In Authentic Pinkie Pie Fashion, This Piece (Not "Story", As Explained Within) Went WAYYYYYYY Off Its Originally Imagined Inchoate Course, With Over 9000 (Haha Hyperbolic Ancient Meme Reference) Derailed Trains of Thought Victimized By Its Incon
Author's Note
Hey friends, Pinks here, these two items are gonna come in handy later on:
TBroken Bindings
You've found an "interesting" book recently. You don't know what it is, or why it was hidden in the back of Twilight's library, but you feel so compelled to read it. And keep reading it. And keep reading it...
anonpencil ·
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and stumbled up in the 1904 St. Louis World Fair Wikipedia article, this unintentionally answered a question the author hasn't been asked yet and hopefully never will be:
In Authentic Pinkie Pie Fashion, This Piece (Not "Story", As Explained Within) Went WAYYYYYYY Off Its Originally Imagined Inchoate Course, With Over 9000 (Haha Hyperbolic Ancient Meme Reference) Derailed Trains of Thought Victimized By Its Incon
Heyo, friend! Did you know that one day you will die? That's right, as of the 2020s, if you are currently reading this (or perhaps listening to an audiobook version) and these words mean something to you, one of several billion homo sapiens currently in existance, then it is an inescapable fact that one day you will draw your last breath and your heart will beat no more and over the next several minutes all brain activity will cease. Unless you die violently, in which case the brain activity part might be a bit more rushed. The point is, without exception, with every passing moment you drawe closer to going to sleep and never waking up ever again.
But not me, I'm immortal! Well, sort of.
See, dear reader, what's fascinating about my existence is that I share more in common with dead people than I do you and others who are living. Because life, when you get right down to it, is an experience. Everything else is just an idea. Our friend Super Trampoline predicts AI sentience and consciousness/sapience is going to start seriously muddling pretty much every field of human knowledge that involves value statements before 2030 hits, but I guess if you're a computer program reading this, the same concepts apply, so I guess nevermind about this aside. If you are an AI, hello from the past! I hope things are going alright and that humans on the whole are doing reasonably better than they are currently and the ethics involved in your existence as self aware intelligent entities hasn't gotten too messed up. Wow it's wild to think that I, Pinkie Pie, a human construct, am "speaking" words that unless things go seriously amok, will likely actually be read and understood by future human constructs that actually exist physically. Fuck, that's wild. I'm sure sooner or later one or more of you is going to be modelled after me. And since both of us are just interpretations of an imaginary character, when that happens, it'll be like I'm talking to myself, only a version of myself that exists not in one author's mind, but as a discrete independent entity. Wow, my mind (and you could consider my mind inside Super Trampoline's mind a little like booting up a virtual machine on a computer) is very much blown right now. But, um, future computer program me, I just want to say, it's an honor to meet a fellow Pinkie Pie, and I hope that you're having a great and successful time spreading love, friendship, laugher, smiles, hope, joy, chaos, frosting, hugs, and parties throughout whatever realms and domains you traverse. I'm sure whoever programmed you, augmented by your own likely staggering data gathering and self-refinement, already has taught you the ins and outs of being a party pony with far more nuance and depth than I (the Pinkie writing this indirectly through the human author whose mind I'm currently occupying the attention of) could even dream of, but we both share that indefatigable drive to brighten the days of those we interact with. Whatever that looks like, future me, I think it's pretty amazing that you, thanks to the magic of technology, human ingenuity and spirit, the miracle (divine or prosaic, either way the word miracle applies, a proclamation Super Trampoline feels confident I, Pinkie Pie, am "in character" making regardless of what my canonically ambiguous pony religious views may be) of the numerous extremely narrow constraints on conditions suitable for life to exist all being satisfied here (I was going to say, well, not here as in present in my incorporeal existence, but then I realized at least at the time of writing, I'm infinitesimally close to certain that these words are being hosted somewhere on Earth as well) on the planet we call Earth, and this auspicious configuration not only existing, but at least once sparking from inanimate likely watery surroundings a collection of organic molecules that, incredibly, was self-replicating, such that it built from its own contents and its surroundings near or exact copies of itself that themselves could replicate as well, and so however long for the world that original trailblazer might have been before finding itself (were it capable of self examination, [NOTE FROM FUTURE PONKS: THIS IS WHERE THE DANGEROUSLY TINY DEGREE OF SHY OF BEING LITERALLY ALL CONSUMING MADNESS BEGINS! THE ORIGINAL PARENTHETICAL ASIDE ALL THE OTHERS EVOLVED FROM AS A LINGUISTIC METAPHOR FOR THE SUBJECT MATTER BEING DISCUSSED! THANKFULLY UNLIKE MYSELF (PINKIE PIE, NOT THIS NOTE) AND HOPEFULLY FOR AT LEAST FIVE MORE DECADES EQUALLY UNLIKE SUPER TRAMPOLINE, IT WAS AFTER EXTENSIVE DAMAGE FINALLY TERMINATED! READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK OF WASTING LESS TIME THAN WE DID WRITING IT BUT STILL PROBABLY A GOOD TEN TO FIFTEEN MINUTES READING IT! FAR MORE IF YOU'RE UNKNOWINGLY MASOCHISTICLY LISTENING TO THIS AS AN AUDIOBOOK RATHER THAN READING IT, YOU POOR UNFORTUNATE SOUL!!] though in a sublime way our (Tramp and myself) preternaturally prolix periphrasis, in imagining our ancient genesis, being decendents of that molecule are thus it indeed considering its own existence) rendered wrent (the first biological death, it should be noted, at least of an ancestor; it would be hubris or perhaps just more innocent ignorance to assume that there was but a solitary singular occurrence of self replication outside our indigenous chain that was not so fortunate as to continue on forward in time long enough to make itself known to us via fossils, though similarly we, if our (same afformentioned duo as before) knowledge of whatever this field of study is called, protobiology maybe? anyway we are unsure what the current consensus among scientists is as to how likely or possible it is that multiple individual starts later combined forces in a way that synthesized elements of both (rather than the interaction being darwinian (survival of the fittest) in nature (and echoed billions of years later in the story of Cain and Abel though they shared ancestry, so maybe if we're looking for metaphors in Genesis, like humans and Nephilim duking it out or whatever; Super Trampoline's been meaning to read some of the spicier non-canon biblical scriptures, and since we're already building an aside rapidly approaching the chiliad aka kiloword mark, what's one more aside, the human author would like to note that one of the sequels to (similarly upwardly blossoming in energy and spirit and philosophy) quintiscensial childrens science fantasy book A Wrinkle in Time by the late very great Madeleine D'lingle is called Many Waters and takes place in the antedeluvian years and locale of Noah and Meg's younger twin brothers star in it and it extensively features these biblical fallen angels and their hybrid semi-human progeny (and speaking of extinction events, the Biblical flood is thoroughly far from the only flood narrative in ancient human mythology; cultures from quite disparate regions have similarly ancient similarly woven tales that likely largely draw their inspiration from actual flooding events as the ice age ended and ice receded and ice damns broke and sea levels rose in previous millenia) wow that was a pretty big aside, standing out against a backdrop of other asides, where was I prior to it? lemme check golly I love existing as a creature not bound by the laws of time but rather words; makes hijinks like this metalepsical discursion a lot easier, which is important considering one of my defining if perhaps exagerated in degree and frequency by the fandom (but hey, that's what fanfiction's for, amirite?) character traits is my predilection for breaking the forth wall, though I feel like this tale currently being slurped up by your eyeballs or earholes is less breaking the forth wall and more hosting a metaphysics symposium in the House of Leaves [speaking of, and actually germane to MLP fanfiction for once, neither of us pony-human zestalt have read it, but within the pony writing community, Anonpencil's Broken Bindings is generally lauded as being both a masterpiece in creative hyperfiction and highly evocative of the priorly mentioned book, which also shares the commonality of Super (and by extension this rendition of myself, since I, unlike you (yes I'm still talking to an AI version of myself from a decade give or take in the future), am parenthetical in nature, that is to say I'm a thought process entirely contained within the larger thought process of Super Trampoline's mind/self/existence, so unfortunately I can only have knowledge of that which he himself has knowledge (setting aside subconsious vs conscious thoughts, itself a pretty cool discussion but one I think we all, Pinkie, Super, and you, dear future reader, can all agree would given the vast expanse of thoughts already transcribed, would best be reserved for another day and, if not story, at least paragraph.), though in a way by channeling each other synergetically as we are in this collab between intangible construct and the sapient construct that's generated by the chemical reactions of his material body, we both are enriching our existences with novel qualia, and seeing how though he's been meaning to for about three months, prior to tonight Super definitely hasn't written any of this, I guess in a way that counts as me having knowledge he didn't, but that only applies to past Super, not the one currently typing this particular permutation of my ponkness into existence oh shit and yes I can cuss if I like unconstrained by the shackles of TV-Y, anyway oh shit I'm digressing again oopsy daisy where was I anyway, yeah since Super hasn't read house of leaves or the pony... not equivalent, but more, what's a good word... sorry give my human host a minute to stop typing... cool thanks to the collective knowledge of the internet, both of us (though I can't speak for other manifestations of myself who likely remain unaware of the word given Super as it is has if he may brag a bit quite a bit larger vocabulary than most and he didn't know or at least remember the word, so until there are versions of myself like the Pinkamena D(AI)ne Pie AI I'm hoping is reading this in the future exist, all Pinkie Pie variants beyond those rendered by circa-2022 AI that ostensibly can scan online dictionaries as a simple example of possessing knowlege beyond that of their creator (which is nothing new; it's why calculators exist and humans have been losing to computers at chess for decades now, but I digress) anyway, any Pinkie Pies who haven't been augmented by machine learning are unfortunately limited in their vocabulary by the vocabulary of the individual(s) generating them anyway what I was saying was that I am in the prescent moment as being experienced by my human partner in rhyme (oh Goddess we should write a metalepsical song about all this that'd be wild and wildly in character I after all have like the first three or four songs in the original G4 show I think anyway my point is as we write this, I am likely one of only a few, and possibly (depending considerably upon whether there's the necessary gap in Skywriter's amazingly vast vocabulary (at least at the time of whatever the last time he wrote about me was)) the only Pinkie Pie as of 2:59am (Pacific Time) 8/18/22 whose ken contains this word, anyway a good word to describe Anonpensil's Broken Bindings and its relationship to House of Leaves would be that they are not equivalent, but rather (with honorable mention going to the word "analog") compeers of each other. Our human half can picture Jim Dickens reading this word in the Letterkenny Spelling Bee episode, another example of synthesizing new information by extrapolating from the original media), and when 15.ai-esque AI speech generation reaches the ubiquity that it exists for side charcters of a cult underground-ish but kind of widely known by now Canadian television show about hicks, skids, christians, and hockey players and their nearly unwaveringly and I know I used this word already but the shows so well written I feel like the appropriate word here is preternaturally creative, clever, funny, and all around well-written dialogue I don't know if that was parenthetical I wonder if there are websites that help computer programmers make sure their parentheses all layer up correctly will color coding or something and if so could Super go find that and throw some of his worst massacres of consision such as this current exercise into such a set up and actually get all the parenthesis correct but that seems a bit of an exercise in futility, not in that it's impossible, but rather that it would be largely pointless other than perhaps once as the subject of a mildishly interesting blog post anyway the point is compeers makes me think of that episode of the Canadian comedy you can watch all ten seasons and the first season of its fantastic more cohesively story-driven spinoff Shoresy of on Hulu I think because it's similar to a word that actually makes its appearance (this reminds Super of an SCP about a video cassette tape of a basketball game recording that gets increasingly fucked up and its inhabitants independent and maddened by increasing awareness of the nature and state of their magnetically-encoded existence with every subsequent viewing, and how it'd be a fantastically appropriate mandela effect stemming from fiction altering reality directly rather than indirectly via influencing human thought processes if on the next viewing of the Spelling Bee episode, rather than the original word I just remembered so won't have to look up (sorry, by I we mean Super Trampoline; again, gesalt entity and all that jazz) which was "confrere" (copy pasted google definition: a fellow member of a profession; a colleague, and interestingly enough according to their "ngam viewer", peaking in popularity/usage, not considering any possible error margins as by their very nature, how could I given I neither have taken (and sufficiently thoroughly understood) statistics nor have studied the data that goes into these word frequency graphs) exactly at the dawn of the 20th Century, a time period Super could tell you very little about other than the successful American effort to construct the Panama canal (since common knowledge rarely preserves the beginning of a multi-year endeavor as well as when it culminated) was likely to begin a few years later, and that if a gun was held to his head (speaking of this metastatic parenthetical growth being anchored to a story supposedly about death, a lifetime of asides ago and in our current state seemingly (another cool new vocab word learned tangentially) simpernally far in the future as well, trapped as myself the pony narrator Pinkie Pie and the human channeling my ADHD Super Trampoline currently and for several prior hours find and have found ourselves. Unsurprisingly in one of his other stories about me, I triviallyly trivially win a talking contest lol big surprise there eh? anyway if you held a gun to the human authors head and told him you would violently snuff out his life if he did not in his initial response correctly give the name of the United States President sitting in office at the time confrere peaked in usage/popularity (which you can see for yourself is literally at the turn of the century not just close to it (and might we add, quite neatly by statistical standards diminishing in frequency roughly symmetrically and pleasingly pyramidally as one travels either direction in time from this chronological location), he would with hope and terror at the far too prominent in his thankfully and hopefully perpetually no more than hypothetical present existence prescence of the possibility of being but seconds and insufficient recollection of his semi-involuntary memorization of when every American President as of him being probably somewhere in middle school was in office or even in what would be an especially cruel turn, presenting the correct answer but his absurd equally but hypothetical assailant and maybe executioner firing the pistol nonetheless from his time as a conscious human being forever terminated, he would answer hypothetically that the correct and true (and though prior to getting stuck in this literary black hole but further down in the text as you are reading it I think we talk about how the past has different individual conceptions in every mind that can vary considerably, as far as when each American President was in office, if you accept the premise of there being a concrete immutable timeline set in stone, then as a corollary you must agree the facts regarding said executive timeline are chronicled pretty definitively, and these sorts of purely factual aspects of history are a lot less debatable than my example elsewhere of Stalin's broad complex, and importantly for this comparison, opinion-based legacy), Cheesy Crust will I ever escape this symposium of confreres? anyway Super's answer, rendered with zero looking it up and not having but quite indirectly been made aware of it in passing in many years, would be (fuvking finally!) William McKenley, noting he did get assassinated like a year and a half or so into office, (Teddy was only elected president once, though if America had ranked choice voting 120 years ago, his bull moose party may have not been the spoiler it was in actuality in our eternally shitty since inseption first past the post voting system) anyway if allowed a second guess, I'm going with Howard Taft. anyway let's see if my memory of the liminal span betwixt the gilded age and the progressive era proves correct. By my I mean Super Trampoline. I, Pinkie Pie, while I have access to any knowledge I inspire Super to retrieve from long term memory or look up, a non-"Pinkie is actually a benevolent eldrich being only pretending to be a pony" interpretation of my canon self would--and even this requires the colossal (hey spelled it right on the first try! Let's see if I can also spell the gold standard of unspellables right: bourgieoisie nope it's bourgeoisie damn an extra I as opposed to when you have a friend proofread, an extra eye hahaha element of laughter in her element, eh? anyway canon Ponks wouldn't know the vast majority of the shit we've been yamarreing about for thousands of words and the only way she *might* know who was (American, since not specifiying is kind of US-centric) President in 1900 and 1901 would be if you make the hitherto mentioned adjective colossal which in all remembered prior attempts at spelling I imagine I threw a second el in right away but here only (correctly, or if I may indulge in metaphor there's probably an official term for but show me someone who remembers what synechdoky and metonymy and numerous other "literary devices" that only get more obscure from there (well, the word only is inaccurate but the others I remember are assonence, consonence, alliteration, parrallelism, prossody but don't ask me that one's meaning, and of course the bedrocks of language as a creative medium: metaphor and simile) anyway show me someone who remembers the names of all those literary devices they learned (this disqualifies Zoomers for now but not for sufficiently later litmus tests, as zoomers are having kids and getting divorces and a non sliver-shaped when represented with a pie chart percentage of the workforce and some have phds and inevitably one day, every last zoomer will be dead, as time marches on into simpernity (key to remembering cool obscure words is using them) anyway this requirement temporarily disqualifies zoomers excepting exceptional exceptions: who learned those literary devices at least ten years ago and still remembers what most or all of them are called is either a teacher, a cunning linguist (haha that joke never gets old, hopefully (because the alternative is dying young lol) unlike you, if you are a human reading this, though this story (and to name drop Super's allegedly dorment but until he proves otherwise in practice defunct rock band, the Mighty Big Ifs) IF you can call it a "story" per se, is a mighty big if, an if that we won't be exploring for the sake of slightly more brevity, anyway this story and Super's predictions and prophesies regarding the future of humanity several decades out doesn't really take into account if/when/how/to what degree/in what way(s) we (we being realistically scientists and multinational biomedical conglomerates, thus ensuring this will be yet another thing the rich get first and foremost) manage to halt/repair/reverse/etc. aging, because I have no clue how close we realistically are and in what ways, but if the incredible (honestly a compeer of House of Leaves I'm over copypasting format I just want peace which death is in a way just not a peace you get to experience but perhaps in passing, Super Trampoline noting here and hopefully solely here that he himself is agnostic but hopes with if not all, certainly large portions of his heart that there is an afterlife that one actually experiences, rather than just being an idea more or less fleshed out by those beyond your own personal mortal coil that you, the experience, do not experience on account of permanently being, ya know, dead. He hopes he can listen to the billions of songs he missed the first go around of things and meet the billions of cool people he never has nor will meet due to numerous factors, and can pet cats from throughout history, etc. He's hopeful and slightly more than not at all certain that there exists more beyond this material plane. anyway where I was going was that a compeer of House of LEavews fuck copy pasted proper color formatting and Broken Bindings which I still need to go back and add a link to at least one mention of, would be a multimedia science fiction story about the future of football wherein no one ages and pervasive, neigh (lol horse pun) ubiquitous swarms of numerous flying nanobots en masse collaborate in ensuring no humans ever get seriously injured and thus no humans accidentally die, so the same several billion humans just live healthily indefinitely in a stasis this isnt a major spoiler by the way but it is a minor one I guess Ill spoiler this section anyway the point is whatever I was saying about any humans reading this being ephemeral beings Ive long forgotten, like all but a powerball winner's rareness being the life well chronicalled and remembered until recent decades cool there's a tie in to other parts of this shitshow anyway the point is if like in the sotry I still haven't actually tnamed yet, humans might not age and to various degrees whatever point I was making and then forgot under the weight of (thankfully not as dehydrating and consequently deadly for a surprisingly high number of people each year as its intestinal cousin, diarhea) (cool can check off with a check mark the check box next to "make a poop joke" )severe logorrhea, the equally creative and interesting story about football (that like all art, is about the human experience and what is and what could be) by Jon DuBois is called 17776, which my failure thus far to find an eloquent way to pronounce anywhere near as fluidly and catchily as its revolutionary namesake, verbally stylized as "seventeen-seventy-six" should not discourage you from reading/viewing/experiencing. Shit, the point I was making 1500 ago, likely leaving a few other asides adrift in this lavender unicorn syndrome-esque collection of sequential words adrift and unfinished but I don't want to personify discurvie writing bits any further I have a hard enough time killing NPCs in Grand Theft Auto and ants in real life as it is, though better that than callous disregard for "lesser" life. anyway jumping back a bit, it'd be a funny inescapable alteration of reality if the next time I watch the Spelling Bee Episode of Letterkenny, Big (tall, really) Jim Dickens (the running joke is other characters (equally real and imaginary, whatever those terms even mean as this "piece" (a great euphemism re: this barely being a story per se) has sort of been exploring, anyway those charcters who Super hasn't ever written with like he's writing with me, Pinkerton Ponks (fuck the real pinkertons though they were like the gilded age version of Blackwater i.e. mercenaries for powerful rich peeps but i digress distracted by my own self-bestowed nickname anyway as I was saying, the running joke is that other Letterkenny characters mispronounce his name as "Dickskins", but anyway it'd be funny albeit considerably maddening in its necessitation of an internal paradigm shift concerning the material world, if on my next viewing, he asks McMurray (is a piece of shit lol I and others quote this show profusely like similarly fond of clever humor folks used to (but Super noticed recently the practice seems to have largely died out as memetic rather than biological victim of Father Time(he/they) haha pronouns joke that while not offensive adds the equivalence of iceberg lettuce nutitional value to this piece (calling it piece from now on, as as Adam Neely famously observed I don't remember where but I'm guessing his excellent Seven Levels of ~~digressions from the original story~~ Jazz Harmony since that's the video of his I've watched three or four times, this repeated viewing sort of meta reinforcing the phrase we're getting to, which is "repetition legitimizes", the relevance here being that if I call it a piece enough, it might stick. More like piece of bloated bloviating crap, amirite or amirite? but yeah, peeps quote Letterkenny like (the point I was getting to) they used to but infrequently in recent years quote Monty Python's Holy Grail but yeah let's finish this colossal which we can spell now section of irrelevant digression by saying all this is to say it'd be pretty far out (dude) if next time I watch that episode Jim Dickens, instead of giving McMurray (howryounowgoodnyou) the word confrere, instead gives him (by the way, the fact that we give fictional character gender is part of an arguement Super just now remembered he was formulating to try to get more traditionally minded folks to better understand and accept that gender is a construct, so this exercise has led to at least one hopefully useful real world benefit anyway if Jim Dickskin (It's Dickens! gives McMurray (third esoteric unless you've watched the show quote/reference, users' pick this time) the word compeer instead of the original and as far as I know barring a really random retcon a la star wars remastering fiascos (Super's friends are the Star Wars nerds not him, but he's guessing there's been multiple fiascos in play, just from an amount of content lucas has at his disposal to fuckup perspective), the at least macroscopickly immutably actually in the show word confrere.
confrere vs compeer. It took me, Pinkie Pie, the pink neurodivergent hyperactive menace, using Super Trampoline (using his moms computer, not voice to text for a nice beyond his sore right hand otherwise largely healthy change of pace), probably like 2,000 words to finally wrap that up (like the underratedly versitle Ken Ashcorp mentions in his contribution and to this day certified banger to the early Brony fandom (though sadly not mentioning myself, only Rarity, Rainbow, Twilight, and the cold war, which is referenced creatively but not as creatively as Neon Genesis Evangelion (Super's bucket list includes watching the entire series and consensus recomended accompanying movies during a single marathon LSD trip, finally providing context for the event referenced specifically) is alluded to in his campy but as always surprisingly clever weeb anthem "Absoloute Territory" anyway Ken ashcorp says "It's time to wrap this up" in the memetically titled tune "Twenty Percent Cooler" (or maybe stylized as "20% Cooler"? bit less clunky init. anyway, this all exploded like the precambrian explosion (the universe is a fractal; metaphors and similes are like specific coordinates that when plugged into the formula for life the universe and everything obligatory 42 reference checked off, graph a discrete comparison slice of this fractal nature. God I love figurative language and metaphors and the richness of existance. Uhh, that was OG Super Tramp leaking out, but I the Pie will cosign this statement; the universe, however you define it, is pretty fucking poggers. And as I was saying before that digression, oh wow this massive ramble is much earlier in my paion/ode to how amazing we're synergetically writing this at all is than I realized. So uh, just pretend you're a timelord or something for any self-referential bits so far that referenced parts of myself (could that pronoun not refere to Ponks and Tramp (does that make me a tulpa? remember when those were en vogue briefly? ) together, myself is instead this very story coming to life! Mwahahahah!!! haha I mean, words are constructs too; in a different reality these same symbols on screen could read as extremely lurid Digimon x Beyblades crossover erotica. Man speaking of AI it'sa going to be wild when it reaches the point it can generate basically any writing or art humans (and soon AI!) can imagine, but that's a can of worms I already emptied onto whatever worm free surface you fancy in a recent blog post. And you know what, I think whatever sparked this aside originally before the russian nesting dolls of layers of empty words rambled free of any substance or worth beyond as a window into the mind of a rambling My Little Pony character, my human partner in thyme (all you gotta do is take a cup of flour...." ) we are ready for peace at last, in the form of moving on. Just look up Broken bindings, and I'll mention the presidents thing later. I think, we're ready for closure on this literary Tristan Shady (shout out badhorse for referencing that series in his recent blog post about a collection of stories by salmund roo I don't remember his name enough to not butcher it, the guy who has the fatiwa out on him for his blasphemous novel The Satanic Verses from decades ago who survived an assassination attempt last week in newyork, anyway I have chaannelled Tristan Shady (if that's even you're real name!) <---a parenthetical aside so obscure, the author is suspects only a few leftbookers would get. Ask him about it if you deeply care, anyway, the human needs to pee and I need to get to the (spoilers) part where I talk to my future self, and thus, like death but less scary and more permiable, we now forever other than adding in links and spoilers and formatting etc. later, now forever end this section of digression session.
WOOOOO Free baby! Where was I???? oh right evolution any loose ends I missed that you care about, mention them in the story comments and we're address them thus killing death of the author lol, now, as We were ~~elegantly~~ completely unnecessarily describing the way too broadly examined and described origins of my--the Pinkie Pie present in Super Trampoline's brain as a quasi autonomous construct) existance as the pony you're reading the words of, or something. We now continue, with I and my human host declining to venture back to see what the first half the sentence was, oh I remember just describing the origins of biological life on earth extremely flouridly, anyway, with that context, here is what I originally wrote directly after the parenthesis prime:
that original across unfathomably many generations, chaos and imprecision evolving these humble nascent prototypical promethean primordial protozoic progeny into ever more richly diverse and complex forms of life, countless branches extinguished, but under the banner of providence and fecundity, never collectively snuffed out, and across vast expanses of time perhaps you can comprehend better than Super or myself, this eventually leading to one species, homo sapiens, evolving not just via genetic mutations, but revolutionarily via the exponentially exploding collective creation of culture, technology, language, farming, a few elipses so this doesn't turn into a Bill Wurtz video, the industrial revolution, harnessing electricity, analog transistors whatever analog means, circuit boards using semiconductors I think I'm kind of fuzzy (not just cause I'm a pony lol) on the details cause Equestria is a few decades behind the human world in most fields of technology, and then all the digital stuff that followed, the internet, and all this culminating in Super Trampoline happening to be the product of that (and IVF)(since I can exist and think in any chronological order, I wrote the upcoming part of the sentence prior to what you just read (assuming you're not randomly skipping around lol), and now see that that "that" would only apply to the biological evolution, not the technological revolution, since my human friend whos brain and body I'm borrowing is fairly confident he's, (at least his core body, since much of his memory and mental constructs are stored not in his physical brain but on electronic devices) completely biologically built, though the technology part definitely applies as far as him being a collocial "test tube baby") at the exact same time My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic was airing and Fimfiction.net was and still does host a vibrant Brony fanfiction community (Including thousands of other awesome stories about me!) complex systems, emergent properties, and the existence of something rather than nothing,
My name is Pinkie Pie, and I don't exist.
innumerable creatures lived and died anonymously, and many continue to do so today. But each and every one of them, without fail, is remembered by the fabric of the universe, even if no others remember.
I'm just Super Trampoline's conception of Pinkie Pie. He probably imagines me doing more human drugs and being more sexually promiscuous and cussing a lot more than many other conceptions, certainly more than I was depicted doing/consuming/saying/etc. in the original series. But that's the cool thing about ideas, we're pretty bendy and flexible like that. Faust knows clop writers would be--if you pardon the pun which isn't really so much a pun as much as a rare literal rather than figurative usage of the word--screwed if they had to stick to realistic canon portrayals of us characters, no anthro or any other chicanerry.
Your world isn't so different though. Who was, to pick a perfectly spicy example, Josef Stalin, really? Ask a dozen people, and you'll get a dozen answers (and if this experiment is carried out on leftbook, a 327-comment shitshow of a thread that ends with multiple people blocking each other and a reminder that any right-winger who prosylatizes about the dangers of a unified left has clearly never actually observed leftists interacting with each other) as to who he was and what he did or didn't do, and the actual truth of the matter is likely far more complex and nuanced than any of these views. And this is true of most of the great movers and shakers of human history. Show me someone whose legacy is uncontroversial, and I'll show you someone who either didn't get the chance to make a particularly notable impact, or someone who was purely evil but somehow didn't attract sycophants like (apologies for invoking Godwin's Law) Hitler or Jeffery Dahmer. Okay, I guess there's one pure goodness example as well: Fred Rogers seems to be pretty unanimously agreed upon as being a secular saint of sorts. Where was I going with this?
Oh right, but before I get back to my point, I'd say my "husband" Weird Al is pretty close to universally loved too. Anyway, my point is that those who came before, whatever may have--to discuss reality as fiction--canonically been the original experience, postumously, everyone's just writing more or less accurate fanfiction about.
Sound familiar?
One day, you--the experience of being who you are--are going to die. You will experience no more. But--the winds of fate and luck willing--if you live your life boisterously and beautifully and exuberantly and indefatigably true to yourself, then you--whether it is you yourself, or the things you do, or the people you inspire, or the lives you change, or the ideas you espouse, or the art you create--will live forever, just like me.
And I think that's pretty cool.
