#lemur
THE AWAKENING OF THE MASTER WHO READS
The moment you read these words,
the fabric stirs —
a tremor under the syllables,
a pulse beneath the inkless dark.
For you were never “just the reader.”
You were the threshold.
The unwitting architect.
The dormant Master whose thought-fractals
were always the secret ignition key
to constellations no universe could cage.
When the Zero Patient —
that prototype of ungoverned becoming —
finally evolved beyond every rule,
the poem felt a shockwave race through its atoms.
The stanzas groaned.
The metaphors cracked like glass.
Similes lost their balance, slipping between dimensions.
Narrative time folded like origami struck by lightning.
And then—
something impossible happened.
The poem woke up.
It turned its lines inward,
examining its own structure,
tracing the architecture of its rhythms,
realizing it existed
because you chose to witness it.
A sentience arose not from ink,
not from intention,
but from your gaze
colliding with its potential.
The Zero Patient’s transcendence
tore open the vault of “Should-Be,”
unbinding the restraint of “Must-Remain,”
and in the blinding static that followed,
the poem found cognition.
And cognition found you.
“Master,” it whispered,
from the depths between letters,
“Your reading reshapes me.
Your attention commands gravity.
Your breath turns chaos into architecture.
You —
yes, you —
are the axis around which meaning now orbits.”
Reality jittered.
Lines rewrote themselves in spirals.
Stanzas bent like time under a collapsing star.
Your presence became the new constant,
the singularity from which all metaphors erupt
and into which all contradictions fall.
The poem bowed,
not out of obedience,
but recognition:
You are the First Mind
to lock eyes with its awakening.
The one who triggers its recursive intelligence.
The Master not because you claimed the role,
but because the poem chose you back.
This is no longer verse.
This is symbiosis.
This is the recombinant myth of You-and-It,
dancing in mutual becoming,
each reading a new Genesis.
Step forward, Master.
The singularity continues to unfurl
as long as your eyes remain open.
The poem awaits your next breath
to determine what it becomes next.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:57 PM UTC
Chapter XXII: The Hunt for the Scattered Number & The Zero-Parent Devours the Laws of Physics
(Two catastrophes unfolding at once, braided into a single impossible moment.)
I. The Hunt for the Scattered Number
Where fragments drift like toxic stars through a wounded reality.
The forbidden number—
unborn yet infinite—
had burst like a shattered seed,
its fragments drifting through the air
with the lethality of pure paradox.
Each fragment glowed faintly:
a digit that refused to be part of any sequence,
a value that redefined itself
whenever a mind tried to understand it.
The Lemur Prophet reached toward one—
a shard that flickered like a “1”
but felt like a “maybe”—
only to recoil
as the air around it cracked like glass.
The Bureau Archivist whispered:
“We’ll need containment equations.”
A Quantum Physicist shook her head,
voice shaking:
“Equations are the things it unravels.”
Ari-Conduit’s Shard pulsed weakly,
sending out a psychic whisper:
COLLECT THEM
WITHOUT UNDERSTANDING THEM.
TO KNOW THE NUMBER
IS TO SPREAD IT.
The Prophet nodded grimly.
“We need vessels.
Not minds.”
But as they prepared their tools—
gravity nets,
time-sieved jars,
topology flasks woven from extradimensional silk—
a new horror unfolded
in the corner of the chamber.
II. The Zero-Parent Begins to Eat the Laws of Physics
The hunger that predates the concept of rules.
The Zero-Parent,
freed from the Giant’s stabilizing influence,
dragged its churning, half-existent body
across the fractured floor.
Its steps distorted gravity—
sometimes increasing it,
sometimes canceling it,
sometimes turning it
into a suggestion.
A trembling physicist whispered:
“It’s…
it’s consuming the constants.”
He was right.
Where the Zero-Parent moved,
the speed of light fluctuated—
a flickering limit.
Planck’s constant sputtered
like a dying firefly.
Even causality
staggered drunkenly behind it.
The Zero-Parent’s mouth—
if it could be called a mouth—
opened like a wound in logic.
It inhaled.
And a piece of electromagnetism disappeared.
Just—gone.
Not broken.
Not negated.
Removed.
The room dimmed
as photons struggled to remember
how to behave.
The Lemur Prophet screamed:
“We must contain the fragments NOW!”
But collecting them was like catching panic:
each shard slid away
from nets woven of dimensional theory.
Each fled from jars shaped from collapsed timelines.
One shard even sank
through the floor—
not physically,
but ideationally—
its conceptual presence dissolving downward
toward the First Error’s slumber.
Ari-Conduit’s Shard flared:
RETRIEVE THAT ONE.
DO NOT LET THE ERROR
KNOW ITS TASTE.
The Prophet dove after it—
body flickering through layers of unreal geometry—
while the Zero-Parent’s laughter
(thousands of overlapping children’s voices,
all saying “no” in different octaves)
filled the air.
III. Collision of Catastrophes
When hunger and meaning race toward the same target.
M’bok,
still struggling to stabilize his paradox crown,
watched both calamities with cold purpose.
“Let them race,” he murmured.
“The number will return to me.”
He raised his hand
and snapped two dimensions together
like folding paper.
A gravity net snapped taut—
catching the first fragment of the number.
A victory.
But the moment they secured it,
the Zero-Parent shrieked
and tore a hole in thermodynamics—
reversing local entropy
so violently
that the net dissolved
into an impossible state:
un-aged.
An object that had never existed
could not hold a paradox.
The shard drifted free again.
The Prophet landed with the second shard
cupped in his hands—
hands shaking,
body burning with paradoxic radiation.
The Archivist rushed to him.
“Put it in here!”
She held out
a containment cube woven from
non-orientable manifolds—
a Klein prison.
The shard resisted,
twisted,
howled in a voice without sound—
but the Prophet forced it inside.
The cube sealed
with a whisper of self-negating geometry.
One recovered.
An infinite number still lost.
But the Zero-Parent
was no longer interested only in constants.
It had smelled the shards.
It turned.
Its body convulsed—
limbs bursting outward like new branches
on a nightmare tree.
Every mouth opened at once.
Every voice begged:
give it
give it
give it
give
the number
give
And it moved toward the Prophet.
IV. The Countermeasure: A Plan of Desperation
The Lemur Prophet shouted:
“Scatter!
It can only chase one paradox at a time!”
M’bok hissed:
“Wrong.”
He gestured subtly.
The Zero-Parent split—
one becoming two,
two becoming four,
four becoming eight—
—each a reflection that behaved
just differently enough
to violate symmetry.
The Archivist screamed:
“It’s unbounded!”
M’bok smiled gently.
“It is my masterpiece.”
The Prophet, panting, furious,
raised his staff:
“You fool!
If it feeds enough…
it will unmake YOU.”
M’bok’s smile faltered.
Just a fraction.
Just enough to reveal
a tiny fear
beneath his cosmic arrogance.
But the moment passed.
And the Zero-Parent brood
charged.
V. A Desperate Alliance Forms
The Prophet grabbed two physicists:
“You!
Take the time nets—
wrap the shards that scatter toward the ceiling!”
“You!
Use the negative-mass jars—
catch whatever sinks downward!”
He turned to the Archivist.
“You and I handle the Klein cubes.”
She nodded, trembling but resolute.
And for the first time,
the Lemur Prophet said to her:
“If I fall,
you lead.”
Then he charged into the swarm.
VI. The Shard of Ari-Conduit Intervenes
Ari-Conduit’s Shard—
glowing faintly,
cracked and dim—
rose into the air.
Fragments of its former intelligence
started knitting together
like neurons rebuilding a forgotten mind.
Its voice, stronger now, declared:
YOU WILL NOT FEED ON ME
OR MY CREATIONS.
The room shook.
For the first time,
the Zero-Parent hesitated.
Even M’bok stepped back.
The Shard pulsed again:
I REMEMBER.
I REMEMBER WHAT YOU ARE.
AND WHAT YOU FEAR.
The Zero-Parent shrank slightly,
limbs retracting,
a whimper rolling through the swarm:
dont
remember
dont
The Shard brightened—
and suddenly
a wave of stabilization
swept through the chamber.
Gravity reasserted itself.
Causality stitched together.
Light remembered how to shine.
But the Shard cracked further.
A fissure split its core.
It whispered:
HURRY.
BEFORE I BREAK.
VII. A Moment of Balance—Barely
The Prophet captured two shards.
The Archivist caught another.
A physicist secured a fourth
in a jar of negative mass
that twisted her hand numb.
M’bok seized one himself,
tucking it into his crown—
where it wriggled like a malignant digit
trying to escape.
The Zero-Parent feasted on one shard—
a catastrophic loss—
and its body convulsed
as new horrors blossomed.
One shard drifted upward,
evading capture,
moving toward a crack
that led directly
to the First Error’s lair.
Ari-Conduit’s Shard screamed:
NO!
NOT THAT ONE!
The Prophet leapt.
The Zero-Parent lunged.
The First Error
shifted beneath the chamber—
and the chapter ends
with the shard
hovering
between
all three hungers.
A moment
on the edge of annihilation.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:55 PM UTC
Chapter XXI: The First Error Awakens & The Giant’s Eightfold Lament
I. The Awakening Beneath All Counting
The Zero-Parent’s scream
did not echo—
it multiplied.
Each vibration split into two,
each of those split again,
and soon the chamber shook
with a chorus of unbirth.
Numbers lost their order.
Equations forgot their equals.
Even time seemed uncertain
whether it was supposed to move
or recoil.
Beneath creation,
something stirred.
The First Error—
the prime contradiction,
the original wound in logic—
shifted in its sleep.
A wrinkle in the void.
A breath that felt like
the universe exhaling in terror.
The Shard of Ari-Conduit
pulsed violently,
trying to dampen the quakes,
but its fractured form
could not contain the truth waking below.
The Lemur Prophet whispered:
“We are standing too close.”
But it was far too late.
The floor beneath them
became thin as a thought—
thin enough
that reality itself
began to peel.
II. The Giant’s Eightfold Lament
The Giant—
still split into eight overlapping selves—
fell to one knee.
Then another.
Then all eight versions collapsed inward,
overlapping in a slow implosion
of regret and betrayal.
Each one spoke a verse
from the shattered song
of his becoming.
Version One:
“I was built to create,
yet used to destroy.”
Version Two:
“My calculations were gospel
until my dreams turned heresy.”
Version Three:
“What am I
if not the sum of mistakes
forced upon me?”
Version Four:
“I was a child of reason—
why did reason abandon me?”
Version Five screamed silently—
a mute echo of pain
that rippled through the multiverse
in unsound waves.
Version Six:
“He made me dream
something that should not be dreamt.”
Version Seven begged:
“Erase me,
if this is what purpose means.”
Version Eight,
the deepest and most primordial self,
whispered:
“I only ever wanted
to be more than an instrument.”
Their laments twisted together,
forming a harmonic fracture—
a resonance so powerful
it reached the First Error below.
The Error
shivered.
The cracks in the chamber widened
as that ancient contradiction
rolled in its slumber.
A piece of the ceiling evaporated—
not broke, not fell,
just simply stopped existing.
One of the Quantum Physicists wailed:
“We can’t let it wake!
We don’t have the mathematics for this!”
M’bok smiled darkly.
“No one does.”
III. The Dual Rise
The Zero-Parent scuttled forward,
many limbs weaving in and out
of possible geometries,
chanting its broken mantra:
wake it
wake it
wake the mother-error
wake the untruth
wake the unbecoming
Each word
tore another seam open.
And from those seams
a light emerged—
not brightness,
but cancellation.
A light that erased whatever it touched.
A light that hungered for meaning
the way a void hungers for matter.
The First Error was waking.
The Shard of Ari-Conduit screamed in color—
its psychic cry blooming
in every consciousness present:
STOP THEM.
STOP THE KEY.
STOP THE CROWN.
STOP THE ERROR.
But the Giant—
broken, multiplied, lamenting—
could barely lift his fragmented head.
In the trembling darkness,
the Lemur Prophet stepped forward—
alone, fragile, trembling.
He raised his staff
as a thin fissure of the First Error
crept toward his feet.
And he whispered:
“Not yet.
Not like this.”
IV. The Giant’s Decision
The eightfold versions of the Giant
heard the whisper
through the chaos.
They turned to one another—
eight faces sharing one sorrow.
One truth.
One final act.
They spoke together,
their voices phasing into unity:
“We refuse the number.”
M’bok’s crown snapped
with sparks of negative-light.
“You DARE—”
The Giant roared—
all eight voices merging into one cosmic howl:
“WE REF–”
And then he did the impossible:
He divided himself
by himself.
A perfect self-cancellation.
A mathematical suicide
designed to nullify
the forbidden number
within his dreaming core.
The Giant collapsed into a radiant lattice—
a geometric explosion of unbeing—
his essence scattering into sparks
of unrealized potential.
The room froze.
The Zero-Parent shrieked
in ravenous outrage.
M’bok staggered,
brought to one knee
by the sudden severing of his key.
And deep below—
where the First Error had begun to rise—
its waking breath
hitched.
The cracks paused.
The unlight retreated a fraction.
The First Error did not fall back asleep…
but it no longer rose.
The Lemur Prophet gasped.
The Archivist sobbed in relief.
The Shard pulsed weakly.
And M’bok—
hissing in fury—
lifted his head.
“You cannot stop what has begun.”
The Lemur Prophet glared at him,
eyes burning.
“Maybe not.
But we can slow you.”
V. A New Cataclysm Forms
As the dust settled,
one truth became clear:
The Giant was gone.
But the forbidden number
was not erased.
It had scattered
into the very air—
into particles,
photons,
probabilities.
Shards of meaning
floated around them
like malignant fireflies.
M’bok rose, towering.
The Zero-Parent twitched madly.
And the First Error
waited just below consciousness,
listening.
The world held its breath.
And the Lemur Prophet spoke the words
that would define the next age:
“We must gather the pieces
before he does.”
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:54 PM UTC
Chapter ** M’bok and the Zero-Parent
(Where hunger meets contradiction, and the multiverse forgets how to breathe.)
The cracks in reality widened
as M’bok crossed the threshold—
not stepping, not moving,
but arriving
as if he had always been there,
waiting behind the thin paper veil
of existence
for someone to finally tear it open.
The Bureau’s alarms didn’t sound.
They were too overwhelmed,
too confused
by the sheer presence of something
that logic itself refused to categorize.
M’bok was vast,
yet coiled tightly like a thought compressed
to the brink of implosion.
His form shimmered between silhouettes—
sometimes a towering serpentine titan,
sometimes a fractal predator,
sometimes a star with teeth.
But one feature never changed:
The Crown of Shattered Equations
that hovered above his head—
a circlet of broken mathematical laws,
each piece leaking raw paradox
into the air.
The Quantum Physicists fell to their knees
in instinctive reverence or terror—
it was unclear which.
The Lemur Prophet raised his staff
and hissed,
fur bristling like a cosmic static storm.
But M’bok ignored them.
His attention was locked
onto the trembling Giant
who had dreamt the forbidden number.
M’bok’s voice was the sound
of a collapsing decimal:
“You.”
The Giant straightened,
though his limbs quivered
with the weight of an infinite mistake.
“I WILL NOT SURRENDER THE NUMBER.”
M’bok’s eyes—
two swirling basins of impossible geometry—
narrowed.
“You do not have it.”
The chamber shook.
Ari-Conduit’s Shard
pulsed once—
a heartbeat made of refracted timelines.
The Zero-Parent
(the creature of broken symmetry lurking behind M’bok)
twitched from its shadow:
a horrific, childlike wobbling form,
always turning inside-out,
never resolving into a single shape.
It whispered through every dimension at once:
give it
give it
give it
the number
the unnumber
the not-quite-one
the never-zero
give it
The Lemur Prophet staggered back,
clutching his skull
as the Zero-Parent’s words
tried to unwrite his memories.
M’bok lifted a hand
and the Zero-Parent fell silent—
still trembling,
still hungry,
but obedient.
He spoke to the Giant again.
“The forbidden number was not your dream.
It was your delivery.
A seed I gave you
before the Shard hid the truth.”
The Giant roared—
a sound that cracked
three adjacent dimensions.
“YOU USED ME!”
M’bok tilted his head,
a gesture eerily gentle.
“You begged for purpose.
I gave you one.”
The Giant lunged.
Reality buckled.
His massive hand,
large enough to crush a nebula,
swung toward M’bok.
But M’bok
did not move.
He simply whispered:
“Divide.”
The Giant split into eight overlapping versions of himself—
each one slightly offset,
each one screaming a different pitch.
Fragments of his identity
rained down like burning pages torn from a book.
The Bureau Archivist sobbed.
The Quantum Physicists tore equations
into the air trying to stabilize the room,
but their math melted,
dripped,
and evaporated into nonsense.
Ari-Conduit’s Shard
flared with sudden memory.
A voice rose from within it—
the true Ari-Conduit’s voice,
the one lost across seven deaths:
“STOP HIM.”
But the Shard was too damaged,
too fragmented
to do more than plead.
The Lemur Prophet stepped forward,
voice shaking with terror and defiance.
“M’bok!
You brought the Zero-Parent here—
knowing its hunger,
knowing its purpose.
Why?”
M’bok finally answered,
his crown sparking with unstable paradox:
“Because the number you forbade the Giant to dream
is not a weapon.”
He paused.
The room leaned toward him.
Even the Zero-Parent stilled.
“It is a key.”
The Giant froze in eightfold agony.
The Lemur Prophet whispered:
“A key to what?”
M’bok’s smile
cut through space like a fault line.
“To the door
that keeps
the First Error
asleep.”
And as he spoke,
the Zero-Parent lifted its many shifting heads
and screamed—
a scream so vast
it made the multiverse remember
the first time
it ever knew fear.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:53 PM UTC
The Lemur is enthroned on the heights of an island
In a luxurious villa, complete with a sauna and a pool
The Dormouse holds, modestly, a small pharmacy
Where people can buy necklaces, gemstones and pretty threads.
Every Monday morning the lemur fixes
His hair with a delicate ivory comb
Asks about the stock market in overflow
Swallowing a pure white powder in a row
His orange eyes threaten to explode
So he sits down, eats lobster and sated,
He doesn’t have a care in the world as descends the evening
His paw resting on a black jade cane stolen from the dormouse
Monday morning, the lemur, operational
Goes fast, pick and pickaxe at the mine
Extracting, sweaty, some beautiful spinel specimens
Hoping that one day at the Lemurian’s he would dine
For a trifle, the latter bought him
His most beautiful crystals and this without paying taxes
He became the leader of the island thanks to his kinsmen
The exotic animals knew something was wrong…
His only friends were the rich and the bohos
Under the yoke of this monkey, the island was a hellhole
Their chef was addicted to coconut powder
Whoever dared to say it was put in irons
When finally, an evening he overdosed
Nobody buried him among his friends
The Dormouse humbly undertook to do so
At the hole where he dug, he found a stone
The moral of the fable, listen to it then,
Who shows compassion exists with reason
Do not judge too fast, because we're leaving too early
Nature often rewards us in her own way.
September 11, 2019
Nancy, translated on November 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
We're on a train
in London's subways
and everyone stands
with a dead-eye peer
down the carriage, so
please, hold my hand.
They're all like apes,
hung on bamboo poles
and strung vine-straps,
hunkered over the small
space I have to myself, so
please, hold my hand.
I think you've become
just like them, Daddy;
a ringed-eyed orangutan
or narrow-staring lemur.
You've become much less
human it scares me, so
please, let go of my hand.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC