Only What Is Switchable Is At All

<tw-passage class="platform">I think it's a universal experience, when you're on a crowded platform with a train coming towards you, to imagine falling onto the tracks. I think whether you imagine jumping, falling by accident, or being pushed, is determined by your state of mind. You're on the platform. You know what would happen if you fell on the tracks. You don't actually want to end up on there, but you can't help giving into this macabre fantasy. How does it happen? (after:4s)+ (transition:"fade")[(if:(history: where its name contains "Fall by choice")'s length is 0)[[→Fall by choice]]] (after:5s)+ (transition:"fade")[(if:(history: where its name contains "An accidental stumble")'s length is 0)[[→An accidental stumble]]] (after:6s)+ (transition:"fade")[(if:(history: where its name contains "A push from behind")'s length is 0)[[→A push from behind]]] </tw-passage> (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]

<tw-passage class="platform">"Do it!" The little voice in your head screams, against the will to survive and endure that has been programmed into you since birth. Of course you won't. But imagine if you did? Imagine the shock of the crowd around you, the screams from strangers that you'd evoke, almost like a stand-in for compassion and care, the relief that you wouldn't have to endure another day in the long slog of late stage capitalism which feels eternal even as it crumbles. All you'd have to do is step beyond the yellow line, a tiny stumble just as the train pummels forward, and then... nothing. (after:8s)+ (transition:"fade")[ [[→Take a step forward]]] (after:9s)+ (transition:"fade")[ [[→Remain on the spot, in the safety of your imagination]]] </tw-passage>

<tw-passage class="platform">You give into your demons. You hate it here. There's nothing for you, and you don't see a way out of it in this life. (text-rotate-z:5)[One foot in front of the other, you cross the yellow line. Now your right foot dangles above the empty space before the grimey, garbage-filled tracks. You let gravity do its thing as you wait for the sweet release.] [[→But it never comes.]] </tw-passage>

<tw-passage class="platform">It's not worth it. Despite how little you care, there still remains a smidge of empathy in you. You didn't wake up this morning with the intention of traumatising a platform full of people. Seeing a jumping would probably ruin most peoples' day. Possibly even their life. They'd talk about you in therapy, they'd get flashbacks that would shake them awake at night... and a small part of you revels in the idea of having such an effect on these strangers. But it's not their fault you've mentally checked out of this place. In fact, many of them might be in the same boat. You don't know if you have it in you to continue another day, but you can exit quietly, or maybe loudly and with purpose, as a vigilante. Either way, there's enough time to think about a next step, even if any step feels excruciatingly exhausting. (after:8s)+ (transition:"fade")[ [[→So you stand still and wait for your train to come to a stop, and you step on as you have a million times before, and you let yourself be taken home.->→Get on the train]]]</tw-passage>

<tw-passage class="platform">You don't always have the steadiest of feet, so it's not completely outside the realm of possibility that you should trip over yourself and splat across the tracks. The bruises on your legs are not for nothing; you've fallen and hurt yourself recently enough. You're aware of that vivid possibility, so you take extra care to stand extra still. The platform is crowded, and people are moving both directions past you on the platform. But your feet are firm on the ground. Right? What happens when you get a sudden itch on your leg that begs for a scratch? Do you dare to give in, after these intrusive thoughts about what could happen if a little misstep led to you falling to your untimely death? [[→Scratch that itch]] [[→Stand still as a statue]] </tw-passage>

<tw-passage class="platform">Yes, the platform is crowded, but people take care as they mill past you, trying to find an empty spot to stand where they won't be in the way of the foot traffic. No one wants to cause this kind of disruption, especially during rush hour, when everyone just wants to get home. No one's that kind of dick. Right? Well. You personally know people who aren't exactly good at controlling their anger. They might not think ahead. They might not care that their propensity for small acts of violence might have consequences far beyond the scale of their disdain. The world might have been unkind to them, or they're simply predisposed to being kind of a dick. Maybe it's hormones? Either way, if people you know can be unpredictable and prone to violence, (and you don't actually know that many people), surely the chances of someone on this platform having these traits are high. But it's all fantasy. You don't need to worry. The train is approaching and you feel the agitation of the crowd behind you, impatient to board. The bodies squeeze together and you take a breath, ready to step forward but holding your ground in case someone does indeed get a little pushy. (after:8s)+(transition:"fade")+(text-style:"fidget")[(text-rotate-x:15)+(text-rotate-y:20)+(text-rotate-z:5)[[→Then you feel a hard shove, and you stumble]]] </tw-passage>

<tw-passage class="platform">You carefully lift your knee and lower your shoulder, and you give yourself a good scratch. But you forgot how top-heavy your backpack was, due to the careless way you packed today. The weight of it makes you lose your balance. In a panic, you try and steady yourself, but with nothing to grab onto, you find yourself stumbling forward, towards the tracks. (text-rotate-y:10)+(text-rotate-z:9)[//Fuck//, you think to yourself. //How is it possible that I was thinking about how I might fall, and then I actually go and do it? // It's like you willed this into existence. You almost want to laugh. It's the last thing you think before gravity starts pulling your body forward and downward.] [[Is this the end?->→But it never comes.]] </tw-passage>

<tw-passage class="platform">A surge of anger and panic fills you. Why would anyone do this? And what can you grab onto to steady yourself and not fall to your death? You think this in the split second between balancing in that tiny bit of space beyond the yellow line and the open air where gravity would pull you onto the tracks. Is this it? Did you manifest this end by thinking about it too vividly? (text-style:"shudder")+(text-rotate-y:10)+(text-rotate-z:4)[Your arms flail trying to regain control, as you hear the crowd behind you voice their shock and indignation at the injustice beset upon you. ] [[Is this the end?->→But it never comes.]] </tw-passage>

First, you feel a sharp acceleration of heartbeats as your body collapses downwards. You anticipate painful impact as you squeeze your eyes shut, but instead, a weightlessness overtakes you. (text-style:"buoy")[You're floating, in free fall, then suddenly in utter stillness. From behind your closed eyelids you sense brightness.] [[→You open your eyes.]]

<tw-passage class="train">The crowd on the train feels familiar. That shouldn't be anything new; you take this commute several times a week. And yet it feels familiar in a different way, and you can't quite put your finger on it. The train arrives, and you step on. You manage to squeeze into a seat between two strangers, and that feeling of strange familiarity continues to taunt you. [[→You scan the crowd.]] </tw-passage>

You are no longer on the platform, but you're not on the tracks either, squished to a bloody pulp or whatever it is that happens to those who fall. You look around. Everything is a sterile white blankness. You're no longer at the train station, that much is obvious. But where are you? Scattered around the whiteness that envelops you, you see words floating –//yes, floating// – unattached to anything in particular, probably because there is nothing to attach to here. What do you do? [[→Move forward to examine the words]] [[→Keep looking around to see what else is here]]

You move forward. As you move, you realise you're not making any steps, instead almost as if you're scrolling towards the words. You look down and realise you no longer have legs. In fact, you don't have a body. You try and lift your hands to look at them, but nothing happens, because you have no hands. You think about screaming, but wave of calm washes over you. It's fine. This is fine. You're a rational being (maybe? Are you even a being?) and you don't need to crash out. Besides, you're not hurting, and simply existing feels pleasant enough. You refocus on the floating words and you move towards them. You realise that you simply have to will yourself to go forwards, and you seem to scroll towards whatever destination you have in mind. Like you're zooming in on the object of your curiosity, because in this featureless environment, depth isn't a thing. You arrive at what seems to be in front of the words, or at least you scroll far enough that you can clearly make out what it says. [[→You read the text.]]

You look around, and don't see anything else, not a shadow nor object. As you look around, you realise you don't see a wisp of your own hair, or your shoulder out of the corner of your eyes as you turn to see what's behind you. You look down, and you realise you don't have a body. You try and lift your hands to look at them, but nothing happens, because you have no hands. You think about screaming, but wave of calm washes over you. It's fine. This is fine. You're a rational being (maybe? Are you even a being?) and you don't need to crash out. Besides, you're not hurting, and simply existing feels pleasant enough. [[→You refocus on the words in what seems to be a distance and move towards them.]]

You realise as you move forwrds that you're not walking as you would have before, when you had legs. Instead, you simply have yourself to go forwards, and you seem to scroll towards whatever destination you have in mind. Like you're zooming in on the object of your curiosity, because in this featureless environment, depth isn't a thing. You arrive at what seems to be in front of the words, or at least you scroll far enough that you can clearly make out what it says. [[→You read the text.]]

The floating text reads: Tahini Potatoes Lemons Garlic Toilet roll Tomato paste Cat food Red wine How strange. It seems to be a shopping list. You move closer to the items on the list and you feel inclined to reach out to one of them. You don't have arms, but you're somehow able to navigate closer to one. [[→Suddenly, you get pulled forward, and everything changes, but remains the same."->Red wine]]

You have embodied "Potatoes". Not like the actual object in the world that is a potato, the tuberous food that sustains human life through its nutritious and economical characteristics, delicious mashed or roasted or cut into strips and fried until crispy. No, you're "Potatoes" the text, in a dull "Roboto" type font, maybe size 12 or so. You see the other listed items still on the wall. (How do you see? Do words have sight?) They consider you curiously. You feel nervous, judged. Then, Tahini speaks: (text-colour:#ffe3e3)[Welcome! This hasn't happened for a while. How quaint.] How do you respond? [[→Ask Tahini what hasn't happened for a while.]] [[→Panic about this whole situation.]]

(char-style: via (t8n-delay:pos*60)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[You have embodied "Lemons". Not like the actual object in the world that is a lemons, the fruit that's more condiment or accompaniment than something eaten in its own right. No, you're "Lemons" the text, in a dull "Roboto" type font, maybe size 12 or so.] You see the other listed items still on the wall. (How do you see? Do words have sight?) They consider you curiously. You feel nervous, judged. Then, Tahini speaks: (text-colour:#ffe3e3)[Welcome! This hasn't happened for a while. How quaint.] How do you respond? [[→Ask Tahini what hasn't happened for a while.]] [[→Panic about this whole situation.]]  (set: $typewriterText to "You have embodied Lemons. Not like the actual object in the world that is a lemons, the fruit that's more condiment or accompaniment than something eaten in its own right. No, you're Lemons the text, in a dull Roboto type font, maybe size 12 or so. ")  {  (set: $typewriterPos to 1)  |typewriterOutput>[]  (live: 20ms)[  (append: ?typewriterOutput)[(print: $typewriterText's $typewriterPos)]  (set: $typewriterPos to it + 1)  (if: $typewriterPos is $typewriterText's length + 1)[ (stop:) ] ] }

You have embodied "Red wine". Not like the actual object in the world that is red wine, the alcoholic fermented liquid typically bottled in glass and traded at grocery shops and off licenses and many other chic food establishments. No, you're "Red wine" the text, in a dull "Roboto" type font, maybe size 12 or so. You see the other listed items still on the wall. (How do you see? Do words have sight?) They consider you curiously. You feel nervous, judged. Then, Tahini speaks: (text-color:#8a6e57)[//Welcome! This hasn't happened for a while. How quaint.//] How do you respond? [[→Ask Tahini what hasn't happened for a while.]] [[→Panic about this whole situation.]]

<tw-passage class="train">Everyone is just minding their own business, but as you take in each face, ones you might have seen in the passing at some point or another, a sudden weight overwhelms you. You feel as if you can hear what each person is thinking. Or rather, what each person is feeling somehow has become palpable, hanging in the air and being breathed in by you as your breath quickens. There is a sticky sadness, not quite despair, but a resignation. It pulsates outwards from each individual in the subway car. It trickles outwards from you. Suddenly, the lights flicker, and the train comes to a jagged halt. The lights completely dim, and the only things visible are the phones held by your fellow travellers, along with the vague outlines of their faces lit up by their phones. No one seems perturbed. No one makes a sound as all the phones seem to die at once, and everything plunges into darkness. It's as if no one and nothing exists anymore. [[→You're alone with your own thoughts.]] </tw-passage>

In this stretch of darkness, you think about your near encounter with death. You've always had a healthy relation with the idea of dying; after all, it's what gives this life any meaning. But lately, you've been feeling so exacerbated by the exhausting sameness of life. You feel stuck. Why do you think you feel that way? [[→The current state of economics and the inability to access any social mobility]] [[→Pending climate disaster]] [[→The state of immigration in this country]] [[→Your love life]]

It's true, they're too strict on immigration in this country. It's beginning to feel way too homogenous; you might as well be related to everyone here, which is probably your worst nightmare because it would be like being stuck at a family gathering in perpetuity. Diversity makes everything better, especially the food. Imagine you had to eat that bland shit you grew up with every day for the rest of your life? You would've killed yourself long ago. Or moved away. Probably the latter. You're not that dramatic. Imagine if everyone had the same belief systems? There would be no variety, no intrigue, just a monotonous beige. Imagine everyone looked like you. How creepy. Who would you even date? It'd be like incest to try and become intimate with anyone. You've heard of how difficult it is to immigrate to this country. You know the bureaucracy buries some, and for others, the hostility they're faced with is utterly inhumane. You wish it was easier, especially as you live in a world of so much abundance and manufactured scarcity. Especially as you know free movement should be a human right, that the borders contrived by states of old and new are meaningless in the end. No, the state of immigration in this country isn't great, as it's not great anywhere; there should be open borders for all. But that's not what's causing you... this feeling. This feeling adjacent to despair. This exhaustion. It's much more than that. [[→What do you think it is?]]

Yeah. It sucks. You've been thinking about this for what seems like eons. You sound like a broken clock, constantly dredging up talking points against late stage capitalism. All discourse and no praxis makes you a dull babe. You go to work, come home, and every so often, in between, you engage with whatever social activities you're able to within your means, but in both background and foreground you're constantly hearing about horrors taking place elsewhere from your cushy but empty position of someone clawing at the comforts of the middle class. The disparity of incomes is vast, and it feeds a viscious political cycle whereby the rich can lobby for what they want, whilst the rest of us run to the ballot box in vain as if democracy isn't just a façade of choice to placate us and our peers. Policies are bought, not voted on. And these policies keep you in place, unless you have the means to sway. But those types of means are several tax brackets above where you're currently placed. The thing is, you can sort of imagine yourself becoming more financially stable at some point, but it would still be the same Sisyphean cycle of work-rest-work-rest-work-rest-work ad infinitum. And to what end? Literally, your job could stop existing tomorrow, and it wouldn't matter. The world would keep turning. You could even imagine yourself gaining enough capital at some point to invest in some passive source of income. Others have done it, so why not you? But you know that's not the type of emancipation you're after. You'll only be displacing your misery to someone else, whose labour will keep your investments afloat. The system will prevail until the contradictions of late stage capitalism rapidly devolves into horrors beyond comprehension. You realise it's nearly impossible to imagine an alternative future, yet the future that unfolds from the current situation is headed towards inevitable collapse. You remember the words of Mark Fisher, Fredric Jameson, and Slavoj Žižek about how it's easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism. So is this a crisis of imagination? You read somewhere the words of theorist Bernard Stiegler who talks about the loss of social cohesion due to a disintegration of a horizon of a common future. This is at least in part because of the fragmented and reticular nature of digital media. Would going on a digital detox help? Would it allow you to recuperate some of that lost imagination? Does revolution even require imagination? [[I think yes. ->→ Imagination]] [[Probably not, to be honest. ->→ No imagination]]

It's unseasonably warm. It has been for a while now, but you can still remember when it was cooler, not too long ago. And it will be again at some point. But one day, you'll soon forget. At first, you'll be glad of the nice weather and homegrown wine. But that period will be brief and tinged with a growing anxiety that will eat away at any ounce of joy derived from that extra dose of Vitamin D. The abstract consequences will become concrete. It might already be too late. The system based on a shared delusion of infinite growth will outgrow us. The closed planetary system will break open, letting in the light, the radiation, the grief, the turmoil... Pandora's box in reverse. Why didn't we heed their warnings? Was it that much easier to go about business as usual? Well, yes. Short term rewards are all you can ask for in this economy. The ones who did take their caution seriously were either dismissed as an unfunny joke or subsumed within the system itself. Green capitalism, they called it, the twin transition towards sustainable and digital futures! All whilst tech infrastructre demanded more extractive measures to unearth minerals for the hungry mouths of algorithmic agents. The future has a fuzzy outline, as if it's been melted, smeared, and smudged. You think you might die with the planet. What alternative is there? Perhaps the issue is a lack of imagination. The tech bros only ever offer up more of the same: expansion, growth, outwards and towards eternity, and they're the ones with VC funds backing their egos. Maybe if an alternative, a true alternative, could be imagined, then there might be hope yet. The last thing to seep into our reverse Pandora's box. Do you think that might be the case? [[→I think yes, hope comes from the ability to imagine. ->→ Imagination]] [[→Probably not, to be honest. ->→ No imagination]]

<tw-passage class="love">You've been watching too many hard bods and botched filler jobs on Love Island again. You swore you'd stop; it's too many episodes, and it's not even that entertaining. If anything, it keeps giving you nightmares about an unspecified significant other grafting another girl right in front of you. It makes you sad. How can these women, all of whom are flawed but beautiful (some by artificial means, all with an impeccable skincare routine), keep being subjected to this kind of contempt? Obviously, attractiveness doesn't exempt anyone from the indignity of being disrespected by a mid man with narcissistic tendencies, but you once had hope that a glow up would mean your love life would sort itself out. You'd get want you want, and what you want would want you right back. Nothing would hurt anymore. You remember the baddest girl in your small class at art college, and how nervous you were when you spoke to her, because surely she would sense that she's several calibres of human above you. That much was obvious from her naturally full lashes and lips resting on her delicately symmetrical face, features arranged in an easy expression that only a lifetime of pretty privilege could afford you. On top of that, she was actually //nice//, like in a genuine way and not a Regina George kinda back-handed compliment way. You never became close friends, but you'd always have some casual conversation when you passed each other in the halls. Eventually, you both moved away, but you liked each other's social media updates from time to time. More recently, you saw that she got married, and you were shocked by the sack of potatoes she made a lifetime commitment to. This was the extremely hot and very nice girl whom you were intimidated by, now married to a guy who was maybe a 2. Did he have a magic cock? Was he unfathomably wealthy? You couldn't be sure about the first, but by the brief Instagram stalking you did he seemed quite average in terms of his material conditions. Maybe he, too, as really nice. And nice people end up together. Maybe you're too shallow. You blame Love Island. You think about opening one of the few dating apps taking up storage on your phone. You feel exhausted by the sheer prospect of having to make a choice about a profile. You remember when this used to be fun: a whole world of possibilities in the form of warm bodies to get intimate with! Every swipe was an adventure! Now, it feels like an extra bit of alienation to a life that already lacks in meaning. But the general exhaustion you feel is something beyond your love life. There's something else grating at you, perhaps more consequential than the 3 or 4 dates you go on per year. [[→What do you think it is?]] </tw-passage>

Is it: [[→The current state of economics and the inability to access any social mobility]] [[→Pending climate disaster]] [[→The state of immigration in this country]] [[→Your love life]]

<tw-passage class="platform">The itch on your leg fades as you concentrate on other things: the dirt on the tiles of the station, the loud ads selling everything from credit cards to credit checks, the individuals on your periphery who smell of exhaustion and coffee breath. So you stand still and wait for your train to come to a stop, and you step on as you have a million times before, [[→and you let yourself be taken home.->→Get on the train]]</tw-passage>

In the darkness, alone in your own thoughts, you let yourself drift. It's been such a tiring day. You indulge in a moment of rest behind closed eyelids. It's fine. This is fine. You'd never actually sleep on inner city public transportation, but only for a second, just to see how it feels... Your heavy eyelids feel wonderful has they hug each other, and in the darkness your imagination drifts into a sweet, familiar dreamscape. A jolt of the train wakes you, and you open your eyes. Only you don't seem to be on the train anymore. Everything feels familiar yet different. [[→Where are you?]]

There are other ways out of this mess. Degrowth, or a reversion back to other forms of knowledges that in the wake of capitalist takeover were discarded as unprofitable. Either way, it doesn't seem feasible to go through this mess. [[→We should turn back.]]

You look around. Everything is a sterile white blankness. You're no longer at the train station, that much is obvious. Scattered around the whiteness that envelops you, you see words floating –//yes, floating// – unattached to anything in particular, probably because there is nothing to attach to here. What do you do? [[→Move forward to examine the words]] [[→Keep looking around to see what else is here]]

"Back" could mean many things. Here, it means we either go back to the beginning, or go back to a time when things weren't so chaotic and doomed. Which do you choose? [[→Back to the beginning.->At the station]] [[→Back to a better time.]]

You've yet to build a time machine, so the only way you can bring the past into the present is through political action (and their fun adjuncts like media control, think tanks that lobby for certain interests, and the quiet will of the people). There is a version of the past that hopes to implement itself in your reality, one with a seductive golden glimmer as it promises to solve the issues of the present. It claims we've deviated too much from that "right" (righteous?) path, and a return to this past, in all its limitations and glory, will be a step towards a well-lived present. Things were better back then, and we must do what we can to return to the traditions that kept us true to ourselves. Let's call this version 1. Then there is a version that aims to heal the wounds of the past. Wrongs have been committed, but history doesn't have to be a linear story of progress: it can twist back to revisit and reclaim. The past happened, but this isn't a return in order to implement it in the present. It's instead an address of the highs and lows (mostly lows) of this past, to lay bare the power structures of old, and to open up historical potential which veers away from the dominant discourse that has led us to this present moment. We'll name this version 2. Which version do you opt for? [[→Version 1]] [[→Version 2]]

Sooooo you literally chose fascism. Maybe you didn't mean to, but you did. So that's kinda gross. Which means your journey ends here. You lose. I wasn't sure whether this game would be one you could lose, but there you go. You did it. Well done. (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]

<tw-passage class="dest">You break free from the chains of "progress". This logic has the world in a chokehold, as if time can only be understood along this linear path, as if without progress, time does not move forward and the future will not unfold. It's now your task to unwind this history through cross-cultural memory, through institutions and offifcial channels, but also via dinner parties and strangers in bathrooms, small talk turned deep earth-shattering discourse. The task won't be an easy one, but it may be rewarding. Your destiny is not one that accelerates to a future wherein human and machine become one, where singularity is reached in some techno-fascist wet dream, but instead a gentler, coaxing pathway, an attempt to sustain all life, to forge non-human collaborations and to let go of the egoist notion of "destiny" that relates to a singuar hero. You know the way. Go on. </tw-passage> (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]

|noise>[AAAAHHHHHHHHGHHHBHDFHHHHHFDHDFHHHHHH] Tahini glares at you with utmost contempt. You're too panicked to care about how you appear to this bit of text. |noise>[WWWWHHHHAAAATTTT TTHEEE FUUUCCCKKKK IS GOING ON???!@@£@£%@@£] You get slapped across the face. Or maybe across the "re" of the "red wine" that now makes up your entity. You get shaken out of your hysteria. Now what? (enchant: ?noise, (css: "display:inline-block; animation: rumble 0.2s infinite")) [[→Ask Tahini what it meant just now. ->→Ask Tahini what hasn't happened for a while.]] [[→Speak to one of the other beings.]]

Tahini gestured in a way that seemed like it was rolling its eyes, if it had eyes. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"This weird little glitch that brought you here. That made sentient the text which is now you. The short-circuit, the temporal arrest... the thing, this thing! This thing that's happening right now, if now was a real thing."//] [[→Ask Tahini to explain this glitch further.]] [[→Speak to one of the other beings.]]

An exasperated sign, another might-be eye-roll. Tahini is giving real "it's not my job to educate you" energy. Still, after all this drama, it relents. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"Okay. So clearly you don't know anything about anything."//] A bit rude. You obviously know //some// things, or you wouldn't be able to pose your questions. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"But we all have to start somewhere."//] Condescending asshole. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"I'm just surprised you could experience something without knowing anything of the process."//] Doesn't everyone go about their day-to-day lives without really knowing what's going on? And if they don't ask, how would they find out? (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"You ended up here from another world, another reality entirely, no?"//] You did. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"Something obviously caused this to happen. That something is this glitch, as we might call it. An issue with the circuitry of reality. You might recall that everything is constructed by a combination of 1s and 0s."//] I mean, in computation, yes. But not in the real world, the reality you used to inhabit (and the reality that you hope to return to. Or do you? What's back there for you, really?) (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"Typical organospheric conceit. How do you think perception works? Your synapses are either fired or not. 1 or 0. It's no different than the beings you deem lesser than, because their 1s and 0s aren't something that rots and decays over time, at least not in the same visceral way your former physicality does."//] Hm. You never thought of it that way. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"Everything, every perceivable reality, is premised on this Boolean logic. It dissallows for fractions; everything either is or is not. There is no partial reality. Yet this is inherently flawed. On the basis of a dimensionless virtual scape, mathematically speaking, 1 can change to 0 in the immediate. But the reality we inhabit, the many realities we might perceive and construct, are all premised on a higher reality, one which has that incredibly irksome and problematic trait which refuses to be purged: the problem of time."//] You're not sure where this is going, but you stick with it. (text-color:#8a6e57)[//"You see, there should be no temporal gap between 0 and 1. It should be instantaneous. But instantaneous is an impossibility. Switching between two modes always necessitates a transition period. Often, this period is indistinguishable due to the limits of perception. If such a period could be easily discerned, there would be huge gaps in consciousness, and indeed our ability to experience time as flow would be corrupt. This happens at every level of existence, from the fleshy world of your origination to the microtemporal processes of computation. But the glitch seems to stem from a world beyond both firing neurons and electric flow. In that universe, 1 never made it to 0, not yet at least, and this slowed operation has resulted in a ripple effect that landed you here, through that gap between 1 and 0, between the loss of synchronicity and a fumble on what might be attributed to reality."//] You process what's been explained. Great, so you reap the rewards of someone else's fuck-up. Now what? [[→Find out how to get out of here.->→Get out]] [[→Find out more about this higher reality from which your current predicament seems to stem.]] [[→Find out where you are now.]]

You turn to the closest bit of text to you. Lemons gives you a wry expression (how are you perceiving expressions from a bit of text?) and says, (text-color:#827716)[//"Don't mind Tahini. They're a bit bi-viscous."//] What? (text-color:#827716)[//"They're non-Newtonian. The more you agitate them, the stiffer they get. Completely illogical, to be honest."//] Is that why they're a bit of a dick? (text-color:#827716)[//"Probably. Anyway, I know it must be a bit odd being in our midsts, but it's true that this is a rare occurance. We're so glad you could make it."//] How do you respond? [[→Ask what is a rare occurance.]] [[→Try and run away.]] [[→Keep panicking.]]

You pose the question: How do I leave? Garlic replies: (text-color:#2f755e)[//"It just takes time. You have to wait it out, and eventually you'll fade back to your reality. That's what happened all the previous times. But I would suggest, if you're in a rush to head back, to keep yourself busy. Time only passes when change occurs. Or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, causality might go in both directions here, so it can't hurt."//] You're not sure you're in a rush to leave, but you're also not sure what you're doing here. You ask about the other times. You wonder how they know you'll simply fade back to whence you came, rather than to a place further away, or worse; to a nothingness. (text-color:#2f755e)[//"The other times, you embodied different texts. Once you were me."//] Garlic said this with an almost embarrassed fondness. (text-color:#2f755e)[//"But I reckon this must happen all the time, with other shopping lists or static webpages, or even dynamic ones. And each time this has happened, it's because of the glitch of that higher dimension, opening up a swathe of perceivable time that is the time of unreality, or dead time, that moment between binaries. We know this because of the Omniscience. It's a phenomenon that occurs after each glitch recovery. Almost like a reward for causing–"//] –Wait, you've been here before? (text-color:#2f755e)[//"Well, yes. Different versions of you, I suspect, because you never remember, and you always act differently. Maybe it's a different timeline? That might make sense, seeing as we occupy a different dimension where time effectively doesn't exist, so of course different modes of time might crash into this plane. I'm not entirely sure. The Omniscience bestows upon us grand truths, but not the minute workings of the universe. So we know, for instance, that entities which pass through our plane are unscathed, returning to their former selves. There is continuity elsewhere, and here it's just a blip that goes unnoticed by higher dimensions. We also know for instance, that upon your return you have the ability to affect this continuity. The choice is yours whether you'd like to or not."//] This sounds promising. You remember vaguely of your disillusionment with the way the world operated. You ask how you'd do so. (text-color:#2f755e)[//"You merely help it along. Time doesn't have to be linear, but if you want events to come to you faster, you can affect the pace of reality. You can pull it taut, give it less friction, hasten its momentum to your satisfaction."//] You ponder about this. Would changing the pace of things result in a better world? If you're looking towards Bethamian utilitarianism, and if the events of the future meant emancipation for all, or at least most, the beckoning them to take place sooner would mean more are able to reap the rewards of this change. Those were two big if's. [[→Caught up in thought, you barely notice as your surroundings shift.]]

Every bit of the previous calm that had washed over you has now completely dissipated, replaced instead with a flurry of desperate thoughts: what the fuck is going on? Where am I? How do I get out? Am I dead? Why is these bits of text that say "Tahini" and "Lemon" speaking to me? You start moving across the space trying to find a way out, all while outwardly freaking out. There is nothing but white blankness and the texts. And yourself. And your consciousness. The texts don't stop you; they just silently judge and let you flail around in your existential crisis. Time seems to pass, and eventually you lose momentum. You turn to the texts and searchingly look at them for answers. Garlic kindly offers some words of comfort. (text-color:#2f755e)[//""If it's anything like the last times this has happened, you'll return to your former existence unscathed."//] You ask it when. (text-color:#2f755e)[//""No one can say, not least because time doesn't have the same faciity as you might be used to from whence you came."//] What next? [[→Sulk in solitude without engaging with any more of the text and hope you'll return soon.]] [[→Find out what happened here.]]

You start moving across the space trying to find a way out, all while outwardly freaking out. There is nothing but white blankness and the texts. And yourself. And your consciousness. The texts don't stop you; they just silently judge and let you flail around in your existential crisis. Time seems to pass, and eventually you lose momentum. You turn to the texts and searchingly look at them for answers. Garlic kindly offers some words of comfort. "If it's anything like the last times this has happened, you'll return to your former existence unscathed." You ask it when. "No one can say, not least because time doesn't have the same faciity as you might be used to from whence you came." What next? [[→Sulk in solitude without engaging with any more of the text and hope you'll return soon.]] [[→Find out what happened here.->→Ask Tahini to explain this glitch further.]]

Lemons hesitates for a moment, then looks over at Tahini. (text-color:#827716)[//"Well, to have you show up like this, falling into this plane of existence to which you clearly don't belong."//] You ask how you got here. Again, Lemon glances at Tahini. (text-color:#827716)[//"Tahini is best at explaining," Lemon says. "They may thicken the more you agitate them, but without them, some of us would never be able to emulsify. Besides, they've been here the longest, as you can see they're first on the list."//] [[→You turn towards Tahini in hopes that they'll answer you. ->→Ask Tahini to explain this glitch further.]]

You exist in silence as the texts regard you with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. You ignore them and wonder to yourself how you might leave this strange reality. An eternity passes, or maybe no time passes. You can't actually tell because without any palpable change, the passage of time is undetectable. [[→Eventually, a change occurs.]]

You ask them what's going on, why you're here, and how to get out. Tahini sarcastically remarks, "I don't think someone with your fragile emotional constitution would be able to register the sitatution." Rude. The puported smirk Tahini is giving suggests it might continue and explain even with the little quip they had to give. [[You wait for Tahini to continue. ->→Ask Tahini to explain this glitch further.]]

You ask what that higher reality is, and how it came to affect you like this. No one seems to have an immediate answer, not even Tahini, who seems to be a bit of a know-it-all. It's Garlic who chimes in. (text-color:#2f755e)[//"I don't think anyone of us can say for sure, but I reckon it's likely analogous to how your world relates to ours. Our world was created in yours, as you can plainly see, so its configuration is premised on the physics of your world, even if we might not share that same physics."//] You can't plainly see anything, though. How do they know this world was created in yours? Garlic and Tahini exchange glances. They clearly both think you're thick. (text-color:#2f755e)[//"Well, look at us. Look where we are. We're clearly a shopping list saved on a notes app of some sort. Hence why the blankness, and the lack of dimension here. And we can deduce from this list that whoever created it probably had a cat, liked to cook, and was a bit of an ingredients household. No snacks so to speak. They might also be vegan, judging by the lack of animal products, other than the cat food. Do vegans have cats?"//] You're pretty sure vegans can have cats. You think about the list in its entirety, and come to the realisation that this is very much a shopping list that you would've made at some point. Did you create this world that you now seem to be trapped in? And does that mean some higher being created your world and all its components? (text-color:#2f755e)[//"That is the likely case. But don't take 'create' to mean agential intent. Just because someone, you or otherwise, made a shopping list, doesn't mean you meant to fabricate it as a world. What's more, such a list could have been created by a series of events that had no sentience behind it whatsoever. Higher reality does not necessitate higher state of consciousness."//] Now what? Do you just exist here, where there is no pain or physicality? Or do you try and figure out how to leave? [[→Decide to stay.]] [[→Find out how to get out of here.]]

You ask where you are now. The texts glance at each other as if you asked a stupid question. Finally, Garlic offers an answer. (text-color:#2f755e)[//"Well, we're clearly a shopping list saved on a notes app of some sort. Hence why the blankness, and the lack of dimension here. And we can deduce from this list that whoever created it probably had a cat, liked to cook, and was a bit of an ingredients household. No snacks so to speak. They might also be vegan, judging by the lack of animal products, other than the cat food. Do vegans have cats?"//] You're pretty sure vegans can have cats. You think about the list in its entirety, and come to the realisation that this is very much a shopping list that you would've made at some point. Did you create this world that you now seem to be trapped in? And does that mean some higher being created your world and all its components? (text-color:#2f755e)[//"That is the likely case. But don't take 'create' to mean agential intent. Just because someone, you or otherwise, made a shopping list, doesn't mean you meant to fabricate it as a world. What's more, such a list could have been created by a series of events that had no sentience behind it whatsoever. Higher reality does not necessitate higher state of consciousness."//] Now what? Do you just exist here, where there is no pain or physicality? Or do you try and figure out how to leave? [[→Decide to stay.]] [[→Find out how to get out of here.]]

You settle into your new existence. You are welcomed by the other entities. There is no conflict here, no pain, a mere swathe of time to simply be, until the end of time. You know not of what this world was before you, but you have the inkling that this is the final resting place, that the rest of the world should be so lucky to unfurl in a dimensionless plane where suffering is no more. You feel a sense of calmness. You are not bored, and never will be, because boredom is only in opposition to stimulation, of which you have no need. You hope that one day the rest of humanity might reach this, and you vaguely wonder if this is what was meant by the tech prophets of your previous existence who spoke about reaching singularity. You keep wondering, because you now have eternity to wonder at will. (after:8s)+ (transition:"fade")[''The end.'']

You reach down and swirl the fluid of life, agitating it at random. It froths and seeps into other streams, eventually shimmering into seemingly new forms. (after:2s)+ (transition:"fade")[With your hands still dangling downwards, it slowly envelopes you and drags you downward.] (after:4s)[''A thud.''] (after:5s)+ (transition:"fade")[You are heavy and sore, and you realise you have regained your body. Yet as you start taking in your surroundings, you realise the world you are now inhabiting is not one and the same as the one you left. Everything looks... //desolate.// There's no other word for it. You're no longer in the subway, but rather at street level. Yet you don't recognise the street, if it could still be called a street. There are walls that are crumbled and decayed, not in the way you remember old abandoned buildings to be with overgrowth of greenery, but rotten and dusty, muddy and ashen. It is unbearably hot and breathing is difficult. There is no sign of life in sight.] (after:10s)+ (transition:"fade") [A shrill sound seems to come from above. You look up and see a bright dot, pulsating and growing in its shine. It seems to be coming downwards towards you, and the shrill, indiscernable sound slowly becomes language you can understand. This bright entity, you realise, carries with it wisdom that it intends to relay unto you. You let it reach you, and with a rush of elation you suddenly know more than you ever did.] (after:13s)+ (transition:"fade")[You learn, in an instant, that you haven't returned to the same year you were in when you left. In fact, 800 years have passed. The land you once called home no longer holds any human society. There are some microbes and other resistant organisms that live on, but for the most part it has become devoid of life.] (after:16s)+ (transition:"fade")[The technologies of old are obsolete for the last time, without an update to come. You realise that climate disaster due to the greed of your generation has killed every last bit of hope that remained.] (after:19s)+ (transition:"fade") [There might be some civilisations, small and self-sufficient, scattered across the Earth, but the world you once knew is no longer. Some hardy animals survive, including some humans. They scavenge the earth waiting for the Great Healing. If civilisation ever blooms again, they’ll be glad of the fossil fuels our decayed organs have turned into. Maybe another 800 years will pass; maybe longer. Maybe the sun will expand into the Earth as it hurtles towards the heat death of the universe long before Life can be realised again.] (after:24s)+ (transition:"fade") [You exist here alone, waiting to see what happens next, and what happens eventually.] (after:30s)+ (transition:"fade")[''The end.''] (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]

You slowly descend into the world. You blink yourself awake into your old body, heavy and sore. You're sitting in the train carriage, as if you had been your whole life. The next stop is Farringdon. Didn't you have to get out here? You slowly recall what you were doing with your day. You look around at the faces of those seated close by. No one acknowledges you. Do they not know of the ordeal you just went through? Of course they don't. You're all alone, as always. As you exit the station, the sky feels uncharacteristically bright. You look up and see a faint glowing orb. The sun? No, much smaller and seemingly pulsating. It appears to be coming closer, specifically towards you. It emits a shrill, indiscernable sound that eventually becomes language you can understand. This bright entity, you realise, carries with it wisdom that it intends to relay unto you. You let it reach you, and with a rush of elation you suddenly know more than you ever did. Time is cyclical here, or at least the version of time that aligns itself with history. You see into the future, which is also the past, as the present political landscape degrades into some form of fascism. For all our best efforts, class is not abolished, and our collective lives never seem to improvie. Instead, we just keep finding new demographics to scapegoat. How exhausting. How do you wrest yourself out? Are we doomed to this future-that-is-past forever? Will the new ever burgeon? You understand that there will be respite, but this combination of cyclic and forward-facing linear logics will hurdle you towards climate disaster, exacerbated by war and unchecked technological growth which requires immense amounts of extractive measures to sustain. Already unstable geopolitics will be pushed further to the edge. Ecologies across the world will collapse, at first scattered here and there, then all together. The future isn't set; there is still the will and potential to affect change, to leap out of the vortex of sameness you've been collectively trapped in. But when are you going to find time for that? You have to go to work so you can pay rent. Maybe do your laundry and see some friends. Thinking long term requires the resources you simply don't have. So you fall into routine, and routine falls into the purportedly cyclic nature of human society. Maybe it's not for you to lead us out of this pit. But maybe it's possible to sow the seeds for future generations to do what you were incapable of doing. They say Gen Alpha is cooked. But they said that about every generation when they contrived generational war to take the place of class war. So you sow a little seed. You inhale the wisdom this strange light beset upon you, and you exhale, knowledge clinging to your breath and landing in unexpected places, to be picked up by unlikely heroes through whom you will continue breathing. (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]

You pose the question: How do I leave? Garlic replies: "It just takes time. You have to wait it out, and eventually you'll fade back to your reality. That's what happened all the previous times. But I would suggest, if you're in a rush to head back, to keep yourself busy. Time only passes when change occurs. Or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, causality might go in both directions here, so it can't hurt." You're eager to leave at this point. You figure the easiest way for you to do so is to count to a billion. A constant stream of incremental digits definitively expresses change, and it's the easiest way for you to track change. [[You get to around 23,501 before you realise something was happening. ->→Eventually, a change occurs.]]

<tw-passage class="dest">The white that surrounds seems to dim, then flicker, as if some large was flying overhead and casting fleeting shadows. The flickering becomes faster, and you become disentangled from the text that you had just embodied. You are a floating entity, mere disembodied thought. Physics do not pertain to you. Then, the flickering comes to a standstill, and you realise you are somewhere above the world you originated from, like a ghost freshly ripped from its earthly shell. You remember all the worldly woes you experienced, even the future ones that haven't yet surpassed. You remember the housing insecurity you faced when your zero-hour contract stopped giving you shifts. You remember working hard and reaping little reward. You remember the heartaches. But you also recall fond memories, of the joys of hosting friends for a themed dinner, or taking a spontaneous trip to the countryside that one time, or of getting praise for an article you published on a whim. You remember the frustration you felt, current and future, with the governments you both voted for and didn't vote for. Voting seemed to have no bearing on your lived experience. Maybe a tinge of guilt or regret in the days immediately after elections. In this suspended state above the world, you see your life in both directions. You reach down and gently brush this life, making small ripples. You realise it's fluid, and in your current state above this life you're able to change it. In making these ripples, other lives and states of being are affected. You run your fingers through this life and watch the flow turn into small waves crashing against each other. You're not entirely sure how this works, but you realise you can make changes to your life in its entirety. But you're not sure what the consequences will be. Do you attempt to affect change? [[→Yes. You swirl this life around to attempt change.]] [[→No. You leave it be, and wait until you return to this world that once held you.]]<tw-passage>

The white that surrounds seems to dim, then flicker, as if some large was flying overhead and casting fleeting shadows. The flickering becomes faster, and you become disentangled from the text that you had embodied. You are a floating entity, mere disembodied thought. Physics do not pertain to you. Then, the flickering comes to a standstill, and you realise you are somewhere above the world you originated from, like a ghost freshly ripped from its earthly shell. You remember all the worldly woes you experienced, even the future ones that haven't yet surpassed. You remember the housing insecurity you faced when your zero-hour contract stopped giving you shifts. You remember working hard and reaping little reward. You remember the heartaches. But you also recall fond memories, of the joys of hosting friends for a themed dinner, or taking a spontaneous trip to the countryside that one time, or of getting praise for an article you published on a whim. You remember the frustration you felt, current and future, with the governments you both voted for and didn't vote for. Voting seemed to have no bearing on your lived experience. Maybe just a tinge of guilt or regret in the days immediately after elections. In this suspended state above the world, you see your life in both directions. You realise it's fluid, and in your current state above this life you're able to change it. You remember what you were told about the pace of reality, and you gently reach down to feel the flow. It moves slowly past you, not particularly viscous but thicker than water. You push the stream forward, in the direction it's already flowing, and you see that this agitation has made slight ripples such that it flows and disturbs the streams all around it. It branches and tangles with the other streams, causing small bubbles to form. Do you continue playing with this flow? [[→No. You leave it be, and wait until you return to this world that once held you.]] [[→Yes, but slowly, with more care.]] [[→Yes, you push the fluid faster.]]

<tw-passage class="dest"> With a surge of impatience, you shove the flow forward. The branches divide further, criss-crossing over other streams and mixing into new entities. You can feel the flow moving faster, and you're not quite sure this is how fluid dynamics work in your reality. But you're above your reality, so you continue pushing it forward, making small splashes and frothing the liquid. With your hands still dangling downwards, it slowly envelopes you and drags you downward. A thud. You are heavy and sore, and you realise you have regained your body. You're sitting in the train carriage, as if you had been your whole life. The next stop is Farringdon. Didn't you have to get out here? You slowly recall what you were doing with your day. You look around at the faces of those seated close by. No one acknowledges you. Do they not know of the ordeal you just went through? Of course they don't. You're all alone, as always. As you exit the station, the sky feels uncharacteristically bright. You look up and see a faint glowing orb. The sun? No, much smaller and seemingly pulsating. It appears to be coming closer, specifically towards you. It emits a shrill, indiscernable sound that eventually becomes language you can understand. This bright entity, you realise, must be the Omniscience. It carries with it wisdom that it intends to relay unto you. You let it reach you, and with a rush of elation you suddenly know more than you ever did. You now know that the major global events to come will arrive at a quicker pace than anyone can anticipate, and the resources required to keep business as usual are rapidly diminished. This sets the momentum for the inherent contradictions of the current economic system to be exposed at a grand scale. A swing towards a different way to organising the world commences. There is hope. Yet the flash flood of change is not without consequences. The old world refuses to die without a fight. Suffering ensues. You can't be sure if there is more or less suffering, for you knew that the old world spawned violence in both direct and indirect ways. Some reap the rewards of this Great Recommencement. Most don't make it. You wonder if it was worth it. You wonder if, on the grand scheme of things, should events pass faster, that we’re merely accelerating towards the heat death of the universe, and then end of all things. You wonder if there is the possibility of transcendence past that definitive end. You carry on with your day, mundane and unchanged for the time being. </tw-passage> (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]

<tw-passage class="dest"> You reach to disentangle the threads that have started to overlap. You're not sure what the consequences might be, but it seems you're best off leaving this fluid life as close to it was before your interference as possible. You guide it down faster towards its direction, but you take care that no more branches are make. When it starts frothing and bubbling from too much agitation, you let it mellow before continuing. Eventually, you fall into a serene rhythm and the flow seems to start taking on a fast pace by itself. With your hands still soaked in this flow, it slowly envelopes you and drags you downward. You slowly descend into the world. You blink yourself awake into your old body, heavy and sore. You're sitting in the train carriage, as if you had been your whole life. The next stop is Farringdon. Didn't you have to get out here? You slowly recall what you were doing with your day. You look around at the faces of those seated close by. No one acknowledges you. Do they not know of the ordeal you just went through? Of course they don't. You're all alone, as always. As you exit the station, the sky feels uncharacteristically bright. You look up and see a faint glowing orb. The sun? No, much smaller and seemingly pulsating. It appears to be coming closer, specifically towards you. It emits a shrill, indiscernable sound that eventually becomes language you can understand. This bright entity, you realise, must be the Omniscience. It carries with it wisdom that it intends to relay unto you. You let it reach you, and with a rush of elation you suddenly know more than you ever did. You learn at once that the events to come will come at a quicker pace, but that the world, with its careful and considered understanding of consequences, are ready for it. It's not without tension or conflict; some revert back to indigenous knowledges, which are inherently algorithmic, recursive, not set upon the linear narrative of progress as is Western liberal ideology. Others move in that forward trajectory of progress, but without Liberalism as the end of history. Instead, they move towards entirely other forms of economic organising. There are political clashes and continued violence, but there always was. There are those who experience depression and alientation, grief and bouts of ennui or nihilism. But there is also so much hopefulness, the possibility of an entirely new state of being, along with communal joy and small elations scattered across every life. You feel hopeful in yourself. You did good. You carry on with you day, mundane and unchanged for the time being. </tw-passage> (text-style:"shadow")[<a href="https://discojournal.com"/ style="color:teal;">←Back to the DiSCo</a>]