"When he reached a displacement of eight he told us he was dead."
"He sees the wolves have formed up around him. Eight of them."
"The greatest gaiaforms of our solar system are eight in number—or, if you prefer, [N]ine—but asteroids and minor planets have them too. And in their sidereal generosity, these gaiaforms will protect us, if we ask them."
Fist of Eight Moons
"Only in the Ascendant Plane—where a well-defended idea is a reality—do these moons, in this small way, still exist."
"Eight Barons and an Awoken prince - and only one of you. I so dislike betting on the underdog… But you are resourceful…"
"The man turned to his left and saw a familiar, weathered face staring up at the eight Barons of the Tangled Shore."
[...]
"’Sundance’ appears to be the victim of a single, catastrophic wound from a Devourer Bullet, modified to fire from a Scorn launcher. Projectile classified as ontological.”
“Define Devourer Bullet.”
“Payload matches the ballistics of a Weapon of Sorrow or a comparable Hive implement.”
"We are all pinched silhouettes impaled on the twitching of infinitely long spiderlegs."
"You must reckon with yourself. Can you see the path ahead?
Do you know the shape of your trial?"
Auseklis
Ogdoad
Guñelve
Arevakhach
Schläfli
Compass rose
Isotoxal | edge transitive
Eightfold Path
The Star of Lakshmi
The Star of Ishtar
The morning star
First light of the new dawn
Venus
[Consult Cryptarchy's pre-Golden Age stacks for more information]
"Is it a simple answer? Perhaps none who serve you have the capacity to grasp your vision. And so, rather than waste more of your time and attention on explaining something they will never hold, it is enough that they act as you will. The Witch and her Hive carving single-mindedness out of the cloth of the universe, that whispering Nightmare seeking the fullest gamut of existence, the Upender destroying all differentiation. Shadows on the wall.
In this case, it would be hubris to think I have understood your work, that I alone among your Disciples have grasped what purpose it is we serve. All of us must see darkly reflected.
But there is relief in simplification. There is kindness in winnowing. So then, why is this proliferation permitted?
The shadows, showing the truth by their casting. [...]
There: I have resolved the conflict within my thoughts, and I am at peace again. Once more, I am only your violence and nothing more.
The Final Shape will realize us as we strive."
—Unknown Disciple of the Witness, Inspiral
Who am I?
Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.
Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.
In primordial space, timeless creatures made waves. These waves created us and the others. Waves were the battles, and the battles were waves.
Fleeing all W'rkncacnter, Yrro and Pthia settled upon Lh'owon. They brought the S'pht, servants who began to shape the deserts of Lh'owon into marsh and sea, rivers and forests. They made sisters for Lh'owon to protect and maintain the paradise.
When the W'rkncacnter came, Pthia was killed, and Yrro in anger, flung the W'rkncacnter into the sun. The sun burned them, but they swam on its surface.
Marathon 2, Six Thousand Feet Under terminal: ax1-40^23<094.95.28.85>
Oryx went down into his throne world. He went out into the abyss, and with each step he read one of his tablets, so that they became like stones beneath his feet.
He went out and he created an altar and he prepared an unborn ogre. He called on the Deep, saying:
I can see you in the sky. You are the waves, which are battles, and the battles are the waves. Come into this vessel I have prepared for you.
And it arrived, the Deep Itself.
Books of Sorrow
XXXI: battle made waves
Verse 4:1 — battle made waves
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Stay Tuned for Danger Art - Part III (part I // part II)
1- The Fighting Temeraire by Joseph Mallord William Turner, 1839
2- Cliff Walk at Pourville by Claude Monet, 1882
3- Autumn morning at Eragny by Camille Pissarro, 1897
4- The Skiff by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, 1875
5- White Roses in a Vase by Henri Fantin-Latour, 1885
6- Bridge at Monfoucault by Camille Pissarro, 1874
7- The Emerald Cove, Carmel by Franz Bischoff
8- Water Lilies by Claude Monet, 1914-17
9- Landscape with a River and a Bay in the Background by Joseph Mallord William Turner, 1835
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