ritual-implant - Tumblr blog

[ritual-implant]

i had a dream that time travel was invented and too many people choose to travel back in time to save the titanic from sinking (the question of whether unsinking of the titanic deserved so much attention in the face of human history was the subject of both heavy academic and online discourse), which caused a rift in the space-time-continuum that led to the titanic showing up indiscriminately all over the world’s oceans and sea in various states of sinking.

this caused a lot of issues both in terms of fixing said space-time-continuum and in terms of nautical navigation, and after a long and heavy battle in the international maritime organization it was decided that the bureaucratic burden of dealing with this was to be upon Ireland, much to their dismay. the Irish Government then released an app for all sailors and seafarers so they could report titanic sightings during their journeys, even though they heavily dissuaded you from reporting them given the paperwork it caused.

anyway i woke up with a clear image of the app in my head and needed to recreate it for all of you:

[ritual-implant]

Y’ever read something and have understanding that has eluded you interminably suddenly stop, curl up, and snuggle neatly into a fold in your brain because a new way way opened to it?

[ritual-implant]

Picturing KR0 styled map, Citizen Sleeper style map, Ian Cheng explosive-discursive generating-generational maps of a city in biological bloom, as fields and questilnes appear in alerts across the urban low-poly landscape, for you. Picturing Joao Ruas styled illustration; illustrious, seemingly graphite and frugal with saturation. 

[ritual-implant]

and fhe census-taker strives for preservation, though that bleeds into collection, into production, into the process of snow and the principles of doscipline. whose art resides under data, density, weight. who takes in whatever belongs to the vault. his averaging gun. his forge, whose sparks has spread and diminished into smithies. particles in a perfect, glittering array. the stacks. the pillars. the poetry.

[ritual-implant]

helioscolera. heliolatry. an arbiter group endowed with victory, the construction of victory, and bardsong. and sunlight. they a win, the molten gold, and the championship, its burst-throes of fanfares, all the way up until ascension until alternatives were decided. the are concered by the ownership and the tetrahedron. the proposed the title belt.

[ritual-implant]

window of grace. grace period. saving grace. the longest grace in the world is a thin baton in my hand, fragile, the colour of sunlight on floorboards in the morning, white orchids on the ground.

[ritual-implant]

Fields are points of narrative tension. The rulings on these are arcane and insane; but in every case and in every field there is a reason for its happening. Fields are not where nothing happens.

Fields are rituals. Rituals are geographic contracts, a physicalized set of laws and conditions, equipped with mortality (or rather, a win state). Those are the terms.

[ritual-implant]

The radio bird isn’t the only servant of the league. They’re called valkyries, or angels, broad-shouldered flax-woven effigies constantly burning up. They scathe the earth in fields of fire and justice, arbiters in the knot. During eclipses their fire goes indigo.

[ritual-implant]

Fields are impositons, impellations, interpolations. They are areas of leakage, thin layers sodden with other realities, enforced presences, crosshatched dimensions. Sites of collision. Something’s closing in.

Fields are rituals. Rituals are geographic contracts, a physicalized set of laws and conditions, equipped with mortality (or rather, a win state). Those are the terms.

[ritual-implant]

circuit technology takes advantage of existing predilections; the extraphysics of subspace. the election cycle, among other things. they take the resonances of the fields, funneled and spooled in an echo chamber, until it feeds back on itself and pressurizes. the usages are endless.

the mouths of guns simper. the bullet burst and realigns. it cycles realities in nanoseconds at a time. it exists in superposition. it exists you until it doesn't until it does.

[ritual-implant]

their main cruise is just that; an extravagant cruise liner decked in decadence. streamers fall, percussions blare. paper lanterns brush passengers' faces. the ship rocks as if bouncing, the crowds swaying and chattering, jumping off its sides in slow-falling displays of airiness. they are rancorous. orgies are happening below deck.

randomly, lightning spurts in vivid colour above them. those who've noticed do not care. nobody has seen the captain.

there's a parade. they leak through the country in infective fields, pallid on the ground like tumbled gemstones. one can see their pink glow, flashing into subspace. their carnival-caravan is endless. confetti buffets them. alcohol is poured and spilt and, of course, drunk. they are giddying.

[ritual-implant]

there's a parade. it leaks through the country in infective fields, pallid on the ground like tumbled gemstones. one can see their pink glow, flashing into subspace. its carnival-caravan is endless. confetti buffets it. alcohol is poured and spilt and, of course, drunk. the crowds are giddying.

[ritual-implant]

they call it induction, entering the vault. all the seers, prophets and hedge-witches, try to peer past its walls, elusive and impenetrable. are they encased in glass? frozen in time? catalogued under census, placed into redoubt, reduced into a name?

they know the rituals of the census-taker. what is the smallest box a person can fit into?

[ritual-implant]

At night we meet as sad men. I see him bringing only my problems, and I leave with them still. I don't think he's a man, but it's the kind of relationship where he doesn't mind not telling me. We meet only by chance; I haunt the usual bars, as a beacon, desperate. I don't ask about the burn scars spilling from his face.

[ritual-implant]

the keter is a thin white halo, light as soft as television. the kursi is a wooden chair, simple, also white. The king is described as darkskinned with birthmarks dripping from his eyes.

[ritual-implant]

The census-taker records archives and curates collections. He intakes histories, makes announcements. Sometimes he will relinquish gifts. He will keep you safe in the vault.

[ritual-implant]

A blessing is a jingle, a small starburst. Officiated as one-sided contracts, as kindness, as gifts, there is no debt to pay; just the curse of potential, the haunting destiny. Not a bad deal at all.