A name you may have spotted floating around the internet lately: _9MOTHER9HORSE9EYES9
This is a Redditor who has been going into threads and leaving behind mostly unrelated short stories but with subtle ties to the overall topic. A thread that starts with a Spongebob .gif showing Patrick failing at trench warfare suddenly includes a story about a soldier in WW2. Clumsy and obnoxious creatures known as The Oily Ones find their place in a thread that opened with a video of a basketballer acting like an idiot on the court. Each story comes from nowhere, apparently no connection between threads, and only the most tenuous link to the content of the thread.
They have interwoven themes, international espionage, some form of grand competition for a mysterious technology known as a Flesh Interface, which generates a portal of sorts. There is a nemesis called Q, repeated discussions on CIA drug experiments, technologies, people, places, a deep and intricate construct spread across dozens of threads tracing back only a few weeks, and already spawning subreddits, theories, and a miniature fan base.
Who he or she is I find to be a far less interesting question than most. One of the most interesting talking points I’ve ever encountered is that graffiti is the highest form of art as it is neither for recognition or profit, and I think that this level of anonymous off-topic commenting to such a well-constructed degree is a fascinating form of art that only the internet could have ever supported. Or perhaps it’s some kind of viral marketing campaign, and if it is it’s clever enough tat I’m fully sold on whatever it’s trying to sell.
The mythos that has been built by the enigmatic author mixes sci-fi and horror, spread across decades of fictional history and created future, but ingrained into the real world in such a way that it’s almost Lovecraftian in its construction. There are personal records, official reports, poems, varying in length from long and rambling narratives, to a few gathered paragraphs that tell more that some full books ever could.
When I was little, they took mommy away and put me with a new mommy in a smelly dark house.
They said she was a real person, but I knew she wasn’t. They had made her.
Her face was made from pieces of animal.
- pig cheeks
- hairy goat jaw
- old horse eyes
They sewed her together badly, and the seams were crusty. I hated her.
Real mommy called me from underground. I opened the attic window at sundown and let the spring breeze flow in. I heard her song floating in on the cool air, soft singing from the grave.
I can say very little on the subject, because 9M9H9E9 is only a short lived phenomena at the moment, but a growing one. Whoever our mystery writer is, they’ve found an interesting new way of using the internet to tell a story, and I for one am watching curiously to see where it goes from here.