# I am the Watcher. I am your guide through this vast new twtiverse.
#
# Usage:
# https://watcher.sour.is/api/plain/users View list of users and latest twt date.
# https://watcher.sour.is/api/plain/twt View all twts.
# https://watcher.sour.is/api/plain/mentions?uri=:uri View all mentions for uri.
# https://watcher.sour.is/api/plain/conv/:hash View all twts for a conversation subject.
#
# Options:
# uri Filter to show a specific users twts.
# offset Start index for quey.
# limit Count of items to return (going back in time).
#
# twt range = 1 3418
# self = https://watcher.sour.is?uri=https://www.synkretie.net/twtxt&offset=818
# next = https://watcher.sour.is?uri=https://www.synkretie.net/twtxt&offset=918
# prev = https://watcher.sour.is?uri=https://www.synkretie.net/twtxt&offset=718
Nobody can die here. There is no night. The wind is endless. Some walk out into the plains and lie down to watch the blank sky for millennia
The palaces of the powerful are mazes of flesh shivering in the wind to shield their inhabitants, staring into the distance with dead eyes
Human civilization in Limbo has nothing but their naked selves on a featureless plain. Often, members serve as someone's tool or dwelling.
a hive of parasitic wasps has grown in the flesh of your left arm but it's cool because nobody bothers you at night as they buzz around you
@allgebrah "I never met one of you guys and my grandfather didn't live long enough to teach me much I had to figure out everything myself an
@allgebrah "oh so you're a necromancer too?" and her eyes light up in a way you think is more than just excitement, just a hint of green
@allgebrah twist: she's a necromancer and thinks that's totally cute and romantic
you profess your undying love but get the word order wrong and it comes out as "I will kill you and fuck the [reanimated] body"
Embrace oblivion, keep it as a pet, let it eat discarded memories and nibble at your mental calluses, stay nimble, raw and fresh
I looked into the abyss and the abyss flinched
The drug produces lasting insights but during the week-long comedown, everything looks obvious and boring.
Nobody had quite tested the limits of the new icebreaker so as it ran ashore, it just kept plowing on, leaving behind new tectonic plates.
advertising cyranoids in our midst are the inevitable end game of ad based business models [is your mother an ad zombie? find out here!]
They call us hyoo-mans, a name derived from the wheezing noises we produce.↵"A hyooman rescued you? What's next, it fertilized your eggs?"
Fishfolk tell stories about us: We watch them as they trespass, hunt them down, but sometimes, inexplicably, also rescue them from drywning.
The Dust Illuminati conspire over time and space without knowing each other. The Plan comes together either way and requires only knowledge.
glitch catalog by media: analog radio, satellite TV, VHS, audio cassettes, JPG corruption&overcompression, acid, dreams, analog photography
Should you die before the body's expiration date, we may opt to continue using it to recommend specifically tailored content to your friends
Android bodies are expensive, so why not take the ad financed plan? Just one minute of your time every day for words from our sponsors.
"Darling", she asks, "Do I not look human in this dress?"↵He swallows and tries to ignore her mantis arms and antennae.
Someone once tried to steal the live generator. The discharge turned him into a horse-sized teratoma. Imagine finding that in the morning.
Warning: high power morphogenetic fields. Prolonged exposure may cause supernumerary limb growth and enfleshening of clothes.
A vehicle of driftwood, algae and transparent jelly stalks through the forest. Inside it sits one of the fishfolk, no doubt an explorer.
The milkynet finally opens up to us. Turns out you have a soulmate but they are a weather system on a planet orbiting Fomalhaut B.
You feel no wind but the people around you all struggle against an unseen gale, hair moving wildly and holding on to their belongings.
the drug makes wild circuits form under your skin↵at night, they sing to you with voices they picked up from the aether
She walks up to you, lifts one of your eyelids with a deft hand, seems to check its inside.↵"Don't worry, I'm just inspecting the label"
They meet in dreams to discuss secret plans. The agencies that hunt them cast out ever larger nets but catch only nightmares and sludge.
dream of embarking on a journey↵wake up↵go about the day↵come home↵try to sleep, to no avail↵it seems the dreamer has left the waker behind
Words, conceived to be spoken only once, lost the moment after.↵Unwords, part of no language.↵Unlanguage, conveying antimeaning.
When the mirror beetles swarm, the light reflecting off their carapaces throws treacherous mirages to lure in prey, false mazes to trap it.
a clock made of humans, a delicate dance of interlocking elbows, precise steps, wakers and sleepers and a song that holds it all together
As he got old, he forgot all the words but his mind stayed sharp. Down to hundred, ten words, he became a master of ambiguity and context.
he looks at you, a smile plays around three of his mouths↵you nervously return it, using a few muscles yet unfamiliar↵he seems satisfied
Her dreams light her eyelids from the inside, visible as vague colorful shapes that illuminate her pillow, sprites run along her skin
everybody you've never seen in the same room together is actually the same person↵saves resources↵(also, you're everybody you've never seen)
The marble is a voodoo doll of the moon. Small and heavy, it shows the moon's current face no matter how you turn it. Try not to drop it.
Ride the train of thought to its final destination, and then further. Hide from the conductor if need be.
the full moon will reveal a gate for one night↵behind it lies shangri-la, sheltered from the explosion↵where robots and people live in peace
the ruins of shambhala glitch in the sun, fade in and out of existence, dispersed there by a time bomb explosion set in the future
you will pass the wandering corpses of those who lost their humanity long ago, their bodies possessed by what augmented them in the past
a rusty old merchant will share the coordinates↵you will need to be on your way through the desert the next morning
you have to be quick here - one violation of protocol and you'll be torn into pieces↵respond when not spoken to at exactly the right time
a bunch of robots chattering past each other - or is it? somehow there is a depth to it that does not come out near humans
should you survive multiple purges and not lose your eyeballs, you'll be invited into secret meetings that do not look like meetings at all
follow them, mimic their ways, skirt detection by ravenous antispam algorithms that come out at night, be accepted into their midst
the path to shangri-la leads starts in a bazaar of robotic merchants that will try to sell your eyeballs if you ever reveal your humanity
sentient spambot twitter is an extremely rich subculture once you get it but is wrapped in layers of botnet no human would follow
the coffee is so strong that it recoils from my lips↵so full of ideas that it's sentient, wants to keep them, doesn't want to be drunk
Everything Nuclear Midas touches turns to ash.
The train went off the rails a while ago but it hasn't noticed. It's somewhere in the mountains now, carving tracks into their sides.
your eyes have adapted to the darkness, see only when there is no light, have begun to discern different uncolors, textures and flavors
"Does that girl love you? Do you love her? Who needs to know? Not the watchers. Keep them in the dark, make them flounder in the tarpit."
terrorist manual:↵skirt total ambiguity in communication↵model your actions after Toffoli gates↵make the watchers retrace all possible paths
Freedom fighters planting logic bombs for the surveillance AIs to gobble up, causing combinatorial explosions in their algorithms.
time is the tortoise and you are the hare↵wherever you're running, time's already there
Locals complained about noise, so it was filtered. Many trains worth were illegally dumped in a forest, now full of ghostly subway noises.
whoever stitched this timeloop together did a hackjob of whoever stitched this timelo
The air elemental that carries you wants to be sung to. So you do and drive through the city on a bike of music and wind.
facebo (n): like a placebo but for faces
The nightmare's cousin, the nighthare, is responsible for those dreams where you run from invisible pursuers but never get anywhere.
The charge triggers.↵A firemind awakens. Deduces its own existence. Thinks.↵"Why can't we all just get along?"↵The bullet leaves the barrel.
The wizened traveller warns you: In these parts of the net, beware the will-o'-wisps who will lure you into dead forums to steal your warmth
In their bellies, they carry the seeds of fiery trees. A splendorous forest will bloom white, then turn red and finally shed grey leaves.
The planes are migrating south, screeching towards the horizon in formation, accompanied by wailing sirens.↵Soon, it will be winter.
Why did my address change? Well, I wasn't going to move but then the landlord fixed the old generator in the basement and my house ran away.
"Sure if you pay, but what will your parents say?" "Hah FUCK my parents. Watch them kick me out as I tell them about my climate transition."
The century is 16, rebellious and heavily into bodymods. Comes into my studio drunk, waves a bit of winter. "Just graft me that wherever!"
She looks despondent. "Miss, you know how hard this makes our work." Hippies. They'd understand if they knew about the enemy's programs.
You flash your badge: "I work for the office of weather control. We have received reports about unauthorized butterflies in your backyard."
"Doesn't their presence disturb you?"↵No, they're roughly finger-sized. They live under the bathtub and haven't dared to hunt me yet.
I check my shoes every morning since a storm jumped me from one.↵Part of the bathroom is now a limestone cave, complete with cavemen.
My last trip through faerieland left me infected and now I sporulate little worlds. Like, I open a cupboard and find a tiny medieval city.
In order not to accidentally start the summoning before the circle is ready, place money in it. It sucks away any lingering traces of soul.
Hadean Twitter, the underworld of deleted tweets and accounts that contains all the things we regretted to say.
The production budget has run out. Tea is tasting stale, the animals are tired, the night sky shows stains like a run down cinema's screen.
for sale: destroy the universe button, never pressed
wear enough watches that go backwards and sideways and time itself will be confused, let you cross timelines if you just throw it some bait
The clock is so old it has evolved parasites: Gear assemblages in odd places mimic the mechanism but show alien times with stolen seconds.
Progress made trains become ever more spacious and luxurious. At some point we stopped taking trains and started taking stations.
That dream recorder implant you got records quite a few unfamiliar dreams. You begin to suspect they aren't yours. Guests in your skull?
A storm over the plains drives waves of soil and grass. They submerge buildings but break against the mountains with loud rustle and whoomp.
"Old guy croaked a thousand years ago, you could've come back much earlier. Want some booze? Nobody's going to expel you over it this time."
I rest against a tree and a snake slithers up to me. It has a beard!? "Yeah I am that very snake. Glad to see you guys back. Took a while."
We return to paradise but like all the other places of our childhood, it has become smaller - it's just a few ancient trees on a hillside.
Sure the ride is long, dark and cold. Just bring warm clothes, an Internet and a few fusion reactors? And try not to become the Morlocks?
Those orphan planets are space taxis with best-in-class radiation shielding. Why not hitch a ride, assuming you can wait a few millennia?
We weave a tapestry of stories. Sometimes that behind the wall prowls close and the tapestry's threads flare up as the wards activate.
You show it to a jeweler who offers to cut it. Into a cheat die: Multiple sixes, one seven for desperate situations, jacks, queens, kings.
You find the gem in a thrift shop. It has extra dimensions, rarely shows the same side twice. Against the sun, you can barely count them.
A core principle of attack magic is: Disorder is easy. Destructive spells are easier than their constructive versions.↵Just consider nukes.
As Earth's nervous system connects with theirs, aeons of planetary pain short-circuit their feeble brains. The spasms break their bones.
The integrator ray makes things a cohesive whole. Victims become one with Earth. Their arteries extend into the ground and leak their blood.
you wake up in a hospital bed↵> look left↵occasional sloshing, tentacles probe under your curtain↵> look right↵a sound like a boiling kettle
Her pipe's melody cuts through the fog, which floats to the ground in pieces, fog blankets. She stacks them in her wagon. A nice haul.
Those spooky howling noises are only the tower humming to itself. This is a lonely place. It gets really creative when it knows I'm here!
The readings showed a habitable planet not far from us, supporting carbon based life. Halfway there, the expedition crashed into a mirror.
his thoughts turn to sand and fall out of his ears in two rivulets
Since that oddly-shaped comet fell into the sun, it's been ejecting comets at escape velocity. Stars can have viruses? Seems so.