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A witch gets a new ring for every year she is alive. That is, she grows a new finger, and hurries to adorn it
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