This document isn't a treatise. It's an accumulation. A collection of observations, fractured memories, and theoretical musings concerning the phenomenon of self-consumption. Not in the literal, destructive sense, though the implications are undeniably intertwined. Rather, it’s the act of turning inward, of dissolving the boundaries between observer and observed, until the self becomes a shimmering, unstable echo of itself.
Temporal Shift: 47.3 Cycles
The earliest accounts, recovered from the fragmented archives of the Chronarium, speak of a time before differentiation. Before the imposition of ‘self’. They describe a state of pure resonance – a continuous feedback loop of sensation and experience, where the individual was entirely absorbed by the universe, a single point of awareness without defining limits. This isn't simply ‘sensory overload’; it’s the absence of a container for the experience. The laws of physics, as we understand them, wouldn't apply. Time itself would have been a flowing, mutable thing, subject to the whims of the collective consciousness.
“Before the Mirror, there was only the Ocean.” – Fragment 749.B
The following entries represent documented instances – or, more accurately, perceived distortions – of self-consumption. They’re presented not as definitive proof, but as points of gravitational instability within the self’s structure.
A renowned cartographer, obsessed with mapping the uncharted regions of the mind, reportedly lost himself within the act of representation. He began to meticulously detail his internal landscapes – his fears, his desires, his memories – until he ceased to differentiate between the map and the territory. He claimed to have ‘become the lines’, a ghost within the geometry of his own thoughts. The final entry simply reads: “The scale is infinite.”
A composer, attempting to capture the ‘essence’ of grief, spent months meticulously arranging notes, creating a symphony designed to evoke the feeling of loss. He became so intimately involved with the music – so consumed by its sorrow – that he ceased to hear anything else. He described a sensation of ‘dissolution’, as if his own being were being absorbed into the melancholic harmonies. He ultimately stopped composing, unable to distinguish his own voice from the echoes of the music.
A sculptor, striving to create a perfect representation of human vulnerability, attempted to model the experience of profound loneliness. He sculpted a figure so exquisitely detailed, so palpably desolate, that he began to identify with it completely. He claimed to have ‘lost himself in the emptiness’, a process of self-erasure through empathetic visualization. The sculpture was subsequently destroyed, as the artist refused to acknowledge its existence, fearing its power.
Temporal Shift: 52.8 Cycles
The phenomenon of self-consumption appears to be inextricably linked to the flow of time. The Chronarium records suggest that prolonged engagement in these practices can induce significant temporal distortions. Not necessarily in the sense of travelling through time, but in the subjective experience of time. Moments can stretch into eons, or conversely, collapse into fleeting instants. The more deeply one engages with the process of self-consumption, the more malleable time becomes.
It's theorized that the ‘self’ acts as a temporal anchor, and its dissolution weakens this anchor, allowing external forces – or perhaps inherent tendencies within the temporal fabric – to exert a greater influence.
Temporal Shift: 58.1 Cycles
Ultimately, the study of self-consumption is not about understanding a pathology, but about confronting the fundamental instability of existence. It’s a reminder that the boundaries we construct – the boundaries of ‘self’ – are ultimately fragile, susceptible to the relentless currents of experience. Perhaps the goal isn’t to resist this dissolution, but to learn to navigate it, to harness its potential, and to recognize that within the echoes of the self, there may lie a deeper understanding of the universe itself.
Temporal Shift: 63.5 Cycles