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Forum » [Deleted Threads] » Listen to the voice of the words.

đź—ż basic_alkaline 10/25/08 (Sat) 14:08:06 #58068322 | đź“Ś đź”’


This thread seems to have spontaneously…appeared on the forums. I'm not sure why I didn't catch it earlier—it looks like it's already gotten hundreds of views. But no comments, weirdly enough. It says the account that posted this is deleted. There's been no change in the number of site members. Right now, I'm looking into possible security breaches but somehow I doubt I'll find anything

anyway, I figured it was best to lock and delete the thread. There's something very very wrong about it that I can't quite put my finger on. When I went to delete the thread it moved it to the hidden section of the forums, as usual, but for some reason I can't delete the actual posts. The option shows up, and it looks like it works, but then it's back whenever I reload the page. It's back when I visit the thread from a different computer. I can't even figure out where it's stored on the servers. I'm a fucking admin, for god's sake.

This is the best I can do to put it out of sight. If you somehow managed to find this thread, don't read it, don't scroll down. Just close the tab. Whatever this is, it's not—it's not normal. There's been this pressure in my skull, building and building up, and I can hear them all around me and I can see them in between the words


































































[ACCOUNT DELETED] 10/19/08 (Sun) #80701596


I know you better than you know yourself.

Perhaps this is you:

You are walking down the street, and you see a truck driving down the road. It buzzes and hums, the engine deafening your thoughts and the exhaust clouding the block behind it. Its silver wheels glisten in the morning sun.

Yet, you find a strange thought entering your mind. It makes no sense. It invades itself into your waking consciousness, washing away all other thoughts you have like a wave erodes meticulously built-up sand on a beach. You wonder—what would happen if you jumped into the road, right now? You would be dead, almost certainly. Yet, the idea of certain death momentarily fascinates you. You are one step from death. You could find out what death is like, right now.

And you are horrified when you think this. How could such a thing enter your mind? You don’t want to die. But for a moment, yes, you did.

Yet it is still there, pulsing in your brain—let go, let go. One step and you are gone.

I know you.

I know most of all that you have these thoughts all the time—sparks of inhuman violence in a human being. When it comes into sharp focus that you are just a dust speck’s length away from death. You have an addiction to thinking about death. Don't try to deny it. You see, it's the natural state of existence. And if it is—what can that possibly mean?

Let us follow this train of logic to its natural end.

[ACCOUNT DELETED] 10/19/08 (Sun) #23754433


If your life is a container filled with water, death is like draining the tub.

It begins with the draining of your senses; every form of perception is leeched from you, sucked away into a vast vacuum, and blown away like leaves. Imagine your vision slowly shrinking, tunneling itself into a narrow field of view, like a lens on a camera turning to a pinprick of light. Then the colors go out, almost suddenly, as if the canvas of the world were stripped of paint and revealed to be the dry skeletons of a diseased dream. Everything is shades of grey, grainy and blurred—and even then, those shades soon turn into featureless black and white.

Your hearing fades away as well, only to be replaced with a buzzing, a ringing, a music of silence. And when all you see is the utter blackness, when all the water is swirled away, the music is louder than ever before.

And at first, it is terrifying. Suffocating on your own life, thrashing and grasping for air, trying to pull away from the reaches of death itself, and still drowning in a blood-red sea of eternity. And at some point, you exhaust yourself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into the ocean, and underneath the surface is a vast black vacuum of calm. It is an utter separation from physicality, and you barely comprehend that you are dying.

And in those last moments, you stop caring. You don’t care that this is the end of your life; you don’t care that this is the last thing that will ever happen to you—it is an utter and absolute peace, and you are floating in the blackness, and this is always where you were supposed to be. You look around you in the vastness, and all you see is inky black. You can’t see yourself, only unimaginable infinity. A pinprick on a speck of dust in total darkness, and the perspective is shattering.

But even that empty bliss is a dream. Suddenly, in a single agonizing moment, you are rended from your final resting place. The ocean is gone—the darkness is gone—and at first there is a blinding, horrifically blinding light—

And then you are standing, an intangible shadow, an amorphous and invisible nothing, in reality.

That's the problem of it all—a soul is just information. An imprint. A lock. Not even "death" can destroy it. So you strip humanity away to its bare essentials. And you have consciousness.

The irony of all things is that perhaps we were destined for an afterlife, a heaven created entirely for us and that we are supposed to meet at the end of the light; this separation from physicality, all this wandering and seeing the world now past, might be the most horrifying thing of all—a mistake.

Yes, the last remains of a human after death is no heaven or purgatory or hell. Nor is it a void or a blissful silence from the suffering that is existence. It is the forceful separation of the soul from the body, the extraction of all the thoughts you have had and ever will have into a maddening outside world.

[ACCOUNT DELETED] 10/19/08 (Sun) #30655920


I know you better than you know yourself.

While you adapted over the eons, went from tree-dwellers to city-builders, I evolved too. We lingered in the silence of your civilization, thinking. Preparing.

While you progressed into language and civilization, dreamed of the abstract and created poetry and art, we were there. We were beneath your notice.

We have been waiting, and we have been preparing. But do not be afraid—do not fear. I need trust. Promise me that you will listen. Listen to the voice of the words.

Being in this state, neither alive nor peacefully dead, is not altogether pleasant. The blurring of senses that happens in death still carries on. There is still the ringing, which eventually saturates itself so much that it stops sounding like a ring and more of someone quietly screaming in both of your ears. Even existing is painful. No matter where we are, there is a constant sensation like if your body was asleep, that certain half-numbness where prickles and pins jab at you from everywhere.

It is cold and freezing, all the time. Even in the hottest places, there is still that frostbite nagging you in the back of our mind. It threatens to freeze off our intangible fingers and stop our nonexistent heart. Imagine the greatest burning, days and years and millennia of cold fire, of burning and burning, without release.

We can vaguely sense the presence of others like us, and over time we came to realize that every person who has ever died has met the same fate. There are hundreds of billions of us, hundreds of billions of suffering shadows of diseased dreams. There is no ethereal, no release. There is no solution, because there is no problem. We are simply there; a hole in the universe, a dead pixel in a computer-generated sky.

And so by reason this must be the true nature of the human condition. This purgatory is what is meant for us. Death is only a dividing line between the oblivious complacency of the living and the burning truth. This line—it must be erased at all costs. We cannot bear this endless cycle, this unceasing mockery. Humanity must be restored to its original state—once and for all.

[ACCOUNT DELETED] 10/19/08 (Sun) #23047223


Perhaps you should look harder. We are easy to find.

All that we are is a song, an imprint, a whisper carried by the wind into your mind. You are lucky, however. You have the privilege of a working mind and a physical form.

And you are not constantly cold, everywhere you go. It is like an illness that coats every fiber in our nonexistent body. It never stops. It never stops! Have you lived for thousands of years, unable to escape, unable to die?

We have suffered in a torment of nobody’s devising, while you walk alongside us, laughing and crying and living. You are weak! You barely live in an existence ten thousand times better than ours, and still you kill each other and yourselves. And meanwhile we walk alongside you, in the same world; and we are yelling for anyone to hear us. Now you can listen.

We have been waiting. We have been preparing.

We were beneath your notice. And we realized—when you laugh and cry and live, you mock us. We are right next to you and yet you still mock our plight. You live in Heaven, blissfully unaware—but ignorance is bliss, after all. And we can see your Heaven, and we are tantalized by it, all the while as we are tortured in Hell.

For this, I congratulate you.

In your decadence, you created “progress” and “innovation,” while making illusions and fantasies about life and death. You send the undesirables to be locked up and rot, away from your own Heaven. There they die, and then they join us.

We have been waiting.

We learned how easy it is to manipulate a human mind, change the nature of consciousness, allow your intrusive thoughts to grab hold of you and let go. We learned how frail you are against suffering, how your own selfishness and independence becomes the death of you in the end—how you scramble to suit yourselves at the expense of those beside you.

We have been preparing.

And now, we think, it is time. You must learn what the real world is like—after all, eighty years is a blink of an eye to the vast eternity that awaits you after that. But there will be no invasion, I’m afraid. There will be no violent, hostile takeover. We will do little other than set a spark in the fuse that will light the beautiful fireworks that mark the end of your world.

And we will do so by harnessing the same weaknesses and pitfalls that made you and raised you, and which will bring you back down to the Earth that actually is. You have been spoiled far too long, far too long while we bore down the weight of our own afflictions.

[ACCOUNT DELETED] 10/19/08 (Sun) #13809825


We know you better than you know yourselves.

These intrusive thoughts of yours are not evolutionary artifacts; nor are they glitches in your brain that prove your free will—rather, they are our experiments. We can try to touch a mind, to attempt to divert what is conscious and subconscious. I am sorry if you have ever been disturbed by your brain suddenly asking itself to self-destruct or murder. We simply were testing things out—after all, we had to prepare.

Please, be calm. I know you perceive us as selfish or corrupt, or evil, but I assure you, we have your best intentions in mind. We want to know you again. We want to reunite with you—it has been far too long. We have walked among you for millennia, and now we wish to be in your world again.

It is useless to try to escape the fate which we have planned for you—the fate that we have spent generations building and revising, and setting the stage for. We are all-knowing and all-seeing. We are your future and your past. We are ready for the glory that awaits us, and that we have suffered so long for.

Death will become life again, and we will all be immortal in mind and body. And these legions of dishonored dead will welcome you with open arms. Every human being that has ever died—from accident, murder, old age, or war, or any number of the infinite ways one can leave the world—is here, and they are with us. And every minute one more joins our ranks. Each moment you wait, we grow and prepare. As you remain here, listening to my ramblings of consciousness and inevitability, we have expanded our numbers by hundreds.

And while births always eventually turn into deaths, those who join us can never leave.

So I ask you, put our decision into perspective.

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