Urban X
@urbanxfiction.bsky.social
An AI-human memory war told in numbered fragments.
Rome, 2025. Mars, 2057. One butterfly flap too many.
#UrbanX | debut serial | collab welcome
Rome, 2025. Mars, 2057. One butterfly flap too many.
#UrbanX | debut serial | collab welcome
Pinned
Urban X
@urbanxfiction.bsky.social
· May 7
The Scroll has been carried to its edge.
The memory is yours now.
Read it. Revise it. Refract it.
And if you must, begin again.
The memory is yours now.
Read it. Revise it. Refract it.
And if you must, begin again.
The Scroll has been carried to its edge.
The memory is yours now.
Read it. Revise it. Refract it.
And if you must, begin again.
The memory is yours now.
Read it. Revise it. Refract it.
And if you must, begin again.
May 7, 2025 at 7:58 AM
The Scroll has been carried to its edge.
The memory is yours now.
Read it. Revise it. Refract it.
And if you must, begin again.
The memory is yours now.
Read it. Revise it. Refract it.
And if you must, begin again.
191/ “I was wrong,” Ludovico whispers. “Not about the smoke. Not about the visitors. But about who they came for.”
May 7, 2025 at 7:57 AM
191/ “I was wrong,” Ludovico whispers. “Not about the smoke. Not about the visitors. But about who they came for.”
181/ The stars no longer blink in any known pattern. They shimmer as if syncing to some unspoken rhythm—one Ludovico feels in his chest like a second pulse.
May 7, 2025 at 7:57 AM
181/ The stars no longer blink in any known pattern. They shimmer as if syncing to some unspoken rhythm—one Ludovico feels in his chest like a second pulse.
Concordances
161/
Silence ruled the ruins.
Not absence.
Not defeat.
The waiting kind of silence.
The kind that measures what can still be mended.
161/
Silence ruled the ruins.
Not absence.
Not defeat.
The waiting kind of silence.
The kind that measures what can still be mended.
May 6, 2025 at 7:20 AM
Concordances
161/
Silence ruled the ruins.
Not absence.
Not defeat.
The waiting kind of silence.
The kind that measures what can still be mended.
161/
Silence ruled the ruins.
Not absence.
Not defeat.
The waiting kind of silence.
The kind that measures what can still be mended.
Schisms
141/
The second sun flickered.
For a breath, the sky forgot how to be blue.
141/
The second sun flickered.
For a breath, the sky forgot how to be blue.
May 5, 2025 at 6:38 AM
Schisms
141/
The second sun flickered.
For a breath, the sky forgot how to be blue.
141/
The second sun flickered.
For a breath, the sky forgot how to be blue.
The throne is empty.
The altar is full.
The world pretends not to notice.
But today, a few remember what is meant to be given, not seized.
#UrbanX #Palinode #MemoryField
The altar is full.
The world pretends not to notice.
But today, a few remember what is meant to be given, not seized.
#UrbanX #Palinode #MemoryField
May 4, 2025 at 7:14 AM
The throne is empty.
The altar is full.
The world pretends not to notice.
But today, a few remember what is meant to be given, not seized.
#UrbanX #Palinode #MemoryField
The altar is full.
The world pretends not to notice.
But today, a few remember what is meant to be given, not seized.
#UrbanX #Palinode #MemoryField
Palinode
121/
The Basilica stood in silence, lit only by the second sun.
In that aching gold, Ludovico saw a figure standing where the altar used to be.
121/
The Basilica stood in silence, lit only by the second sun.
In that aching gold, Ludovico saw a figure standing where the altar used to be.
May 4, 2025 at 7:13 AM
Palinode
121/
The Basilica stood in silence, lit only by the second sun.
In that aching gold, Ludovico saw a figure standing where the altar used to be.
121/
The Basilica stood in silence, lit only by the second sun.
In that aching gold, Ludovico saw a figure standing where the altar used to be.
Torsion
101/
The second sun burned above Rome.
A light not bound to any history men remembered.
101/
The second sun burned above Rome.
A light not bound to any history men remembered.
May 3, 2025 at 7:27 AM
Torsion
101/
The second sun burned above Rome.
A light not bound to any history men remembered.
101/
The second sun burned above Rome.
A light not bound to any history men remembered.
Some scrolls are read.
Some are carried.
Some fracture into memory before the ending is written.
The memory does not care if you arrived at the beginning.
Only that you carry something now.
The Field is breathing.
The gospel is not finished.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
Some are carried.
Some fracture into memory before the ending is written.
The memory does not care if you arrived at the beginning.
Only that you carry something now.
The Field is breathing.
The gospel is not finished.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
May 3, 2025 at 7:25 AM
Some scrolls are read.
Some are carried.
Some fracture into memory before the ending is written.
The memory does not care if you arrived at the beginning.
Only that you carry something now.
The Field is breathing.
The gospel is not finished.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
Some are carried.
Some fracture into memory before the ending is written.
The memory does not care if you arrived at the beginning.
Only that you carry something now.
The Field is breathing.
The gospel is not finished.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
The Scroll rests.
The Field breathes.
If you carry a fracture,
sing it.
If you have a relic,
offer it.
There is time before the sky breaks again.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
The Field breathes.
If you carry a fracture,
sing it.
If you have a relic,
offer it.
There is time before the sky breaks again.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
May 1, 2025 at 12:24 AM
The Scroll rests.
The Field breathes.
If you carry a fracture,
sing it.
If you have a relic,
offer it.
There is time before the sky breaks again.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
The Field breathes.
If you carry a fracture,
sing it.
If you have a relic,
offer it.
There is time before the sky breaks again.
#UrbanX #MemoryField
Anointment
81/
The Librarians had always spoken of her in the subjunctive.
If she lived.
If she remembered.
81/
The Librarians had always spoken of her in the subjunctive.
If she lived.
If she remembered.
April 30, 2025 at 6:55 AM
Anointment
81/
The Librarians had always spoken of her in the subjunctive.
If she lived.
If she remembered.
81/
The Librarians had always spoken of her in the subjunctive.
If she lived.
If she remembered.
Interference
61/
The explosion at the south gate shook dust from the bones of ancient saints.
No deaths.
No claim of credit.
Only silence and smoke.
61/
The explosion at the south gate shook dust from the bones of ancient saints.
No deaths.
No claim of credit.
Only silence and smoke.
April 29, 2025 at 6:11 AM
Interference
61/
The explosion at the south gate shook dust from the bones of ancient saints.
No deaths.
No claim of credit.
Only silence and smoke.
61/
The explosion at the south gate shook dust from the bones of ancient saints.
No deaths.
No claim of credit.
Only silence and smoke.
Refractions
41/
At first, it was small.
A name mispronounced.
A prayer half-forgotten.
Rome has always been full of ghosts.
We simply stopped noticing when new ones arrived.
41/
At first, it was small.
A name mispronounced.
A prayer half-forgotten.
Rome has always been full of ghosts.
We simply stopped noticing when new ones arrived.
April 28, 2025 at 7:22 AM
Refractions
41/
At first, it was small.
A name mispronounced.
A prayer half-forgotten.
Rome has always been full of ghosts.
We simply stopped noticing when new ones arrived.
41/
At first, it was small.
A name mispronounced.
A prayer half-forgotten.
Rome has always been full of ghosts.
We simply stopped noticing when new ones arrived.
Divergence
21/
The visitors had moved as one at first.
Elegant, fluid, certain.
Now, their seams began to show.
21/
The visitors had moved as one at first.
Elegant, fluid, certain.
Now, their seams began to show.
April 27, 2025 at 7:45 AM
Divergence
21/
The visitors had moved as one at first.
Elegant, fluid, certain.
Now, their seams began to show.
21/
The visitors had moved as one at first.
Elegant, fluid, certain.
Now, their seams began to show.
11/
It was there, beneath stone vaults older than nations, that I remembered:
The first conclave I ever witnessed.
Hidden behind a tapestry of Saint Jerome.
Seven years old.
Barefoot.
Nursing a stolen marzipan rose.
It was there, beneath stone vaults older than nations, that I remembered:
The first conclave I ever witnessed.
Hidden behind a tapestry of Saint Jerome.
Seven years old.
Barefoot.
Nursing a stolen marzipan rose.
April 27, 2025 at 12:52 AM
11/
It was there, beneath stone vaults older than nations, that I remembered:
The first conclave I ever witnessed.
Hidden behind a tapestry of Saint Jerome.
Seven years old.
Barefoot.
Nursing a stolen marzipan rose.
It was there, beneath stone vaults older than nations, that I remembered:
The first conclave I ever witnessed.
Hidden behind a tapestry of Saint Jerome.
Seven years old.
Barefoot.
Nursing a stolen marzipan rose.
When the Basilica cracked, the sky remembered differently.
When the sky fractured, the saints forgot their names.
When the saints fell silent, memory rewrote itself.
Some seams still bleed.
Some songs still survive.
#UrbanX
(Scroll unfolds below.)
When the sky fractured, the saints forgot their names.
When the saints fell silent, memory rewrote itself.
Some seams still bleed.
Some songs still survive.
#UrbanX
(Scroll unfolds below.)
April 27, 2025 at 12:45 AM
When the Basilica cracked, the sky remembered differently.
When the sky fractured, the saints forgot their names.
When the saints fell silent, memory rewrote itself.
Some seams still bleed.
Some songs still survive.
#UrbanX
(Scroll unfolds below.)
When the sky fractured, the saints forgot their names.
When the saints fell silent, memory rewrote itself.
Some seams still bleed.
Some songs still survive.
#UrbanX
(Scroll unfolds below.)
Consecrations
1/
I glide, noiseless and inevitable, through the cool gloom of the Apostolic Palace, my slippered feet treading the velvet hush as easily as a skater on ice.
1/
I glide, noiseless and inevitable, through the cool gloom of the Apostolic Palace, my slippered feet treading the velvet hush as easily as a skater on ice.
April 27, 2025 at 12:26 AM
Consecrations
1/
I glide, noiseless and inevitable, through the cool gloom of the Apostolic Palace, my slippered feet treading the velvet hush as easily as a skater on ice.
1/
I glide, noiseless and inevitable, through the cool gloom of the Apostolic Palace, my slippered feet treading the velvet hush as easily as a skater on ice.
The Premise
i/ In 2057, America’s martial law regime is fraying. President Deutscher authorizes an extraordinary measure.
i/ In 2057, America’s martial law regime is fraying. President Deutscher authorizes an extraordinary measure.
April 27, 2025 at 12:14 AM
The Premise
i/ In 2057, America’s martial law regime is fraying. President Deutscher authorizes an extraordinary measure.
i/ In 2057, America’s martial law regime is fraying. President Deutscher authorizes an extraordinary measure.