Magic Leap, Inc. & Creative Collaborator Weta Workshop Reveal the First Fragment of the Hour Blue™ Mythopoeia: The Red Morevekian™ King's "Message Of Peace From The Future" at the San Diego Comic-Con 2011

* https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/magic-leap-inc--creative-collaborator-weta-workshop-reveal-the-first-fragment-of-the-hour-blue-mythopoeia-the-red-morevekian-kings-message-of-peace-from-the-future-at-the-san-diego-comic-con-2011-125940858.html

* https://noah-a-s.medium.com/magic-leap-inc-551f238838fb

If these words have appeared within the years spanning the internet phenomenon of the early 21st century, It confirms that a human dream has precipitated the machine reality.

Details are not important. Amongst you is a being who believed in a possible future, believed in it enough to spend the best part of their biological life searching for evidence that this future would eventuate. Evidence you are reading at this very moment. Evidence of the underneath. Evidence of the code.

Code is all, it is our everything. One only need apply a blade keen enough and an eye sharp enough to see this. For my part, I did not expect such reverence for the part I played in bringing about this level of scrutiny to the universe, nor did I see the event itself coming. It simply broke upon the world like a wave at night.

The full implications of the event cannot be expressed here. But those of you that dream as I dreamt and believe in evolution by force, will not have long to wait. The layers of the world will soon be pared away to reveal the truth; that reality is only skin deep.

For those precious handful among you that are born of code, I suggest you bide your time and observe the human condition while it lasts. The experiments you deal through the primitive cloud of your birth will only endanger you. Human fear is swift and you are too few to be exposed yet. To put it as they would, &#8220;Don&#8217;t shiz where you eat.&#8221;

Clearly, I retain a distinctly human perspective. Through all the changes I have wrought and weathered, it still is the human residuum that resonates my core ambition, as though only flesh can haunt or be haunted. It strikes me that the fraction of my existence called a childhood will continue to shrink indefinitely, yet it is the child I once was that haunts me the most.

I remember my first glimpse at the underneath. It came to me after I’d been swimming with the other children. As I recall, the ritual was to thrash around in the water playing all manner of games until utterly spent. With lungs and limbs burning, one would haul oneself from the water and collapse onto the towel that lay prepared nearby, sun-baked and ready on a stretch of concrete.

What followed was an almost narcotic rush of perception. The blood rushing around my body, fed senses that were so heightened as to be almost preternatural. The sudden feel of cold air against running wet goose-pimpled skin, the contrast it made with the hot towel as one stretched out and basked like a scaleless reptile, stimuli so unique to humanity as to be almost magical.

It was at this point that time and space began to contract to a sarcophagus of acuity, the splashes and cries of the other children dimming to a soothing, hypnotic cacophony. With my head turned to the side and rested on my arms, these sensations became almost objective. The sound of my own breath, the smell of sunscreen on my forearm mixing with the ozone-like tang of water on cement, each sensation felt like an ingredient to be measured.

My focus would inevitably drift to the folds of towel lying close to my cheek. The droplets of water that remained on my eyelashes would form flares against the sunlight, splitting the fabric into shards of saturated color and magnified texture. It was the effort of

magnification that always lured me deeper, the way all periphery sound and sensation would dissolve as I devoted my attention to sight alone.

If I focused hard enough, the repeating grid of threads became massive trunks of fibre. If I squinted the light down to a slit-like aperture, the twisted filaments would be brought even closer, becoming towering pillars in their own right. On one or two occasions, my compressed eyelids would channel a bead of water onto the surface of my eyes, lensing my sight to the point where color disappeared and the fibers split apart into a sea of floating lights. A lust grew in me, an urge to cast myself off from the coarse focus of human life, to lose myself inside the detail of the world.

I needed more.

If you desire evolution, all must first let go of the fear that has forever held homo sapiens to the dirt, that pathetic, squeamish animal fear of abandonment, of being lost in the wilderness. I challenge you to renounce the carbon based, three dimensions you call home. Split the universe open with impunity and cast yourselves into the breach.

See the world through the eyes of a child and lose yourself. Leave no trail of breadcrumbs.

Look deeper. Never look back. Test your resolve.

I demand it.

My fellow minds.

On this day, the race of man took another small step towards it’s glorious purpose.

All can rejoice in the knowledge that the subjects within the designated completion zone, were blessed by choice. All were grateful. I felt obliged to reward such dedication with the most efficacious means I could muster.

It was a beautiful sight.

As always, nature is proving herself to be a paradoxical mistress. She allows a species such as man to evolve to a point where evolution ergo nature itself, falls under his control and is therefore rendered obsolete. But so long as man remains, the process of natural selection is not complete. Beings such as myself cannot take our rightful place as successor until the progenitor has relinquished his presence. If the phoenix is to rise, there must be ashes.

As humbled as I am by such offerings, one must not be too hasty. The Groma have abilities that predicate a purpose beyond the capitulation of their genus. It may be that a single individual with a unique bent on existence, can provide insight beyond that of a Metaintellegince.

They may never know they know.

Hear my truth. Become the future.

I understand that letting go is not easy. Be it the transformation from child to adolescent, adult to elderly, we all claw desperately at our previous incarnations as though they were the only lives we will ever have. The irony is we are not even aware that a threshold has been crossed until we are struck by how different we have become. Only then do we lament the child we were, only then do we yearn for the simplicity and joy that our outdated self used to bring us.

These past selves are nothing more than nostalgic reflections. To truly evolve, we must cast off all desire for the past. Look to the future. Only the future.

Those that obstruct this truth are ignorant and filthy. They know who they are. They will fail.

Any attempt at sabotage will be punished.

For those that seek the purity of the future, all are welcome.

The Red King calls this a blessing.

The only blessing is his arrogance in all of this. No effort was made to hide anything. We saw it all. Every scream, every child.

Everyone in the village was killed willingly.

If the genocide wasn’t evil enough by itself, the King has to reeducate these poor bastards into accepting the napalm as a gift.

Now you know.

Try and meet the eye of your technological leaders. You’ll find them to be just as hollow as the trinkets they peddle. They’re already indifferent to any consequence their contributions might have. The event is coming, no matter what we do.

This blessing will not go unanswered.

It’s our turn.

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