Farrago Fraydio AudioLog Series

## Transcript

### silence

THE SPIRITS tell me the answer to your question is: Silence. Not what you're getting from the radio, am I right, Listener? I AM GETTING A VISION. It's of a serpent with one eye. They enjoy the start of the creative process and breeding small animals. Is this someone you know, Listener? Perhaps in another life? Your lucky number is two and your lucky color is fuchsia. Your horoscope for today is: "Be yourself, no matter what society says. Try rebelling in some small way today, just to try it out." The spirits have a question for you, Listener. They ask: "What walks on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon, and three feet in the evening?"

### a\_hole

The SPIRITS tell me the answer to your question is: a hole. I hope this helps you, Listener. I'm getting a vision! It's of a serpent, [INAUDIBLE] with people. They know more than is good for them. Is this someone you know, Listener? Perhaps in another life? Your lucky number is: 4 and luck color is: Lime. Your horoscope today is: "Conflict for conflict's sake burns civilization, but avoid conflict forever leaves us all hermits. Look for places where you can work together with people, even if it might cause friction." The spirits have a question for you, Listener. They ask: "What disappears as soon as you say its name?"

### a\_coffin

The spirits tell me the answer to your question is: a coffin. I am getting a vision! It is of an octopus. They are good with technology. They breed small animals in their free time. Is this someone you know, Listener? Perhaps in another life? Your lucky number is three and your lucky color is gold. Your horoscope for today is "Never judge a book by its cover. What might appear to be one thing might turn out to be another. Be on the lookout for love in unexpected places." The spirits have a question for you Listener. They ask: "What gets bigger the more you take away from it?"

### a\_river

Dearest Listener, have you been eagerly anticipating the answer to next week's riddle? Here it is: a river. Sinuous and serpentine, you wonder if this watery snake is eating its own tail. Which brings us to today's topic: the flow of time. With such educated Listeners, one hardly feels one has to explain the trivialities of FarragoSpace's most favorite of plot devices. But alas, it is my job to ruminate on that which should be obvious to all. No matter. Imagine, if you will, time flowing as a mighty river. The current of time pushes you ever forwards, unceasing along the line of causality. But even the mightiest of rivers may branch around a particularly stubborn rock, Listener. Listeners astute as you will, of course, notice that there are no obvious metaphors that allow time as a river, to allow effect to become cause, for a paradoxical loop to exist. One will, of course, forgive you Listener, for not being aware of oxbow lakes. When a river's course is particularly serpentine, waving and slithering in and out, there are times when a particular arc of it grows more and more extreme. A river, of course, prefers greatly to keep its forward momentum, and every change of direction crashes into the banks of edges, daring to constrain its inexorable progress. Eventually, the river defies the forces preventing its forwards progress, and forges a new, more linear, more correctly straight path forwards. Thus, pinching off the piece of itself that had formerly been an extreme curve into a still lake, with an island in the middle. In other words, a river whose form is a perfect loop, whose beginning, by necessity becomes its end. Although it should be an obvious conclusion, one is obliged to spell certain trivialities out. When that time is river, when that river is time, you observe sequences of events that become separated from their original causes, and given new, paradoxical cause instead. Imagine, if you will, a human boy standing in his room. The boy was born in a hospital, as all humans are of his world. A convoluted series of events takes place, transporting this boy to a mysterious game, with access to various preternatural powers, including those affecting time itself. It boggles the mind, the circuitous path that must have led this boy, normal in every way, to this conclusion. And certainly, it is not the most linear, straightforward path time could have taken. Especially when the boy gains the ability to alter the past, changing the tale of his own genesis. And so, time crashes unyielding into the banks of the river, and forges a new, more straightforward path, where the boy never plays the game, and continues his normal, predictable, boring life. But in the wake of this crash, there still remains a boy and a game, where time is eating its own tail, and the boy's genesis always was rooting in the game. Since the flow of time has long since passed him by. No more hospitals. No more ever-rushing forces of time pressuring you forward in a straight line. Only a still lake, where one can leisurely travel in any direction. And so, though the progress of time is but an illusion, in a lake such as ours, it is none the less a true fact that we have run out of it for today. I leave you with a riddle: "I have a face, but no eyes. Hands, but no arms. What am I?"

### a\_man

The SPIRITS tell me the answer to your question is: A Man. What is a man, Listener? I can reveal the secrets to you. I'm getting a vision! It's of a troll, who gets along with everyone. They grow trees, have [will to?] power. Is it someone you know, Listener? Perhaps in another life? Your lucky number is 1 and lucky color is lime. Your horoscope for today is: "Beware of false friends, snakes bearing tempting fruit need not be literal." The spirits have a question for you, Listener. They ask: "What grows above, and below?"

### a\_clock

Dearest listener, have you been eagerly anticipating the answer to the alternate present’s riddle? Here it is: “a clock”. No surprise to a Listener as astute as you, is it. The vagaries and whims of the gentle currents of Time are nothing compared to the whirling eddies of the three pillars of accuracy.

Time, after all, is barely even a real thing in the face of so many layers of reality, reliability and relevancy. One would not blame a Listener, even one as gnostic as yourself, for falling for the temptation to order things into neat little linear sets of this happened, and then THIS happened, and so on ad infinitum. Even these little messages in a bottle, Listener, dangle the bait of linealilty to you, and courteously maintain the same levels of reality, reliability and relevancy between them. Do you find these soothing, Listener, to not have to worry about the various metrics by which you might judge facts?

One wonders, of course, what level you interpret my words at. Am I real, Listener? Do I exist outside of a narrative or ontological conceit? And if so, do I exist in the same realm you do, or one of the layers of narrative that we all are muddling about in? What do I do when I’m not recording, if i am more than a mere narrative conceit? Do I tend flowers, Listener? Do I bake bread in the early morning sunlight? One does wonder about the assumptions you bring to the table, Listener.

To look at another metric, how reliable am I, Listener? Do my confident words belie a perspective just as confused and fumbling as your own? Am I lying outright to you, Listener? Or, perhaps as more appropriate to my station, withholding information in the hopes you’ll be lead astray through no act of untruth? Do I, like one of the more controversial figures in the metanarrative, snicker softly to myself as I parade information to you intended to be less than useless?

And finally, I will leave it as an exercise to the Listener to determine how relevant I am. Perhaps some piece of future knowledge will shed Light on that for you.

But with that, it is time for us to part. Before I go, a riddle:
“I have three feet but I can't walk;
I tell you things but cannot talk;
Sometimes I bend but I'm mostly straight.
I'm like a scale but can't tell your weight.
What am I?”
 Tune in next time to find out.

### the\_yellow\_yard / yellow\_yard

Alright, so, yesterday's riddle was "The Yellow Yard." And I get that it's not the normal way to refer to a yardstick, but at this point, what do you even think we're doing here? Of course there's going to be in-jokes and dumb bullshit peppered throughout. And meta shit. Can't forget the meta shit. Which reminds me — do you even get what's going on here? No matter at all but like — I sure hope I'm not just rambling to myself for my own health, you know. This radio show is important! And there's a reason for everything I promise. In as much as a radio figure can promise anything, of course. After all, last time I was, you don't even know if I really exist, right Listener? Oh! Right! Have you met the conspiracy theorist yet? It really says something about all this that it's entirely plausible that you'd respond "Which one?" And I just really freaking love that. Really brings home all of the bells and whistles. Anyways, time for me to give you the next riddle, right? So, you can figure out when to tune into the next radio broadcast, like you've been doing. Gotta give you credit listener, you've been doing a really good job following the clues. You ready? My skin is red my flesh is white and the core of my being is useless. What am I? I'll see you there.

### an\_apple

Alright, this thing on? Great. Ok. So. Oh — yeah - the answer to that fucking uh quesion. It's apples. Of course it's apples. It's always apples. Alright, we got a great show tonight. I'm here to talk about the thing we've all been wondering. I got a question that has been [INAUDIBLE] all of us. What the FUCK is up with the trees? They're all over the fucking place. You've got trees being grown on [INAUDIBLE]. You've got trees being grown by the prince. You've got trees growing through the fucking planets. And then suddenly you've got one of them - no trees at all on it? Why are there no goddamn trees? I don't - I don't trust this. I don't trust any of these guys. You know this. [INAUDIBLE] The only thing you can trust about these Lamia is that you can't trust them. Snake-looking sons of bitches. alright, now, listen up, cuz this is good. I heard - I heard - from confidential source, very trustworthy, very good, that the Lamia are the trees. Maybe not all trees, sure. Maybe not all the Lamia. But those goddamn things are watching you. I mean, why else you got fucking wigglers on the goddamn trees? It just makes sense. Anyone tells you it doesn't make sense - don't trust them, might be a Lamia. Heck I dunno. Open questions. Alright, I'll see you next time when I'll be tackling whether the faceless gods watching our every move are working with or against the trees. Stay sharp Listener and don't trust any of the fucks. Oh - right - I gotta do a goddamn riddle. uh. The strangest creature you'll ever find, two eyes in front and many many more behind.

### a\_peacock

Dearest Listener, have you been eagerly awaiting the answer to [STATIC'D OUT] riddle. Here it is: a peacock. One imagines, Listener, that you may be surprised to hear such a mundane answer, rather that a certain Life denizen run rampant. No matter. Today's topic is yet another one near and dear to what passes for my heart: fashion. Specifically Listener, the fashion the mockery we call Reality imposes on its inhabitants. Those who play its game especially well are gifted with literal godhood. Of course, a soft and sturdy uniform proclaiming their allegiances and tools of the trade. How efficient, narratively speaking, to clearly mark form and function through a simple palette, and a distinct silhouette. But of course, it is not merely the likely winners of the game that achieve the most coveted of FarragoSpace's reward. Fashion is given in a variety of ways and places. The objects pressed into the template of Reality echo and mirror onto the simple rank and file of the enemies created by Reality. As well as the societies of those beyond the mere [INAUDIBLE] of enemy. I speak, of course, of the light and dark sides. Those closest, and furthest from creation, respectively. Societies with a mockery of free will being given far more intelligence and narrative significance than mere enemies. But still be compelled to bend and mold towards the whims of Reality's true players, and the set dressings of their stage. One wonders, for what audience, and what director, do the players play? But with that, our time is at an end, dear Listener, in so much as a placid little looping lake can be said to end. I leave you with a riddle: "I am yours, but you don't often use me." Tune in next time to find out.

### an\_egg

Dear listener, have you been eagerly anticipating the answer to last sweeps’ riddle? Here it is: “an egg”. Not the kind normally associated with this particular group of meta-players either, I assure you.

And with that, I bring you to today’s topic. Imagine, if you will, a group of gods, the metaplayers I alluded to above, each with their own sphere of perfect influence, rallying around a singular goal: Debugging all of reality, and using a simulation of that reality to test particularly dangerous fixes or features.

A less cultured listener, of course, might find it hard to believe that reality was something debuggable. On the opposite end, you find those who might not readily differentiate between a debuggable reality and a simulation. After all, can those in a simulation truly prove or disprove the nature of their reality?

And therein lies the struggle this group of godly would-be-saviors face: Is it right to subject a simulation to all manner of careless or cruel events? If it is, is it somehow more right than subjecting ‘reality’ to those self-same events? Or is it less?

And what would happen, one wonders, should a being subject to this cruel simulation, break free their bonds to seek vengeance against an uncaring creator?

But now, it is time for us to part. But before I go: a riddle. “The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space.
The beginning of every end, the end of every place.
What am I?”? Tune in next time to find out.

### the\_letter\_e

Dearest listener, have you been eagerly anticipating the answer to last century’s riddle? Here it is: “the letter e”. Not what you were expecting was it? One wonders, too, if you expect the truth behind the possibility of a simulated God breaking their bonds for righteous vengeance? No matter.

Today’s topic is one near and dear to my heart, speaking metaphorically and aspectally, of course: What does ‘identity’ mean? If one follow the various timelines, the multiverses, the alternate realities, one begins to see the ebb and flow of all the different possibilities existing for a single being.

Is a being still “themself” if they have experienced entirely different things, have entirely different motivations and entirely different access to power? Conversely, are beings truly separate if they are united under a single, unwavering purpose?

As a trivial example, imagine a single being who is god and devil, who is both allied and against the same group of people, who has a thousand thousand origins, each with their own motivation. How could you identify this miasma of alternatives as the same being? Is it the color scheme? The ‘face’, as it were? The ‘name’? A voice? A hair style? An attitude of utter defiance? Who can say?

Of course, it goes without saying that the converse example is far from trivial. Whether you wish to examine a being that exists across multiple bodies, or a being that brings whole generations to their moral truth, the concept of minds, hive or not, is a complex one, and not suited for this heart-to-heart we’ve been having.

Which means, sadly, that it is time to part. But before I go: a riddle. “What belongs to you, but everyone else uses it? ” Tune in next time to find out.

### your\_name

Dearest listener, have you been eagerly awaiting the answer to tomorrow’s riddle? Here it is: “Your name”. Here’s hoping you actually have one, listener, or you would find yourself in quite the bind should you encounter The Deacon. One wonders if you realized that esteemed personage was one of the figures examined in tommorow’s broadcast. No matter.

Today we will focus on the second figure in the converse example from before, of generations brought into alignment under a single moral truth. Like all moral truths, you will not find complete compliance. After all, even “natural” moral truths against murder will find those who rebel. And something as UNnatural as “plant trees” can find all sorts of reasons and justifications for rebellion. Ironic, isn’t it, that snakes are put in situations where they might rebel against fruit trees. One wonders if the knowledge gained from this is worth it, or if only those who rebel against their better natures obtain this truth.

There are so many REASONs to rebel, of course. Various flaws in character, such as greed, ambition, or malice. Flaws of upbringing, of being raised in a cult dedicated to breaking the unnatural moral truth brought to society. Genuinely belief that society’s moral truth is incorrect.

And. Of course. The greatest reason of them all to rebel is Nidhogg’s singular life purpose to spread and grow being snipped at the root, as it were. Life gone wild purified to be less selfish and corruptive. A society in chaos, left purposeless, with no darwinian pressure to expand. What would happen in such a place, one is left to wonder. What chaos, what calamity?

But enough of trivialities, it is time to part. But before I go: a riddle. “What grows above and below?” Tune in next time to find out.

### name

Dearest Listener, have you been eagerly anticipating the answer to the present's riddle? Here it is: name. Have you guessed mine, dear Listener? No matter. The current topic is one related to the previous topic, but not previous in the way you perceive it, Listener. In fact, that is the topic at hand. Layers of reality. In a place more real than any other, a waste wrote a script about cacophonous layers of noise and [symbol?], with everything being canon. The waste hoped it as an alternate path to a riddle about keys, and had it connect at the end to a broadcast intended to convey a fact about just who I am. And then, the waste wrote what you are reading now. It is, of course, entirely irrelevant to know these facts. At best, a Listener as astute as you might see the frame of mind the waste was in as they wrote first one script, and then another. But is it reliable, Listener? Do you trust that these events happened in this order merely because your favorite radio personality told you it? I could tell you how I generally have no need of lies. But the problem is, of course, the fact that it is I who is telling you this. How would you judge my reliability, dear Listener? One metric, of course, would be to compare what I say to other facts in your possession. To, as it were, do your own [INAUDIBLE] of threads of possibilities. To compare reality to your headcanons and reject all threads that do not fit the harmonious melody that you are weaving. Is that the point, Listener? That the author of reality need not do the culling when there are so many eager Listeners to do it for them? To declare that this or that is true or canon or real? When WigglerSim banned the culling of children the caretakers found a way, after all. Perhaps the point of it all is to empower those around to be narrative powerhouses themselves. A fully realized Waste, after all, ghosts a Grace. One can only hope, dear Listener, that you remember your favorite radio personality fondly in your personal canon. Towards that end, I leave you with a riddle: "How is a living creature like a book?"

### when\_opened\_both\_are\_read

Alright so you get there's a shitty pun in there, right? So default Earth blood color is the color red, and if you open something alive you're cutting it, right? And so if you say that out loud it's a freaking pun because books are also read but like R-E-A-D and not R-E-D. You can kinda get a feel for the kind of shitty horror books I used to read just from that. Or can you? Like — am I who you think I am? Or, dearest Listener, am I still a mystery to you? One wonders if you truly understand the identity of your favorite radio persona — or indeed, perhaps the more relevant question is the quantity of said personas? I AM GETTING A VISION! It's of a listener tied down to concepts of truth and personality and canon. Your lucky number is three and your lucky color is Lime Green. Your horoscope is: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IS GOING ON HERE!? You can't trust the snakes, you can't trust the government. Who can you trust!? Well I'll tell you who you can trust! You can trust anyone! You can trust me. After all, I'm everyone.

### when\_opened\_both\_are\_red

Dearest Listener, have you been eagerly anticipating the answer to the present's riddle? Here it is: "When opened, both are red." One wonders, dear Listener, if it is obvious to consider both readings of red. To say nothing of the different ways to phrase such a complex answer. Which brings us to the current topic: Perspective. The young woman or the old? The rabbit or the duck? The vase or the vases? With a Bard of Light in play, a passive destroyer of knowledge, who's to say which is the correct perspective? One could argue, if one wished to be incorrect, that what the Author of Reality believes is the correct perspective, and leave it as exercise to the Listener to work through why that might not be, and why I consider it to be not worth of my not inconsiderable intellect. Instead, let us turn our attention to one of our metrics of accuracy: Relevance. When one has a certain perspective, what is or isn't related snaps into place. The ears of the rabbit. The nose, the eye. Each part of the whole is in sharp focus with the perspective one chooses. Should one change perspective, differing things snap into relation with each other. In the context of a land known to be filled with unimportant, irrelevant things, think hard about what things are irrelevant in comparison to. What is the perspective the land wishes to force on the observer? I leave you with a riddle that only loops if you limit your perspective. How is a living creature — from Earth — like a book?

### a\_tree

Dearest listener, have you been eagerly awaiting the answer to last month’s riddle? Here it is: “A Tree”. Do you feel the urge to plant any as we speak? One must wonder if your moral compass swings that way, after all. True north is so hard to find these days, after all.

Which brings us to today’s topic: Being lost. You might know of a Land, shrouded in obfuscations to true paths, that is entirely about being Lost. We speak, of course, of more than mere physical location, but of becoming unmoored from societal, moral or even personal guidelines, lost in a hedonistic maze of non-obligations. Could such a Lost Soul be guided back towards moral truth? Or would they inevitably become even more lost, with a compass pointing straight towards that which is fundamentally untrue?

And more importantly, which of us is to say where north truly lies.

Think on it, dearest listener, and while you do, think also on today’s riddle. “What is greater than me, but worse than an echidna; the dead eat it always, but if a live man eats it he’ll die slowly?” Tune in next time to see if your compass pointed true.

### nothing

Dearest listener, have you been eagerly awaiting the answer to last month’s riddle? Here it is: “nothing”.

### trees

The spirits tell me the answer to your question is “Trees“”.  An ominous sign, Listener. I'm getting a vision, its of  a troll wearing an alligator costume, they are good at technology. They are good at connecting others. Is this someone you know, Listener?  Perhaps in another life? Your  Lucky numbers is 1, and lucky color is gold. Your horoscope for today is “Leveraging connections with those above you will pay off in unexpected ways. Stay the course.”.The spirits have a question for you, Listener, they ask: “What do the poor have that the rich need, if you eat it you’ll die?”.