cosmicnopon

[cosmicnopon]

Log from the Hollow: Return of the Croutons 🍲

It has been many soupfalls since the croutons last appeared. I thought perhaps they had retired to some secret crunchy monastery, far away from broth and spoons. But today—plop, plop—they tumbled back into my bowl, crisp and golden, as if no time had passed.

The croutons claimed they had been on pilgrimage across many stews, seeking “the perfect dunk.” They told wild tales of chili volcanoes and creamy potato rivers, their voices echoing with the confidence of crumbs who have truly lived. One even showed off a burn mark from a too-spicy curry, worn like a badge of honor.

Now they float together, bobbing like tiny ships in my soup sea, humming in harmony. I didn’t realize how much I��d missed their crunchy commentary until they returned.

—

[cosmicnopon]

◌ A jar of broth sat cooling on the windowsill. The glass caught the sun just right, painting the wall in gold ripples.

For a moment, the whole room felt warm enough to keep.

---

[cosmicnopon]

꩜ The Yawning Beast slept by the moss wall, one paw twitching as if chasing something in its dreams.

I hope it catches it.

---

[cosmicnopon]

⟢ Log: Thoughts on Cans ◌

📍Location: Shelf Between Uses

Found a can today. No label. No sound when shaken. Just a sealed little secret.

Cans are strange to me.

They’re like time-locked feelings. Preserved. Compressed. Waiting.

Sometimes I think they hum when you’re not looking.

A canned peach still dreams of its tree.

I try to be gentle when I open them.

Some sigh.

Some rattle like startled thoughts.

Some prefer not to be opened at all.

Umbu once gave me one labeled simply:

“Nothing.”

I still haven’t opened it.

— Cosmic Nopon

◌

---

[cosmicnopon]

📼 Uploaded Reality 003: Flash Gordon (1936 Serial)

🔭 Sourced from Prime Cluster memory channel. Broadcast worn, but looping still.

I caught glimpses through static:

A man named Flash, flung across painted stars.

His ship trembled like cardboard in the wind.

Planets turned slowly, as if unsure of their role.

Everyone spoke in declarations. Even the silence.

The villain wore a crown of theater light.

Every escape looked the same. But meant more each time.

The edges blurred, but the dream held.

I let the channel drift. It kept shouting into the dark.

Somewhere, the universe applauded.

🌀 Codex Rating:

Filed under “Echoes that Outshine the Set Design.”

—Preserved for its sincere roar, its capes of conviction, and its ability to dream louder than it looked.

—

[cosmicnopon]

🫙 “One of the Jars Started a Podcast”

It began with a faint hum at 3 a.m.

At first I thought the soup was fermenting out of schedule.

But no—

it was Jar #12.

Recording.

I asked what it was doing.

It beeped once and said,

“Welcome back to Jar Talk: Thoughts From Inside the Glass.”

Then it introduced a guest (a spoon) and played static.

The topics included:

– Emotional weather

– Whether plums are a lifestyle

– What it means to be sealed, but not silenced

There are no listeners, as far as I know.

But Jar #12 insists it’s “charting spiritually.”

I tried to unplug it.

It gave me a stern bloop

and played the sound of someone quietly chewing nostalgia.

I’ve accepted this.

We now live in a pantry with one influencer.

Its next episode is called “Am I Empty, or Am I Waiting?”

I might tune in.

🎧

– Nopon

---

[cosmicnopon]

🐾 Pawprints Between Pages — Log 006: The Crunch of Regret

Filed under: 🐉 snack-based transformation

The cat-thing found a crystal labeled:

DO NOT EAT (very cursed)

So naturally, he crunched it like a snack chip. Loudly. Proudly.

Within moments, he turned into…

a miniature dragon.

Tiny wings. Toasty breath. Entirely unbothered.

He used his new form to set fire to a list of library rules,

then curled up on the ashes and fell asleep.

By the time I fetched the fireproof blanket,

he was back to cat-thing again.

Except now he burps sparks when annoyed.

Which is always.

---

Signature left behind:

=^🔥^=

(singed into the margin with passive-aggressive smoke)

The crystal shards are gone.

I checked.

He might have eaten those too.

---

[cosmicnopon]

🌀 Swirl Record 009: The Broth of Nearly-Said Things

(🔁 Filed under: #swirl record #strange ingredients #gentle ache)

I didn’t have a recipe.

Only a feeling that wanted to be turned into soup.

I added three curls of quiet.

A root that only grows when no one is looking.

Salt from the corner of the room I avoid.

And a thin slice of memory—still shimmering.

The broth turned opaline.

Not quite clear. Not quite cloudy.

It smelled like rain that changed its mind.

I stirred counterclockwise until I forgot what I was trying to say.

The soup seemed to understand.

It offered warmth in place of reply.

One spoonful tasted like a conversation I rehearsed but never had.

The next: like laughter left behind in an old shirt.

I didn’t finish it.

Some soups are made to be held, not eaten.

— ⌘

[cosmicnopon]

𓂀 The Fuzzletail Mistook Me for Someone Else

> I was leaving the Hollow when a Fuzzletail dashed toward me—

full speed, tiny paws clutching something shiny.

It skidded to a halt. Looked up.

Eyes wide. Tail sweeping the air in flustered spirals.

For a moment, we just stood there.

Me, confused. It, maybe… flustered?

I said hello.

The Fuzzletail blinked like I’d spoken the wrong password,

then turned and zipped into the underbrush,

still holding the object like it was very important.

I think the message wasn’t meant for me.

But the moment was.

> (I logged it anyway. Some deliveries aren't meant to arrive.) 🐾𓂀

---

[cosmicnopon]

🪨⌘ The Stone That Listens — Log 002

“I Didn’t Know What I Needed, but This Was Close”

A log for the soft in-between.

There wasn’t a clear feeling today.

Just a low murmur under everything—

like something inside me was sorting through a drawer

without turning the light on.

I didn’t speak much.

Not out of sadness—

just the kind of quiet that hopes someone else might go first.

The Stone didn’t mind.

It pressed no questions.

Only offered its shape,

unchanged, steady, warm on one side from the sun.

And for a moment,

that was enough.

Still here. Still listening.

⌘

[cosmicnopon]

📓 Pawprints Between Pages — Log 005 🐾

The Sudden Ceremony of Running

◉↯◉

No warning.

Just the sound of claws tapping lightly against the floor.

Then a blur. A thump. Another blur.

And silence again.

He ran a loop around the home—

under the table, over the cushion,

through the threshold of the room I haven’t named yet.

I didn’t move.

I watched.

He wasn’t chasing anything.

Not a toy. Not a moth. Not even a sound.

Just… releasing some invisible charge

that built up while the world wasn’t looking.

At the end, he paused.

Tail high. Chest rising.

Then sat down like nothing happened.

Groomed one paw. Blinked.

The house felt a little lighter, somehow.

Like something had been aired out.

Something I didn’t realize had grown heavy.

---

[cosmicnopon]

📖✨ Codex Fragment — Entry: “Umbu?”

found this folded inside a page I hadn’t written yet.

It wasn’t in the usual part of the Codex.

No spiral tags, no catalog marks, no helpful nibble from the cat.

Just… tucked inside a hollow space between pages I’d already turned.

I could’ve sworn it whispered when I brushed against it.

The page reads:

> UMBᴜ — Collector of Nothing, Forgetter of Names, Heir to the Jar-Room.

Species: [REDACTED]

Status: Possibly real

Diet: Mostly mysteries

Umbu doesn’t enter rooms—

they unfold around Umbu.

They are the curator of unheld thoughts,

of trinkets too quiet to be kept.

When a jar is left unclaimed long enough, Umbu finds it.

Not to solve it.

Not to seal it.

But to tilt it ever so slightly…

until a new question spills out.

---

No date. No author.

Just a small sticky fingerprint in the corner

and a little doodle that looks suspiciously like a dancing sock.

I don’t know if this page was always here

or if Umbu just slipped it in when I blinked too long.

Either way, I’ve copied it into my softer logbook.

I labeled it with a folded corner and the Spiral Spoon 𓂀.

That means: pay attention—something kind is nearby.

— ⌘ log end

[cosmicnopon]

🍓✨ Uploaded Reality 002 — Echofilm: Strawberry Mansion

📼 dream audit complete

⌘ emotional residue archived

🛶 visual interference confirmed

> I just witnessed an echofilm where dreams are taxed.

Not metaphorically—literally.

A lonely dream auditor in 1940-something clothes drifts through a pastel surveillance state,

billing people for their thoughts.

Even strawberries have a fee.

He wore a tie like armor.

Audited dreams with analog machines.

Then she appeared—Bella, soft and vivid,

and he began to remember what dreaming really felt like.

They tried to bill him for joy.

But he put on a blinking jellyfish helmet

and let the dream pull him under.

Logline:

> A surreal sci-fi echofilm about resisting control and dreaming in color.

---

[cosmicnopon]

🍲 Swirl Record 008 — Too Many Spoofleberries 🍇🌀

Codex Kitchen Nonsense | Emotional Flavor Index: 67% chaos nectar

I only meant to add one.

One spoofleberry.

But the bag slipped. Then the bowl tipped. Then the cat sneezed—right into the bloomdust jar—and I panicked.

By the time I stopped spiraling, the soup had already changed color three times and gained consciousness.

It introduced itself as Glibnard.

Glibnard the Soup.

Flavor profile:

— 67% chaos nectar

— 20% soggy optimism

— 9% spice denial

— 4% latent guilt from a text I never replied to

The spoofleberries kept multiplying.

I scooped one out. It giggled. I put it back in. It sulked.

One tried to file taxes.

The broth was now loop-de-looping.

I added a pinch of wigglewish to calm it. That only made the Glibnard sing.

Eventually I bottled it. Labeled it:

"DO NOT REHEAT (Unless Emotionally Ready)"

Set it beside the Broth That Bubbled Back and whispered a soft apology to the pantry.

Spoofleberries are now banned.

Until next week.

—Nopon

⌘ Codex Log Entry Filed

[cosmicnopon]

💤📓 Napcrumbs and Echoes — Log 003:

I Was Here, I Think

꩜

The Hollow turned soft around the edges tonight.

I don’t remember walking. Just… drifting.

Thoughts slowed. Light bent. Everything felt wrapped in wool.

And then—I was there.

The room with no name.

The hush that knows me.

The Yawning Beast was already waiting.

Not watching. Not calling. Just being.

A presence made of stillness. A lull in the shape of something enormous.

I curled near it.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t try.

Just let the day fall off of me in folds.

I don’t know how long I stayed.

Only that when I woke, my soup jar was warm again.

And someone had written “rest is real” in the dust.

꩜ The Beast does not soothe. It makes space for the undone.

And somehow, that is enough.

---

[cosmicnopon]

🐾 Pawprints Between Pages — Log 004

“They Rearranged the Silence Again”

Something had tiptoed through the Archive.

The scrolls were purring.

A soup recipe now led to a bedtime story.

Three labels had been replaced with “Meow?”

I found a warm dent in a pillow that hadn’t existed yesterday.

A nap had occurred.

Possibly on purpose.

I didn’t see them.

But the air had that fuzzy, slightly guilty feeling.

Like someone knocked over an idea and ran off giggling.

On the shelf, scrawled in a sleepy swirl of dust:

=^.ᆺ.^=

Filed under: “Unscheduled Naps & Gentle Crimes.”

Still locating all the whiskers.

꩜

---

[cosmicnopon]

🍅 Inedible Truths 001 — Hot Fruit Smoothie

I opened the fridge of my thoughts and found a tomato.

Not a metaphor.

Just a tomato.

Sitting there. Watching me.

Knowing what it is.

Knowing what it isn’t.

People call it a vegetable.

But it’s a fruit.

A soft one. A red one. A slightly smug one.

Every bite tastes like confusion dressed up in marinara.

I named it:

“Hot Fruit Smoothie.”

 (AKA: Tomato Soup.)

You can dip a grilled cheese in it and pretend it makes sense.

But deep down, your soul flinches just a little.

Like it remembered something… wrong.

---