□XENOTOXIC CHRONICLE ARCHIVE FRAGMENT #100385103
When I was young and first set foot in the METAOASIS, I was a brilliant student, engineering star of the gravipulse theories, a conventional renaissance mathmagician hacking the data-tapestry of the WEAVE from elegant speed and the beautiful surface trickery. Loaded up with wires, radiation and psilocybin, I would obsess and clock out in the METAOASIS for weeks, toil through complex fractal pattern matching tasks and intricate deep learning training and reinforcement tests, trying to break the world into quantum wave amplitude frequencies and actually listen in to the fundamental flux-foam transmissions of fable that underpin the blood of causality. All I ever wanted was one passage, one time I might open the doors to the mysteries and see them in full.
Those of us who know can tell you that the WEAVE is a multiverse for people like me, it’s always been a synthesis of all possible patterns. If a world can think, it can exist. Creators make their own worlds from the GODLIKELY JUNGLE of alternate universes, neural streams and crystalline mathemagic hyperstructures, and the topology of thought rules the composition of the high and empty dark. But god help you if they find you sharing nodes with a METAOASIS WARLOCK. Those folx can make the walls of your reality crawl. Don’t fuck with the warlocks or their machine languages or you will forever be subservient to their codes.
At the METAOASIS, I would seek extreme states such as the infinite regress of holographics and the unbounded possibilities of all possible perceptions, the perception per se, my tapestry reality overlapping into many others. Getting lost in DREAMING eidolons, sliding across the membrane interface gateways between worlds, the passage of bodies through the interstices. I combined the unclassified microstructure energy pyramid superstructures and hyper-resolution neural overlay tech, always searching for a vision of the truth of \static interference\.
One frontier led me to the Holy Syncretics, and there I found a way out. The dark psi-click came from the physical temples and the invocations of the sacred demonic cyber-technicians with their hierarchal mirrors and traveling helmets of simulation. Their sophisticated design and harmonization of data had resulted in a near-perfect transphase warp machine—dimensionless vector navigation, full vector navigation, subspace navigation, get-in-and-out commands streaming into distant worlds that existed more in sequence and recursive reality than in any one place. If you could break in, that is, splice in a fractal mirror of yourself, make yourself continuous enough that your matter code lay along the axes across configurations. Biomantian dreams and controls, the tongues of aliens, the voices of machines.
I practiced the black math, I tasked and recursed through the dreams of anything that could be told and I learned the pathways. I observed/integrated alien skeletons and extracorporal ghost codes, channeled their future pathways into cultic grids, watched the dreams collide and push my mind out into the infinite. I tunnel-traveled in my metaphor-machines and flowed through the zenanic verges of the DIGITAL CRADLES, cracking open my psyche to let the cybernetic angels peek through. I was free.