LNH/LUNA: WikiLull After #3

Drew Perron pwerdna at gmail.com
Wed Dec 14 11:40:03 PST 2016

And Ring Job woke up in a sweat.

The multiply-pierced former member of the Net.Trenchcoat Brigade had been dreaming about all of the people he'd been - comic book writers, parodies of comic book writers, anarchists who used those parodies as personas for infiltration, pretentious band leaders who thought they were anarchists, butterflies. All of those people, all of those lives, had been moving and shuffling about, slipping past each other. They'd been making some kind of pattern, a symbol, he could see it coming together and it was--

Well, now he couldn't remember. He fingered one of his snakebite lip rings. "Something weird is going on," he said to no one in particular. "But the right weird, or the wrong weird?"

He went into the bathroom and filled the sink. He took the ritual lipstick out of the medicine cabinet, and drew a ring on the mirror. He looked through the ring, into the face of his mirror image, and placed all of his personas, all of the people he was or had been or might be or was once mistaken for, into it. A naked spirit with only the ephemeral gauze of a body as protection from the thousand cold gazes of the physical world, he dunked his face into the sink and read all of WikiLull.

Shaking the cold water off his face, he took back his selves from his mirror self, wrapping them around his mind like a fluffy towel. "I haven't seen anything that started that silly and went that dark since the Ken Penders run on Sonic the Hedgehog," he said to no one in particular. "Clearly, anything that involves fascists using magic and memes is my business. But..."

"Coincidence." Seemingly unrelated plans going off at once; mutually exclusive explanations for them. "Mirroring." Multiple versions of the same character, of the same concept. A hole where an awful thing doesn't take place, where it never could; a glaring planetary representation of the awful thing itself. "Grant Morrison pastiche..."

"Oh my self," he said, and turned to you. "Someone's trying to take a cascade and use it to power a hypersigil!"

"You know, a hypersigil! A magic ritual worked through the writing and reading of a serial narrative! They're trying to use the native chaotic power of cascades to-- who? I don't know! They're-- oh no. They're reaching out with a short issue to try to draw in more writers!" He reaches out to you, beseeching. "Don't do it! Don't reply to this post! DON'T CASCA

--A F T E R
#3: "Apocalurgi"


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