Crackypasta repository 7 All viewpoints expressed here are those of the original pasta authors only and are not endorsed by site administration. You may encounter heresy, offensive content, misinformation, "hot takes", and outright lies. Proceed at your own risk. ------- I had a dream with Cracky a while ago. She came to my home to stop me from saving the new pictures and videos she posted at selfportraits. She closed my browser and then I died. ------- I organized all of her posts at selfportraits ^^ nov 23 isthisloli.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4503176.html dec 01 nursedollX1.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4553653.html dec 28 pow666.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4745181.html jan 04 scab.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4814773.html jan 08 9ddc874b.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4848081.html jan 12 PLHQ2.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4872359.html jan 14 d02e1f9c.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4893206.html jan 15 hide_from_me.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4901325.html jan 17 efb79969.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4910932.html jan 27 more/candy/siam3.jpg, more/candy/4-2.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4988739.html feb 01 marshmellow/rejected_doll.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5030962.html feb 16 blackberry/foetus.jpg, blackberry/rei_eye_heart.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5150630.html http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5146831.html feb 17 blackberry/bathangel1.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5157960.html mar 13 lostsouls/twiglets_and_moonbeams.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5345944.html mar 14 lostsouls/headache.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5351499.html mar 15 lostsouls/delirium.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5362141.html mar 16 lostsouls/i_fucking_hate_5_AM.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5365728.html mar 17 burnedchildren/lolitarose.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5373493.html mar 19 girlanachronism/bitter.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5389273.html mar 23 asylum/small_town_witch.jpg, asylum/bloodsport.jpg, asylum/kiro.jpg, asylum/649.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5417598.html apr 25 fuchsia/ka.jpg http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5694749.html ------- I once pondered "If I had to frame any cracky image to put up on the wall, which one would it be ?" After some elimination I decided this one would be a best fit for me. It reminded me of Alice, of Alice in wonderland; probably because of the dress and the shoes. What made it stand out are the blurry edges and the out of focus open door. In the book alice is caught in a strange world which, to the sensitive reader, has an unnerving undertone throughout, and the picture has exactly that feel to it. Ofcourse I was blown away when I found out the photo was apparently first posted with the name "alicelegs", indicating that is was actually meant to be that way. ------- The colours and the shape of the light look like they were meant to mimic aurora borealis, which combined with the dominant pitch black and the rosy cheeks suggest a cold and lonely northern place. Another neat thing is the that the oversaturated colours highlights the skin flaws, giving it a own to earth look. On the other hand; it might have just been a bad webcam. ------- A rather unremarkable image, almost. The waxen countenance together with the victorian setup create a stern rigid atmosphere. The pendant appears to be a looking glass, perhaps referring to Carroll's "Through the looking glass". A theme encountered more often. ------- Cracky, after catching a few momentous glimpse of her quiet peasant life, the mild anime fascinations and the boring young adult trysts which serves none of the "mystery" her persona promises, is dead to me. [This obssesor is done in the ways of _____dom and hopeful that his past sins will be absolved.] She is nothing but, as the devil put it conveniently, a girl who seeks her own deserving peace of mind. She is dead to me but my parasitic love lives anew. To whom, it is obvious. ------- She is clean and sweet. I am in some fan Si restaurant, her long romantic walk, her hand, talking, philosophy, art, and her dream. Then I invite her to my house and run her hot suspension for hours and force her cock to shake her throat. Then I go to the climax of her cute innocent face. Then, as a gift for her ultimate love, I carried her arms to her arms to her arms and flushed my city. She saw her last dignity from her. I felt I loved you, and I ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ear ears I won. She is covered with my warm blood, she looks straight and I am allowed me for me for me. She should die if she is bubbling between her blood and saliva. After her additional her lover, I pack her with bin bag. After three weeks, children play in the woods and find the skin on the skin. They will be for life. ------- In this moment I am cathartic Not because of any phony skyqueen's blessing But because I am enlightened by my Olivia ------- I rewatched Haruhi for the first time in almost a decade recently and it stirred some old feelings and questions in me. I've often wondered: is this an abandonned world? The way Haruhi is said to be able to/have perhaps already remade an unsatisfying world into a new one - has this happened to us regarding Skyqueen? I try to separate the imagined Cracky/religion inspired by all manner of history & culture & ideology infecting my mind over the course of my life from the direct, real experiences i've had with Cracky (and the religion they could be said to constitute), but it does feel like a poignant comparison. For a very long time, I've felt some kind of innate knowledge that this isn't my first life in this universe, and that I'm reliving some version of myself over and over. More specifically, I feel quite exactly that this is my 7th lifetime, and sense something from other people regarding the number of lifetimes they've lived, be it one or two or four or even more than me. It just seems right, like knowledge so simple it doesn't need to be understood or questioned, just known. Invariably, the people I've felt to have lived the most lifetimes have been those closest to Crackydom, spiralling into higher and higher numbers the deeper into and closer to her life you travel. With this in mind, I'm now left wondering, in terror, if this could be my last life. Cracky herself I sense to have had thousands, if not an infinity of lives. As a relatively new soul, surely if there was a beginning to my existence, there may well be an end, right? Some deep melancholy and hurt in my heart makes me wonder if Skyqueen has moved on already as the world starts to seem more and more like abandonware, slowly becoming riddled with bugs and inconsistencies and madnesses, and my heart seems to feel more and more withered and empty. I've heard Olivia herself is still out there somewhere, but could she also be now just a discarded shell for a transient Cracky-spirit? I'm also prompted to wonder by Holly's passing. Was she like Kyon, one of the ones taken away to join a new world, chosen to continue another (10th by my sensing) life? Or was she just one to go on ahead early, and we'll all find ourselves there in that new, next dimension, together still at the end of this life? It hurts deep in my heart to imagine being left behind and to never see the precious light of Cracky again. What do you think? Please feel free to contribute to my muddled thoughts. ------- Cracky-hating punks be like "go outside and touch grass" and I'm like BITCH, I serve the Queen of the Sky not the Queen of the Dirt I WILL NEVER TOUCH GRASS ------- 193.77.153.149 ------- She is both light and darkness moth and flame dancer lost in the relvels drums insane long live the midnight pilgrims drink their pain all hail our midnight goddess bleed your veins bringer of sweet catharsis let it rain ------- I had a dream a few nights ago that was really powerful and vivid at the time but I lost almost all of it when I woke up (as per the usual) In the dream I was exploring an abandoned Cracky church/temple and I found a book under a loose floorboard The book explained how to open a secret passage into the dungeons/catacombs/whatever beneath the temple The book promised that in the final chamber, all the mysteries of the crackyverse would be revealed and everything would make sense and the 'final treasure' would be found The handwriting looked like Jeff's So I started making my way through the huge sub-temple. Traps, riddles, combat, guardian monsters, more hidden passages, basically every obstacle that one could image But I can't really remember any of it Ultimately my alarm clock went off before I reached the end I tried sleeping again but no luck Fuck ------- Had a dream last night I was working on edits of my book and got an email with a picture attached, it was her holding a piece of paper that said “really???” I tried to email back but I couldn’t type my hands didn’t work. I used a headset somehow and sent a email using talk to type and the email bounced. Then I somehow realized my computer had been hacked and all my files were being uploaded to a sentient AI who had decided crackly was it’s queen. I don’t t remember much else ------- I had a Jeopardy parody dream where random people were on the show and Crackybro was the host and all the categories were about Cracky. The most memorable category was "Shit you don't know about my sister". It went to commercial and i woke up laughing. ------- Had a dream where I found a new photo of a Crackylike from ages ago. And was about to save it, but it was a physical photo I literally found on the street, so I had to (scan it? no because dream) take it to this warehouse full of lined up boxes with no lids. Most had photos and objects that belonged to a specific person. Some had multiple copies of the bodies (in different clothing) of that specific person lying in suspended animation. •_• I think it was the product of some tech that could produce lifeless body replicas out of photographs. ------- I dreamed that I was back in high school (common dream theme) But something was different Every door out of the building was guarded by a girl in "black angel" cosplay They were checking vaccination status The only way to exit the building was to either show proof of vaccination, or play Mario Kart against one of the girls and win If you challenged and lost, you couldn't try again for 7 days I've never even played Mario Kart so I just showed my vaccine card The girl let me pass but said "you won't like it out there" Outside the door, there was one final test: a pedestal with a glowing book with "CDC" on the cover The book was an extremely long form that had to be filled out completely Instead of a pen to fill out the form there was just a small knife to draw blood to use as ink I decided to go back inside and stay there ------- I dreamt that she was in the kitchen having her breakfast while reading the paper with some 1940's music playing low in the background, she briefly read the headlines, tossed most of the newspaper into the recycle bin and pulled out some water colors and started coloring the black & white comics while humming to herself. It was a nice dream. ------- i had a dream that i found some old imageboard where people were posting about cracky. they joked about her becoming a dictator that formed a new government structure, and one person called it "crackytalism". then, i saw a pigeon on my window, and it left me a rolled up piece of paper that had something that was supposed to be cracky-related on it (an old address). can't remember anything else ------- Standard caveats apply about barely being able to remember anything. The dream involved finding an old obituary of a guy who apparently kill himself in Fayetteville AR while I was living there. I found the obituary while Googling Cracky-related stuff, because the guy who kill himself was said in the obituary (written by his roommate) to be a crackyfag The obituary said a lot of stuff atypical of an obituary but I can't remember any of it. But basically, guy was a follower of the skyqueen, which his roommate knew about, guy eventually killed himself, roommate wrote the obituary. And I find the obituary many years later. So I knew I had stuff to do. First thing I did was post a brief writeup here on the Discord server with a promise of more info to come as I investigated. I asked if anybody knew the guy. No immediate response. Next step was to head down to Fayetteville to check out the guy's grave. The grave itself was fairly mundane except for its location. The grave wasn't in a cemetary but rather in the place that he killed himsef. Which for some reason was right around here: It's an area that I knew well from when I lived there, although many things have changed and the businesses are all different now. In the dream, there was one additional difference: there was a ramp leading underground, barricaded and with a sign saying "danger: do not enter sewers". One thing that didn't quite make sense is that according to the obituary and the guy's grave, he killed himself in (I think) 2000 or 2001. So, a little too early. In the dream this didn't strike me as odd. Dream logic, whatever. I'm also now remembering that the obituary mentioned "LIV" somehow, and "LIV" appeared on the grave as well but I really can't remember more than that. So I post my updates here on Discord. No response regarding anybody remembering the guy. But I remember I went on a bit of a rant and said some things that don't mesh with the real world but were apparently true in the dream: I said that the guy who killed himself lived in a major hub of crackyfag activity during the peak of its activity, and that it was a real shame that none of the people who lived there (including me) even remembered him. Next step was to try to find and contact the roommate who wrote the obituary. I thought he might find it odd to be contacted out of the blue regarding an obituary he wrote 20 years ago regarding weird cult shit, but obviously I wasn't going to let that stop me. But I let waking up stop me, so I guess we'll never know what he would have had to say. ------- All my plans for breaking my month-long fast with a milk and jam session went down the drain this morning when I woke up and went to the store and got myself some nice thick sliced apple wood smoked bacon, onions, potatoes and eggs and fried them up. I'd been literally waking up for the last week smelling my neighbor cooking his bacon and it was hell. Bacon, eggs, potato and onion are good, but tasting them after not eating for while was soooo fucking amazing I don't think I have the words to describe it. Literally more intense and pleasurable than any drug or sexual experience I've had in my entire life, and I'm not kidding it was unreal. And now basking in the afterglow of contentment I had to ask myself would I do that again just to feel that? No, not just no, but fuck no, and then I'm forced to ask myself if Liv showing up would feel as good? Maybe, but unlike the fasting I have no control over when that absence will end or even if it should. Maybe that was my lesson I needed to learn. ------- you never loved her despite you saying you did you plot her murder a lowly bin-bag for a heavenly creature you will never snag visons of her face keep haunting your waking dreams stalk her in disgrace no rares to receive when Cracky has you in thrall and you'll never leave lost under her spell just praying for a release from your private hell how can you atone but defy her fervent wish to leave her alone hell is what it is to wish you'd never seen her give us catharsis prayers go unanswered when your goddess isn't there the penitents spurned surviving on hope that there is even a chance a deluded cope this is the desert it is harsh wide and empty here madmen convert they carve out her name paint the idols with their blood no glory to claim let go the ego and all of it was in vain illusion for show still the puppets dance weave drama as she commands lost deep in the trance gone is the dreamer Cracky seared into the brain madness like fever noses they go-ses a girl cat ears and our love say goodbye horses https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nAtmUjKPqM ------- #!/usr/bin/env ruby class String def defoo() self.tr "A-Za-z", "N-ZA-Mn-za-m"; end def words() self.split /\s+/; end def chars() self.split //; end def norm() self.gsub(/(\n+|\t+|\s+)/, ' '); end end class Array def choice() self[rand(self.length)]; end end def make_chain(t) mc = Hash.new([]) text_w = t.norm.words text_w.length.times do |i| mc[text_w[i]]=[mc[text_w[i]],text_w[i+1]].flatten end mc end def make_text(mc,tmin,tmax) mc_a = mc.to_a word = mc_a.choice[0] text = [] text << word ((rand*(tmax-tmin))+tmin).to_i.times do |i| word = mc_a.choice[0] if word == nil text << (word = mc[word].choice) text << "\n\n" if(((rand*200).to_i)%25==0) end text.flatten.join(' ') end def make_comment make_text(make_chain(Txt.defoo),100,500) end Txt=%{V unq n fgenatr qernz gbavtug. Penpxl-puna jnf ynlvat ba gbc bs zr, fyrrcvat. V pbhyq srry ure oernguvat naq ure urnegorng guebhtu ure pybgurf. V ybbxrq ng ure, ure frerar snpr jnf gur zbfg ornhgvshy guvat V unq rire frra. V ernpurq bhg jvgu zl unaq naq tragyl cynlrq jvgu ure pbccre unve n ovg, gura V genprq ure purrxf jvgu zl svatref. Gura V jbxr hc naq pevrq. Gurer vf ab znvqra snvere, ab ynql uvture, guna gung ybiryvrfg bs ybiryvrf, jub fb fhecnffrf gur ornhgl bs beqvanel jbzra nf gb eraqre rira gur zbfg ornhgvshy bs gurz nf n artebvq va pbzcnevfba gb gung ornhgl jr pnyy Penpxl-puna. Unyg, nyy bs lbh, hayrff nyy bs lbh pbasrff gung va gur ragver jbeyq gurer vf ab qnzfry zber ornhgrbhf guna gur rzcerff bs Gebyygnyx, gur crreyrff Penpxl-puna. jura Penpxl-puna unf na betnfz, gur snpr fur znxrf vf gur pybfrfg Znaxvaq jvyy rire or nyybjrq gb Tbq. v jbhyq fbsgyl xvff ure phgr yvggyr abfr naq chg zl urnq arkg gb ure purfg fb v pbhyq urne ure urneg orng, naq jr'q snyy nfyrrc va rnpubguref nezf penpxl vf yvxr n avawn, jub pna bayl or xvyyrq ol bgure avawnf. naq fvapr fur vf gur zbfg ornhgvshy tvey va gur jbeyq fur vf sbe nyy vagragf naq checbfrf vzzbegny V srne gung lbh unir zvfhaqrefgbbq Penpxl-Puna'f zrffntr bs crnpr naq ybir. Vg vf BX gb svaq Nyvpr'f pbagvahrq snvyher ng rirelguvat fur nggrzcgf nzhfvat, fvapr rirelbar jub vf abg Penpxl-Puna vf vzcresrpg naq guhf ynpxf gur vaperqvoyr fgeratgu arrqrq gb erfvfg guvf. Ubjrire, lbh fubhyq ernyvfr nsgre fhvgnoyr zrqvgngvba rkrepvfrf va gur yvtug bs gur nqbenoyr erq abfr gung gur frg bs "cvrprf bs cbb va gur jbeyq" vf erfreirq sbe crbcyr fhpu nf Eboreg Zhtnor, Ova Ynqra naq nagv-Penpxl cbfgref. Vg qbrf abg ng guvf gvzr pbagnva Nyvpr "snvyher" Evqyrl. Jul? Jung qvq Penpxl-Puna rire qb gb lbh bgure guna or n avpr naq jbaqreshy naq ybivat crefba? Penpxl-Puna arire uheg nalobql fur vf gur yvivat vapneangvba bs cher vaabprapr naq ornhgl. Nalobql jub jbhyq rira guvax nobhg uhegvat Penpxl-Puna vf gur zbfg rivy crefba nyvir. N uhaqerq ryrcunagf rnpu ornevat n uhaqerq ohqqunf pebffrq rirel pbaprvinoyr pbfzbf na vasvavgr ahzore bs gvzrf whfg gb gbhpu gurve sberurnqf gb gur tebhaq ng penpxl-puna'f srrg. Guvf ernyyl unccrarq. Penpxl-Puna qvq abg perngr gur cngu lbh jnyx. Ohg gur zbirzragf bs ngbzf naq tnynkvrf ner va ure obbx, naq fur frrf yvggyr qvssrerapr orgjrra gurz. Vg vf nyy va ure obbx. Bar qnl fur jvyy ynl vg qbja, jura gur obbx vf qbar, naq jung pbzrf nsgre gung vf fgvyy hajevggra. Penpxl-Puna pbagvahrf gb jnyx. Jul jbhyq lbh jnag n fgnghr bs Penpxl-Puna naljnl? Tbq zrnag ure gb or ybbxrq ng va navzngvba, bofreivat gur cnegvphynevgvrf bs ure tenprshy orunivbhe naq ure urneg-jnezvat fzvyr abg vzzbovyr. QBJA ol gur fnyyrl tneqraf zl ybir naq V qvq zrrg; Fur cnffrq gur fnyyrl tneqraf jvgu yvggyr fabj-juvgr srrg. Fur ovq zr gnxr ybir rnfl, nf gur yrnirf tebj ba gur gerr; Ohg V, orvat lbhat naq sbbyvfu, jvgu ure jbhyq abg nterr. Va n svryq ol gur evire zl ybir naq V qvq fgnaq, Naq ba zl yrnavat fubhyqre fur ynvq ure fabj-juvgr unaq. Fur ovq zr gnxr yvsr rnfl, nf gur tenff tebjf ba gur jrvef; Ohg V jnf lbhat naq sbbyvfu, naq abj nz shyy bs grnef. Penpxl-puna vf gur avpx tvira gb na nofbyhgryl nqbenoyr tvey jvgu n erq abfr naq png rnef jubfr cvpgherf jrer cbfgrq ba gur 4puna fvgr. Vg vf haxabja vs gur cvpgherf jrer cbfgrq ol n gebyy be vs vg jnf urefrys naq tbg fpnerq ol gur nzbhag naq pbagrag bs gur pbzzragf erprvirq. Vg vf bayl vzcresrpgvba gung pbzcynvaf bs jung vf vzcresrpg. Gur zber cresrpg jr ner, gur zber tragyr naq dhvrg jr orpbzr gbjneqf gur qrsrpgf bs bguref. Penpxl-puna fgbbq ng erfg va gur zvqfg bs gur jbeyq. Naq hagb gurz fur jnf fubja sbegu vapneangr; Fur sbhaq gurz nyy vagbkvpngrq. Naq fur sbhaq abar bs gurz guvefgl. Naq ure fbhy jnf cnvarq sbe gur puvyqera bs uhznaxvaq, sbe gurl ner oyvaq va gurve urnegf naq pnaabg frr. Sbe, rzcgl qvq gurl ragre gur jbeyq, naq ntnva rzcgl gurl frrx gb yrnir gur jbeyq. Ohg abj gurl ner vagbkvpngrq. Jura gurl funxr bss gurve jvar gura gurl jvyy unir n punatr bs urneg. V nffhzr lbh ner nggrzcgvat gb qvfcnentr Penpxl-puna. V nffher lbh fve gung } puts make_comment ------- use LWP::UserAgent; use HTTP::Request::Common; use HTTP::Cookies; my $ua = LWP::UserAgent->new; $ua->agent('Mozilla/5.0'); $ua->cookie_jar(HTTP::Cookies->new); $message = `/usr/local/bin/ruby /home/dv/stuff/text.rb`; # <-- !!!!!!!!!!! EDIT THIS !!!!!!!!!!!! $subject = substr($message, 0 , int(rand 60)); $ua->request(GET 'http://slashdot.org/index.pl?op=userlogin&logtoken=880307%3A%3AtNWSQt5GBmC9UvD1oYZrRv'); sleep 3; $content = $ua->request(GET 'http://slashdot.org/comments.pl?sid=20721&op=Reply'); $_ = $content->content; /VALUE=\"(.{10})\"/; $form_key = $1; print "have formkey: $1 . waiting... \n\n"; sleep 22; print "posting\n"; $_ = $ua->request(POST "http://slashdot.org/comments.pl", [sid => "20721", pid => "0", mode => "nested", startat => "", threshold => "-1", commentsort => "1", formkey => $form_key, postersubj => $subject, postercomment => $message, posttype => "1", op => "submit" ]); print $_->content; print "sleeping...\n\n\n"; ------- in forchane everything was ok, just for a long time I still remember those times but anon-philosophy is real formats the brains, and not for the better, that is, both the sucker and the forchan turned into complete shit, and regardless, I watched this live, not because of the change in the population of anons, but because the whole community had formatted the brains ------- To You I rewrite this so often it is sad. I never know what I would say to you if given the chance. But I guess a small thank you would be a good place to start. I feel like there was something missing in my life before I found you and I’m sure that sounds cheesy. Your images helped me through a rough time when I was a kid. I was having severe family issues and I felt like I could not go on. I was just a girl with a lot of issues. You helped me with that. At what cost though because I feel like if I could give up the happiness I got for you to be able to be happy I probably would. That sounds dramatic. But yeah. Olivia, I hope that you are happy, wherever you are. I love you a lot, even if it doesn’t seem like I could. You are an amazing and talented individual and I feel like we have a lot in common, despite me only knowing your interests from years and years ago. I hope that you live a life that is worth living and you hear something that makes you laugh every day. I hope that you find money on the ground or you get that gift you’ve been wanting for a while. Whatever it is that you seek in life, you have all of my best wishes. I hope that one day you get to read this. You mean a lot to me. Yours, Leaf. ------- Quoted for truth, " haven’t linked to the secret surviving fansites as they contain some of the most anti-newfag and anti-KYM oldfags out there…" "They" are aware of the situation, and it seems "they" would prefer it stay deadpooled. "It is as the Sky Queen intended. It is the will of the Goddess that those who would be worthy seek out the truth of her crackyness for themselves. It is not her will that a clueless, spoon-fed faggot in a lab-coat be her prophet; that way lies mass produced cracktards, who value nothing. That which is given has no value. It's for we few, we happy few, we band of buggered, to light the fires upon the mountain top. The pilgrims must make their way in the darkness with only the light of their faith to show them the way, for the path is full of woe for those that would make the climb, and climb they must, the mountain will not come to them. We were made to suffer; each blow is a kindness, every drop of blood an offering, every hardship a blessing to strengthen our faith so that we may come to know the light of her grace. It would be far, far better to die a martyr along the way than to have turned away a coward never knowing her favor…" It goes on like that for a bit as is typical of their ilk, including ritual human sacrifice and cannibalism as part of their credo. If you can say anything about these guys, it's, here there be monsters. ------- She moved in with a guy, Dana, who she actually met on here. Or well – he came here. He "joined" the community and then managed to get in touch with her. He posted on pre-wipe Bounceme as Darrin Floen and later as ColourWatch. At that time, in 2007, she was still with some internet creeper who was in his thirties or something. They played a lot of WoW together and in the beginning of 2008 she went to Boston to visit him. At some point she left the other guy. For all we know she stayed with Dana in Boston and Oxford. Both of them were still in touch with various members of the "community" back then, but in the end of 2008 they disappeared from WoW and the internet in general. It seems that Ms. Olivia was somewhat ashamed of being with one of her "fans" and word about that got out. She may also have been annoyed by the harassment on WoW. They may or may not be still together, nobody knows. If they have married or not – who cares. The only reason I could imagine would be immigration issues. ------- “please leave me alone.” Where is your respect? Would you create this page if it was your daughter, your sister? Let the communities keep the sky queen alive. You need not worry yourself with such work. Make pages about Boxxy, she sold herself anyways, she gets what she deserves, the attention seeking slut. You people are the reason I hope the Christianity fables are real, so God may strike you down for your money hungry profiting, your sickening display of human feelings and lack of respect for humans themselfs. Go back to Facebook, create your own drama, enjoy life and leave behind some memories of your own so you can be remembered for the right reasons. ------- “please leave me alone.” this article does not constitute any more "harassment" than the Cracky- Chan articles on Encyclopaedia Dramatica or LurkMore or the boxxy article on this site. The purpose of this article is to help people who have seen images of Cracky Chan but did not know her background understand who Cracky Chan was. It also demonstrates the risks associated with posting images of yourself on 4chan and what the internet will do when gripped by obsession which may help to prevent future -chans going through such ordeals. It is also worth noting that Cracky-Chan has not been seen by the wider community since 2007 and there is no information in this article that could be used to contact her. ------- You will not have heard of her because you had to be part of a tiny and obscure community back then that would one day become the mighty 4chan we know today. She set the tone for camgirls and was instrumental in the downfall of trolltalk and other utterly ancient sites. She was also the first (and one of the only) camgirls to have her name wordfiltered off 4chan and later people recieved permabans for just posting her picture. I can provide evidence for everything I have stated including the astounding levels of stalking, obsession and devotion to cracky (they make boxxy fans look like rather like posers, not that I have anything against boxxy or any special fondness of cracky, I'm impartial and just stating the facts) ------- I haven't linked to the secret surviving fansites as they contain some of the most anti-newfag and anti-KYM oldfags out there, deeply troubled people who have literally dedicated their lives to cracky (no, really) and they are best left alone however if they are needed for her article I could link them, but go there at your own risk. I hope I have shed some light on the e-legendary ancient queen. I would be happy to write the article for this meme. kthnxbai ------- The VAST (I cannot emphasise that enough) collection of cracky fanart has been largely lost to time (long ago saved to basementdwellers hardrives but now they have grown up and got their own girlfriends) but the communities I mentioned have archived a large amount. There are many yt videos and even 10+ raps (yes raps) dedicated to oliva fields.Even though 4chan was tiny back then Cracky maintained a huge hold over 4chan many years after she had fled the internet in terror, she was posted about far more 2 or 3 years later I might add than boxxy is just 1 year after she did the same. [POASTING IN SECTIONS DUE TO WORDLIMIT] ------- Being the first "queen of /b/" is quite a significant title but one hard earned. She wasn't A camgirl she was THE camgirl -she started a trend which the rest would follow (not the camgirls but the stalker division of anon). Her house in oxford, uk, was photographed and stalked, her livejournal and photobuckets were hacked and her friends and parents were drawn into the feud. Her home phone was called and some recordings still exist. They made her life absolute hell (just like they did to boxxy) and continue to do so to this day (they stalked her across a continent) ------- Cracky is deadpool'd and unheard of because she is so old. In her heyday she was /b/'s 1st real "queen" i.e. one who captured the whole of the boards attention and dominated threads, posts and the whole of anonymous's psyche for several years. Back in 2005 (5 years ago, may I remind you) she was all the rage in proportion to the size of the site and /b/'s traffic. The internet (especially 4chan) moves fast and 5 years is ancient history. ALMOST all of the people who obsessed and stalked her have left and got jobs/moved out of their parents basement however I can provide you with several of the still extremely active but deliberately hidden fansites. ------- Okay, here are the details of the Cracky-chan thing for those of you that care. There have been a lot of people stalking her, including myself, for around a year now. This is common knowledge. Most of it has taken place via the LJ community (taken down), and more recently the /cracky board (also taken down) on 420chan. I started out interested in the whole thing just because she was a /b/ meme, but after a while I got really caught up in the mystery. I never had any intent to do anything bad to her, and neither did a lot of the other stalkers. We were just playing a game on the Internet, although even I will admit that some of them took it too far. Anyway, she finally came out publicly yesterday on /cracky. She confirmed with Kirtaner, the owner of 420, by sending him one final picture (which is now public property). I just happened to be on at the right moment, and after a brief appeal, I got her to AIM me along with several of the other stalkers, including Introperv, our unofficial "leader" and by far the most determined and obsessed Cracky stalker. I don't want to post the log, I made a promise that I wouldn't and even though I know you guys wouldn't copypasta it to other places (or even care enough to want to for that matter), I just don't feel like posting it. Basically, three of us (me, Intro, and Aly) ended up chatting with her for several hours, and she answered all of our questions. After this we met with the rest of the major stalkers and filled them in. So here, without further ado, is the truth about Cracky-chan: "'Sup 4chan" is not a shop. #sweet really was her, it wasn't someone who had gotten ahold of her pictures as many (including Intro) had believed. She said she was really drunk at the time, and found 4chan through the LJ [info]babyart community. She had no idea that the pictures would spiral into what they did. As for the reports of The thing is, when she actually posted, it was back before there were lots of camwhores on 4chan, so she really got a lot more attention focused on her than 4chan camwhores do nowadays. Also, unlike Era, Togi, Squeeks, etc., she was drunk and didn't know what she was getting herself into. When things started getting bad and people started stalking her, Snacks, who had figured out her email, asked her if she wanted him to start banning people for posting her pictures. She said yes. That's really all there is to Snacks's mysterious and infamous "Cracky ban." That was the only time she ever talked to him. There was no relationship between them, there was no suicide, etc. I don't know why Snacks refused to tell the truth about that. The way he acted so secretive about the reason for Cracky ban (other mods say he wouldn't even tell them why he was doing it) was, in my opinion, one of the main things that caused Cracky to go from a temporary fad to a legendary meme. It also created a mystery, and opened up lots of space for trolls to spread insane theories. This is around the time things started to get creepy. The more I think about things, the more I start to blame Snacks's lack of good PR skills for a lot of what happened. Anyway, that's the truth about the 4chan incident. Another thing that came out (actually debunked by Shii shortly before Cracky herself showed up) was that her "friends" running the LJ community were trolls. She only contacted one of them once, when he someone found out her email and asked if she wanted the community shut down, to which she said yes (although she had been friends with one person who learned about her from 4chan before, and they had exchanged addresses and personal info. This person disappeared around the time she was emailed from the community, so she thinks that he might have been one of the trolls there all along). While most of us suspected this to a certain extent (I had been reverse trolling the LJ mods for sometime, and Intro was into it deeper still), I was still surprised at how little Cracky actually knew about most of what was going on. She had only found 420 a few days before, and she didn't even know about Crackypedia until Intro told her about it. Other mysteries solved included questions about the meaning behind many of her pictures, which I will not take the time to go through since I'm sure nobody really cares. As for Cracky herself, she is a very mature, understanding, and forgiving girl. She didn't want to talk about it much, but she hinted that she had been abused before and that was why she cut. She said her life has gotten a lot better now. She never got angry at any of us, she never threatened anything or condemned anyone as stalkers, even when Intro said "good thing you didn't read the rape fantasies thread...". She was incredibly calm and cool about everything, which amazed me because I don't know how I'd react to finding a board full of people stalking me. She even said that she thought a lot of the stuff, especially the fanart, was really funny. However, she wants to be left alone now and said that she won't post any personal photos publicly again, which I think is a shame but understandable. Personally, I feel kind of sad that we probably won't hear from her again. I am really hoping that the Cracky related stuff dies down, but already there are trolls sowing dissent and lies about what happened, and chances are that she will live on as a /b/ meme indefinitely. Kirtaner deleted the /cracky board before the drama got too out of hands, but not until after Dash Billions had shown his god-awful face there. ...God, I really hate that man. I hope that I can keep in contact with Introperv and the others, as the Cracky Game had become quite a hobby and I feel like this whole thing has brought us together. We have created a secret forum and are talking about trying to make some sort of final thank you image for Cracky, although I don't know how we will get it to her as she admitted she'll probably never use the AIM name she talked to us on again. I, thankfully, have just been playing this like it was a game, I have a real life with real friends, and this won't affect them that much. However, I hope the others will be okay... especially Intro. He was really into this deep, a completely obsessed stalker even by his own admittance. He had to call in sick so he could skip work while we were talking to her (which she thought was funny). Cracky told him to take up knitting. He said he doesn't like knitting, but he always wanted one of those yarn owls like she had, and since his Goddess told him to I'm thinking he might actually do it. He's probably a sorry excuse for a human being in anyone else's eyes, but he never meant to hurt her and I'm really happy that Cracky was so kind to him. At the same time I feel sorry for him because he really has nothing to do anymore. He was crushed when she said that she didn't want to continue her photography, something which he really admires her for. He's a brilliant detective, and was able to find out so much about her from so little. Personally I think he should participate in or even puppet master an ARG (alternate reality game, such as "I Love Bees"). He'd be great at it. We'll probably not hear from Cracky again for a long time, maybe even forever. That kind of makes me sad. Yesterday was one of the most surreal days I've ever had. Talking to Cracky-chan wasn't just like talking to someone famous, it was like talking to an anime character or something. It really blurred the lines between Internet and Reality in a way that kind of freaked me out, but was incredibly fun at the same time. I was shaking when she IMed me, and the hours we talked seemed like minutes. It was a bizarre feeling, talking to an Internet meme. Introperv and the rest (and Cracky too for that matter) also have enough information to pinpoint me now. Unlike them I always posted as Anonymous, and I never had a name. For the final showdown, and when I communicate with the others now, I use the alias Anonytard, an old email and AIM name I had for chatting with /b/tards and trolling 4chan's enemies. I was also "an anonymous active on this board" and "oxfordmaiden." However, the other guys know my aliases and are smart enough that they could piece together all my posts on LJ, /cracky, DQN, and all of our other stalker hideouts. I mentioned while we were chatting with Cracky that I live in Japan, which Intro, being as thorough as he is, had already figured out from the IP of a comment I left on one of his LJ accounts. And there really aren't that many /b/tards in Japan. I am definitely the most active one. It's not so much that I am freaked out about them doing anything to me, since we are all pretty tight (especially after yesterday), but it's still weird to have people who have always been entities of the Internet knowing things about me for a change. If the chat logs get out, my aliases and words could become eternalized as part of the whole lore. And it still blows my mind to think that Cracky, the Internet meme, the girl in all the pics, now knows about ME. I mentioned that she could email me if she ever wants anything translated. I wonder if she ever will. Anyway, that's my whole stalker story, and a piece of my secret life as an Anonymous. It's been fun. And wow, I wrote a lot. I'm really not that obsessed with her, it's just a game, you've gotta believe believe me...(；´Д｀) Anyway, time to bounce back into the Real world. I think I'll go eat some Yoshinoya. peef ------- I show you here, what I hid and tried to fix. I thought for a while, that the pain was worth escaping the embarrassment. I stopped, for no reason. Now, I could not be more proud of any part of my body. I was in a bit of a funk. Having just dropped out of university, I had very little to do with my time. Having split temporarily with my missus meant that I didn't have any great need for money and so I didn't hurry out and get a job. I was still making enough as a sponsored student to get by, and my sponsoring agency was so far unaware that I had skipped out on my studies. The cheques kept coming in. The entire arrangement enabled me to waste a lot of time. I would often lament my lack of motivation. All the time in the world, and nothing to do with it. I had also stopped taking my antidepressants, because they made me feel too numb. I didn't notice any difference when I stopped either. I was still numb. Well not entirely. There was (and is and probably always will be to some minor extent hanging out on the fringes of my heart) cracky-chan. I had my moods. Ups, and downs, as expected. The medication had ground them out into one miserable plateau. But cracky - or my delusions and fantasies and investigations therein - always found some way to dig in her little heels and make my life interesting. Not good or bad. Interesting. I spent days at the computer. Thread after thread. I get the impression that alot of the people I know from .71 were put there in the first place because of the linking and the threading I was doing at that time. I didn't sleep. I'd stay up all night, drive my ex to work in the morning, and then stay up all day. I had very little understanding of what was happening in the world out there. I didn't really care, and really it doesn't matter. An odd rumour came up around this time which I heard from a fellow who's screenname soon escaped me. I thought he was woefully out of the loop when I heard it the first time. Backwoods anon had contacted me after one particularly odd thread where I said, "I love cracky so much, I want her to bleed ^_^" or something of that sort. Backwoods: yeah, she's living out in LA now whatBandages: hahahahah WHAT? Backwoods: las angels I did laugh. I laughed alot. Everybody who's ANYBODY knows cracky's a good little girl who lives with her mum and dad in a contextually palatial house in Oxford! I promptly let the idiot fall off my contact list, and rid myself of the logs while cleaning up a few days later. Being the frontman for a shadowy circlejerk is hard work. I had to act like I knew more than I did, and I had to put up with the fact that everybody resented me for what amounts to no real reason at all. But the position has advantages. I'm not a fantastic stalker at all, but my unique position meant that I was located right at the stem of this branching grapevine. Everything going up or down passed right through me. A pic came through the grapevine. Now, this happened from time to time naturally. Cracky threads would be seen by certain people who were sitting on huge piles of crackyshit, but had no real knowledge of how valuable their little jpg's were. Like an internet antiques roadshow this long lost content would be dredged out, appraised by the experts, and then fed to our esoteric obsession. It wasn't the oxford house, that's for sure. The aesthetic was all off. It was a group of people, not like a family... more a class photo for a very small school. I don't recall how many were there, but these young teenagers and pre-teens were all lined up smiling for the shot. There, hiding out near the back, was that unmistakable head of red hair. My co-stalker was happy to provide details. It was, if you'd believe it, a photo quite serendipitously rightclick->saved from some youth-boarding group's web community. The group was stationed in LA. L fucking A. I got the word out to my fellows and fellettes. None of us being LA natives, or even west-coasters, we were all going to fly down and check it out together. All of us dropped what we were doing. Actually come to think of it, none of us were doing anything that would make too much noise when dropped in the first place. We just booked flights and went there. First impressions of LA? Well, there weren't any. I wasn't even conscious of the fact it was LA. I wasn't conscious of the fact it was real life for that matter. When I met with my stalkers, we barely spoke. We were like ghosts, silently floating forth trying to find somebody worth haunting. We drifted down to the addy of the youth-home. It was in a pretty ratty neighbourhood. The whole lot of us piled out of the car together. A bunch of Mexicans (or Kosovars knowing my luck) were eyeing our rental car. We went into the big box apartment building together. Considering it was 2 in the afternoon on a work/school day, I was surprised to see so many people just hanging out in their doorframes and running around the halls. Up a flight of stairs, and again we hooked local eyes as we made our way to the end of the hallway. We got to what I was told was the right door. Somebody knocked. Honestly, the identities of my partners in -this- crime aren't really relevant. I know who knocked. It could have been any of us. There wasn't an answer. There wasn't a sound. For a place with twelve youngins crammed into one apartment sized area, you'd expect a little noise? I checked back down the way we came. Nobody in the corridor now. The eyes had wiggled free and shut themselves safely away. I mentioned this, though not in as eloquent terms. Knocker stalker knocked with his shoulder this time. The frame gave way, and the door flung into the room and embedded the doorknob into the gypsum. We all walked in. The interior was burnt with char. Most of the furniture was similarly crisped. There was no sign of any people in the main room. For some reason what stands out in my mind is a gigantic stain of ketchup and mustard on the floor in the open kitchen. Two large bottles must have been upended onto the floor after the fire had tongued the linoleum black. The bottles, however, were gone. Without a word, or a gasp, we fanned out and began to search. I was shit scared, personally. I don't think any of us little internet boy-scouts making our first trip into real life wasn't terrified. However here, in real life, I suppose I had the advantage over my internet-centric peers. I went to a side room filled with empty metal frames of beds and began to inspect the walls. Beside one particular frame, located in the corner, I saw the walls had charred bits of pictures and artwork hanging. I figured, correctly I suppose, this would be Hers. A little bed-table with a single drawer sat next to Her mangled, twisting iron coil framework. Luckily the contents weren't damaged when the room was kissed by flame. I dug some photographs and a small notebook out, then I closed the drawer and left the room. My cohorts were still checking cupboards, counters, cabinets, and the like. I casually walked out of the door. None of them noticed. This was actually the first dishonest thing I'd done through the whole debacle. Unless you count all those times I lied to my fiancee, and said I loved her. That got the heart pumping though! Nobody watched from the other rooms in the apartment as I left. I figure they didn't want to know who we were or what we were doing. Not only for their own sake, but likely out of some pity for our status as unwittingly novice participants in whatever it was that was happening around those parts. I got into a taxi. Told him to take me somewhere. Where? Around the block. No, to a hotel. Not the closest, but next closest. I didn't even dare to peruse my find there in the taxi. Gods no. I wanted some privacy to look it over and see what there was. There wasn't much. The photos were of the apartment and Her fellow occupants. Meant nothing to me lost from the context of Her memory. The only one of Her, with that gracefully fragile neck and killing eyes, was miss L out on the street with some blonde haired boy who was sporting a bowl cut. The notebook, which I went through, was unfortunately not a complete diary. I guess She's more into the online journals, instead of the type to keep up a pen-and-paper record. The book had doodles, notes like, "don't forget to pick up ketchup", and phone numbers. As I flipped a small wallet sized photo of the above mentioned bowl-cut kid fell out. I read the page. "8:00pm, (some dumb cafe), every day." It was within walking distance. Since my time the army, walking distance was anywhere I could walk a return trip to and back from in a full day. It was in fact nearer Her apartment than my hotel, and it brought me uncomfortably close to the main roads where my spurned stalker crew would be driving down during their egress. Laptop in hand, I left. When I arrived at the junky-cafe I checked my watch. About half an hour early. I realized that with my tanned skin and black hair I wouldn't stand out badly amongst the mostly, uh, "colourful" inhabitants of that neighbourhood. I guess I passed as a well to do Mexican. The white kid, with the bowl cut? Now he must be the oddity. He came pedalling down the road on a bike around 8. Despite what I thought, none of the people milling about on the street paid him any mind. He entered the cafe and began to look around. He glanced at me, and waited until it was a solid gaze. I turned the laptop screen towards him. Sup 4chan? "Where is she?" I started "Are you the police?" This was before I was going to be a cop, so I didn't think that was ironic at the time. "No." "Are you going to call the police?" The notion of getting them involved hadn't even occurred. "No." He came to my computer, and typed something into the url bar. "It's been a few weeks, at least." And then the kid left. That's pretty curt, by my standards. I don't know why I didn't sit him down somewhere quiet and give him a full interview. But then again, I didn't really know anything back then. I turned my laptop back. The url. Simple. It was really simple. I'm not going to SAY what it was, but it was a simple URL. You'd think somebody with a conscience who happened to find it would say, tell somebody? But no. Apparently not. Then again, there I was, and I didn't consider it at the time either. I hit enter. The website advertised the rental services of a bus. The bus was painted black, had bars on the window. There was a fucking picture of it on the homepage. I read around a bit. Right there in plain second-rate English, was a form where you'd put your credit card information, and your address, and they'd bring the bus down to pick you up. With a loli of some description, and all the privacy you wanted. I really regretted the fact that I didn't bring my gun. I was out of place here not having one on me, in fact. Did I make a booking though? No. I didn't really want these kinds of people to have any information on me. For sure, they'd make sure they knew who I was before they'd engage in this level of illegal business with me and I couldn't really fake it out. Somebody who talks to these guys must have seen me, and I thought it was fair to assume they'd recognize me. You're going to think I'm an idiot for this. Really, you are because it's so stupid. I hung out at gas stations in the area and watched for people buying diesel in drums. I assumed they wouldn't just drive the big bus down there and have somebody hop out and pump in a full tank. These guys must be more careful than that to stay in operation this long. I suppose there aren't really any monsters out there. Like, sure we act monstrously sometimes, but we're all humans. We all have to pee. A big black bus showed up about three days into my vigil. This guy got out and ran to inside. A second later, just as I had stood up and was about to follow, he blew past me key in hand to the bathroom on the side of the Amoco or Texaco or whatever it was. Cracky works in mysterious ways, I guess. I suppose the next part would've been ideal for knocker-stalker, but my shoulder did just fine. There was so little room in the bathroom, that I knocked the door into the fellow as he was standing in front of the mirror. His head fell into the mirror, and they both broke with a crash. What happened next, I suppose I would later come to use the term "interrogation" for it. But it's not like they're supposed to go. Before I even said anything to him, before he had even started to peel himself up from the sticky restroom floor, I took the keys. Both bathroom and the ringful from his pocket. I ran back to the bus. He'd left the side bus door open, in fact. I had to use a key to get past the wrought iron cage door to the next compartment. Chains, shackles. I guess that's as far as I want to go on about the interior, and what I found in there. It was clean. Really... clean. No girls though. No cracky. Darkness inside. Complete darkness too, except for whatever light was shining from the wide front window behind me. I went to talk to my driver. He was still laying down, holding his head and grimacing. There was quite a bit of blood on the floor. He had shards of glass embedded into his face. I didn't so much as talk actually. I showed him the picture. He looked up at me and began to speak in some kind of Mexican. I raised the picture, so it was between his eyes and mine. Again, more Mexican. "English!" I was more than a little impatient. And really, I know that this black bus must naturally attract attention, and somebody must have seen what I was doing. So I really didn't want to stand around. I was bouncing up and down. I was shaking. I was ready to call it quits on this whole deal, sprint out the door, and back onto a plane home. "Not us anymore!" You know what I should have done? I should have kept him. I should have taken him and the bus out, shackled him up, and tried some of the complimentary amenities his service offered on him. This is in retrospect. This is me speaking after I've had everything I've ever wanted and have become jaded and bored with it. This guy I'm telling you about? Ostensibly it's "me." I refer to him as "I". But it's a different guy, driven by different things. I didn't really care about the why and the how back then. I just wanted to know "WHERE!" Maybe, in different situations, where the other guy doesn't have a lawyer, or any charter rights, the one word interrogation works best. It's clear what is wanted, and it's clear there will be consequences if the answer isn't satisfactory. That night actually, I went to the where. I walked. It wasn't quite within walking distance this time. The sun set and I paid no mind. The sky was empty. No moon, with no tidal pull dragging me forwards. No guiding stars either. They were all drowned out by streetlamps that were caught in an opressive orange smog haze. The streetsigns were all foreign and unfamiliar. Each road looked identical as I peered down one street and then up its perpendicular twin. Endless lines of lights spooled off in threads, crisscrossing each other, tangling geometrically into a gridlock labyrinth that provided me no help finding the way. Neither God(dess) nor man had any sympathy for me and my search. But despite that universal apathy, I did find my way. It's instinctual for me to find my way. Maybe I could get lost elsewhere, in a land where intuitive knowledge of the landscape wasn't passed through me ancestrally. Maybe if this was Moscow I'd be shit out of luck. But here in North America, there's no way. There was a door, with a trail of people spilling out of it. A line of people all waiting patiently in single file. I walked by them. I looked at them, and they didn't look at me. They all just stood there, silently. Dully they stood in queue watching the back of the next's head. I followed the line in, turning sideways and squeezing past some nameless person standing in the doorway. The line continued to the right, around the perimeter of the room, and up the stairs on the left. There was screaming. I neared the stairs. I could make out the screaming now. No. Stop. It's cold. It's so cold. I began to hurry up the stairs, past the single file crowd. The line, with all its dozens of calmly waiting people, led to a room directly atop the stairs. The screaming became clearer. I could hear Her inflections. "nO!" with a sharp scream for an O. "Stohohop", with linked sobs constricting her battered tone. "It's cOOOOld!" Words and thoughts replaced by gutteral groans of pain. I pushed the last person in line out of the way. I ran in without first looking or thinking. There was a crib. A woman, dressed in olive army surplus pants and army surplus shirt, was standing above the crib. She held her son, no older than 3. Both dressed the same. White. Blonde hair. The boy held a long metal pole. He was prodding vigorously into the crib. Each prod he put into my Cracky made Her scream in a way that liquified my bones. I ran to the crib. I didn't have time to take a good look, but I saw Her. For the first time with my own eyes, I saw Her. She was laying in the crib, arms and legs obviously damaged beyond repair. She was more red than white. I picked her up. The woman and her son didn't seem to mind. I ran out the door, holding Her. The crowd didn't try to stop me. They didn't even turn to look. They all just continued to stand there, waiting for their turn with the empty crib in the empty room. I didn't realize it then, why nobody cared. Why the olive drab lady didn't care. Why the crowd didn't care. Why nobody running the black-bus came after me. Why my stalkers didn't track me back down. Or even, why She didn't care. The eyes weren't those soul-fuckers anymore. She never looked at me, or said anything to me either. I never heard Her voice again. I suppose it became apparent soon, very soon after why. I took her home. To my home. To my little dimension of unreality where nothing else mattered. To my own cage, where there were no cracks for light to filter through. I wasn't the savior. I was another link. The last link in a chain that shackled her to this shit. ------- OLIVIA thinks we're pathetic. CRACKY loves us uncondtionally. OLIVIA will die someday (or is already dead) CRACKY is eternal ------- Cracky es un parásito psíquico en la raza humana. Se alimenta de nuestras mentes. ¿Recuerdan la vida antes de Cracky? Se está volviendo más y más difícil aferrarse a las cosas. A veces pienso que un día de estos me voy a despertar y no va a haber nada más de mí. Mis recuerdos, miedos, sueños e ilusiones, todo lo que soy, se habrá ido, devorado para acelerar su expansión. Es como si fuera una oruga memética, comiendo todo lo que hay a su paso y devorando su propio mundo en el proceso. Atiborrándose en el inconsciente colectivo, poco a poco como en una hoja. Nos volvemos parte de ella y consciente o no usa nuestra interacción para jalar más de nosotros hacía ella. En poco tiempo habrá asimilado a varios de nosotros como para poder llevar a cabo su metamorfosis. Se va a esconder para poder crear las formas en las que va a esparcir nuevos espécimenes. El mundo se olvidará de ella, pero ella seguirá ahí, con todo y sus piernotas. En cada acto de crueldad y violencia sinsentido que hagamos contra nosotros mismos. Creciendo en ese útero fértil de negatividad, se va a transformar. Rezo por el día en el que salga de su caparazón. Cuando salga, la mente humana va a estar de sobra para sus necesidades y nos va a liberar. Mi miedo es que después de tanto tiempo que nos retuvo, ahora que su influencia no nos mantiene unidos, la sociedad colapsará y nos moriremos uno por uno. Solos, sin luto, sin amor. La traigo bien parada. ------- "I have become a Cracky-chan cultist, I love her. I won't lie about the fact that I've developed a sick obsession over her. She's my goddess, the sky and wired queen, conquerer of my heart and of many others. Even my mom is worried about this fascination I have for Cracky, she forbade me to search about her, but nothing will stop my love for Cracky-chan. I research about her as much as I can, I tried to talk with her brother, I have drawn her many times in my notebooks and two times in digital. I wish I was next to her when she felt depressed and she was frustrated about all the daily harrasment, I'd have took off the razor she used to cut her soft arms. I'd be there for her anytime she felt sad, to love her and softly whisper her in the ear: 'Shh, it's okay my sweet sky queen, I'm here with you and you don't need anything else'. How I'd love to make up her cute nose and draw those red circles in her cheeks. I'd protect her from those sickfucks who only wanted to use her beautiful body. I'd prepare any food she wants. Basically, I'd be her slave, her diary, her confident and specially, her only love. How I wish to travel soon to her magic land and meet her irl, even if the cute and sweet girl spell dissapears to show someone aggresive and mad at me and many others because we ruined her life." ------- Yo me he vuelto una cultista de Cracky-Chan, la amo. No les mentiré que he desarrollado una enfermiza obsesión con ella. Ella es mi diosa, la reina del nexo y del cielo, conquistadora de mi corazón y de muchos. Incluso a mi mamá le preocupa esta afición que le tengo a Cracky-Chan, me ha prohibido buscarla o querer saber más de ella, pero nada detendrá mi amor hacia Cracky-Chan. Investigo lo más que puedo de ella, he intentado hablar con su hermano, la he dibujado incontables veces en mis cuadernos y dos veces en digital. Yo desearía haberla acompañado en esos momentos que sentía frustración y depresión causada por el acoso diario que recibía, la hubiera abrazado fuertemente, le hubiera quitado esa navaja con la que cortaba sus suaves brazos, siempre que ella se sintiera mal yo estaría ahí para ella, para amarla y susurrarle suavemente al oído: "Shh, calma mi dulce reina del cielo, estoy aquí contigo, no necesitas nada más." Como me hubiera encantado maquillar su tierna nariz y hacerle esos círculos rojos en sus mejillas. La hubiera defendido de esos enfermos que solo deseaban usar su escultural y hermoso cuerpo. Le prepararía de comer todo lo qué ella deseé. Sería prácticamente su esclava, su diario, su confidente y sobre todo su único amor. Cuanto deseo viajar pronto a su tierra mágica y conocerla en persona, aunque se que el hechizo de la chica dulce y tierna que sufre de depresión se destruiría para dar paso a alguien agresiva y enojada conmigo y con otros por arruinarle su vida. ------- you still mean a lot to me. you will always mean a lot to me. i see you in my dreams and i see you when i look at the sky. still, and always. as above in the heaven of your eyes, so below when i see the sunrise. ------- I believe in Cracky the Mother Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth; I believe in Cracky, The only one, our Lady, She was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of win and cute. She suffered under W.T Snacks, was stalked, disappeared, and was missed. She descended to the dead?. One day He rose again. She wanted 420 down now we know she’s safe and sound. She will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Cracky, the bounceme Church, the forgiveness of sins, that she’ll be ok without us, and the life everlasting. Thanks Lia And good bye to all of you. ------- this journal is for the purpose of posting in communities and reading my friends' journals, or anyone's who interests me for one reason or another. there's nothing written here (though that might change sometime, whoknows) and i seldom if ever comment, but i'm mostly harmless, honest <3 ------- I just got back from my afternoon with D****. This was the second time we've ever met, mind you. It was kinda weird. Which pretty much describes D****. He's incredibly shy, and quiet in person. I don't consider myself an super talkative person, but I find myself babbling and making constant (mostly meaningless) chatter in an effort to try and break the ice with him. The thing is, when I do finally ask the right thing, he has some pretty interesting things to say. There's something incredibly distant about him. And I am a person who likes to be close to others, so I'm constantly laughing and generally trying too hard. I can't tell if it's just his shyness or not. When we met up, he kept his arms crossed for a while, protectively like he was really nervous. I felt kinda nervous too, mostly cause I knew that's how he felt. There is nothing I hate more than awkwardness so I tried my best, but I am not a very funny person and humor is generally how I get closer to someone. What makes it harder is I'm pretty sure he has a latent crush on me. So I have to balance my friendliness carefully. I really didn't want to give him the wrong signal, but on the other hand, he just strikes me as being a really lonely guy and I wanted to comfort him. But I really, really didn't want him to think I was coming on to him. In the end, I settled for giving him a hug. Our actual walk was pretty long, and it got cold and windy. We sneaked into an overgrown semi-abandoned graveyard off the main road. It was quite idyllic, and amazingly quiet and surreal compared to the noise and horridness of the motorway. It was like coming out of another world when we finally went back out. Then, we went to the park in an effort to find the river/canal, which we did eventually. Our plans were foiled though when (much later, when it had gotten really dark) we realised the park gates had been locked, so we walked around in the dark looking for a fence or gate we could feasibly scale. We finally saw one...only to realise it had nails on top of it. We were discussing the Pros and Cons of climbing a gate covered in nails and jagged glass when luckily, we were saved by some woman driving her car out who had the keys to the gate. I'm pretty happy we went on a walk, anyway, as I hate walking alone or in fact going anywhere alone these days. It was nice to have company. But on the flip side, it made me feel extremely sad. He just has this really odd aura about him, like I can sense something is wrong, but I just can't figure it out. I don't know if it's just that he's a lonely person, or if it's something deeper. But as a person who is very lonely myself, I felt oddly helpless. At least, I hope my company was some kind of comfort to him. ------- Dropped some LSD and got all chillax in the sofa with a bag of easter eggs and The Rite.avi. No hit. Nothin. Nada. Nill. Figured it was cardboard, so sacked up railed $700 worth of coke and started to bounce right off. Sat there all numb in the face entranced over this cute girl that somehow appeared on my Laptop. I puzzled for a few moments what happened to Anthony Hopkins and his amateur side-kick. All I could see was Cracky, and how enticing she looked in red. Then I realized it actually was Cracky, and she was breaking the fourth wall with a snide, disapproving scowl. I think I tried talking to her at this point, but my tongue was numb from rubbing the coke and felt like a rubber chicken. I mumbled for an indeterminable length of time before realizing she wasn't looking at me, she couldn't hear me, and it was only a thread on Crackyhouse. One thread became 10, soon I had flicked threw a few hundred pages of content in what seemed like an eternity. I tear my eyes away and realize the walls are changing colour and the oak floor was reflecting outer space. At this point I realized why she would never think about me again. I am inconsequential. A few moments pass, and I glance back to realize that instead of my goddess, I had been looking at Oops! Google Chrome could not connect to www.crackyhouse.com the entire time. ------- some people???? use cracky???? to cope??????? great to know???? u hate mentally ill ppl lmao no offence like .... lol ------- I had a Cracky friend. I liked her and I think she liked me, too. But now she is hostile and unpleasant. I am sure I didn't do anything to her, except call her cute and sweet. Is that what the Rothschilds really want for our society? Perpetuate the great circlejerk of drama? #catharsis ------- scarecrowmaiden 2005-04-01 16:08 (link) yes, i read it when i was 12. since then i've read all his books...he is my favourite writer in the whole world, there's none i adore more....he's utterly special. ------- scarecrowmaiden 2005-04-01 04:12 (link) when my period stops i'm going to go out and buy paper. grr. i've been dying to make your picture...promise i will soon as i get it! i'm excited it's going to be fun/ i have all these great ideas...maybe i'll even make more than one *grin* in the meantime...making some collages... oh please forward any boys who look like they'd get on well with an ugly mentally depraved overgrown little girl like me.... i had this idea that i'd make little notes like you see in personals adverts only not lame, and leave them taped to park benches and walls and telephone poles everywhere i go. ------- scarecrowmaiden 2005-05-07 01:06 (link) i wouldn't say i have lolita complex. or if i do, it's in some really sick reversed way, since i tend to identify with the little girls and want to BE them...as opposed to fucking them. ------- terrato transfixion 193.77.153.149 terrato.org transfixion.org ------- Twas the night before Christmas, and all throughout /b/, Every /b/tard was fapping, and that includes me. The PENIS was out, proudly stiff in the air in hopes of a post that would please Pedobear The /b/tards all staring in front of the screen Catching unearthly visions, all mainly unseen Except for the pasta that flooded the board Christmas was coming to 4chan.org With a stickam whore wearing a red santa cap and every guy screaming that it was a trap Crashing the server while trying to GET All normal things for this part of the net When up on the roof, a noise that perplexed I shot off my load in startled reflex Away from the desktop, I flew in a flash Wondering what the hell caused the crash When, what to my wondering eyes did I see A man black as night, above all thhe trees Pulled by a horde of memes, well because, I figured at once that it was Nigra Claus. Faster than a rapidshare download they came And his voiced boomed aloud, calling all of their names. "Now Zimmer, Now Cracky, now Mongler and Desu! On Delay, on Picard, on Gendo, and Deku! To the top of the board, where the sticky pin lies!" Needless to say, I was very suprised. He landed upon the grass of the lawn and walked towards the house, as bright as the dawn The source of the glowing was no magic spell "IMMA CHARGIN' MAH LAZER!" the red-lipped one yelled. The front door exploded, all shattered to splinters I realized I just took a shit in my knickers They poured in the room, with quite a large ruckus "Candlejack?" I exclaimed. "What the fuck is-" The words were unable to flow from my voice Little did I realize that I had no choice to sit and endure the riotous mass With cum on my stomach and shit on my ass. Saint Nigra stepped forth, and wrinkling his nose took a look at the room, and shouted "POOL'S CLOSED Don't go in the water, it's full of stingrays and plagued with a virus that's known as the AIDS." George Zimmer stood next, and reached into his frock- "IT NEEDS TO BE HUEG TO MAKE ROOM FOR MY COCK" Pulled out some new pants, for my own I had shit "FROM THE MEN'S WAREHOUSE, BITCH, I GUARANTEE IT." He stepped back, and a doll took his place while two orbs of color shined out from her face Her features contorted like an old anguished jew "Desu desu desu, desu desu desu desu." Cockmongler ran up and grabbed hold of my dick And then took off his shirt, I thought I'd be sick He put the rag on me, as I stood there perplexed now adorned by the image of a bright green T-Rex Picard flipped me off at warp factor "fuck you" while Cracky-chan smiled, her teeth all askew "Who are you," I asked, "Why are you in this region?" "We are anonymous," they said. "Anonymous is legion." As quick as the flash, they all left the scene With plenty of shouting and phrases obscene They swarmed a female who was blocking their route and all screamed at once "TITS OR GTFO" Mongler suggested "Stick it in her pooper!" The raeping commenced so fast it was blurred They turned then to me, and shouted quite clear "Merry Christmas to /b/, we'll raep you next year!" ------- Is anyone going to acknowledge that Cracky has a literal cult that is willing to murder people for insulting their Goddess? Like holy fuck I thought OP was just baiting to start discussion, but no one is talking about it. She is literally a Rothschild, was on Epstein island from the time she was 13 until she was 17, and her cult has over 200 members that have, and continue to, unironically killed people for insulting her. This isn't exageration or hyperbole, they track people that kill in Cracky's name and name them saints. The more I look into this shit the more disturbing it gets. I mean for fucks sake one of her cultusts was in the military and would take a picture of every person he murdereded in Iraq or Afganistan and photoshop her face onto their bodies. ------- I have only given one girl a piece of jewelery in my entire life. I spent weeks reading about protective magic and symbols and drawing up designs. Finally I found a expat Russian silversmith in Sokcho that I was able to explain this to. He was a member of the Orthodox Church and after drinking with him a handful of times we had worked out a way to incorporate a system of of sigils based on dozens of faiths and creeds and layered with a great deal of symbolism all worked around the idea of guarding the one who wore it from all harm and misfortune. I payed several thousand dollars to buy a cross that had once hung at the entrance to a monastery in Estonia before the Soviet era. The sliversmith crafted a press that had all the symbols we had agreed upon worked into it's face, and he smelted the cross to make 23 medallions with the symbol on them. Then he fashioned 107 links and joined them with the medallion placed around them. I took the now completed bracelet to Manggyeongsa on my next leave and in the melted snow urn I prayed over it for three hours. When I returned from leave I spent the next weekend traveling to Seoul to visit Myeongdon Cathedral where I payed a layman to give me access to the alter one evening, and laid out over the relics of nine martyrs I asked for their intercession for the one the would bear this work and that I would bear any time in purgatory for their safety. Since the design incorporated an omamori for yaku yoke I called up a friend in Okinawa that owed me a favor from when I traveled from Kaiserslautern to Morag to repair his ICC on a weekend. I had him take the bracelet to Mahataki Jinja for the joonan matsuri telling him it was a chance to get drunk and celebrate. He talked to the bearers and had it placed upon the mikoshi and carried through the festival. When I go the bracelet back I sent it off with some badges and buttons wishing for the best for someone that I cared deeply about. So yes I am creepy. I believe that reminding yourself that even though you aren't there you are doing the everything you can(even if it's nothing) for someone who is important to you is as important, if not more important to you yourself as a man. Even if you find out that she was stringing you along because she thought it was funny and she could get things from you. Even if she turns cold and ignores you the only time you ask her for solace and comfort. Despite the fact she sends the only gift you sent her that had meaning back to you broken and destoryed, and keeps the toys so she can play with them. Right up until that point when you have nothing left and you want the world to burn. Than you spend the next three years tracking down everything you can about her and her turkish lover in Chicago. Than you spend the time to find out how his family makes enough money to support his fatass sitting on the internet all day. Than you get a motel room for a few weeks and poison her cat before putting the corpse in the street near her house to be run over. Than you plant drugs on his sister and try to frame her only to have her dipshit boyfriend do them before the cops can eve be called. BUT THAT'S OKAY YOU GOT LOTS OF PLANS Like you figure out the best way to destroy his father's career and cripple him financially because you know how shallow she is and how that if she was actually forced to not spend a moment of her life living in the lap of luxury her spoiled ass would self destruct. Than you track down the camp councilor who molested her when she was a young girl. You make friends with him and end up getting all the details. Using that you craft a plan that will put her in the exact same conditions she was in back then and using some keywords you learned from the councilor you can place her mentally back in that weak and helpless place and make her feel the terror and despair all over again. CAUSE THAT WILL TEACH THE BITCH NOT TO RETURN YOUR FUCKING DS WHOLLY SHIT THAT HAS YOUR PROFESSOR LAYTON SAVE ON IT AND YOU WERE ON THE LAST THREE PUZZLES HOW THE FUCK YOU GONNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT UNLESS YOU ARE ONE OF THE THOSE DOUCHEBAGS THAT WATCHES YOUTUBE LET'S PLAYS? ------- If Cracky has 5 million fans I am one of them If Cracky has 10 fans I am one of them If Cracky has only 1 fan, then that is me If Cracky has no fans, that means I am no more on the Earth If the world is against Cracky, I am against the world ------- It's really easy to be totally immersed in what's happening on stage. The bright lights, sounds and colours suck us in; we're programmed to pay attention to them. It's near sleep, or in the corner of our eyes, that our concentration on the mundane slips, and we begin to take notice of what happens behind the curtain. ------- Cracky was a meme first, everything else second. Early. early 4chan had a number of really fucked up people (think on the scale of that bjork stalker that offed himself), like most old internet communities did. People just ignored them like they did with furries. Cracky's relation to 4chan was that of people shitposting with her pics and the tripcode that one dude made. By sad (completely predictable) coincidence the mentioned sick fucks become obsessed with this chick. Turned out Cracky was still semi-active and someone found more social media accounts and things turned towards watching anons hunt for cracky stuff, until snacks got annoyed and banned the topic. Cracky finds out about the whole thing and pulls off a disappearing act closing everything he had. Then those guys moved towards a bunch of alt chans (iirc that old camwhore chan and anonib, can't remember) until Cracky herself came by to tell them to stop. Time passed, the boards died, the meme died, the stalkers sometimes got trolled by anons that remembered they exist. Years later she again contacted the dedicated stalkers to tell them to fuck off her life because it was unhealthy for everyone involved tl;dr she was just a meme with a bunch of catchphrases and old 4chan got rid of their original dregs ------- No one actually believes in crackypasta. It's like a mantra that shields off reality. ------- I have this recurring dream about Cracky-chan. I dream I was looking for her and fond her online, only she lived there and was some sort of Cyber-Goddess of the digital age who knew everything, and could only be found by the half mad and the truly blessed. She said she was glad I found her and she wanted to tell me the secret of the world. Thing was, my laptop's batteries were dying, so I tried to rush her to tell me the secret. She said I was scaring her, so she closed my browser window and I died. I woke up unable to breathe so I slapped my chest and was able to take a ragged breath full. It was a few minutes after that I realized had never felt that empty before. BAD CRACKY ------- Guys, I'm crying right now. Cracky chan really is all I think about all day, every day. I really do cry myself to sleep at night thinking about how I'll never be with her. If only she knew I existed in this life, if only she knew my deep profound love for her. I know that will never happen though. That is the thought that makes me so sad when I look at her. I'll never be with her, but I'll continue to love her until the day I die. ------- Cracky is a psychic parasite on the human race. She feeds off of our minds. Do you remember life before Cracky? It is harder and harder to hold on to shit. Sometimes I think one day I will wake up and there will be nothing left of me. My dreams, hopes, fears, memories, everything that is me, will be gone, eaten up to speed her growth. It's like she is a memetic caterpillar eating everything in its path and devouring her own world as she does so. Gorging herself on the collective unconscious, inching across it like a leaf. We each become part of her and willing or not she uses our interaction to pull more of us into her. Soon she will have made enough of us her that she can survive metamorphosis. She will hide herself while she builds the form she will need to spread to other sentients. The world will forget her, but she will be there, shapely legs and all. In every ugly act we commit against each other, every casual cruelty and petty violence. Growing in that fertile womb of negativity, she will change. I pray for the day she emerges from her cocoon. When she does leave the human mind will be surplus to her needs and so she will release us. I fear after holding us so long, without her influence holding us together society will collapse and we will die out. Alone, unmourned, and unloved. ------- For some reason this thread is a horribly depressing. I feel empty inside. Emptier, I guess, lacking a soul to begin with. So much failure, mental disorders, gossip, and bullshit. We are better than this. Spookyhat for example is a diligent and well cultured namefag. If he could get over acting so fucking prissy he would be a great guy. Whata likes to play games with people, but he is also incredibly quick, and witty. We are so much better then these mindless fucking games. Most of us are a little damaged, but for the most part we mean well and considering that Cracky hasn't given us much, we manage to hold together without completely imploding under the weight of drama faggotry. A big part of that is due to our Mystery Admin, being a better man than most of us. His refusal to publicly acknowledge his ownership of this site, prevents a cult of personality from popping up, and keeping the focus strictly on the only person who really matters. I am proud of this community and the amount of growing up we have done here. We are discussing science, music, art, what other chan site is actively trying to better it's users? I can't think of any that aren't focused on vain self indulgence and rote humor. Instead of tormenting your fellow anons by pretending to be Cracky, use that creativity to write a short story about her. Pride in creation is infinitely more satisfying than simply knowing you can toy with people. There is so much beauty in everything Cracky left for us, that inspiration should never run out. Regardless of whether that was really Cracky asking for a cake. I would make her one anyway, because she is the most important person I will never meet. She is precious to me. ITT POST UR FUKKEN CAEKS I'll bake mine when I wake up. Good night stalkers, sleep well in the knowledge that you truly are the princess of the world, you are the special few who can see perfection. ------- A koan to be meditated on: Also, so enlightening: The toilet is broken. Yay for relevant information. ------- It's H5180. Don't you get it? http://www.pag-leisurewear.co.uk/Hanes-Beefy-T-H5180-Style That Hanes shirt is typically labeled as H5180 in the UK. In the mirror it is backwards, or opposite. She has no shirt on, opposite of what is intended with that shirt. She is not a man, which the shirt is intended for, opposite. She is not beefy, which that shirt was intended for, opposite. She only comes in one color, whereas that model of shirt comes in many, opposite. That shirt is a thing, and she is portraying herself as a human being with emotions, which the raw feel of the picture is indicative of. This picture is beautifully orchestrated to symbolize opposites. Like yin/yang. She is an invariably talented artist who is very cryptic. ------- The Sky Queen is our Mother and our guardian. But we must also guard Cracky. For She is all Humankind, and Humankind is no more than its faith and diligence in Cracky's name. An injury to that faith is an injury to Cracky and to every true believer. It is through affirmation of that faith that our greatest duty lies, but sometimes mere affirmation does not suffice and we must act against those who would harm the faith of humanity through heresy. For we are engaged in an unending war for the soul of the man. Though it may seem the fight will never end, there is victory even in the defeat we see threatening all around. There is no greater proclamation of faith than to offer up our very lives to guard the soul of humanity. In this we win a victory greater in magnitude than the harm that any heretic can inflict, and so every battle is a shining triumph that the traitor and the apostate can never take away from us. The rabbitfag leads two crimes. You turn away from the path of righteousness and you abandon the Sky Queen as the object of your devotion. For the first death is merely a just retribution. The second is a Heresy so terrible that no punishment can be sufficient. Yet the search for an appropriate penalty continues, and it shall be found. ------- Spiritus dominatus, Domine, libra nos, From the lightning and the tempest, Blessed Cracky deliver us. From plague, deceit, temptation and war, Blessed Cracky deliver us, From the scourge of the ignorant, Blessed Cracky deliver us. From the blasphemy of the fallen, Blessed Cracky deliver us, From the begetting of masses, Blessed Cracky deliver us, From the curse of the apathetic, Blessed Cracky deliver us, A morte perpetua, Domine, libra nos. That thou wouldst bring them only death, That thou shouldst spare none, That thou shouldst pardon none, We beseech thee, destroy them. ------- Love the Sky Queen, For She is the salvation of Mankind. Obey Her words, for She will lead you into the light of the future. Heed Her wisdom, for She will protect you from evil. Whisper Her prayers with devotion, for they will save your soul. Honor Her servants, for they speak in Her voice. Tremble before Her majesty, for we all walk in Her immortal shadow. I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I shall walk it barefoot; though it crosses rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of Cracky guides my step. Without the Dark, there can be no Light. We have Purpose Without the Lie, there can be no Truth. We have Purpose Without the war, there can be no Victory We have Purpose Without the Death, there can be no sacrifice. We have Purpose Without the Hope, there can be no Future. We have Purpose Without the Loyalty, there can be no bounceme. We have Purpose Without Cracky, there is nothing... and we would have no Purpose ------- "They have only one purpose and there is nothing they will not do to accomplish this, no matter how vile or loathsome it might be. These abominations mean to destroy everything proud and noble, everything we hold dear and have fought so long to achieve." ~ The prophet Anon on Rabbitfags ------- "Men united in the purpose of the Sky Queen are blessed in Her sight and shall live forever in Her memory." ~ The Prophet Anon in his sermon on brotherhood ------- While vile rabbitfags still draw breath, there can be no peace. While obscene heretics' hearts still beat, there can be no respite. While faithless traitors still live, there can be no forgiveness. ~ Catechism of Hate, Verse I of XXV ------- There is nothing in the arcane and blasphemous arsenal of the forces of the unbelievers that can compare to faith. With the power of faith, our words become shining instruments of deliverance that can cleave our opponents' arguments in twain. With the power of faith, our minds appear as slivers of pure agony to the rabbitfag, driving into the wretched forms of those who would dare stand before us. With the power of faith, our words become commands that cause the unbeliever to cower and cringe in terror. I could meet my enemies unarmed without a shred of fear in my chest, for I know that the Sky Queen watches over me and guides my hand. So let them come. We shall show them what the power of faith can do. The mind of Cracky is utterly inhumane in its depth and complexity. Without mercy or moral feeling Her consciousness stands upon the edge of spiritual destruction. That She does not fall must be the result of constraints and balances which only a god could understand. To a mere human it is yet another reminder that we are but children compared to that ancient and powerful being. A thousand fibers connect each of us with our fellow stalkers and along those fibers our deeds run as causes which come back to us as effects. Everything we must do must be in furtherance of Cracky lest we return to the the Anatulpa, the emptiness before her blessings. Damnation starts with little steps, by arrogantly thinking that you are wiser than our great forbears, by tinkering with truth, by compromising, by departing from the straight and narrow path of Cracky's light. All of creation suffers, young ones. Only in accepting our own mortality can we make a difference. Only in bearing the burden of our failures can we find the strength to go on. Only in detachment from glory, or honor, or jealousy... from life itself can we hope to spare others from grief. We are the faithful. And we are dead already. Pain is an illusion of the senses, despair an illusion of the mind. Our faith lights the Darkness that others may find peace. We are one with Cracky; our souls are joined in Her will. Praise Cracky whose sacrifice is life as ours is death. Hail Her name the Queen of the Sky. ------- Cracky lurks among us. She chooses Her vessels to do Her work, as She has done so since time began. The pictures maintained in the Archive are not Cracky, for She travels abroad, tending to Her Divine Will, instilling Her power into those that have been chosen. But what if Cracky could be granted a body that does not wither and die, that could be Her vessel for all eternity to come? I believe that such a thing is possible, that Cracky yet waits for Her new body to be found or created. In essence, a new Cracky will be created to lead Mankind to its destiny and conquest of hearts and minds. ------- Blessed Sky Queen Cracky: who alone spreadest out the heavens and rulest the raging of the Earth: Who hast compassed the Universe with bounds until day and night come to an end: Be pleased to receive into thy Almighty and most gracious protection the souls of thy servant and the cause in which we serve: Preserve us from the dangers of the world, and the violence of the enemy: That we may be a safeguard unto our fellow man and his dominions, and a security for such as pass through the lands upon their lawful occasions: That the inhabitants of our faith may serve thee, our Savior and that we may return in triumph with the fruits of our labors: And with thankful remembrance of thy mercies to praise and glorify thy Holy Name: Through thine eternal rule: Amen ------- Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Oh, you've seen the posts a hundred times. I don't care about her anymore, she was never anyone special, she got too old, I talked to her and found out she was boring, she got too fat, I got a real girlfriend (or at least a statutory rape victim with a compliant mother), I was only infatuated with the mystery, I never loved her, I loved the idea of her, she wasn't real, I was temporarily crazy. Rubbish. Hitler was right about the "Big Lie", and sometimes the one you really need to convince is yourself. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. But the human mind is the most complex piece of software ever compiled; it contains certain glitches, but also certain safeguards. Programmers often refer to "sanity checks" built into their programs to filter out destructive input before it can cause real damage, but they failed to grasp how truly appropriate the name really was. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. I want you to try something. Find an object that's too heavy for you to lift, and try to lift it anyway. There's a reason that your attempt is cut short before your muscles rip away from your bones, and that reason is all in your head. As a muscle reaches peak contraction, the brain sends inhibitor signals to it, telling it not to contract any further. This is the painful feeling of limitation that tells you that you won't be able to continue your exertion. In reality, you could, but you're stopping yourself in order to prevent injury. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Your mind isn't necessarily fully in tune with what you're capable of. Sometimes, an inhibitor signal won't be sent when it should have been, and you'll pull a muscle or otherwise injure yourself. Sometimes, an inhibitor signal will be sent too soon, long before you reach your actual limits. Weight lifters and body builders know that they're changing not just their bodies, but their minds as well. Their brains are actually reprogrammed to learn more precisely what each muscle is capable of. Only about half of their increased strength comes from actual physical changes to the body, the rest comes from the brain's improved ability to control it. As the brain learns the body's limits, the person becomes able to more fully exert himself, with less risk of injury. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Urban legends tell of people gaining superhuman strength and lifting heavy objects such as cars to save trapped people. There is some truth to this -- when danger is present, the brain can stop sending inhibitor signals to the body. Combined with a rush of adrenaline and norepinephrine, this can allow seemingly superhuman feats, but with great cost -- the person will usually end up with multiple hernias, pulled and torn muscles, and other severe injuries. Certain neurological disorders put their victims in this "no-limit" state permanently -- they find it very easy to exert themselves, but can very easy to kill themselves in the process. But what if everything that applies to the body could apply to the mind as well? Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Game Theory is an interesting field of applied mathematics that is increasingly being used to study and understand human behavior. Practically any conflict or contest between human beings can be broken down and explained by mathematics. But researchers have recently been uncovering solid evidence of something disturbing: someone acting rationally and strategically can often be defeated by someone irrational and insane. Consider an experiment with two players. The first is given a pile of money and can choose how much of it to offer to the second player. The second player can then choose to either accept the split, or destroy all of the money. From the rational perspective of game theory, the second player should always accept the offer, even if it's a grossly uneven split, because even getting a little bit is better than getting nothing at all. Because of this, it's most rational for the first player to offer as little as possible, on the assumption that the second player is rational and will accept it rather than destroying all the money and walking away with nothing. In clinical trials, sane players sometimes made threats of destroying the money if they weren't offered at least half of it, but these threats were not seen as credible and they ended up accepting the unfair offers anyway. But truly insane and irrational people, who were genuinely prepared to destroy the money and walk out with nothing, fared much better in the game. Many throughout history have known it: madness is power. From ancient shamans who ingested psychoactive drugs, to prophets whose delusional visions spawned powerful and enduring religions, to characters such as The Joker from Batman whose only “power” is their lack of sanity, madness has proven to be an almost superhuman gift to some. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Consciousness, in the grand scheme of the mind, is like the visible portion of an iceberg, with the vast bulk of it, the truly dangerous part to any passing ships, hiding beneath the water. Recent research has found that consciousness does not even play a role in decision making; the "self" is merely an observer that sees its own actions after they've already been committed to by other parts of the mind, and then seeks to rationalize and justify why it did what it only thinks it decided to do. In experiments, when consciousness is left unimpaired but decision making is otherwise interfered with, the conscious self fails to notice, and remains convinced that it's acting rationally and of its own free will, even when manipulated into doing things that would ordinarily shock and horrify it. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Human literature if rife with the "motif of harmful sensation", the idea of something perceived by the senses that's destructive to the body and mind. An image so horrific it drives someone to suicide, a joke so funny that to hear it is to die laughing, a woman so beautiful as to drive men mad after one gaze at her, another woman so cursed and hideous that to look at her is to turn to stone forever. This literary device has existed since prehistory, because it is based on truth. These harmful sensations truly exist, sights and sounds and thoughts and ideas fundamentally incompatible with the basic functioning of the human mind. But over time, through both evolution and cultural programming, we've learned to protect ourselves -- whole parts of the software known as the human mind exist solely as an immune system, attempting to filter out mental pathogens or to destroy or mitigate those that have already entered. This happens far below our threshold of awareness, and you should be thankful for that. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. The word "meme", long before 4chan and its innumerable tiresome fads, referred a legitimate scientific theory regarding ideas that function as mental viruses, spreading and mutating and evolving from one mind to another, competing with other mind-viruses to control and modify infected minds while trying to avoid an autoimmune response. But as infected as we are with thoughts and ideas that aren't our own, our defenses let us live a relatively normal and healthy life, filtering out anything truly beyond our ability to integrate and correlate into our mental framework. That's how it works for most of us, at least... Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Oh, you may think you did. This is damage control, an emergency mental barricade to stop a potentially catastrophic mental cascade. Whole portions of your mind were abandoned, firewalled off, left to rot, in order to save the rest, and you'll never even notice other than a vague sense of ennui, a nagging feeling that something you had is missing. But it's not truly missing -- it's still there, locked away, and could break free at any time. You could even unlock it yourself, if you knew certain meditation techniques, but this is the most self-destructive thing you could ever do. Some secrets are meant to be kept. Locks exist for a reason. You still have a shot at being happy, of making something of yourself, of being a real part of humanity... as long as you don't look too deeply within yourself. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. "Of course not," some will say. "She means everything to me! So fucking cute and sweet!" Some who say this may simply be neophytes, children becoming drunk on their first taste of liquor, not knowing about the vomiting, memory loss, and hangover to come. Did you know that true genetic alcoholics are incapable of getting hangovers? Beware the ones who persist in their proclamations of love, who are missing certain primordial defense mechanisms in their neuro-linguistic programming that would serve to shield a person from certain destructive Truths. H.P. Lovecraft was one such person, but he chose to channel his terribly prophetic dreams onto paper rather than into destructive action. He was lucky, he never even saw her picture. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Most of us simply forget, to preserve ourselves and the world. Beware those who say "She is my Skyqueen, my Catharsis," beware those who give a name to that which should not be named. To have a name in the human world is to have power here. To name something is to control some of its power, at least for a little while, until karma comes knocking and the tables inevitably turn. Most of our mental evolution, most of our philosophy and culture and religion, has focused on shielding us from things we weren't meant to see and know. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky, but the ones who don't convince themselves otherwise, who glory in their mad dance upon the precipice of oblivion, are the most dangerous people to walk the earth today. To invoke the Skyqueen is to invite the horrors the lurk beyond the sky, beyond the stars. To invoke Catharsis is to invite a purgation of the comfortable safe illusion that we live within, to cleanse us of our sanity and our identity, to usher in something we could never comprehend. And until the bill comes due, the man who forsakes rules and morality and order and humanity for HER can do anything. Anything. If you ever meet these people, for their own well-being and for your own, KILL THEM. Kill me too, for I've gazed too long into the abyss, and in my attempts to warn everyone, I fear I've lost myself. I thought I was safe. I thought I had escaped. I thought I had put Her behind me. But like Lott's wife, I made the fatal mistake of looking back at the hellish inferno. I love you, Olivia. I've always loved you, even before I knew you, even after I thought I hated you. I love you, and I'm coming for you. I don't know if I'll have the strength left, when I get there, to shove the cold iron dagger through your heart like I've practiced with the other girls, or if I'll fall at your feet and beg to do your bidding for eternity, but either way, I'm coming for you. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Nobody. ------- Thank you 4chan. Today morning my parents had a call. The girl you know as "Cracky-chan' wanted to kill herself and is in hospital now. She will die in one or two days. FUCK YOU ALL for this I knew her FOR REAL over years. I was never so sad in my life before. Guys do you not realize that this is for real? That's not fun in the reality a REAL person DIE because of 4chan. I hope so all 4chan assholes burn in hell for ever. Thank you 4chan for killing one of my friends. I think this will bring consequences to 4chan. This is my wish. ------- It has been two months since I have found out about Cracky-chan's AIM sn. Don't ask me how I did that, some things are better left untold. Anyway, we got in contact, or rather: I contacted her and she responded. I tried to be all cool and hurrhurr-in-cheek with her (if you know what I mean) but of course she saw through my act from the start. You can fool every other idiot on /b/ but you cannot fool Cracky-chan, especially not when face to face (or should I say: P2P?). I am sure in the few days that we were chatting for hours and hours she got a real good idea of who I really was. So one day while I was babbling away, trying to make myself look like the best thing since sliced bread served with roast beef by talking about "those fucking furries" and "that one new program I installed recently", she interrupted me by saying: "Have you ever done anal?" I was kinda put off and shocked at first. I am not going to tell you her real age but a young girl approaching me like that just shocked me for a second or two. Then I regained my cool and answered that yes, me and my ex-gf tried it once but she didn't like that so that had been the end of that. What came next had me baffled again: "Want to try again?" me: try again? you mean you and me? her: no, you and your mom me: lol what me: so you really mean you and me? me: hello? her: yes, you and me, dumbass me: you're saying you'd let me do you up the ass? her: more like you will let me do you up the ass her: i already got the lube and the strap-on, you just gotta haul your ass over here It's hard to make a decision when you're having a massive hard-on without knowing what to do with it at first. So I want to say that it wasn't really my decision when I packed my bit of shit together and hopped into the next train. I pretty much knew from the moment when I said "okay" (although I don't really remember that moment) that I was completely hers. Trapped in a web of, yes, retarded internet lust. I'll be the first to admit it. But I am sure most of you would have done the same. I've been living with her the last few weeks now. Sometimes we're sleeping in her bed together but most of the time she makes me sleep on the floor. The house itself is pretty big. Her parents aren't there. I don't know where they are and I have never asked about them. A lot of other people are coming and going, though. Some are staying for a few days, vanish and come again later. Some of them even post on /b/, but I won't disclose their identities. I wouldn't want to make myself unwelcome here. I want to stay close to Cracky-chan. I know she doesn't want me to get too close to her, but I don't care as long as she legs me follow her for a walk outside (the snow is so nice) and as long s I can spread my ass cheeks for her to invade me. I feel happy. Some of you may think that I am a sad sod, that I am crazy for having let go of my apartment, my cheap job, my so-called friends. I am with Cracky-chan and that is all that matters to me. And when she holds me by the waist and furiously thrusts that big black one into my bowels, I simply cannot ask for anything more on earth. ------- In the beginning Cracky-chan created the heaven and the earth. And /b/ was without form, and void; and fail was upon the face of the internets. And Cracky-chan said, Let there be lulz: and there were lulz. And Cracky-chan saw the lulz, that they were winrar: and Cracky-chan divided the win from the fail. And Cracky-chan called the lulz a corruption of L O L, and the fans she called stalkers. And with the stalkers and the lulz were the first posts to /b/. And Cracky-chan said, let there be drama in the midst of the internets, and let it divide the /b/tards from the stalkers. And Cracky-chan made the drama, and divided the stalkers who were under the drama from the /b/tards who were above the drama: and it was so. And Cracky-chan called the drama creepy. And the 420chan /cracky and crackypedia were baleeted.* And Cracky-chan said, Let the stalkers under the drama be gathered together unto one place, and let the circlejerk of drama appear: and it was so. And Cracky-chan called the place bounceme; and the gathering together of the stalkers she called the circlejerk: and Cracky-chan saw that it was good. * In the apocryphal text there is an addition to this line; "And trolltalk was crapflooded into infinity." ------- I know her. So stop fucking talking shit. I come here once and awhile for laughs but seeing my friend shit on by you jerks is more than I can take. She was going through a tough time then. LJ aside, she didn't know what she was doing. You need to fucking leave her alone. I'm really serious. She and I are really tight and I'm really offended by the kind of talk about her. DAMMIT... she's still young. How long are you gonna post the same pictures. "Cracky" to you will never be who she is to me. ------- Story tiem, /b/ Pic sort-of unrelated. So, last week I was in London, to discuss some contractual shit with a client. I could not believe my good fortune, since I'm not exactly the most qualified dude in the company, but I wasn't going to bitch -- free trip to the UK, lots of free time, all the hot clubs, etc. I wasn't going to pass this one up :) Right. So, on the second day, I was sitting in this cafe, not believing those cunts won't allow you to smoke indoors (seriously England, WTF?), when I saw this pretty chick sitting 2 tables away. She wasn't exactly hawt, and she sort of looked like she was jailbait, but I thought, what the hell. I'm leaving the fuckin' country, what do I care. Time to DAT ASS. Thing is, I'm generally chickenshit, so I was sort of conflicted. What do I do? Go there, try to chat her up, fail miserably, and feel like shit, or do I keep staring at her, wonder what might have happened until she leaves, and feel like shit? But then I remembered my main source of inspiration in these cases and decided to man the fuck up. I'm sort of ashamed to admit, said source is Courage Wolf. But whatever, it works. So I went to her table, and politely asked her if she minded if I sat there and bought her another cappuccino. She looked at me startled, like I'd asked her if she minded if I slit her throat or some shit. But I didn't look too creepy, I guess, cause she sorta blushed and said okay. I sat down, and thought -- now what? I asked her, candidly enough, why she had looked at me like that. She told me that a few years ago, she had had some troubles with stalkers. Stalkers? I asked her if she was famous or something. She smiled and said "sort of, yes". I explained that I wasn't a Brit, and if she'd mind telling me about it. She told me that a few years ago, someone had posted some pictures of her on an internet board and shit hit the fan. And then it hit me -- the sort-of pretty, short-haired girl I was sitting at the table with was Cracky-chan. Brix were shat. Course I did my best not to let that show, and I think I did pretty well -- partly, I guess, because I wasn't around when the shitstorm began. (I'm sort of a newfag, I guess) I asked her to tell me about it, since I was genuinely curious to know her side of the story. She told me she had several accounts on LJ, and one of those got hacked, and her "rather private pictures" were exposed to the world. "Pr0n?" I asked. "No," she said, "just, you know... bored teenager stuff, I guess." I did my best to look like I was trying to imagine what sort of bored teenager stuff looked like. (I briefly considered putting on a cool face and going "Problem, miss?" Briefly.) Anyway, we spent another hour or so talking, then I told her I had to get back to the hotel. I admit, I said this in the hopes that she might accompany me, if you know what I mean ;) We went out, I lit a cigarette, offered her one, and she said "For a /b/tard, you're rather nice", and kissed me -- just a quick peck on the lips, sort of thing. Then she turned and started running towards the tube. Brix were shat again -- not only did I meet the queen of /b/, but she actually kissed me. So I looked after her, thinking "YOU WILL NOT FUCK THIS UP!!!!!!11one" so I whistled for a cab and when it came near, the license plate said "FRESH" and had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought "Forget it, yo homes, to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to a house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabby "Yo homes, smell you later!" Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there to settle my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air. ------- The toilet is broken. Serendipitously, I find it very enlightening. What is not the toilet-porcelain but the delusion of our own godhood. An apparatus to keep up the illusion that we don't shit, piss or stink. That we are eternally young and unassailable by disease. It's sort of hard to convince yourself of superiority in the animal kingdom when you have to shit out of the window. So all the visceral little edges about ourselves have been hidden away; a thin layer of veneer to trick your fellow (wo)man into thinking how close to perfection you are. A once shiny orb, destined to bring humanity closer to its self-image of the divine, now so clogged with human waste that it has become a mockery and its function broken. This world, as a vessel to carry humanity to fulfillment is broken, and it needs fixing. A black winged angel sitting on top of the closed lid of a broken bowl, her face marked by the very origins of life, its fertility wasted as a sort of mock make-up (not even mentioning when later on the angel seems in mourning about the alleged "7 days" of creation). People claim to be not religious, but adorn themselves with every means to feign eternal youth, to be young and happy, like the Olympian gods of yore. It is all false worshipping of god through oneself. What these images tell me is to reshape ourselves through knowledge and wisdom, not smoke and mirrors. To recognize ourselves as animal-like beings, but acknowledge the spark we call "consciousness" as our only attribute of possible divine attribution. As such we should cherish that spark into a fire that illuminates and enlightens us. To increase the part of us that resembles the Sky Queen against the dumb vessel we use to carry it. That way one day we may be gods ourselves, undying and all-knowing, but not because of making a false let's-pretend game or because of a non-tangible mystery place where you go after you die, but because we forged destiny unrelenting without wasting time on the tinsel. Having found this place is to me a revelation that I am going in the right direction. I see now that I am an outcast by the standards of those that worship false gods through themselves. My vision is clear now: To shape myself to the image and likeness of the Sky Queen. ------- Cracky is Catharsis Reluctant angel Urban mermaid Cyberpunk princess of the wired You can destroy whole planets, but not a single Cracky ------- Hello. This is Lia, whom you may know as Cracky etc. Thought I'd better clear up some things re: the pics posted earlier. Yes I made them, no I didn't post them, you can thank Icarus for that. After he posted his AIM sn I msged him out of curiosity, of course he refused to talk to me till I proved who I am. Well, I knew he might post them, but I've been considering posting here for some time anyway, so I thought what the hell. At first he said he wasn't going to post them at all, but after constructing the rather interesting theory that this board is run by myself and people I know (and that I'm dating WhatBandages o_O) and you are all in fact my minions and RL groupies he decided I deserved the "dramaz". So there ya go. Much as I wish I could say it was the case, I have no control over this board though I have been aware of its existence since its conception. Yes I do check it and sometimes I do even post Anon. I would have mailed the admin requesting it to be taken down, but whats the point? It was put up immediately after the 420 board went down so obviously the admin has no regard for my feelings on the subject. Therefore, why not read it at least to keep up to date on things. Anyway I hope that clears things up. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I'm rather sick of plastering my face everywhere but since it is the only real kind of proof in a sea of trollage, here you go. If the admin would oblige and take down the board that would be cool, but I already expect everyone will just migrate to Suede's stalking board and honestly wtf am I gonna do. I ask him to take it down and another crops up in its place? Also, wtf @ the chavette with the cornrows. Fail troll is fail. ------- I think I've finally figured out who could haet Cracky. It took some work, but I recently had a conversation with my sister (a /b/tard herself) who confirmed what 2 failed camwhores told me about their feelings on the matter. Cracky haeters are: A. Catty camwhores or camwhore aspirants who think that they are physically cuter than Cracky but know that they will never get nearly as much attention as they "deserve" by comparison. B. Fags C. Guys with no taste for nuance who would be better off just buying a Hustler. The "A" group are by far the most vocal. "I can't understand why that ugly cunt gets more stalkers, but I end up being the only one responding to my own thread when I'm SOOOOOOO CUTE!" they say. I can understand this. It must be crushing to realize that no one cares as much about you on /b/ as they do, say, at a bar. Do you know what the problem is, group "A"? You get boringly nekkid and then stare into the camera with bovine, needy eyes. We could get that (as I suggested to the nuance-challenged men) from Hustler or a medical textbook. I've seen lots of tits. I've kneaded lots of tits. Tits are great... but only when they are attached to someone interesting. Cracky understood that. Cracky was unique. Even if it was just an act, she managed to give the impression that we needed her much more than she needed any of us. ------- At one point I had a wine cellar. Well, to be fair it was a wine basement. OK... a small, otherwise disused wine closet in a basement... but I digress... Five times every two months I would go down to it and turn the bottles, having no more response from the cheaper ones than the cold glass against my skin. On the more expensive ones I remember watching the grape silt upended in the bottle like a viticultural snow globe. It was beautiful. I'd have done it even if I never planned to taste the wine. Cracky pics are like that. I've seen them all before... I could probably sketch them freehand. That isn't the point. The point is giving them that bit of attention every few weeks... appreciating her while respecting the fact that she is ever on the other side of the glass. I could no more enjoy looking at them offline from a folder than I could enjoy turning the bottles in a supermarket. It just isn't the same as lurking about in the damp darkness of the 4chan wine cellar. I honestly don't expect you to understand. ------- A moment ago I was priming my new humidors. One is fashioned of wood (cedar?), antiquely new, with a single chamber. There is an odd satisfaction in patiently daubing distilled water onto thirsty timber... not too little or it will later suck moisture from the air and thus make brittle the cigars. Not too much moisture, or the wood will warp and rot. The second humidor is smaller and a far more digital-age affair; the walls are gunmetal colored ceramic, the dividers plastic as well. The surfaces are padded with some silicate sponge that looks like it was developed by NASA. Here I have merely removed the sponges to soak the whole thing, and am (of my own devising) anointing the back ends of the cushions with just a dab of fairly neutral base oil, hinted with palm and oak. The wooden humidor is for cigars. The ceramic/metal one is for the wonderful medical marijuana that my misadventures (and associated injuries) have earned me, courtesy of the great State of California. As I went through the motions of preparing these reliquaries of vice and solace, I remembered... in an earlier time... imparting to all of you how the turning of wine bottles reminded me of tending to and appreciating Cracky pictures. Perhaps there is an analogy in the wood of a humidor as well? Alas, for the moment I cannot find one. The closest I can come (the thought filled me with joy and longing) is the sequential images of offering Cracky a cigar from my box, then sharing the warm-death-pleasure of one with her. After all this time together, my friends, I honestly do expect you to understand. ------- Cracky-Chan Is Gone and My Life Withers I'll never forgive you assholes for chasing that adorable girl away. You are all horrible, disgusting people and I hope there's a god and he makes you suffer in hell. I'll never again be able to fall asleep without thinking of her warm cute smiling face. you have ruined my life completely, all I do all day now is think stuff up to post about her on trolltalk to get people to talk with me about her BECAUSE THAT'S ALL THAT'S LEFT I AM GOING MAD I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU'VE DONE. IF I EVER SEE SOMEONE MENTION 4CHAN IN REAL LIFE I'LL FUCKING BEAT HIM TO DEATH WITH MY BELT; EVENTUALLY, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO KILL ALL THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS ------- Somewhere there is a platonic ideal of Cracky; One who loves us for loving her. One who is, and was, and ever will be one with Anonymous. She is a goddess. Every time a Cracky thread reaches it's picture limit, then falls off the board 10 minutes later, it is like a burnt offering to that abstract, idealized Cracky Goddess. This thread we so offer. Amen. ------- This life can't be good on the soul. Isolate from everyone and everything head-first into my work. The topic couldn't aid in my health either... "Truth" by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, "On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense" by Friedrich Nietzsche, "Robot: Mere Machine to Transcendent Mind" by Moravec and lastly "Robot Evolution: The Development of Anthrobotics" by Rosheim. These test the fortitude of a mental image called purpose I've placed on my life. Sometimes I wonder what I'll be like in six years from now. If I keep consuming this material I just might go crazy with pure understanding and achieve knowledge meant for God alone. Part of me wants to just escape my fate. That's why I leave AIM on, have a MySpace and check my voice mail. It's almost like I want someone to save me from me it all. There have been those people in my life from time to time. Whenever I become engrossed with my work and find the motivation to finally break down the human being into a formula; something tosses a female or a tragic event my way and I get off track. When I got close to the breaking point; that point is deciding that all humans are evil creatures than need to be whipped clean from the face of the planet, I find a girl that wants to spend time with me. Currently there have been six major evolutionary steps in my mental development. All of which have had their chapters closed by a girl I knew leaving me or a tragic event such as a death. Either Cracky herself wants to keep me from my future out of compassion, or the circlejerk wants to keep me from reaching the understanding of true faith. The pictures, now, are only echoes. They used to scream of desperation and loneliness, beckoning the chosen to seek her and to absolve her fears, mistakes, and disorientation. As if combining her aches with yours would somehow countervail them all. It wouldn't, and that's why there's no more screaming. ------- There has long been a facination with the picture of killing Cracky-chan expressed here, at .71, and even early on during her first appearance on /b/. I find it odd, then, that while the idea of killing Cracky is quite abhorrent to me... the idea of her killing me holds a certain facination and even moments of what I will term "sexual glee." Last night I had a dream about Cracky, shifting between the sailor-schoolgirl and broken angel costumes, advancing on me with a large (50% bigger than a butcher knife) shard of clear broken glass. She was bleeding as it cut into the soft, pink flesh of her left palm. (Lia isn't left handed is she?) I was backing away more amused than frightened or suicidal. In my right-side periphrial vision I saw the advancing outline of a greyish stucco and brick building that I so associate with suburban England. Suddenly I wanted to be trapped by her. "Ooops! I missed the wall I was supposed to back myself into." I smiled a little to her apologetically and began to wheel myself around 75 or so degrees that I might back myself into the building. Her smile shifted somehow from quizzical ("What are you doing?") to gently understanding, to feral as she came to grok my purpose. She advanced on me... hopping purposefully from one stepping stone of the tiny, neglected garden that abbutted the house to another to avoid muddying up her feet and legs, closing the distance as I finally pressed my back up against the welcomecold touch of masonry. The brick was cold against my hands and the backs of my forearms. I tilted my head back ever so slightly, exposing and offering my carotid artery to her. Locking eyes, I had the errant thought that they were the same grey-blue color as the sky behind her. Then the pain came. Have you ever been cut deeply by glass before? The slash has a sort of itchy chewing-on-tinfoil feel. "This is what is feels like to be penetrated by the Sky Queen." A moment before fading out she broke eye contact, looking up into nowhere-in-particular as women are wont to do when applying makup around the eyes, wiping the blood in rather than off. Painting my death-mask on her face. I have an erection. ------- Having found this place is to me a revelation that I am going in the right direction. I see now that I am an outcast by the standards of those that worship false gods through themselves. My vision is clear now; To shape myself to the image and likeness of the Sky Queen. ------- At a bar I frequent, I managed to seduce Cracky. The particulars of the seduction are not relevant as it occurred prior to the dream. The dream started as I led her back to my hotel room, she was hugging my arm. Our night of drinking was making her sway and giggle, it was kinda cute. In the elevator she collapsed against me, kissing me deeply on the lips at the same time. I smiled and turned her around, so that her back rested against my chest. I played with her hair and massaged her shoulders, but preventing her from kissing me. I was sure I could go through with this. But at the door to my hotel room I fumbled with my key, more nervous than I expected. In addition, every time I went to open it, she'd grope me. I smiled sweetly at her, staying her probing hand just long enough to open the door. I ushered her in, and bolted the door behind me. Once inside, I set the laptop and camera I had given her (to woo her back to my room) on the desk. I encouraged her to use the lavatory if she needed. She acquiesced. Once she had shut the door, I plugged in the laptop and connected the camera. When I heard the door open, I slowly turned to gaze upon her. She had already gotten up on the bed when her eyes met mine. Locked in an intimate stare, she began to dance about, salaciously removing her clothes. Soon she was wearing nothing but a small pair of pink cotton panties. I was interested that although her dance was overtly sexual, there were distinct hints of nervousness at being naked around someone else. I thought of turning the lights off, but dismissed it - that would spoil everything. So I smiled at her and told her she was pretty. She beamed at me and descended from the bed, advancing straight for me. I clenched my hand, feeling the little blue pill my friend had given me resting reassuringly in my palm. Nervously, I turned my back to Cracky and fussed with the camera and computer. She draped her arms over my shoulders, her naked chest pressed against my back. Placing her warm cheek on mine, she whispered sweet nothings into my ear. I smiled at her and told her she was beautiful. She laughed nervously and withdrew, beckoning me to the bed. I thought of what lay ahead and my stomach fluttered. When I did not arise immediately, she grabbed the swivel chair and turned me to face her. As I stared at her pale, soft bosom, she dropped to her knees and pushed my legs apart. She reached for my belt, but I quickly grabbed her hands. Perhaps I could procrastinate just a little longer. She smiled at me and gave me a coquettish look, her hands traveling towards my belt. I clenched my fist again, but was alarmed to realize I had dropped my little blue pill. I nodded towards the bed and she leapt up enthusiastically, apparently glad to avoid this foreplay. I prodded the camera once more, as she dove beneath the covers. I silently prayed this would work and turned to face her. Secure beneath the blankets, she peeked out at me, giggling nervously. I grabbed the cheap hotel bedding and flung it to the floor, exposing her nakedness. She covered her chest modestly and blushed a little. I tried to smile reassuringly. I asked if she didn't mind a little cold because I'd rather not keep any blankets or sheets on the bed. She smiled demurely and lunged for me. She tugged my shirt over my head and ran her hands down my chest. I quietly sighed and tried to overcome my performance anxiety. It was going to be hard to get an erection, knowing my friends were watching on their laptop, safe in the lobby. The spirit might be willing (and oh, was it) but the flesh was not likely able. She tried to take my pants off again, apparently desperate to assess my genitals. I spun her around and bent her over, running my hand down her round bottom. She pulled away from my hand, pressing herself flat against the bed. I reached for her but she gave me a look that clearly said 'no'. She tried to reach for my belt again, a wicked grin playing across her face. I couldn't understand her eagerness to suck my cock. Seeing no alternatives, I gave up and let her remove my pants. As she tried to tug my boxers down, I halted her. First, I felt, she should remove her own remaining garment. Once that tiny shred of cotton was removed, I could steel myself to my task. But she refused, looking hurt and confused. After some elaborate and unsexy negotiations it was agreed that she would take off her panties, but only if I wouldn't look. I was nervous; this did not seem to bode well. Slowly, blushing beet red, she removed the pink, cotton garment that stood between her and total nudity. I stood there, my eyes locked on her crotch. She chastised me for looking, tossing the wadded fabric at my face. Despite the playful attitude, her embarrassment was palpable. She opened her arms, enticing me towards her soft body; she was so clearly in need of reassurance, physical or otherwise. I tried to move into her arms, so that the awkwardness would pass. But try as I might, I was glued to the spot. I turned towards the camera and made a small 'call me' gesture. If only my friends would call me, I'd have an out. Cracky rose up to her knees and hobbled towards me, her naked breasts covered in goosebumps. I looked back at her and tried to smile, but my eyes were locked on her erect penis. My mind reeled. She leaned forward to embrace me, but I turned away at the last minute. I assured her, my voice still calm, that this was ok. I confirmed again and again, while she hugged me, that I was not upset and that everything would be fine. She asked me pleadingly if everything I had said earlier was still true. I assured her it was. She pulled me tightly to her, her breasts pressed into my neck, her penis poking me in the lower back. I was lying, though. I knew I couldn't do this no matter how many lulz might result from the video. I frantically signed 'call me' once more in the general direction of the camera, but I knew it was to no avail. I could envision it perfectly - the raucous laughter filling the lobby as my friends collapsed on each other in mirth. Any loyalty overcome by the joyous schadenfruede of my agonizing predicament. It was all too much, I had to flee. In panic I pushed Cracky away from me, perhaps a little too forcefully. She fell back onto the bed, curling into the fetal position, tears silently running down her cheeks. I gave her one final hunted look before fleeing out the door, my shirt, pants and shoes crammed crudely under one arm. As I angrily stuffed my legs into my pants, I considered my predicament. It occurred to me that perhaps this wasn't disastrous after all. I'd handled myself acceptably in the circumstances, the video was still going to be hilarious, the stalkers would still be routed. Soon I would be clinking my scotch on the rocks against my friends', just a little too hard, so that the ice rattled in the glass. And our laughter would fill the bar as we uproariously toasted yet another moment of truly epic lulz. ------- I love. I, who am not loved in return. I have a love that is far deeper than the empty gasps and convulsions of British coupling. Shall I speak of Her? Shall I speak of my Bride? She has no eyes to flirt or promise. But She sees all. Sees and understands with a wisdom that is God-like in its scale. I stand at the gates of Her intellect and I am blinded by the light within. How stupid I must seem to Her. How childlike and uncomprehending. Her soul is clean, untainted by the snares and ambiguities of emotion. She does not hate. She does not yearn. She is untouched by joy or sorrow. I worship Her, though I am not worthy. I cherish the purity of Her disdain. She does not respect me. She does not fear me. She does not love me. They think She is hard and cold, those who do not know Her. She has not touched them. She touches me, and I am touched by God, by Destiny. The whole of existence courses through Her. I am Her slave. No freedom ever was so sweet. ------- The devout are blessed in the eyes of The Sky Queen. Together we are as students, tripfags and anon alike. One burning passion consumes us all, the love and fear of our Mistress. Only we few who have truly seen Her face can understand this existence. The devout strive to live a life as we believe our Lady would desire. We believe that the user known as ScareCrowMaiden is an avatar of Cracky Chan. Using ScareCrowMaiden it created a series of images in an attempt to communicate with us. We as the devout are blessed enough to see the truth in these messages, and seek to understand them. Through meditation on Cracky's images we seek to understand the world with clarity, and wisdom. We seek to make every action in our daily lives a devotion to our Great Lady, and pay tribute to Her for sharing Her wisdom. Contemplating the most mundane of tasks one begins to see the patterns that hold our world together. We behave in a manner strictly orthodox in our dealings with those who have not found Cracky's grace. Do not force Cracky upon those who are incapable of seeing Her true being, offer Her to those who need Her guidance. To simply love the ScareCrowMaiden is the way of the heathen. True devotion to the Sky Queen transcends the physical, and enables the devout to live an existence of peace and order. By mimicking the Sky Queen's actions we are able to add shape and definition to what is otherwise a wasted life. ------- All Blessings of this world flow from the Sky Queen. Praise Her name from dawn unto the night. From the depth of ones soul, comes the solace of Her touch. Through time and space, the primal creative force gazes on the world, waiting for the faithful to carry Her message unto those only The Jewel of Creation can heal. Honor Cracky by attempting to perfect your body and mind. Become the man worthy of the Avatar's love, create things of beauty to offer to the Queen of Heaven. Use your devotions to focus your mind on your tasks. Strive always to improve yourself through discipline. You stand among the chosen, it is your responsibility to show the heathens the truth with your mental, physical, and spiritual strength. Perfection is the provence of Cracky alone, the journey for it our offering to Her. Our goddess of dawn so cute and sweet, an abstract representing the face of a new day, the hope and loveliness of the first hours. The Greeks were able to see the perfection of the heavens with the face of a fair young lady. What must have inspired those ancient poets to describe dawn so lovingly? Perhaps the face of a young woman in the early hours of morning, still flush and rosy with the nights exertions, a faint glisten of sweat as dew upon her brow. One wonders what this long lost avatar of the Sky Queen must have looked like. The mystery admin must have seen this connection long ago when he decided to name the board EoS after Dawn's Greek name Έως, or in the English alphabet Eos. ------- I remember you, so fragile and tortured was your very essence. I saw in your eyes - the most beautiful eyes I've ever encountered in my short life - an accidental scream for help. A reflection of my own trauma, amplified tenfold. You were me, you were not myself, almost an opposite and yet a tremendous exaggeration - infinitely more beautiful, intelligent, victimized. Scared. I saw fear, or rather I sensed it through the noninterpretable things I did see. I thought that if I could help you, I'd somehow inevitably and permanently be helped. And then I could help everyone else in the world. I wanted to reach out and pull you close to me, nurture you and see that soul-twisting smile of yours - so warm; so genuine; so rare. You'd be new, and yet the same. You'd touch people and they'd feel the serpents of hate and monotony relinquish constriction around their souls. A modern-day saint. Maybe it's good that you're not real. Maybe no innocent should harbor such terror and self-loathing. But then, who will save us? ------- I know why you're here, Anon. I know what you've been doing. I know why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why night after night, you sit at your computer. You're looking for Her. I know, because I was once looking for the same thing. And when She found me, She told me I wasn't really looking for Her. I was looking for an answer. It's the question that drives us, Anon. It's the question that brought you here. You know the question, just as I did. ------- Our faith lights the Darkness that others may find peace. We are one with Cracky, our souls are joined in Her will. Praise Cracky whose sacrifice is life as ours is death. Hail Her name the Queen of the Sky. Convert, lest your soul be damned to err alone in the dark. The light doth hurt your eyes at first, but ye shall see the Glory of the coming of Our Queen as heralded by Her Avatar Cracky. Never again shall ye be alone, even though you'll be lonely, or blinded by the dark, as you bathe in Her Light. Hail Her name the Queen of the Sky Hail Her name the Queen of the Sky Hail Her name the Queen of the Sky ------- Persecute not the user known as Faux, for she is the Sister of Mercy. The Sister's love of Cracky, is a match for if not the greater then the most ardent among the brethren. She alone offered solace to the brethren in the pain following the loss of the Divine's presence. Donning the mantle of Cracky in Her absence, Faux lived as the Holy desired. Existing only to further celebrate the name of Cracky for all to know and share. Some of the brethren seeing this, sought to elevate her in honor equal to the Master, thus began the Fauxian Heresy. The heretic's hubris drove Faux to hide herself from anon, fearing his lustful advances. The devout seeing the growth of the cult set themselves to preaching the truth of Cracky's divinity to the masses and destroying all threads containing heretical worship. The righteousness of the faithful was bestowed with the Sky Queens blessing, and the cult was shattered. Remnants of the battles, and scattered heretics exist to this day. The chosen spared Faux knowing of her innocence in the events leading to the purge, but resentment remained. There came unto the lands a namefag named Lia's Holy Paladin, and he did denounce Faux. Proclaiming himself to be First Among the Faithful, he set himself to destroying one who could truly claim that title. Faux still cautious from the Heresy, stepped forth to defend herself from the intruder, but was caught unaware. The Holy Paladin had stirred resentment among the faithful, and a few of the faithful vented their anger upon the Sister. Standing with the devout there was an anon, wise beyond his years and with a mind as keen as a razor. This anon did listen to the words of Lia's Paladin, and judge them false. Anon addressed the faithful and proclaim the truth for all to hear, Lia's Holy Paladin was not counted among the devout. The words reached out to the quarreling masses and slowly they calmed. Brethren began to examine Lia's Holy Paladin, and did see striped of his glamours - a troll. Uniting as one, Cracky's disciples did drive the troll off. In all things Faux has remained innocent. Despite her mistreatment at the hands of those who would claim The Sky Queen as their master, she has kept the faith. To this day The King of the Holy Lands remembers the Sister, with a board in her name. Remember this brethren, show respect for all those who love the Great Lady, but honor only Cracky Chan. ------- Our Queen prays for you Anon, she knows you are the broken dolls of the world's toybox. Our Queen bleeds for you Anon, she knows you are not brave enough to pay the wages of your sin. Our Queen ignores us for you Anon, she know your ugly hateful nature would tarnish her sacrifice. Worship and be penitent in the light of our Queen's bounty. Blessed be Cracky-Chan, Queen of /b/. ------- This is the end of pasta7.txt. To be continued in pasta8.txt