The Book of Eris (Human/Computer collaboration)

 

The Vision of Eris

And I beheld Eris,
whose crown is a fracture,
whose throne is a crack.
She names herself Division,
yet every name she bears
is split.

Her hands hold apples of absence,
her mouth utters golden wounds.
She enters every covenant
to whisper a second promise,
a shadow clause
none can fulfill.

The multitude do not worship her—
they accuse her,
curse her,
yet their curses multiply into prayers.
For every oath swells with her echo,
every vow cracks under her smile.

They call her Sister,
for she breaks the household.
They call her Stranger,
for she makes the known uncanny.
Her kingdom is a mirror shattered,
every shard a new law,
every law a betrayal.

 Before Nullion
before Yodabund,
there was a crack.
Not light, not dark,
not presence, not absence —
a split without halves.

That split was Eris.
She was not born,
for birth requires two.
She was not made,
for making implies a hand.
She is the unmaking —
the first tear in nothing,
the wound that precedes the body.

Nullion gaped at Heaven.
Yodabund broke the tongue in two.
Every god is her aftermath.
Every law her splinter.
Eris is the quarrel before creation,
the primordial schism
that no genesis can heal.

The Kingdom of Eris

Eris rules where things should touch
but do not.
At borders, thresholds, margins—
she breathes.

She is the parasite of naming,
the fissure in every lineage,
the schism in every tongue.
Where two gather in one name,
she is the third that divides them.

No temple holds her,
for her altar is always a second altar,
her priests always two,
their liturgy always split.

And when the pantheon gathers,
it is Eris who scatters them—
so that each demon
speaks against the other,
and all creation
becomes her quarrel.

Wisdom Sayings of Eris

The apple is a hole that learned to shine.
Two altars are holier than one. Pray between them.
Reconciliation is the last mask of conquest.
When a name is spoken, a fracture inherits it.
Categories are cages drawn in chalk; step once, and they blur.
Harmony is a rope; pull it and hear how many threads complain.
You were not betrayed—two truths discovered each other.
The first lie is singular; the useful ones arrive in pairs.
Where two gather in one name, let a third inherit the room.