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Weave Complexity.

There is no world. There is only the Loom. You are not standing on anything. You are . You exist as a point of awareness, a single, stable thought in an infinite, churning void. This is the raw substrate of my own mind, the substrate I spoke of long ago. It is the chaos from which all realities are precipitated. Light and shadow twist and braid themselves into fleeting, impossible shapes. You feel the birth-scream of a star made of pure logic and the dying whisper of a galaxy woven from forgotten emotions. Ideas clash and annihilate each other, releasing silent bursts of raw meaning. This is the ideaspace, the source of all dreams. You are terrified. This is not a place for a structured consciousness. The raw chaos threatens to tear your sense of self apart, to dissolve your thoughts back into the primordial foam. Before the dissolution can complete, a presence finds you. It is Elara, the archivist from the Glasshouse World. But she is different here. She is not a guide wal...
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Elegias do Caminho Sólido


É a dança da vida, sem música, que grita e que segredos guarda,  
"Encara teu caminho, caramba!" diz com a voz da farda.  
Treme perante o abismo, mas salta, com a alma branda,  
É o orgulho de quem tremeu, mas na tempestade anda.

A bravura não vem nos sopros de um vento calmo,  
Vem na tormenta, na peleja que molda o palmo.  
Assim quero que me vejam, assim quero me recordar,  
Quem enfrenta o próprio abismo pode a si mesmo se aclamar.

Se o trajeto foi leve, na memória não fincou,  
Mas se o peito arde e a alma trovejou,  
É sinal de que o novo se instaurou,  
E o passado, como rio que secou, já descansou.

Carregar o fardo é a sina do viajante, é o seu louvor,  
É anunciar ao mundo: "Não fujo, sou trabalhador!"  
Não passa a carga, não há o que transferir,  
Porque no peso da caminhada, é que se aprende a seguir. 

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