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| YUGO |
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YUGO LABS |
| ALSO WIK |
| dusty's ca | |
| rumour has it there's an unreleased autechre track hidden in the bowels of xhamster.com's vat collection. I heard from my buddy stan the aphex twein put it there on one of those drunken glasgowian rampages such idm lol .7 artist are known for. U kno hte guy from squarepusher? todd Jemkison? He writes all his music on the back of napkins from various dennys restaraunts. only hthe ones in texas. thats' why hes so good at playing the bass. also acid. | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-05-13 16:19:18 | |
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| 0.5 parsex | |
| Some say the tea had been boiled, real slow like. All I knew is the streets were talkin' and with the doll gone I had no leads. Cold hard truth is that there was no truth, hell these lemons were shakin' like william burroughs. Have you been involved in a spaceship accident? Did you know you could claim compensation even if it the incident took place in intergalactic space? The design of the studer fuselage was in phase 2 and the lockout parameters had been identified. A metalurgist report showed signs of metal fatigue in sections 9-57. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-05-05 08:00:08 | |
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| Apology Denied | |
| Orchard MIDI on the 1s and 2s, I got the tape file from dr. piano & the cherry coeds backstage. Salmon error causes stream corruption and then once there unwound its coil. Manic laughter in the laboratory, dry ice stacked next to the faders with corrupt lads enough amongst shemales. This wave is not up to spec, please get me another one from the factory floor. In my dream the chip shop was now a squat. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-04-27 07:16:02 | |
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| mild overanalysis of the chicken joke | |
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i was walking my car down the road at about forty through a gentle industrial zone. connector road connects to technology drive, you drive, and then something something research boulevard. i was doing mad research (and also some science), when a turkey crossed the road. a single wild turkey; almost definitely the 151 variant. just one, though... don't turkeys usually travel in packs? ...flocks? ...swarms? ...gazzards? ...prayer circles? ...travel in circles? ...travel in circles? ok turkey you win, hard stop the sharkmobile. cross the road. just go, c'mon. the turkey clearly sensed my impatience, and hustled across as quickly as it could. i then resumed science with more than the usual haste, so the acura barreling down the road would not lodge itself in my anus.
that wild turkey had crossed the road exactly like a metaphorical chicken. but why? did it cross the road? it feels like there's something to this i'm missing, but perhaps that's the joke. "perhaps," i thought, "the chicken crossed the road in order to define the neurological equivalent of a C++ class about the nature of reality." let's call it "joke". chicken is a member of class joke, and a virtual function at that. live/wild instances of joke in reality (the stack) may be any number of polymorphic classes inheriting from chicken. you carry this object code with you, always -- you will remember this drab, unfunny, almost meaningless joke until the day you die. it'd be plum irritating if it weren't so harmless and sad. like a 40yo with downs syndrome... ...but, it's all a deceptive facade. behind the scenes, class joke sneakily abstracts a well-defined subset of the set "things that could happen," and installs callback handlers all over your brain with a bit of viral wordery. this allows class joke to effectively take over how you react to a small part of reality, as birds really do cross roads, sometimes. i'm not sure precisely how often, but often enough. the bird crosses the road, triggering callback function chicken, which hands control flow over to class joke. look, dude, the turkey did cross the road. no, not chicken, turkey. it's overriding the virtual chicken function. no -- wait -- shaddup! the joke is a meme that perpetuates itself via actually happening sometimes, generating a steady stream of ramsey retweets in your meatspace-layer social network until it becomes self-sustaining and ripples around forever like a tape delay with the feedback set to "yes."
my hunch is that class joke was was engineered by some generations-old neurohacker for shits and giggles. the design pattern is thus:
select an event that is rare, but not that rare. add in the promising scent of a zen metaphor that goes absolutely nowhere. it's enough of a tease to get people thinking about it, and thus, to remember it forever. once you condition a person with class joke, the person begins to propagate class joke to their aunt and uncle nodes. the aunt and uncle nodes tell their neighbor nodes and their neighbor nodes tell the grandchild nodes... and, eventually, get bored of it -- cease propagation. clearly, like starting a siphon to empty your microtyke pool, you have to provide enough pull on the tube's reality to start a self-sustaining feedback loop. once it's going, it'll drain the whole pool like magic, but you need to suck on that siphon. to bootstrap. it is analogous to a botnet r00ting a sufficient quantity of linkbro routers to survive the regular stream of people that notice things are hacked to shit and reset the router to factory defaults (wiping out your bot code). the router can be re-infected, obviously, by routers that remain infected. thus, as long as infection is equal to or greater than the rate of "honey, my shoe page is stuck, could you reboot the router?" it iterates forever, without any participation from who or whatever developed it. essentially, the chicken is a worm. the chicken worm is a ghost that exists in the space between a grip of unpatched routers, and it will come back. just like the cat worm. the chicken crossed the road to puzzle and frustrate a potential host (you) with an unpatched curiosity vulnerability. class joke used this vulnerability to execute arbitrary code in the part of your brain responsible for reality, and it has used this opportunity to make really really sure of one thing: should a bird ever cross the road, you will fucking tell people about it. you'll post a photo of the bird on facebook. everyone else is all "oh yeah the chicken joke," and likes your photo because people like it when you reference things they know about. all the attention zaps the chicken worm neurons with a huge dose of juice, like the capacitive refresh cycle of DRAM, keeping it from fading off. critical mass is achieved and gravitational lensing comes into play. the signal of chicken worm gradually crests above the noise in your wernicke lobby. the chicken worm is highly transmissible from parent to child. the chicken worm is a meta-virus generated by the chicken pox, and at some point, all children must get the chicken pox. all children must also learn the chicken joke. it is extremely rare for a child to come down with the pox and not know the joke, but it happens. in the event of this edge case, the pox uploads joke directly into the child's nervous system via mRNA. it is a singularity that explodes into the mind of the infected child like a legit edgar cayce vision. many children find it disturbing and tell their parents. parents universally insist that the child must have heard the joke somewhere else before, and simply forgotten about it. no parent has ever believed a child since the pox first came into context with unpatched meat routers. like terrence mckenna's mushrooms, the pox are a race of interstellar travelers. carry this disarming dad joke to star systems more distant than... well, this one. "hey, why did the chicken cross the road?" "i dunno, why?" "to get to the other side." "i don't get it. is there more to it?" "no, that's the joke. there's no answer. it's, like, a metaphor." "can you explain it?" "explain? uhhh, jeez. that's hard. i can't, really. it's a zen thing. you gotta get it completely or you don't get it at all." "that's not very helpful. i still don't get it." "just think about it man, it'll come to you." and it will. now, next week, five years later -- sometime, somewhere, a wild turkey worm will find you, and your reaction will be reflexive and immediate. at this point, you have lost the game. your context has been switched to worm propagation; you are a bird. your hair is a worm. your hair wants to go to the stars. do you have stars in your house? |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-04-18 19:22:57 | |
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| untitled | |
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synopsis, last five minutes of whatever this is: a kung fu master tears off a mission impossible face mask, revealing his true identity. he does this in response to robot motorcycle suit ninjas revealing their true identies (without removing their masks) and confessing to their childhood betrayal of the movie's white night. then the robot motorcycle suit ninjas torture the revealed kung fu master. the robot motorcycle ninjas need just one file, they say, just one file, and they take out a pair of g men with a briefcase and the briefcase reads the data out of his brain like a fucking data eyeball scan pitchfork, yes sir. that's how fast it happened -- that briefcase came outta nowhere. next scene, i find out dwayne "the rock" is in this movie. i think it has me and i should write off the next hour or two
this unfinished internet post was found next to the man who had appeared to have spontaneously human combusted from the neocortex down through the infundibulum and out into all the less flattering parts of the human nervous system.
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-04-14 21:16:37 | |
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| abvertizemint | |
| strap on your johnny mnemonic gloves and sweep aside some tron landscapes with the ROI VR-3092. you'll be outpimping your friends on the cyberbrane with sass pizazz of epic legend -- trapped on The Street and loving every minute of it. Throw Some Polygons (tm) coming 2020 | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-04-11 00:08:23 | |
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| i just won the game | |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-04-10 23:58:09 | |
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| Journey: unkown, Endgame: unknown | |
| "MR EVANS... MR EVANS! I NEED THIS SECTOR REALIGNED SOON, IF NOT LATER". tip ur hat to the side and get funky. 498773 is the key, miscreants on the balcony gettin cidered in this place. Self preservation now hardcoded out. feels hot in here | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-04-05 02:53:11 | |
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| i warned ya | |
| i dunno twumpet on a windy man contwoller but trishtina said to tell you to tell steve that she thinks he's tubular in a gross kinda way. also trishtina has some question about CentOS on a VM and i can't get my platform to trust anyone since that boot sector virus the printer is out of plotter and the paper is full of bees. VP elkerkind wants vax/vms by next tuesday and extra lettuice on his sandwhich if you know what i mean. she was a fine diode, aye. STOP! FOCUS! do the job. this is important -- all that crazy crap on the internet? it ain't gonna write itself. so don't stop it. be the vessel. stir some sass; parametric. yes, that will do nicely. sass to parametric; weasels to nomimal. if your weasels are not nominal, please report this at once. also trishtina needs some help figuring out montage on imagemagick and the sales guy spilled cocaine alll over his abstractions and he needs his powerpoints undusted before update tuesday and also the coffee machine is not responding to pings i think we forgot to switch over the subnet if i'm gone for three hours you know why | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-04-04 08:32:05 | |
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| Right | |
| my plinkets all askinder. my metatarsles uncooperative not enough metamewsill. you can't tarsel without meta, just like jesus said. i wouldn't want to tangle with that tarsle. poindexter communion is the science of achieving the ultimate. for nay and went the filth of society into god's box of bandaids like a skunk, into the night, farting hydrofluorochlorocarbons, gloriously, until the alternator finally stuck to the left. embrace the lead: it is your god. it is in your tubes. it writes your school rapport. pterodacyls bow before it. why not you too | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-30 21:42:42 | |
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| About Now | |
| I power up the rocket ship, I setup my rendezvous trajectory with the purveyor of fine green materials. I am distracted by a EXTXT secure COMINT, it contains details of an anomaly. By chance a random human variable path had led me back to a 70s psychedelia film, I had passed the recommendation onto Albert due to style familiarties. The communiqué detailed a vision of Itself, another parallel oddity in the continuum. I realise I am awake, I see a purple energy field in space spiralling into a rift. Abandoning slumber I quietly make my way to my VESTRAX ELITE computer terminal. Jeez, the less petite variety of girl had its advantages, not so great on storage though. Hibernated mode should increase that efficiency a bit only time will tell. The middle of the night provides a subtle chill to the studio so I don a crown & robe in royal colours. An encrypted window is waiting for me: “You are but a cog in the machine, a valuable party teamed with the ethereal” (sender: unknown). My instruments tell me that a dangerous mental fog is being blown in this direction, I lock down the base and setup HQ for long term “keep calm and carry on”. Three beeps cut through the darkness, it's about the time for lockdown containment protocol. With my beaker of peppermint tea and spiced inhalation stick the chronicles of 1701-D roll on. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-03-26 03:57:26 | |
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| rave wormhole ACK | |
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"EVERYBODY HAVING A GOOD TIME," the MC boomed. it was somewhere between a question and a command.
"WATCH DA RIEGHTDE!" he prompted next, derailing my attempt to process his ceremonial mastering. watch the ride? as in, like, "watch the ride! i just waxed it!"... or, had he actually said "watch the right"? like, "DJ, your right channel is flanging too hard, adjust your isolator"? the DJ.... the DJ had what appeared to be a pair of atari STs spinning around on turntables, but i was towards the back and it's entirely possible i was conflating what i was seeing with what i was hearing. "YEARS AHEAD!" the MC doth interruptus. did he mean: "this is for the years ahead!" or was he asserting that the rave itself was years ahead? "LIGHTYEARS AHEAD!" the MC belted, clarifying the situation. it was puzzling he'd elected to field my question, given that this was just a mix i was listening to on youtube. was possible that the metapsychological energies of the event had created a singularity -- a magickist homunculus of amen breaks in reality fomenting a wormhole -- available to anyone with the internet? the sensation is somewhere between a strong memory and a dream. a sense of presence; of being there. really, i do feel there; perhaps i am. that would be lovely. if it's september 16th, 1994, and you run into me in a rave warehouse, could you tell me i said hello? thanks. "perhaps i can coalesce it with a yugo post," i thought of myself thinking in the car, writing a yugo post. dropping script-fu down in that inital~d. there was already a certain amount of gravity to evental's horizontz. i'd listened to the mix over and over. i've exercised to it, as i find 45 minutes of raving preferable to a gym membership. but then, there was the disproportionate number of peak events it's triggered -- 6:38, 19:45, you know. the part with the harp glissando that makes you feel like luke vibert's just been sending post cards from a place you finally got to visit. on my knees crying. literally crying. ecstay... and i've never even tried ecstasy. like, i heard this story about a guy who was on a date and his date saw a pill on the floor and wanted to eat it. the logo is the same, she insisted. the gentleman was aghast: that's floor e! you don't know where it's been! it's dirty! five second rule! do any of these things ring a bell? but if it does that sort of thing, i think i sort of understand her attitude, despite being the sort of person who has to get every speck of whatever off the plates. again, it was time for the MC to derail my habitual retreat into an alpha wave state. "WHISTLERS WHISTLERS WHISTLERS INSIDE RIOOOOT" he screamed. i no longer questioned whether these were questions or commands; it was simply the nature of reality. wormhole coordinates, standard tube hashtable id notation. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-18 02:23:24 | |
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| FUCK U TLC | |
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IM THE MOTERFUCKING NIAGRA FALLS OF PEE STREAMS |
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| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-03-15 16:35:29 | |
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| typical ordering coffee morning situation thing | |
| blank stares. i blink and enter my debit pin; unable to penetrate the cashier's universe. i had asked for beard claws and ear claires and even paul revere cremes but my free jazz absurdity simply wasn't changing the balance on my corporate gift card. this shit may as well have been some junked up shoe cookies up in my jaundice chateau are you ballin with steve. the cashier didn't give me cash back and also didn't get it when i asked if they did cash jews. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-10 05:46:16 | |
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| what's up your axon, dendrite | |
| sucka vibes trying to hack my neural matrix, but i got da program for doez bad boyz, o yeah, kool aid. suckaz be q @ 392.25922 matrix crystal but i'm all BOOM BRAP the rap squad up dat virii grill u can't malware the daddy | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-09 23:36:33 | |
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| q | |
| I smile. Sudden UV-C absorption patterns shifted, I was in a realm with hope and resource prospects. The logo on the bottle cap was different, it had been printed badly, the CIA must have got to me. The trigger was an american horror story, the town was spread out and abandoned. The dream I must remember, but as long as I don't get on a plane. “Investigating plane crashes really did a number on your subconcious” Octavia said. The only response possible is obviously: “I don't give a fuck at this point, I've just got to get back to the right universe”. So you're probably wondering what the fuck is spinning on this acid planet, this oblique refraction in space-time. Keep on guessing motherfucker. Planet axon is my new home I'm not even going to try and save you people, I'll cya later on the federation datasphere. Hear that sound? That's the sound of your mind echoing neural pathways crudely represented by sonic frequencies. WHAT? YES? I don't even represent the national reconnaissance office. Why ask me that shit, WHY. WHAT THE FUCK? | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-03-09 22:42:02 | |
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| invisible bannon | |
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| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-02-29 16:05:52 | |
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| The Horrors of the Mental Spectrum | |
| Suddenly I awoke, the screens had gone blank. I turn on the oscilloscope and reattach the electrodes. A short woman stood in the centre of the crowded lecture hall and paused her speech in such a way that the dialogue became somehow ethereal. That's what woke me up, now I've come to rest on this plane of existence. Waves of sadness become an ocean of numbness, only the mechanical sounds of electro interject with the occasional crackle of vinyl. “Hold your hand over the fire for as long as you can”, it seemed like a good idea at the time. An old VHS tape is playing, a timer on the screen is counting down. Surrounded by digital information, I can never stop, trapped in an ice field on some distant planet server. At the end of the corridor a room with a small safety glass window stands with sophisticated looking locks, in the centre of the room is a human brain connected to thousands of tiny wires, on the side of it's case is an on/off switch. I can't get in but I want to switch it off desperately, so much that I hurt my hands trying to break the door. The minimal beat loops round in the background with scientific rigidity, I am no longer sure if the corridor is real. Outside the world crumbles into dust. Struck by pain in my side I try and return to my previous life, I sat passing out in the back as the blood drips down onto the steps. The lecture continues: “The metaphysical unit becomes... engrained in the submatrix as you can see in this diagram. A change in ideology allows the life force to shift in and out of temporal fields. If you-”. Suddenly one of the audience bolted upright and shouted “I AM A PURE ENTITY, AND I WON'T BE COERCED INTO THIS MADNESS” and promptly ran for the exit. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-02-25 13:29:01 | |
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| intriguing | |
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"you don't usually see a minivan go perpindicular to traffic that close behind you," i commented to my co-pilot (who was daydreaming about goats). "whatever it did, it wasn't supposed to do it. there was something off about it."
and indeed there was. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-22 02:06:23 | |
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| almighty robert | |
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stop the meeting! this is wrong!
how so? well, it's against robert's ruse... oh, ah, which one? well, er, the ruse. the one you use to stop the topic and change the meeting, like i just did here. what?! of course it's funny. i deliberately hindenbwrekd the delivery in order to be funny; that's the joke. oh, don't be silly. it is. it definitely is. botching the joke is hilarious! unless, that is, you don't get the joke. ...so, do you get the joke? you do. meeting adjourned. lunch will be cocaine hookers and lime jello for the oceans. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-19 04:02:49 | |
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