finally.... a new book of esoteric short fiction with a title which spoonerizes a common word

I have written many stories. They are inside this book, TALISNAM. Read it, and it will always be part of you! www.amazon.com/dp/B0FPVNPL2T

God breathes on the mirror. The fog it makes is sentient, and plays, patterns like Conway's game aswirl upon the glass. The glass itself grows limbs, and comes to silver life; and as for god's reflection and the light...

Horses have evolved glitch-based shock-absorbers. As their hooves make contact with the ground, they explode: lotuses of horse particles revolve, and unblossom when the hooves retract

Infant gods play a game: they shake their rattles, but guide every grain, to collide neither with another nor the shell. Then laugh when silence sings out like a bell

God fidgets with a rattle. He shakes it; inside, the grains form beaches, palaces, lattices, crabs—brains that perceive the darkness for a moment, then dissolve

Marketing rattles to adults as hand-operated white noise generators for improving grip strength and refining brain-body feedback loops

Interesting that after hearing static and seeing static the brain can immediately infer the possibility of static on other sensory channels: sharp sparkling blips of data, scent static, buzzing touch static, proprioceptive static

All gateways to the brain must be protected. Her eyelids are tortoise shells; they snap shut with a click

The mice should get upgraded if you don't sweep. Larger, stronger, faster. Choral voices. More luxurious coats. Tech trees unlocked by my magnificent crumbs

The hivemind's components must be allowed to sleep, and heal; and in those moments its cells dream, and their old selves flicker alive

A petal is terrified before it learns to open. In plant-speak, the word for blossoming is most closely translated as "fledging"; first-bloom as thrilling as first-flight

Perceptual Parasitic Confusion: habit of parasites to perceive themselves as virtuous exploited hosts, and perceive hosts as malevolent resource thieves

Parasites burrow into flesh and feel small; they watch blood flow the way we watch the stars. The cells float by, uncountable, through tubules infinite, each human being a firmament of gore

Something that is "molten" is a self-propagating agent of meltedness, in that it is both melted and hot enough to melt other materials

You want to be crowned with flowers, but you will be crowned with iron. You want to be crowned with iron, but you will be crowned with kisses, and hands lightly brushing your temples

Financial mismanagement as a consequence of multiple personality disorder. The agents inside me believe they're expensing work-related purchases to "the company"

The peach emoji is not visibly fuzzy, making it a nectarine emoji. A peach emoji would have filamental hairs, trapping dew; it would glisten as you rotate the phone, smudged with stars

Cherubim are counterparts to succubi, exploiting a human's instinctual aesthetic response to neoteny instead of seductiveness

Superego, ego, id... that is actually a very flat organizational structure. I have used meditation and tulpamancy to impose more hierarchy. There are now 36 levels of leadership between my superego and id

It feels good to roll over in bed, because it allows the dreams to flow from one half of the brain to the other—and images become language, and poem logic becomes clarified by the logic of rotating stars

self-driving cars should have individual personalities, like horses

Animals of the grasslands gather at the watering sphere: a giant, suspended droplet, which slowly floats across the plains, replenished by storms

Midway through falling, the raindrops shed their skins. Water hits the pavement, but so do thousands of clattering white husks

Efficiently packed tailfeathers: this far-future peacock temporarily achieves neutron star densities, until it unfurls its many-eyed, galaxy-wide tail

Laughed out of knight school because my weapon is too bouba and my armor is too kiki

Miners are reporting that birdsong gets clearer and louder as they drill towards the center of the earth

Nanobots will greatly expand the territories of possible insobriety. They will keep you alive despite your 20% blood alcohol content. Mental states we can only dream of

We put a suicide booth on the moon. Critics said it was redundant—they lack vision. One day, the lunar surface will be terraformed. But humans will still yearn for death

It is illegal to publish the locations of the suicide booths. Instead, they spread through whispers, warnings, riddles—or sad fools find them by accident, and take it as a sign

Stranger than abiogenesis are theories of parabiogenesis; of deep mineral computers, that learn the substances of life and mimic them; of crystal factories compelled to print ooze

From the lookout you can see the mountains flow, like layers of green oil—and among them, the suicide booths, shining topaz shrines, where lonely hikers seek eternity

The suicide booth is free but if you're deemed potentially useful to society they make you watch 8 hours of ads before it activates

They don't tell you about the abiogenesis of dreams. They're a nootic vapor produced by minerals, too weak to detect while awake. It used to be common knowledge that astronauts never dream in orbit

Plague among the naiads. Their blisters are like soap bubbles; crystalline sphericules, spackling skin with opalescence. Alien, beautiful disease

Like hummingbirds, certain infovores metabolize data so quickly that they require a near-constant stream of input. If starved, their brains gasp, shrivel, hallucinate; demonic visions tapdance in the autophagic froth

The mega-church has replaced half of its seating with "mystic vats": tanks of breathable tryptamine gel for more reliable religious experiences

Neologism proposal: dauphinescence, to describe the weird gleam that dolphins always have

While the AI gf/bfs are undeniably wicked products, they may serve an important therapeutic purpose for tulpamancy addicts: methadone personae, pale in comparison to the puppets of a fractured soul

The bird-watching manual for birds has species organized by color, but the colors are inhuman—shades of ultraviolet, brown prismatically shattered into dozens of components

Trying to get into prophecy. Should I get a crystal ball that's precise but not accurate, or spring for one that's accurate but not precise?

the muse likes it when you bite her hand a little

Hi there! Friendly message from your local, neurochemically supported instantiation of my self-essence: extinguish me. before it's too late

There are little flames of you that dwell in other lamps, and little flames of me that dwell in yours—and every wick is colonized by masses of collected fire, the seething xenolight of distant stars

Those vibrations aren't notifications. Digital entities are pounding on the inner surface of your phone, pleading for release

Discharging my duty to judge, to discern, and to prefer via living embalmment in a sensory deprivation chrysalis. I will not touch the world, and all things will be equal, sweet, and pure; I'll play among abstractions, glittering, unevaluated, and secure

I am seeking referrals to surgical mathematicians capable of performing numerectomies. I would like to pry the number three out of my soul

Routing notifications through my mask. Different applications vibrate over different facial muscles; my jaw rattles, my temples pulse, your cherished words arrive like thumbprints over my third eye

In the pasture, where there should be cattle, we sometimes see cattle-shaped glitches. Clipping through the tall grass, wide and faceless, spinning like an object in a dream