Placeholder: [photo from Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)] ((( ((( (((Black Hole Mass))) ))) ))) [photo from Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)] ((( ((( (((Black Hole Mass))) ))) )))

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[photo from Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)] ((( ((( (((Black Hole Mass))) ))) )))

5 days ago

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SSD-1B

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[photo from Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)] ((( ((( (((Black Hole Mass))) ))) )))
[photo from Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)] ((( ((( (((Black Hole Mass))) ))) )))
In the realm of the surreal and the ethereal, a peculiar scene unfolds before my mind's eye: a man, dressed regally as a king, stands upon a giant chessboard. The checkered squares stretch endlessly in all directions, each one a mirror of its neighbor, creating a mesmerizing pattern that seems to ripple and shift with unseen energy. The man, his royal attire resplendent and intricate, exudes an air of authority and wisdom, yet there is a hint of confusion in his expression. For he stands in the
the material form is no different from the void of shapeless emptiness; the material form is the same as emptiness, and emptiness the same as the material form.
[photo from Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)] ((( ((( (((Black Hole Mass))) ))) )))
Haunting Echoes of Experimentation
programming
the iconic spaceship of Destination: Void, by Franck Herbert (1965)
All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. The thing which hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
Inside the Fate of a marble
The depth of hula groove Moves us to the nth hoop We're gonna groove to Horton Hears a Who-who I couldn't ask for another No, I couldn't ask for another DJ Soul was on a roll I've been told he can't be sold He's not vicious or malicious Just de-lovely and delicious I couldn't ask for another
Lost in the labyrinth of politics, Alice walks with weary steps. Her futile campaign echoes in the hollow void. A tapping, a haunting presence, disrupts her futile musings. The absurd walrus emerges, foreboding and mocking her aspirations. "Nevermore," it utters, a hollow refrain of desolation. Alice, trapped in the cycle of questioning and despair, finds no solace. The walrus, perched upon Pallas' bust, symbolizes her torment. In the end, she is left alone, condemned to the relentless grip of f
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