The Principia Discordia

“Technically, Iris did it, not me.” The chronologist cocked his head. “I know,” said Phoebe. “Isn’t that a cute name for a world-destroying computer?”

The universe is not actually malignant, it onlyseemsso.

The chronologist made a snorting sound, perhaps a laugh. “Black holes are adorable. Paradox cascades are catastrophic.”

The Internet—what Dodge used to call the Miasma—had just gone completely wrong. Down to the molecular level it was still a hippie grad student project. Like a geodesic dome that a bunch of flower children had assembled from scrap lumber on ground infested with termites and carpenter ants.