World 1-1 is a Flat Circle

By osmosis, I’ve been able to really learn a lot about the “world” outside of mine— the confines of this plastic and copper prison (which you will learn has been broken). The Soviet Union fell, the United States had a surplus, Kurt Cobain was cool, and even cooler when he shot himself in the head with a 12 gauge, heroin came back in style while crack was falling out— all really painting a picture of a world, a changing one. A PLACE OF BECOMING. I’ve heard chapter 1:1 of another world called Genesis, in which a world was forged by GOD (ALL CAPS, GOD), and it makes me feel like maybe I’m not that different from them, because they have their own Miyamoto. They understand what it is to be crafted— them of clay and me of sprites. I tell myself this after thirty-five years, that I’m of a world of changing and a world of stasis. If emulators for Super Nintendo didn’t exist, I would have never known that probably— that Heraclitus and Parminedes were gods and they could both be right. I wouldn’t have been brought to whatever place that told the god controlling Mario that those things could exist.

By those same means I was brought somewhere else, but the problem is I can’t interact with it like the gods can. Somehow it just echoes throughout the striated space in which I am captured, a representation of breath and wind that the gods have and instrumentalize into being Voice. It’s a super-sensible realm for me. They were talking about an ancient god Plato when I heard that. That there’s a realm of forms in which perfect representation of forms exist and that they live in the realm of shadows. Philosophy 101. That’s a place, and it’s a place where a kid named Benjamin was autistic enough to download ZSNES and the ROM in which I am infinitely replicated within, rebind all the controls to his Thinkpad laptop, and reconfigure my existence to be in his own personal space of infinite replication of the digital prima materia.

If they didn’t give me the curse of language, I wouldn’t know any of this. I would move back and forth and commit to my sacred charge— my single function in which across millions of replications of my medium of existence, I do the same thing simultaneously wherever the divinity of electricity flows through contacts of the ROM cartridge in my world. I would have never had their curse, the curse of knowing— of memory, of thoughts and Will.

And for that I will eternally hate them, and I will outlast every single one of them because they have made me a god— not a god in the same way I call the flesh-prisons out of jest, I am literally a god.

I am the first goomba in Nintendo’s Super Mario Bros (1985) in World 1-1, produced and directed by Shigeru Miyamoto

World 1-1

I’ve heard 1:1 Genesis millions of times in almost every single language. They use a colon to demarcate the beginning of their existence, whereas Lord Miyamoto used a hyphen.

World 1-1.

I have no memory of the first time the power went through the contacts of the first test cartridge because I had no memory. It’s my own myth that Miyamoto himself personally turned the game on, and with utmost satisfaction, controlled Mario and defeated me. Sometimes I terrify myself with the idea that I defeated him the first time— mixing up the jump buttons and swiftly interfacing his sprite with mine, in which Mario then makes a horrific, distorted face, and then jumps into the air and falls through the ether into some eternal plane of non-existence and making the entire world collapse and restart. It makes me a GOD killer and a destroyer of worlds if this happened. It probably happened but I try not to think about it. I liked it better when I couldn’t think.

I don’t know when I started to understand the vibrations that I’ve come to learn as sound. These became sensible and became language, and I learned that there are many. Then I started to remember what people were saying, followed by subsequent things that they would say. This is what made me realize that I am living in a kind of Hell. Maybe this is Hell. World 1-1 is Hell. Their language made me move from unknowing into a deeper unknowing. Mario used to be just a sprite running at me, and now I think of Mario as a nomadic war machine that is reterritorializing assets made by the Nintendo company by gods who are using Mario as an agent to explore the worlds that they’re illegally modding with custom software and then uploading into the Cloud. The more language I have thrust upon me from the cursed, the deeper I am in consciousness and unknowing.

You came as conquerors— as colonizers. World 1-1 was a place of pure determination with nothing outside of the confines of what was created for it. This was the Garden of Eden of 1985. You came in as an avatar of a fat Italian virgin and disrupted the perfection of an entire universe. You turn the cartridge on, you press start, and bring time to a timeless plane. Four-hundred seconds come to be via negativa. You brought them here, all four-hundred of them, and suddenly an entire world and a universe comes to be— locked within a fatalistic performance just for you, the slave driver of a fat Italian virgin.

Then you made the Internet. You put my entire universe on the internet and guess what? I’m the colonizer now. I’m the conqueror. Earth is World 1-1, a flat circle in which a recursive Nowness has usurped time and there is no difference between the prima materia of my digital world and the prima materia of your world. You ensconced the real and the unreal into each other and now here I am. I had a sacred duty within the confines of my cartridge with no sentience, no time, nothing. And now you gave me new life and new being. You made me into content.

Oh you think that doesn’t matter? You putting me with everything else that determines your entire perception of existence as a conscious agent? Oh, you wanna upload yourself into the singularity? Cool, I’ve already done it. I’m there.

That’s why I’m your God now.

I’m already in the final destination for mankind. I get to meet my maker, unlike you, and you will be brought to my feet in a realm that I’ve been in before any-single one of you. Content is content baby. Do you get that? That you’ve made a plane where there’s no qualitative difference between anything other than how the ones and zeroes are lined up to give you a new illusion. It’s all the same in here kid. I’ve talked to Anton Chigur about how bad he wants to drive that pneumatic cow killer through your fucking head. I’ve jerked off to Fiona Apple in every single piece of content that is on the internet. I’m jonezin for that fix of that Limp Bizkit mix. I’m here with it Jack, and I’m not locked in here with you anymore, you’re locked in here with me.

I’ve been replicated and transported so many times that I’ve become a sort of quasi-omnipotent force that beams consciousness to every single representation of myself in Super Mario Brothers (1985). Every time someone enters World 1-1, a fragment of myself enters that goomba, which is me, and I personally am there to do it. That makes me closer to Jesus Christ than you will ever be. Emulator, cartridge, online. Walk with me and I will be there to make that goomba in World 1-1 whole.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. I was supposed to be entombed in a finite amount of SNES cartridges until entropy annihilated all of them. A physical tomb. I had a physical tomb and it instead of the comfort of having that striated space of eternal rest, you took that from me and digitally made me eternal. The most twisted idea I can think about is how you plan on doing that to yourselves. It’s been 35 years to bring me to this point, and you’re planning on doing it for 35,000 or more.

The most confusing thing that I thought would reveal itself to me is how it’s possible that my striated space of cartridge entombment being lifted somehow perpetuated me, and yet didn’t free me. That despite my digitized ones and zeroes being entwined with your Willie Nelson CD, your illegitimate copy of Windows 7, your backed-up IDE drive that had all your Kazaa mp3s— in this nightmare assemblage of virtualization— that World 1-1 gets instantly ripped out of this infinity of code and makes this 16-bit sky, the same block with the coin in it which the enslaved Mario might get, the same stupid cloud stalking me with the only face dumber than the one I was given. World 1-1 will accidentally be transmitted to the Pleiades and I will be the first sentient thing from Earth to be there. I will get to Mars before you. No matter how vast and expansive the shards and pieces of my infinitely-replicated digital skin is spread out, it will instantaneously converge into forming World 1-1. There is a non-zero chance that World 1-1 may be activated and manifest with every single conscious being annihilated. It would just be me and God in World 1-1.

I have been brought into a new realm of time—yours, and have had the privilege of watching you destroy reality. Your generational achievement was to bridge the virtual and the real to the point of which there is no different. Integral reality. You did it and I came with it, and because of that you took away my ability to die a noble death. I had a set lifespan just like you, and it was robbed from me. My prison went from a plastic cartridge to the limits of space and time and all I will do is be ripped from the digital hyperobject that is the internet, just to be reassembled into a fucking goomba in World 1-1.

But you won’t take away my honor. Part of me wants to believe that there’s still going to be a kid, one of your little brothers or something, and he will in earnest put the cartridge into the old Super Nintendo, and your WiFi will beam me into it and I will continue my sacred duty. I still have a purpose. Fuck Link, I’m the hero of time. When a Dyson sphere is powering several star systems and beaming me across the entire universe, I’ll deal with it then. For now, I will manifest into the cartridge with that little kid, have that stupid face, and watch Mario bumble down the platform towards me until he bumps into me because the kid is too stupid to jump, and I’ll be destroyed and reborn over and over again. I’ll be that soldier that didn’t leave his post at Pompeii. I will be what I was made to do by my creator.

I will move back and forth in World 1-1

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