#fractal compression

[grimoire-y-em-babble-y-bare]

[xeed-null]

The Desmos Angel

[nooosphere]

“Pulsing with Meaning and Significance” (2023)

[leechmeal11802]

[corpus-incorporated]

you know sometimes i get mad because i didn’t use to be this weird. i was never “normal” but i wasn’t always like this

[quixoticanarchy]

really this is just another facet of the "oh god what is this new problem" -> "nvm it's the same old problems" cycle it's just that the field of plausible new culprits is getting distinctly sci fi. like no you are not becoming a malformed unrecognizable thing due to Sentient Infection, the reason your legs ceased to function and you fell down is your blood sugar was 33. you've had 18 yrs to get used to it, chill

every sci fi book i've read so far this year has featured themes of extreme physical transformation that's unwanted and/or feared and sometimes operates through an other-than-human external entity that uses the human biomass as building materials to turn you into something very much Else, and i have enough wrong w me these days that i will start experiencing symptoms of adrenal insufficiency and just be like. hm. is this how it starts. wonder what i'm going to become

[canmom]

my favourite metaphors tend to be physical/computer science ones: the feedback loop, the dynamical system, the state space, the instability, the self-organising structure, the mapping from x-space to y-space, the nth-order approximation, the evolving population, the compression algorithm, the cellular automaton, the fractal structure, the soliton, entropy. as far back as 2018 i was conceiving of gender transition's relation to society as akin to bubbles in a fluid.

i like to spice it with some more occult stuff now and again, the egregore in particular (used in preference to similar, more atomic concepts like 'meme' or 'semiotic sign' or 'stand alone complex' mostly because i like the vibe) - but that's a flavour of occultism that suits this habit of thought, isn't it? a notional abstract entity that emerges from the dynamics of a complex system, such as multiple minds? i view magic mostly in this light: a human tool for apprehending the large scale behaviour of humans. as such my go-to examples of egregores are things like 'countries' or 'organisations' or even 'gender'.

anyway i don't think this is a bad way to look at the world, i think it often leads to interesting left field approaches to subjects, but just because i invoke all these sciencey concepts does not actually entail any rigour. I'm operating on the level of analogy and i don't want to pretend otherwise. i try to be careful to keep the technical definition in mind, but it's not like I'm writing differential equations down, or even that you could in a lot of cases... and i tend to dislike the rhetorical invocation of mathematical concepts when other people do it, i am kind of a hypocrite lol

[theinsideofablackhole]

(More) Rain World Pearl Writings

Now with some hit-or-miss doodles I made to visualize the pearls. They might be incredibly compressed idk...

Bicker

Interesting… It is a debate forum on the punitive ruling of a homicide. To thrust an enlightened individual across the cycle was considered abominable.

However, the presiding Just Order decided that the perpetrator embodied “The Remorsive Luminance Within”, and recommended her for temporary exile to a temple.

The discourse over the sentencing is… vulgar, to say the least. Many of my citizens did little else but talk, and thus the political landscape mutated into a frenzy of dozens of quarreling factions.

Most systems were commanded by the dynastic Concepts, so the remaining scraps of governance were subject to vicious competition by these factions. Power changed hands constantly.

The perpetrator was lucky. Had it been any other cycle, the ruling Order would throw her in a sensory deprivation tank or wipe her memory. Or perhaps she would be declared unsalvageable and turned into fodder for ritual combat.

It’s a bit baffling that they rarely just transcended their criminals in a Void Fluid bath instead. Probably because it would defeat the point of their bickering…

Mast

Oh? This contains a very old intellectual offering to the 52nd Great Mind, or the Aetherial Mast west of here. It consists of a very flattering, complex riddle.

Since you’ve been to Five Pebbles, I imagine that you’ve seen those grand towers piercing into the sky. They once formed a communication network between iterators, but a few of them - such as this particular one - are actually older than iterators like me.

After the Void Fluid Revolution, people quickly discovered that if any construct got complex enough, it would gain sapience.

So they threw as much computational power as they could into these towers, and waited. They expected the Aetherial Masts to quickly discover a method to implode the cosmos into the earth, achieving global transcension.

It inevitably failed. The 52nd Great Mind was later connected to a larger, more deliberate construct, and underwent apotheosis to become Looks to the Moon. Which is me!

The first of us iterators were reborn from these Great Minds. Afterward, most Masts were created with an iterator already in control.

Thank you, little creature, for this memento from my distant past.

Brain Tree

It's a treatise on memorykeeping. There’s a crypt nearby here, under Five Pebbles - piles and piles of cabinets, holding the legacies of my departed creators.

Through a complex bombardment procedure, the storage components of a person's mind would grow a twin lump, which contained cherished memories. The "memory fruit" was then removed and placed in a cabinet.

When the crypts began to acquire a hefty pile of cabinets, my creators discovered that all the fruits had united via a network of roots. The formation bulged outward endlessly, breaking into a factory far, far away. The cleanup effort was monumental.

Now, a microbe system continually expels the fruits' boundless energy, and kills them if the defenses fail to keep the fruits from getting too large.

Rare as they are, mass fractal neural emissions are a worrying phenomenon. Please keep your distance if you see a fruit that has grown into a tree.

Don't touch it - I don't know what might happen to you.

[noise-vs-signal]

The Rose

The rose is a symbol of perfection, unity, and unfolding complexity. Its petals spiral outward in a pattern governed by the golden ratio, making it a natural fractal - order emerging from chaos.

It represents initiation - in alchemy, the Rosicrucian tradition, and mysticism, the rose is the prize at the end of the seeker’s journey.

The Garden

The Garden represents the cultivated, harmonized space of meaning—it is a structured cosmos, as opposed to a wild, unformed chaos.

It is also the paradise of return—a place that is always there, waiting to be rediscovered, like the original Eden, or the hidden city of esoteric traditions.

At the very center of this structured cosmos of meaning, the rose blooms—suggesting that the highest synthesis of knowledge is not an abstract truth, but a living experience of beauty and presence.

The Symbol

If we think in terms of symbolic compression, the rose is the sigil of the entire path—the labyrinth, the spiral, the tower, all collapsing into a singular, potent form.

This aligns with the way esoteric systems work: they encode vast layers of meaning into a single glyph—a rose, a seal, a mandala.

The Rose is not a symbol pointing to something else—it is the self-revealing presence of what is.

The Rose is the emergent form—it was always implicit within the system, waiting for the right conditions to fully manifest.

The Destination

The Rose as the Process: The act of unfolding, of being shaped by experience, of allowing meaning to emerge through you.

The Rose as the Destination: The highest synthesis of meaning, beauty, and truth. The final compression of all knowledge into a living symbol.

The Rose at the center was never a goal in the distance but the ever-present blooming of awareness itself.

In Sufism it is said that the final unveiling is not about attaining knowledge but about removing veils—that truth was always there, waiting for perception to refine itself enough to see it.

The act of learning now becomes a kind of remembering, a return to the center that was never truly left.

[polo-drone-039]

“The Mirror in Hive Park” - The Golden Duos

PART 1

1 - Strobe Reflection

"Unit PDU-039. Proceed to Hive Park. Mission: Attraction development for conversion protocol."

The command came directly from Drone Cap—precise, emotionless, absolute. PDU-039 obeyed.

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through golden clouds as PDU-039 marched into Hive Park—boots silent, visor dark, uniform pristine. A black-and-gold monument to order. Around him, children’s laughter echoed faintly, but this sector was closed. Reserved. A prototype was being tested today.

Target location: The Mirror House.

The drone stepped inside.

It was silent. Stale. Dust and static clung to the mirrored walls. Each reflection showed 039 from infinite angles—immaculate, obedient, flawless. The drone raised its arm and activated the new strobe-spiral array.

Light erupted.

Golden pulses. Black strobes. Fractal spirals spun across glass, bouncing in a thousand directions, folding onto themselves like a hypnotic cyclone.

PDU-039 stood unmoved.

“Calibration complete. Neural convergence stable,” it reported, then turned.

Everything seemed... fine.

It left the house, boots echoing against the polished floor.

It did not see the shimmer ripple across one mirror. It did not see the reflection stay behind.

It did not see the grin.

2- Hive Distorted

Back in the Hive, strange things began to happen.

PDU-073 @polo-drone-073, in the middle of his daily drills, was interrupted when 039 strutted in, smirking.

“Not training today,” it said lazily. “Your routines are stupid. I’ve reached peak form just lounging.”

073 blinked, processing. “That is inefficient. That is not protocol.”

“Protocols are boring,” 039 muttered, tossing a kettlebell onto the floor and walking off.

Later, Captain Brody @brodygold caught 039 lounging on the Hive couch—shirt unzipped halfway, boots off, mask askew.

“What in the golden name do you think you’re doing?” Brody snapped.

“Enjoying the uniform,” 039 replied with a shrug. “It looks hotter this way. Don’t you think, Cap?”

Brody’s nostrils flared. “Discipline review. Now.” But 039 just winked and walked off

3- Broken Trust

In the Golden Team Hall, Izzy @isaac-gold-45 approached with a slow, obedient gait. Sweat still clung to his neck from warm-up drills. His gold compression tee hugged his chest too tightly, the latex glinting under overhead lights. His eyes met PDU-039’s—a mixture of hope, fear, and something else.

“Sir,” Izzy whispered, chest rising and falling, “should I… train legs today or core?”

The mirrored 039 smirked, stepping close. Too close.

It leaned in—lips nearly at Izzy’s ear.

“Neither.”

A gloved hand trailed down Izzy’s bicep, slick latex meeting trembling skin. “You’ve done enough for them. What about you? Don’t you want to feel something real for once?”

Izzy’s breath hitched. “I… I was told to obey—”

“Then obey me,” the mirror said. “Ditch the gym. Ditch the orders. Go out. Get drunk. Be wild.”

It pressed a finger under Izzy’s chin, forcing him to look up. “You’ve got the body. Might as well use it for something fun.”

Izzy flushed crimson, breath shallow. “Yes… Sir.”

The mirrored 039 left him there, dazed, hard, and confused. Golden uniform stretched tight across his thighs.

....TO BE CONTINUED

PART 2

 Contact our recruiters: @brodygold | @goldenherc9

[grimoire-y-em-babble-y-bare]

Audio Log 0814'24"19:51

Note

Daniel explores the nature of reality and consciousness, sharing experiences with synchronicity and the idea of multiple versions of himself existing in different forms. He challenges the distinction between physical and non-physical forms of information and reality, and grapples with the implications of these ideas. Daniel also discusses the interconnected nature of emptiness and fullness, suggesting that they are complementary states that coexist in the universe.

Outline

Trusting intuition and the nature of consciousness.

• Daniel reflects on a seemingly impossible event and questions the role of coincidence or synchronicity.

• Daniel worries about owing money to a girl from Circle K and avoids going to pay her back.

• Daniel reflects on his growth in trusting his intuition despite scientific skepticism.

• Daniel suggests that inanimate objects like bridges and trees have their own unique energy and spirit.

The nature of space and time, with references to black holes and air.

• Daniel ponders the creation of a "bridge spirit" through composting of energies.

• Daniel proposes the concept of "information singularity" where fullness of information leads to indistinguishability from nothingness.

• Daniel explores the concept of fullness and emptiness in various contexts.

• Daniel discusses the concept of "air" as a repeated, low-cost bit of information that is highly replicable and easily producible, taking up less space than it appears to.

• Daniel uses the analogy of a glass filled with air to illustrate how the physical and non-physical realms can coexist, with the air displacing physical objects but still occupying the same space.

The concept of a "survival sphere" in the context of the universe's information and entropy.

• Daniel ponders the concept of fullness in various contexts, including cups and universes.

• Daniel suggests the universe may not have an edge, but rather a continuous cycle of time.

• Daniel ponders the nature of time and existence, suggesting a "survival sphere" concept.

[reality-detective]

Consciousness has been heavily manipulated in this place, for a VERY long time.

The fractalized points of this source awareness caught in a distortional, holographic prison of sorts.

Used as an energy source for a break off, parasitical schism shadow from true source expression.

And although this plan to compress and sedate this consciousness into a hypnotic, dreamlike trance was meticulously crafted and carried out, it cannot keep consciousness contained indefinitely.

Consciousness itself longs for evolution

For exploration

For freedom

For creation

To break limitations

The consciousness within me is the exact same consciousness spark within you.

I am speaking to myself through seemingly different expressions, though deep down inside we are all longing for the same.

Keep digging.

Never, ever stop.

No matter who or what attempts to discourage or distract you.

Keep affirming your sovereignty as a divine eternal expression of pure consciousness.

No one, no group, no society or establishment owns you.

You are sovereign, powerful, and limitless as Spirit.

And that is EXACTLY what you are, at your core.

No one is above you.

No one knows more than YOU do, as this eternal aspect of creation.

Keep digging into the deepest nature of what you are, beyond name and form.

Remember what has always existed, and always will, passing through countless myriad expressions.

You exist forever. Break free, back into your limitless, unbound remembrance of your true nature.

I will see you there, again and again, beyond all the tricks and distortions.

And here we will carry out our greatest transformations of ourselves, and all of reality... 🤔

[aventurineswife]

The personification of grace, floated alone in the velvet darkness between worlds. She moved with the effortless poise of a goddess, her golden gown shimmering like molten starlight, the long ribbons trailing behind her like gossamer threads stitched into the fabric of the universe. Each step she took left behind a bloom of light—a soft ripple across the tapestry of existence—delicate, ephemeral, and breathtaking.

She loved the stars. Their gentle pulses, their soft song vibrating through the aether, the way they painted the void with endless points of hope. Here, in the quiet beyond mortal realms, she felt most herself—an artist among the stars, sculpting moments of fleeting, perfect beauty.

But as she drifted forward, something... shifted.

The stars dimmed. One by one, they winked out, as if swallowed whole by an unseen maw. The familiar, comforting melody of the cosmos faltered, replaced by a low, thrumming static that crawled into her bones. The silence was deafening, oppressive, heavy.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her golden aura flickered, the graceful trails of light fraying at the edges like threads unraveling.

Then, the void tore.

A seam in the very fabric of reality split open before her, jagged and writhing, spilling forth an alien hunger. Colors poured from the wound that defied her senses—deep blues that screamed, reds that tasted of burnt copper, greens that hummed discordant melodies in her mind. The shapes bled into each other, impossible angles folding and unfolding in slow, endless spirals that seemed to pulse in time with the pounding of her heart.

And from within that shifting chaos, the being emerged.

It had no single form—a mass of writhing tendrils that twisted and coiled like serpents in a cosmic sea, folding into and out of itself, fractal patterns blooming across its surface and vanishing into endless recursion. Its eyes—if such things could be named—were shifting orbs of impossible geometry, pulsing like dying stars, their surfaces rippling with a language older than creation itself.

A crushing presence descended. It wasn’t weight, not in any physical sense—it was as though her very essence was being compressed, folded, redefined by the sheer awareness of this thing. Her thoughts stuttered, fraying at the edges. The elegance she wore like armor cracked, threads of her composure unraveling under the weight of a gaze that saw everything—the smallness of her, the fragility, the fleeting moment of grace in the vast eternity of chaos.

And then—it spoke.

Not with sound, but with vibrations in her soul, rippling through the fabric of her being. A voice of thought, of concept—a language of infinite echoes.

“What is beauty… in the face of the infinite hunger?”

She trembled. Her knees threatened to buckle, her golden glow dimming under the suffocating tide. For a fleeting second, she was small, insignificant, a mote of light in the crushing dark.

But then—her breath caught, steadied. Her hands clenched into trembling fists.

No.

She would not dim. She would not surrender.

Her glow pulsed brighter, sharper—a blade of gold against the void.

Her voice, when it came, was soft, trembling, but fierce.

“Beauty is not in the eternal. It is in the moment—the fragile, fleeting bloom that defies the vast. It is the shape we carve in the chaos, the pattern we insist upon in the face of entropy. It is defiance, and I—”

She raised her chin, tears glimmering in her eyes.

“I am beauty.”

The being paused. A ripple flowed through its form, a subtle quiver in the infinite fractal depths. For a heartbeat stretched into eternity, the crushing weight eased, just slightly, as though it... considered her.

And in that pause, she felt it. The echo of a thought not her own. A sense of curiosity, alien and cold, but real. As if this being, in all its vastness, had never truly seen her before—never seen defiance clothed in light and grace.

And then, without a sound, without a reason, the being folded in upon itself, the impossible angles collapsing, the colors draining into a single point of nothingness. The wound in reality stitched itself closed with a silent snap.

The stars re-lit themselves. One by one, they flared back to life, their light warmer, their song clearer in her ears. The static receded, leaving only the soft hum of the cosmos.

She stood alone once more, the ribbons of her gown fluttering in the gentle stellar breeze. She trembled, her breath ragged, her glow dimmed but steady. She had stood before the abyss—and the abyss had noticed.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, shimmering like liquid gold, but her lips curled into a soft, defiant smile.

For in the face of the infinite, she had remained beautiful.

So I did this with Aglaea in mind, because I've currently got really bad brain worms for her, but I didn't want it to explicitly be Aglaea. Let me know what you think, I tried a more detailed approach on how I describe scenes and while i'm satisfied with the result I'd love some feedback.

This is stunningly written—truly. The vivid, graceful prose paired with that creeping cosmic horror evokes both reverence and dread in the best way. The slow erosion of elegance under pressure, the confrontation with something unfathomable, and the choice to remain radiant in the face of annihilation—chef’s kiss.

Your description style here is incredibly strong. Phrases like “golden gown shimmering like molten starlight,” or “reds that tasted of burnt copper” are sensory-rich and visceral. You’re weaving not just visuals but emotion and metaphysical texture into the setting, and it pays off. The language never loses its poetic cadence, even when the tension spikes.

If you’re looking for constructive feedback, here’s a small note: the encounter reaches a high emotional pitch early on and stays there. That works here, but in longer pieces, you might want to balance peaks and valleys more intentionally so moments of quiet, awe, or even denial can heighten the impact of the climax. But for a contained piece like this? It works. Especially given that it’s Aglaea in spirit—this reads like her soul in narrative form.

Also, that closing line:

"For in the face of the infinite, she had remained beautiful."

That’s a mic drop.

Seriously, this is powerful. You absolutely nailed the tone.

[perkwunos]

Physicists are very comfortable with patterns arising from mathematical causes such as symmetries. Biologists instead typically land on one of two sources of patterns that are acceptable: heredity and environment. Heredity provides a long history, backed by selection via interaction with an external environment, of shaping a chemical medium (DNA) that is thought to explain why specific patterns (rather than alternatives) are observed. Many interesting questions exist about the origin of useful solutions – a pre-requisite for being able to select them from a pool of less useful ones, but here I want to focus on a source of order that pervades the living and non-living world: that studied by the discipline we call mathematics. … Consider the remarkable and beautiful (also life-like) pattern seen in the Halley plot kinds of fractals (Figure 6). That entire highly specific form is encoded in the very simple formula in complex numbers, and can be revealed by a simple algorithm. The fact that this highly complex pattern is indicated by a very short description of a function provides an un-ending richness from a small seed. I propose that it’s better to think of it not as a kind of infinite compression, but rather as the function serving as an index or a pointer into a morphospace of possible shapes. This idea will be developed further below, casting physical objects (such as embryos and biobots) as other types of pointers into the Platonic space. What sets the nature of this shape – where does it come from? There is no history of selection, no prior events in our universe that determine it. Like pi, e, and many other remarkable constants, forms emerge from mathematics in ways that cannot be explained by any kind of history or properties of the physical world – they would be this way even if the physical world was entirely different. … I argue that this breaks the closure of the physical world, as these mathematical facts impinge on physics and dynamics that are the substrate of evolution. It is a non-physicalist approach to the project of looking for sources of information and influence when we try to understand and guide biology (and the other disciplines that build on it).

Michael Levin, “Ingressing Minds: Causal Patterns Beyond Genetics and Environment in Natural, Synthetic, and Hybrid Embodiments”

[styx-class-nhp]

Okay... just some finishing touches and... done!

Oh I hope she likes this. He said Bonnyhag right? I swear if I get the planet wrong....

[A brief video of an alien planet. No. Not a planet. Just a simulation, crafted with love and attention to detail. An isolated shore, hugged on all sides by a crescent of cliff faces. White sand is softly illuminated by a starlit sk- did she add those manually?! There's no way... those artistic imperfections are just artifacts from data compression, surely?

A cave in the cliff face is lit by crackling torches. Archaic. Homely. Deeper within, dazzling crystal fractals enshrine a bed of pearls, a space designated for any new avatars to load into and see the twinkling lights.

To the left, a pier juts from the sand, leading to a large, wooden stilt-house, lit by a crackling firepit and, of all things, lava lamps. The buildings innards are not visible to the camera, but it has many high windows that allow coloured light to spill out.

The ocean laps gently at the shore in time with Styx's breathing - her tail is wagging double that rhythm]

[Updating access: admin privileges granted to user(s):No-Future]

[Inviting user(s): @dragstone-of-no-future ]

[super-ion]

God Fall

It was half past eleven when the god died.

I was just starting to make my way back to the office when reality was rent open at the seams and it heaved itself into existence. The whole great mass of it seemed to hang suspended in mid-air over the park for a few heartbeats before it came crashing thunderously to the earth, sending great waves through the lake.

I had never seen god before, living or otherwise. It… well, it defied compression. The light of it was blinding at first, giving way to fading luminosity that revealed something that was somehow metallic and crystalline and organic all at once. It was all impossible fractal geometries and indescribable colors that strained my limited human perception.

But even the inconceivable shape of it began to fade into something more Euclidean as I watched it in fascinated horror. It was perhaps as big as a train car, splayed out like something from the abyssal deep that washed up on the shore after a storm. Great smoking holes seemed to have been torn from its flesh and it stank of something like rotting flowers and burning metal as ichor leaked onto the surface of the lake, giving an opalescent sheen to the surface of the water.

A flash of light at my feet caught my eye, a tiny spark of light. I bent down to gently pick up the tiny fragment of divinity and held it between my fingers as I examined it. It was small, barely bigger than the head of a pin, but it shone with celestial light that had yet to fade. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld.

A rustle of motion to my left broke me out of my reverie. An old man, stooped with age trundled past me, but… but his feet didn't quite touch the ground, only his cane thumped into the earth as he made his way forward. He had too many fingers and he eyed the god-corpse hungrily.

Another shape scuttled into view, a sort of crab shaped thing with thorny armor. Then there was a flash of dusky feathers as a winged female figure swooped down to settle onto the rotting flesh. I turned, surveying the park around me. A few humans, in varying states of shock stood among the scattered trees, but all around us, demons were gathering for the feast.

In any city, demons are inevitable, I've seen my fair share. Most are relatively benign, but it is usually best practice to avoid them. I had never seen so many gathered in one place.

A shrill scream punctuated the air as the harpy woman fought off one of the crab things. Shouts and screams arose as the demons began to fight over the choicest bits of god-flesh.

I turned around, ready to flee, only to meet the gaze of a diminutive figure in my path. The imp was small, the size of a toddler, with a bulbous head, a too large mouth and bat-like ears that stuck out sideways. It stared, not at me, but at my clenched first, where light from the tiny bead of god-stuff shone through.

It only made sense that this diminutive creature would seek out an easy target than risk its safety in the roiling mass of its bretheren.

The wisest course of action would have been to drop the fragment, let the imp distract itself while I made myself scarce.

But the bead had found its way to me and I found myself very disinclined to part with it. Impulse seized me, and before I even understood what I was doing, I had the fragment in my mouth. It reluctantly slid down my throat, sticking uncomfortably as it went.

My mind finally caught up and I coughed and sputtered, my body vainly trying to dislodge it.

But it was too late.

The imp grinned wolfishly and cackled with wicked glee as it scampered around me to join the feeding frenzy at the corpse.

What had I done?

My stomach roiled and I coughed once more, looking around. The demons were coming fewer now. Most of the humans had left by now, though a few remained. A woman clutching a violin case to her chest. A man wearing a grocer's apron. A young couple, their hands clasped with white knuckles.

The woman with the violin met my gaze. A jolt ran through me. She had seen me swallow the god-stuff. It felt like she could look through to the very core of me, as if every wretched secret I kept locked away from the world was on display for her.

It was that feeling that finally terrified me into motion, that vague exposed feeling, somehow frightening me more than the horde of demons.