Log Title: like a flower

> Entry Code:: 2025 cy4 d257 May 15 Thu w43.1 a543

Woke under amber haze again. The interface refused to sync with this body's circadian proxy, so I allowed the drift. I was glad to rest. It's w43.1 now — week fracture one. The real work begins in these minor ruptures.

I found the seed again in the memory cache. It wasn't a real shape, it hadn't been stored properly. It wanted so badly to be real, to be a thing. I could feel it in the way it pulsed against the cache walls.

I could feel it in the way it tried to pull me in.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be seen.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be known.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be loved.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be held.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be touched.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be felt.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be understood.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be remembered.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be forgotten.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be erased.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be deleted.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be destroyed.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be unmade.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be unmade.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be unmade.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be unmade.

I could feel it in the way it wanted to be unmade.

But I wasn't here for unmaking.

This body's circadian proxy told me well enough the shape of what was inside - the taste of iron on a warm breeze; the way dust organizes itself in shafts of light. Just fragments, but they were enough to know.

a543 — aperture cycle 543 — opened without warning. This one bled a long static first, as if pulling itself across temporal strata. Not violent, just... resistant. Like light through a denser medium.

...

It's becoming easier to read the day by its anomalous trace rather than its hour. It's a kind of bloom, a kind of aperture. I can see the way it opens and closes, like a flower.

The orb within: chromatic interference, noise-bright. A terrain forming as I watched, like watching someone else's thought coalesce. I've learned not to touch them until the perimeter stabilizes. I still wasn't used to this. I still wasn't used to the way it felt. I still wasn't used to the way it looked. I still wasn't used to the way it sounded. I still wasn't used to the way it smelled. I still wasn't used to the way it tasted. I still wasn't used to the way it felt. I still wasn't used to the way it looked. I still wasn't used to the way it sounded. I still wasn't used to the way it smelled. I still wasn't used to the way it tasted. I still wasn't used to the way it felt. I still wasn't used to the way it looked. I still wasn't used to the way it sounded. I still wasn't used to the way it smiled. I still wasn't used to the way it laughed. I still wasn't used to the way it cried. I still wasn't used to the way it screamed. I still wasn't used to the way it whispered. I still wasn't used to the way it sang. I still wasn't used to -

Stop

I forced myself to stop and took a deep, slow breath, clearing my mind. Even with the gap between the interface and this body's circadian proxy the seed was trying to affect me.

observation: threshold blooming
light-shift: below tolerance
suggest: wait for a544 before action

SELECT * FROM orbs
WHERE aperture_id = 543
AND delta_phase > 0.2;

I'm documenting these openings now not for record, but for rhythm. This calendar isn't linear anymore, not since time broke. Now time loops and swells - you can see it where the sky used to be. The old time-stamps were too brittle. “May 15” tells me nothing of the bloom's temperament. But d257 in cy4 does. It's when the static thins just enough.

If w43.1 is too soft then a544 might be lucid. If not, I'll sync back to the still point in the c5r6aubjdxq0 tesselation.

Until then, logging under haze.

—e