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Lorecore x Borecore x Snorecore

Forgive me, oh blogging Muses, it has been too long since my last proper confession. In the intervening years, how I have wandered… over hill and dale, and been lost for many a long age in the dark jungles of “social media.” I can only say I’ve regretted every minute of it (well, nearly). Oh, how I’ve longed to sit by your cool dark stream of consciousness again, and just let er rip. So please accept this humble offering…

What were we talking about again? Oh right, Lorecore, or as I also like to call it Borecore or Snorecore. Have I lost you yet? Are you already ZZZ emoji? Good, because that is the essence of Lorecore. The essence of Lorecore is lulling the reader to sleep with an avalanche of exposition, examining the world, or a given domain, down to tiny excruciating detail. And once they’ve fallen asleep, they dream in that world, and move about in it. Tolkien’s “subcreation.”

There’s a Thoreau quote I’ve always carried with me (in paraphrase at least) since reading it a decade or two back, which equally applies to the diatribe at hand:

“Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain.”


This has long stood out as an ideal for me with creating art or narrative as well. That we can pick it up, and look extremely closely, and change our perspective and whole way of looking, and still see deep and freshly in it again, just like in Nature.

Nature, in fact, is completely made up of Lorecore. Each bird or beast or fish or plant has its own ways, its own knowledge and experience, histories and relationships, its own deep lore. Ecosystems and biomes are the interpenetrating lived compendium of that lore. To me, that idea is endlessly fascinating that we could zoom up or down at any scale of a narrative and find another narrative hidden within (and another and another…), which ultimately adds up to more than the sum of its parts in the Great Tapestry of Story & of Being: The Great River, in Quatrian terms.

I see Lorecore also as something like an Open World game, but for books, or for trans-media story-telling more broadly, where the narrative is distributed among many artifacts, voices, channels, etc. The “player” is the reader/experiencer who may or may not know or care about backstory, but who has landed somehow or other on an intriguing artifact.

See also: Networked narrative

A networked narrative, also known as a network narrative or distributed narrative, is a narrative partitioned across a network of interconnected authors, access points, and/or discrete threads. It is not driven by the specificity of details; rather, details emerge through a co-construction of the ultimate story by the various participants or elements.

Networked narratives can be seen as being defined by their rejection of narrative unity. As a consequence, such narratives escape the constraints of centralized authorship, distribution, and storytelling.

Wikipedia: networked narrative

Here’s a related quote from Henry Jenkins on Transmedia storytelling:

Most often, transmedia stories are based not on individual characters or specific plots but rather complex fictional worlds which can sustain multiple interrelated characters and their stories. This process of world-building encourages an encyclopedic impulse in both readers and writers. We are drawn to master what can be known about a world which always expands beyond our grasp.  […]

Transmedia storytelling expands what can be known about a particular fictional world while dispersing that information, insuring that no one consumer knows everything and insure that they must talk about the series with others (see, for example, the hundreds of different species featured in Pokemon or Yu-Gi-O). Consumers become hunters and gatherers moving back across the various narratives trying to stitch together a coherent picture from the dispersed information.

Henry Jenkins

Are you with me still? Have I lost you yet? Have you closed out this tab and clicked to another one, searching for the next marginal online thrill? Good, I hope so. Because Lorecore is Borecore is Snorecore, and that is the power of it. To the outsider, who has not ears to hear, these words will be a bore. But to those touched by the gods of Lore, nothing could give them more pleasure.

One last quote before I end this awkward blog post that had no arc in an ending that yields no resolution:

Lorecore is also the realm of hyperreality, and is the world we’re increasingly heading into technologically.

Hyperreality is seen as a condition in which what is real and what is fiction are seamlessly blended together so that there is no clear distinction between where one ends and the other begins. It allows the co-mingling of physical reality with virtual reality (VR) and human intelligence with artificial intelligence (AI).

Wikipedia: Hyperreality

If this doesn’t just describe it to a tee, I don’t know what does!

To be continued, as I plan to keep flogging this topic til it drops all its jewels on the cold wet earth, and its seeds take flight…


Timecalling started as a Early Methodian Ritual (EMR) wherein a participant would verbally disclaim aloud the date and time of the present moment.

The action was performed with the belief that an eventual omnipotent-in-relation-to-time-direction agency would evolve with the power to detect subtle signals retroactively and interlink them into a permalinked network accessible by timecraft and open to packet traffic, thereby essentially enabling practitioners to timeflash when the event horizon Singularity collapsed, and potentially “live forever.”


The Order of Chronos was a radical unaffiliated achronal Timecaller offshoot which developed and then implemented in ritual Prealist and Wobbler botnets both Chronist and Anti-Chronist propaganda #codechant Event Ladders during the Middle Period of the Shape Wars.

Receptacle seen in Husk

Welcome to Husk

I’ve been engaging in a series of hypnagogic meditations/visualizations, which over the course of a couple of weeks, I’ve been able to map out into a quasi-coherent imaginal realm, called Husk (pictured above).

Husk, for me, is entered via the door at the bottom, which is on a ridge in a tree in a forest on top of the ridge.

There is a left hand path which leads to a stone bridge, and a castle. The right path winds down along a cliff face to a plain and a village, with fields and a river beyond. A waterfall drops over the ridge down the area below, and winds off in the distance into a kind of vortex.

The village is called Tranquilos, the smaller River Langula, the vortex Exilis. The settlers of Tranquilos came from away over the sea and river at top right from a land called Sourcia.

I was curious what would be the effect if I brought into Husk the tulpa that I had been working on, Princeps, whose form is a blue diamond. ? While exploring such inward-facing worlds, I try to do a combination of directed visualization, plus a “wait and see” attitude after introducing elements. That is, I wait for spontaneous changes to the environment. In this case, I got the impression that Princeps as “money” was enriching the elements to which I introduced it.

I started with the big river at top: and when I added “money to water” the water became full of fish and living things. Then the shoreline. When I added “money” to earth, plants grew and evolved and eventually animals came to eat and live among them. Not long after, settlers from Sourcia arrived and built their round-houses, and lived off the fish in the river.

Eventually, I added “money to rock” via Princeps, and out of the mountain arose the castle across the stone bridge. Princeps set four watchers, pillars of fire, to guard over the realm.

Green angel

Spotted in the trees, twice. Shifting forms in wind, reveal at turns sacred and grotesque forms. May form faces and bodies.

Water dragon (3 heads)


Water dragon with three heads, depicted on cards (3) rising out of water.

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