green qualia

sleeping with a kaleidoscope, glass pipe, and a half ping-pong ball under my pillow "in case the portal opens"

even though we're far apart, i know one day we'll both be hermaphroditic ice worms together and live for 500 years on the polar caps of an exomoon

all her cards are on the table, but the cards are the 4 of corridors, the queen of keyholes, and the joker of doors. the table's in a spruce cabin behind her eyes, snowed-in since 2005

when petted, the cattlefish's fur oscillates in expanding rings of lavender, ochre, and deep green, the sequence strobing faster the harder you press

the kaleidowitch, jealous of her symmetries, cursed the forest with left-handed trees, unwhorled sunflowers, slime-orchids, and one-sided children

last queries recorded by an alchemist's quicksilver intelligence:
-can birds really speak the language of angels
-dove gave birth to phoenix normal?
-Male + Female = giant ostrich?
-why does my rebus have feathers

welcome to the gloop chat, where messages propagate as ripples, consensus forms as skin, and muting renders 2 gootuals mutually immiscible. solids dni

language is melting flash fiction

Qualiaflow (@qualiaflow)

Language is melting. When I speak, I articulate strings of phonemes simultaneously, murmuring Morse code glossolalia. What I mean is the disintegration of Hockett's design features: discreteness goes ...

it's pyramid season. limestone rinds are splitting open, scattering the ground with milky-pulpy pharaohs, still coiled in their golden casings

what if we kissed in the formless jhanas, a translucid empty space with no colors, our faces overflowing with void, like void kissing void

it's your superbirthday, the shortest birthday containing all possible birthdays. you toast with combinatorial daiquiris, rum lime syrup rum lime rum syrup lime rum

my friend was struck by a mirage. the fulgurite preserved the phantom oasis he was walking towards, inverted, in glass. i believe my friend is inside the glass

the mirage-struck man returned with date palms rooting in his chest, olives where his eyes were, branded all over with the orchard's shadow

you teach your cat synesthetic purring tricks. his sunset glow is passable, his topaz ripple barely holds pitch. overnight the quilt fills with analemmas that you never assigned

Reply to @qualiaflow.bsky.social

expanded into a flash fiction

the obelisk's pyramidion flickers between ◾B◾LISK and O◾ELI◾K. its faces display fluorescent menus with funerary specials, natron aperitifs, and palm wine

visit the All-Nite Obelisk, our town's beloved ontological hazard, where moths congregate to sip its neon nectars and regulars forget which millennium they parked in

there's a physical cap on storing information due to the bekenstein bound. but there aren't any limits to forgetting. you can forget the future. you can forget the 3rd dimension

your heirloom kittens shed crumpled verdigris fur. their silver whiskers tarnish, darkening. still you hear the wind-up music box purrs

commercial food flavorings are pretty cheap. so far i've recursed flavors and made coffee-flavored coffee, a hyperreal peanut butter, and a "taste of cereal" cereal

i'm doing it again (prowling the shores of northumbria salt-blinded and shaking, searching for my kraken lover)

taking a big hit but it's an aromachemical mixture designed to hit trpm8 (cooling), trpv1 (burning), trpv3 (warming), and trpa1 (stinging) simultaneously. (don't worry, i have a trp-sitter)

the space between words seethes with gibberish-froth and neologism-spawn, amoebic phonemes and proto-morphemes coalescing like plankton blooms

holding up a sign that says "i'm being friendly right now" instead of making eye contact and smiling