Picture your consciousness as a galaxy of stars, revolving around a supermassive black hole, the gravity of which anchors it in reality.
Now, imagine that supermassive black hole swelling enormously in size, growing and expanding until it devours all the stars in the entire galaxy.
This is what tanasinn is like.
...superstar sucked into the supermassive..
Imagine a giant penis flying towards your mouth, and there's nothing you can do about it. And you're like "Oh man, I'm gonna have to suck this thing", and you brace yourself to suck this giant penis. But then, at the last moment, it changes trajectory and hits you in the eye. You think to yourself "Well, at least I got that out of the way", but then the giant penis rears back and st∴bs your ey∵ ∴gain, and again, and again. Eventually, t∴∵∵ giant pe∴∵∴ is pe∴∵etr∴ting your gray ma∵∴er, and you b∵gi∴∵ to lo∵e co∴∵trol of your motor skills. Th∴t's whe∴∵ the gi∵∴∵t p∴∵∵i∴ sl∴∵ ∴∵∴∵∴∵ th∴ ch∴∵∴∴∵ing you to f∴∵∵∴∵∴∵∴∵∴∵∴∵le to m∴∵e and a∴∵∴∵∴∵∴∵∴∴∵erable, the g∴∵∴∴∵nis fi∴l∵∴∵ ∴∵∴us, wh∵∵e ∴∵∴∵∴∵s uncomfo∴∵∴∵∴∵or 4, m∴ybe 5 hours. That's what tanasinn is like.
Imagine four balls on the edge
of a cliff. Say a direct copy of the ball nearest the cliff is sent to the back of the line of balls and takes the place of
the first ball. The formerly first ball becomes the second, the second becomes the third, and the fourth falls off the cliff.
Time works the same way.
Picture in your mind a massive yellow phone book.
In this phone book is a name, number and address for every human being alive, that has ever lived, and ever will live, along with an equivalent number of pages in the business directory.
This phone book is on an old wooden table in a concrete room with no doors or windows.
You are trapped in the room and have a compulsion to read the phone book. You have now read through it cover-to-cover five-thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-one times. Your hands are pale from the lack of sunlight. Your hands are covered in scars from paper cuts. Your hands resemble the surface of Europa. You reach for the phone book one more time and flip through the pages like a picture book. As you flip through the pages at high-speed, the names and numbers form an image of yourself, staring back at you with a corrupted smile. The skin on your hands is now in shreds, the razor edges of the phone book having revealed bare bone, to which you are oblivious as you watch images dance on thin, colored-coded pages.
You have now flipped through the book eleven-thousand, eight-hundred, sixty-eight times.
This is what tanasinn is like.
Tanasinn is the unconscious realization that things are not as they seem. For instance, take this hypothetical example: You are the pilot of of a space ship that reaches the event horizon - the farthest extent of the observable universe - only to find that the edge of the universe is in fact the inside of your own skull.
Picture this:
You're looking through a magnifiying viewfinder. Perhaps that of a camera, or a binoculars, or one of those telescopes you see on observation decks. Your vision is shunted straight ahead, into a narrow cone five to fifteen degrees, at maximum. Peripheal vision is nonexistant. The rest of the world exists around you, but because of the focus, you can't see anything outside it, only the part in in front of you. You can turn in any direction, and you can view things it would normally be impossible for you to view, in detail you never would be able to see otherwise, but you're still looking through what is essentially tube vision, and as soon as your eyes try to reach the edge of the tube, you run into a barrier of non-information.
Now invert part of that image, as you would an image channel in Photoshop. All around you, you can see the entire world, but blurrily, out of focus, and the only thing you view clearly is straight ahead of you. It is as if your visual tube has been reversed, and instead of seeing through the tube, you see the tube itself. What is that tube made of? A boundary of emptiness, around which you can see the lack of any visual information at all in vivid detail.
That tube is what tanasinn is like.
You're in a desert, walking along in the sand - it doesn't make any difference what desert, it's completely hypothetical. Maybe you're fed up, maybe you want to be by yourself, who knows? - You look down and you see a tortoise, it's crawling towards you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun beating its legs trying to turn itself over but it can't, not without your help. But you're not helping. This is what tanasinn is like.
Picture, if you will, an infinite number of monkeys. Each monkey is seated at a typewriter. Row upon row upon endless row of typewriters, stretching out into an unfathomable white infinity. These monkeys will, at random, strike keys on their typewriter with their clumsy simian hands and feet for the rest of eternity or until they produce the complete works of William Shakespeare, which ever comes first.
Now imagine a monkey drinking it's own urine.
That is what tanasinn is like.
I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my
dream. That's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a
straight razor, and surviving. That is tanasinn.
Imagine a monkey, beaten half to death by the rocks thrown by cruel children. As its life flashes before its eyes, it conjures images of the antagonistic human society being devoured by war and destruction, the collapse of the world by their ignorance. Now come to realize that it is a reflection.
That is what tanasinn is like.
Imagine you are having terrible nightmare. It's terrible, but it's terrible only to you and no other. It's a horror custom made for you by your own mind. The content is not important, but the fear is. When you wake, you wake in a room on a bed. It is your bed, but it is not your bed. It is your room, but it is not your room. With effort, you realize you have not awoken at all, but are still asleep and have dreamed of an awakening. The question remains if you are to wake and be greeted with reality, should you get out of bed or go back to sleep. You decide to do both, and you fall backward through the bed as the sheets envelop your body. It's dark, but it's not dark. You're awake, but you're not awake. You are dead and being cremated. As flames disintegrate your flesh, a scream echos through your mind but not does not escape your lips which, even if you could speak, have been glued shut. You black out once more, and awaken at dawn. As the mingled ashes of bone and oak are scattered on a beach by the one you've left behind, you finally understand:
You are not the ashes of the man, you are the ashes of coffin. You were not a man dreaming of life, but a tree dreaming you were a man.
This awakening, this epiphany... this is tanasinn.
Studies have shown that on a quantum level, the universe exists in a multidude of possibilities. It's is only until such a state is measured that it's outcome can be revealed. So, when you are the last human being on Earth, you realise that just past the horizon is a boiling infinity that you can never reach. until you close your eyes
That is what tanasinn is like.
Imagine that you are alone in the universe. And imagi∵e tha∵ ∴∵∴∵∵e∴∵∴ a∴∵∴e∵∴∵∴∵w∴∵∴ ∴∵∴∵∴∵∴ ∵∵∴∵∴∵∴∵ ∴∵∴∵∴∵ ∴∵∵∴∵∴∵∴∵ ∴∵∴∵∴∵∴ ∵∵∴ ∵∴∵∴∵ ∴∵ ∴∵∴∵∴∵∵∴∵ ∴∵∴∵ ∴∵. T∴∵s is what ta∵asinn ∵s like.
Picture yourself, in every moment of your life, passing from place to place and time to time. Picture those places and times and picture what happened to them. Has the past gone away when you left it? Is this true, can you not go back? If so, surely this can be the same way for places as it is for time. Imagine that when you leave a room, or simply turn away, a multitude of tiny organisms deconstruct the reality you can't see, and it ceases to exist. At the same time, the organisms weave together a new world wherever you go and for whatever you look at out of the material of that dead reality. This of course implies the back of your head does not exist either. So how does it seem familiar? Because when the back of your head does not exist, these organisms may restructure your brain directly in order to create the feeling of familiarity and of memory.
They do all this, without ever ceasing, out of knowledge passed down by instinct that when you cease to acknowledge reality, they as a whole will cease to exist, because reality is the knowing and they are the unknowing, both in mutual interdependence. In time they may attempt to rewire your brain or body to ensure this does not happen, but it is far more likely just one of them will realize that your brain is just a construct of your thought... and since thought is a product of your brain, that single organism, one of an infinite number of organisms will know it's true purpose is not in line with it's kind.
It's purpose is tanasinn.
I just felt
Imagine that you are typing and ∵∴ appears at random intervals. Now imagine that you can't use delete or backspace. That is what tanasinn is like
Zantar is an arcade game
Zantar is a gelatinous cube
Zantar eats warriors in a village
Zantar eats a chieftain and
Zantar goes up a level
...but you can't get to the next level...
...so you keep coughing up quarters...
...you stand like a lab rat hitting the feeder bar to get food pellets...
Zantar is tanasinn