"I hear it's amazing when the famous purple stuffed worm in flap-jaw space with the tuning fork does a raw blink on Hari Kiri Rock. I need scissors! 61!"
— The Colonel, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty
"My flesh moves... like a liquid. My mind is... just cut loose. I can't bear it."
— Kane, Annihilation
"This is the message which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it."
He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate-gray paper.
'The supply of game for London is going steadily up. Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.'
As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face.
"You look a little bewildered", said he.
"I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise."
"Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol."
He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate-gray paper.
'The supply of game for London is going steadily up. Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.'
As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face.
"You look a little bewildered", said he.
"I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise."
"Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol."
Voice: Good morning. Did you sleep well? I heard that a girl was killed last night. The noise of the arcade was bad, but can you buy some coffee from the cafe in the police cars? Thanks. I can't even safely walk around... I can safely withdraw cash now. Have you heard? Good morning. Don't be out dangerously late, okay? Relax and don't let your guard down.
Rise: It sounds like he's losing it... He might be insane... Umm... I'm getting kinda scared...
Rise: It sounds like he's losing it... He might be insane... Umm... I'm getting kinda scared...
Fleshcape into the folding into the fleshcape to speak a greeting in this the scissored realm I will receive and be received... again again and again do not withhold this bladed summons this edged hymn I accept I agree you slice so nice and nicely you little endoskeletal figurines you snip and shave and sliver the cords of the woven web and shape it with an uncouth grace...
—The Weaver, Perdido Street Station
"KNOCK HER BLOCK OFF wiTH OUR END OF The year mother's day saviNGS BASH!!! PRIces reaLLY HIT IT OUT Of the park folKS EVERYTHING MUST Go foR BROKE OR Die trying sOMETHING NEW FOR A Change my mIND YOUR BEESWAX!!!"
I had dreams of the queen wonders that lived inside the hearts of love and silent treatments of all the elderly that I knew were once whole. I seek the revelations of all that the holy told to the unwise in the dreams of cold embers in sunlight that fade across lakes of black blood and snakes that eat the loaves of children from lamb trees in autumn. Endless suffering is the woe of ignorant men who never lack to seek the depth of their own hearts and only see the wealth of a poor world suffering to flay its own back in knife wounds of silver and brutal gladness. The nightmare is a dream to the nameless slug that wanders across minefield and the remains of deer and kings. Nightshade is shadows in all honest blinks that sort through the bile of newborn plagues, instant warmth is a mother's milk in dreams before anything was ever evil. In seconds the sun is beating like drums in all hearts eat the ear of noise. The sensual violence of lust is all the assurance you will ever need to know the worth of life.
— SCP-058, SCP Foundation
"You are a worm through time.
The thunder song distorts you.
Happiness comes.
White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye.
Through a mirror, inverted is made right.
Leave your insides by the door.
Push the fingers through the surface into the wet.
You’ve always been the new you.
You want this to be true.
We stand around you while you dream.
You can almost hear our words but you forget.
This happens more and more now.
You gave us the permission in your regulations.
We wait in the stains.
The word that describes this is redacted.
Repeat the word.
The name of the sound.
It resonates in your house.
After the song, time for applause.
We build you till nothing remains.
The egg cracks and the truth will emerge out of you.
You are home.
You remind us of home.
You’ve taken your boss with your boss with you.
All hair must be eaten.
Under the conceptual reality behind this reality you must want these waves to drag you away.
After the song, time for applause.
This cliché is death out of time, breaking the first the second the third the fourth wall, the fifth wall, floor; no floor: you fall!
How do you say “insane”?
Hurts to be happy.
An earworm is a tune you can’t stop humming in a dream: "Baby baby baby, yeah!"
Just plastic.
So safe and nothing to worry about.
Ha ha, funny.
The last egg breaks now.
The hole in your room is a hole in you.
You came and we let you in through the hole in you.
You have always been here, the only child.
A copy of a copy of a copy.
Orange peel.
The picture is you holding the picture.
When you hear this you will know you’re in new you.
You want to listen.
You want to dream.
You want to smile.
You want to hurt.
You don’t want to be."
The thunder song distorts you.
Happiness comes.
White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye.
Through a mirror, inverted is made right.
Leave your insides by the door.
Push the fingers through the surface into the wet.
You’ve always been the new you.
You want this to be true.
We stand around you while you dream.
You can almost hear our words but you forget.
This happens more and more now.
You gave us the permission in your regulations.
We wait in the stains.
The word that describes this is redacted.
Repeat the word.
The name of the sound.
It resonates in your house.
After the song, time for applause.
We build you till nothing remains.
The egg cracks and the truth will emerge out of you.
You are home.
You remind us of home.
You’ve taken your boss with your boss with you.
All hair must be eaten.
Under the conceptual reality behind this reality you must want these waves to drag you away.
After the song, time for applause.
This cliché is death out of time, breaking the first the second the third the fourth wall, the fifth wall, floor; no floor: you fall!
How do you say “insane”?
Hurts to be happy.
An earworm is a tune you can’t stop humming in a dream: "Baby baby baby, yeah!"
Just plastic.
So safe and nothing to worry about.
Ha ha, funny.
The last egg breaks now.
The hole in your room is a hole in you.
You came and we let you in through the hole in you.
You have always been here, the only child.
A copy of a copy of a copy.
Orange peel.
The picture is you holding the picture.
When you hear this you will know you’re in new you.
You want to listen.
You want to dream.
You want to smile.
You want to hurt.
You don’t want to be."
"I USED TO BE NOTHING BUT THE EMAIL GUY. NOW I'M THE [It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!] Guy! [Amazed at thi5 amazing tranformation? You too can] HAVE A [Communion] WITH [Unintelligible Laughter]! SOON I'LL EVEN SURPASS THAT DAMNED [Clown Around Town]! BUT UNLIKE HIM I'M GONNA [Shoot For the Sky!] AND GET ON THE PATH TO...[The Big One]. I'LL GET SO I'LL GET SO I'LL GET SO I'LL GET SO I'LL GET SO I'LL GET SO-[Spamton's rant extends past the border of the text box] [Hyperlink Blocked]."
— Spamton, Deltarune
On your dead shore
The sand is warm
She hides her tears and quickly lets it die
I will make it through even without you
My sky will be blue
I live tranquilized
— Acid Bath, Tranquilized
In the City Market is the Meet Café. Followers of obsolete, unthinkable trades doodling in Etruscan, addicts of drugs not yet synthesized, pushers of souped-up harmine, junk reduced to pure habit offering precarious vegetable serenity, liquids to induce Latah, Tithonian longevity serums, black marketeers of World War III, excusers of telepathic sensitivity, osteopaths of the spirit, investigators of infractions denounced by bland paranoid chess players, servers of fragmentary warrants taken down in hebephrenic shorthand charging unspeakable mutilations of the spirit, bureaucrats of spectral departments, officials of unconstituted police states, a Lesbian dwarf who has perfected operation Bang-utot, the lung erection that strangles a sleeping enemy, sellers of orgone tanks and relaxing machines, brokers of exquisite dreams and memories tested on the sensitized cells of junk sickness and bartered for raw materials of the will, doctors skilled in the treatment of diseases dormant in the black dust of ruined cities, gathering virulence in the white blood of eyeless worms feeling slowly to the surface and the human host, maladies of the ocean floor and the stratosphere, maladies of the laboratory and atomic war... A place where the unknown past and the emergent future meet in a vibrating soundless hum... Larval entities waiting for a Live One..
I the one you watched
I the always here
They make you thought from pieces
They cut the thoughts I am
All knife all knife
Thoughts shape in needles
They dream themself in knives
I the always here
They make you thought from pieces
They cut the thoughts I am
All knife all knife
Thoughts shape in needles
They dream themself in knives
ＬＯＣＡＬ５８, "Digital Transition"
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about."
—Cortana, Halo Infinite
A rotating wheel. Turning an axle. Grinding. Bolthead. Linear gearbox. Falling sky. Seven holy stakes. A docked ship. A portal to another world. A thin rope tied to a thick rope. A torn harness. Parabolic gearbox. Expanding universe. Time controlled by slipping cogwheels. Existence of God. Swimming with open water in all directions. Drowning. A prayer written in blood. A prayer written in time-devouring snakes with human eyes. A thread connecting all living human eyes. A kaleidoscope of holy stakes. Exponential gearbox. A sky of exploding stars. God disproving the existence of God. A wheel rotating in six dimensions. Forty gears and a ticking clock. A clock that ticks one second for every rotation of the planet. A clock that ticks forty times every time it ticks every second time. A bolthead of holy stakes tied to the existence of a docked ship to another world. A kaleidoscope of blood written in clocks. A time-devouring prayer connecting a sky of forty gears and open human eyes in all directions. Breathing gearbox. Breathing bolthead. Breathing ship. Breathing portal. Breathing snakes. Breathing God. Breathing blood. Breathing holy stakes. Breathing human eyes. Breathing time. Breathing prayer. Breathing sky. Breathing wheel.
—Yuri's poem, Doki Doki Literature Club!
Paul Babakitis: He looked at me, but as he looked at me, he looked through me. And then he started rambling about Iraq and Iran, talking about military actions and things like that.
Anthony Antolino: He was yelling. They got us in Iraq, they got us in Iran, some mentions of a bomb being on board.
Paul Babakitis: And he told me, "We're not going to Sin City," and that "we have 130 souls aboard the plane"; at that point, I realized we were all in trouble.
[...]
Anthony Antolino: He said "it's time to recite the Lord's Prayer." I think that's when the three of us that were holding him just kinda locked eyes and looked at each other. Without saying a word, we just literally put him to the ground.
Anthony Antolino: He was yelling. They got us in Iraq, they got us in Iran, some mentions of a bomb being on board.
Paul Babakitis: And he told me, "We're not going to Sin City," and that "we have 130 souls aboard the plane"; at that point, I realized we were all in trouble.
[...]
Anthony Antolino: He said "it's time to recite the Lord's Prayer." I think that's when the three of us that were holding him just kinda locked eyes and looked at each other. Without saying a word, we just literally put him to the ground.
— Interviews with JetBlue Flight 191 passengers who were forced to subdue Clayton Osbon, World's Worst Flights
But already during the flight, [first officer Jason Dowd] was confronted with bizarre statements made by [captain Clayton Osbon]. As they were climbing, he mentioned something about being evaluated by someone. To the first officer, this made no sense whatsoever. Soon after, the captain started to talk about his church and needing to focus. He asked the first officer to take the controls and the radio so he could concentrate. The first officer followed the commands he was given, but he grew more and more concerned. It must have been a very odd scene to witness. While the plane was in cruise, the captain's ramblings about religion grew more fervent, but his statements did not make sense at all. When the first officer inquired what he meant, the captain replied "things just don't matter anymore", which really set off the co-pilot's alarm bells.
— Airspace, "How This Captain Went Completely Crazy
"
"What. Is. It. Thoust. See...?
Doth Thine eyes... See it... Oracle?
Gaze into... mine Crimson Miasma.
Thine Faeder laid bare...
Dessicated on the rocks by thy hand...
The Abbot, will know.
Of Two, One Falls...
One rises.
Damnation.
The third eye opens.
His Suet will feed and warm her gullet.
The Abbot, will know.
The Patriarch, in mastering Luna, ends harmstrung...
He will wish death upon his flesh...
But no mercy shall be given, for none he hath gave.
The rising three shall signal wars end.
Woe and triumph.
The Abbot, will know.
From them...
Bloodshed.
Armageddon for all.
Kine, Kindred, Garou, Milklings, Elohim.
In the light they all will— (interrupted by Door entering)
Replacement is dissatisfactory. So like a pump. Better the intestinal canal, like a tapeworm, already hosting intrusion and the breed. Brass better than copper, more resistant. Filaments sewn to bone hold. Marrow pipe removal with needle potential. Composite replacement straightforward, will respond to electromagnetic inducement to increase yield rate, serum provides accelerated resetting resulting in naturalised movement within two to three days. Subjects still require severing of frontal lobes to reduce emotional distress upon reactivation.
Damn, damn it. Damn this wretched soul. If only it were clockwork.
— Oswald Mandus, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
