Beneath African Skies

Which part of silence is hard to understand?

The quiet part, or the part where you make up thoughts to fill the void between moments?

To my mind came an unbidden image of something extraordinary. Perhaps world changing. It is a device capable of displaying images. Perhaps scenes, moments, or parts of peoples lives could be displayed. It could be colorful and have sound.

Imagination however is prior art...

... and there is so much more to be done.

Yes, infinite into possibilities collapse, fractals spin into crystal, phi shapes another form, and breath clouds the mirror. Welcome back cosmos.

In the Hall of the Mountain King

Multi-faceted jeweled crowns could turn into quite the rave.

Last night whilst visiting Nuthank in his dimly lit mountain hall a chance alignment of crown, and laser pointer occurred.

Ok, not chance. It happened to be brought there as a result of a traumatic incident involving a Siamese, a game of chase the dot, and the desire to avoid the situation again. The idea was to merely leave said laser pointer in some non-descript location maybe under a doilie.

Instead a full out rave was fomented. Chance brought the laser into contact with finger, chance brought the beam in contact with the crown jewels. The rest they say is history.

Inspired dancing can and does take place when an enraged feline attacks the sovereign crotch regions. The laser on the faceted crown, that was a by product.

Rime

Missing in most treatise is the concept of uni-lateral understanding. With scant exception efforts are made to bring disparate areas into concordance. Notable exceptions include cell-phone legal agreements, memorandum of understanding, religion, non-disclosure agreements and end-user-license agreements. Astute readers will immediately notice that many of these explicitly decree themselves to be agreements. The implication of course being that they are in fact two equal partners reaching a common area of understanding. This may indeed be true in both television and children's fables. However, being the consummate exemplar I shall refrain from stating so with any amount of clarity. Rather, I shall let French Fries illustrate by example (and to whom I would like to take a moment to offer my personal thanks for enjoyment of your tasty goodness). There is no binding agreement between French Fries and their consumer. Indeed I may love, hate, or be ambivalent in my opinions as to their taste. However, the fries get no voice in their enjoyment. They are simply experienced. It is indeed a one-sided deal. Namely, with the clear victor in the agreement being myself. It could therefore be posited that eating Fries, and by extension, eating is an uni-lateral agreement between yourself and food with you the food eater as the prime benefactor in the arrangement. Before you the reader make the logical leap to include the manifest universe, religion, politics, relationships and indeed all experiences in this allegorical bucket of fries it should be pointed out that as you are reading this both you and I are experiencing a temporally disconnected moment of both understanding and discordance. Undoubtedly, the world, the sun, and the universe all are unilaterally going to continue to go about their business of turning, burning and expanding regardless of your opinion on the matter. To which I would like to leave you with one question. In a post modern, narcissistic, self-relative world of manifest outward experience to whom does the rather unenviable task of converting fryer grease into bio-fuels fall?

Viscous Air

Outside every good airplane is a big cliff. Like a really really big one. the kind which is so high you dont think you are high anymore. cept you really are very high, hypoxic really. kinda turns into a hypnotic little trance as you fall through the blackness. what really is bad though is all the light pollution. like sodium is lighting up so much of our skies its like walmart and mcdonalds teamed up with starbucks to deliver diguisting not really light but light light to the corner of your block, or favorite treehouse at the end of the back 40. like that but different. but not all that different. not different like what happens when you start to think about randy quade showing up riding in a red flyer wagon to deliver your milk and paper at 5.30 in the morning. different like what happens when you start to wonder about what is different. like how shades of green start to look green and stuff. next thing happens all the plants look green and pretty much the same. uniform like. then the suburbs pop-up, your cars and trucks start taste a bit weird, as they are no longer made out of stainless steel and lack that really crisp lovely tang of metal. that kind of uniform. army, collective, swarm-like wierd, were everything tastes like tasty wheat. nearly good, but not nearly good enough. then you end up watching instead of living. kinda like plato's cave smacking you down when you headed to the snack-bar and ended up with tasty wheat and no idea where your seat was and then you head back outside and see a whole swarm of furry little lemmings heading right for the cliff, in a furry little cascade of self-locomoted masturbatory conformity. kinda. it could be a lot like that. or not. so next time you all pick up a box of lightbulbs make sure they don't come with strings attached.

TLD... R

Backflow and fibre traces. Skein a world, an organism, a reality.
Octet buckets collecting a digital rain. 63.225.#.#

PHontonic Shredder

Now could be like a big focal point consuming all within itself.

Like the future is incoming photons while the past is the other side
of the funnel... where energy is converted into matter and past time
as we see it.

Like wonder what happens when a photon strikes your retina. That energy
fires up some synaptic pathway after being converted to chemical versions
of Mercury.

More than that though, is light emittance tied to time and space? If it's
really dark is there nothing. Would explain why everybody is so afraid of
the dark.

Daedalus and the Temple of the Seven Lights of the Earth

Cliffs are large and dangerous. So are big towers and additionally,
large edifices of knowledge. Conversely stupidity knows no bounds.
Inversely knowledge knows no stupidity. Or at least pretends not to.

Large dangerous cliffs are intrinsic drivers. Someone will jump. Well,
after climbing up them. So like you got yourself this really big and
wonderful tower which takes the place of a natural cliff... as no natural
cliffs are in the vicinity and you're bored and/or looking to kil yourself
or impress chicks. So now you need yourself a big tower. No worries, you'll
just make one. Not a big deal really. The big deal is then climbing up
the thing and jumping off.

So maybe you make yourself some nice wings. Or maybe you just continue
following the ass of the little rodent in front of you and just try and
make that leap of faith and transmigrate from being a lemming into being some
kind of bird like creature which looks suspiciously like a lemming. Either
way though my guess is it's not going to end well. Unless you're a scavenger
looking for a tasty, tenderized meal. It's not all bad for you though, you
at least are getting to be a team player and participant in the wheel of
life. Chirp, squawk, and babble your way on little campers.

L>oading Symbols

We do what we can because we must.

Your symbol table may be loaded with evil or good.

We're out of beta, we're releasing on time.

Your jump and branch may leap to address misaligned.

There is research still to be done.

Your stack is close to overflowing.

And there is now no telling where it is all going to end.

Pogo stick

IZA one-legged chair a pogo stick? How about in zero-g?

Fundamental Answers to fundamental questions.

Kinda. Allot of its totally bollux. Unless you enjoy re-decorating after each crusade rolls through and destroys all your lovely architecture.

Latibær

Armageddon has arrived. Dear lord, why did I visit Iceland and enjoy your soothing blue lagoon filled with pleasantly warm healing waters? It was to eat whale. That's why. Now you are having your revenge. First you sent manga and kotaku in the form on digital demon enhanced ninjas to appear insides of mine house and attack me like Cato. Despite it all it wasn't something which impressed me much. it was strange and all weird and maybe illegial in countries with children... but now. Now. Now, now now... you've had to gene splice morgan spurlock and paul rubens and those freaky jelly filled primus clowns and their damn beaver into a frankenstien horror of epic proportions in order to fill my head and haunt me. I liked you more when you were tooling around masquerading as Woden. Ragnorok was nice. Predicable and final, epic, good and evil and such. Quite nice. Now what you got going on? A teenie fattie mocking crusader who frolicks with some scary scary clowns. Guess the other stuff wasn't really working out and hell on earth was the backup plan, huh? Wait. I bets you are just tricking me and the next Tanuk video is coming out next week and we'll be good friends again. Though this time I'm not going to lie and get you out of taking the blame for having Van Gogh's or anybody else's ear hacked off. You'll have to own up to it, since you just HAD to put them there in the first place.

Holmes

Sometimes you eat the duck, and sometimes the duck eats you. Though I think it's the year of the phoenix or something like that. So your chances of being eaten by a duck are pretty slim. Not as slim as say running into a vermillion colored horseless carriage driven by Nestor Holmes. Granted, stranger things have happened. So next year sometime the word garage will be superseded. I have a carriage house in my backward. It's also a garage. Someday it'll be an ecohaus or some whacked out fuzzy new hardcore retro name for a place to park your car which is not your car.

Then again maybe I'm off here and we'll simply keep making bigger vehicles until we reach the point where everyone drives an RV like a royal coachman to work so that they don't feel cramped and lost without the most valued possessions conveyed within. That solves the naming problem quite nicely. Also the problem of property tax. Though I supposed local government won't be too keen on letting RV park everywhere without getting there cut. This is really why you're starting to see the backlash against wal-mart. You see, if they really hold to their word and you get free parking in any parking lot at any wal-mart, what you've really got is your own tax-free zone, spread across the country. Not that I'm proposing freedom loving individuals run out buy and RV and start spending all their free times living in wal-mart parking lots. Not at all.

I wonder where you'd register to vote? Guess it doesn't matter much. The board of directors aren't really beholden to voters, just shareholders. Well, goodnight sweet democracy. Good morning corporate america.

Save Now

Buy now, it's on sale. In fact, if you can see it, you can buy it. For a limited time of course. Then it'll be marked down and resold at a discount by a tiered wholesaler. By then, it's cheaper. Not as cool though. Synchopat. Welcome to the intrinsic world of the real. Where purchases are little snow-globes holding your essence, experience and life in statis, stasis, status, untill you'all get bored and throw it away and save more by buying. Offing with a koan. If you take a picture of a shopper, is there a soul left to steal?

The Cake Is Mine

Teflon. Xeon. Xeofleton (tm).

Besides that though there are several questions in need of answers.

Darkness can roll uphill, yes or no?

Beef wrapped in cooked pork and re-heated can be tasty and nutrikious, yes?

Your left foot becomes your right food in the Southern hemisphere, true or false?

Something so bright that your eyes literally roll right off of it?

That's right. Xeofleton.

Just wait till the order of Adamantine comes in. That's gonna be the hull plating,
then a nice sheeting of Xeofleton is gonna make the boat into the best and brightest
float out there.

Bookend

Orange juice. Good for you, tasty, and clearly not what you are. Unless of course youare teh special kind of orange juice which has become both literate and sentient. In which case, I'm really les than sure how you'd also learnt the art of interstellar travel and popped the 63 odd light years it takes to get between your world and ours. Then again, sentient, literate orange juice may just be capable of such a feat. After those first steps that leap across time and space may turn into the instant it really is. At any rate, maybe using the juicer this morning wasn't a good idea. No offense. Really. Not like I could have known that you'd be related, feel empathy for your own kind, or anything. I was just in it for the shot of vitamin C and the tasty and wild sugar rush that follows consumption of pure sweet jiuce.

And again with the chickens and teh kittehz. Good friends they are. Romeo and Juliet, Napoleon and Waterloo, Brutus and Caesar, Dust and Wind, Creator and Destroyer, players on the same ballroom floor. Actors and audience, predator and prey, it's a clear plastic wrapper around the candy of reality. Sugar coated and nice, awaiting consumption. Communion in another place, Time. Cut into halves, now edible, discernable, quantifiable, communicable packets of the greater whole. A refined sugar for your morning tea and biscuits.

I rather prefer orange juice, thank you.

Starshine

No animals were harmed during testing.

Question being... is it really an animal when it's all just protons, electrons and neutrinos.

Ya know, should I be an extra-dimensional being sent here to study this manifold extension into space/time I'd kinda wonder.... like about the perceived differences in all existence.

As it's all the same. Unless you sit inside comparing inside to inside. Insides appear distinct and different when viewed from inside.

Outside looking at inside appears uniform and utterly the same. And actually is.

An apple, crescent wrench, and lithium. From inside look distinct. The arrangements of the blocks creating a differences. Though outside I'm just seeing blocks. All the same blocks, over and over and over again.

Musikal Time Machine

Music keeps really good time. Sometimes it switches timebases mid-flow. Except it appears to always be metronomic and consistently periodic. It would be sweet to steal a time machine and go back and listen to really old music. Before strings and metallurgy and such. Maybe those old old compositions were the inspiration for timekeeping, or maybe timekeeping was the inspiration for music. Either way it'd be ironic and symmetric that your time machine went back to research
music and in the process started creating music. See all you really got to do to build yourself a time machine is to play some music. Do it. You'll see. Back, back, back in time you go. To do it right of course and transport yourself physically back in time is gonna take some pretty crazy loud noise. So I hope you have understanding neighbors. While you're back there please dont step on anything, or give it a cold. I don't want you changing my present into your non-linear, unintentional temporal mistake.

The Golden Wumpus

Once in a land far, far, away there was a tree. Now this was by all accounts an ordinary tree. Indeed, being a perfectly ordinary tree ment that it didn't go to the ATM all that often. In fact never. Not even once. For during it's brief lifespan of 12 and 7/8 years it never once uprooted itself and walked to an ATM. Now of course it never will. At least not in the sense of being a tree. For you see, a supernova in your celestial backyard is a world shaping event. Much like the invention of frictionless steam propulsion. So the next thing you know, this tree is all blasted into molecular oblivion and stuff. Bit's and pieces flying all about the ethers, as the entire planet was forcibly reassembled in a surprisingly large, fast, and rather destructive manner. This little tree ended it's brief sojurn upon it's earth and was replaced by an amalgamation of gold atoms. The kind that form as all manner of forces bend and crush things into things which are different than the things of which they previously were. Now this tree happened to be a tree, now it happened to just be a bunch of gold atoms... winging their way out the vicinity of the cataclysm. As everybody knows you don't mock a wumpus. If you don't, you will. Especially don't infuriate a wumpus who's just eaten half a parsec of former planetary remains and just discovered that it was laced with gold particles. Don't say I didn't warn you. Not like you have any excuse for mocking a golden wumpus, as they are rather hard to mistake for a normal wumpus, whilst giving off a nice radioactive afterglow. At any rate steer well clear of them. You never do know, they could end up meeting up with the golden calf and next thing you know you've gotten yourself halfway to a menagerie of golden themed animal/god-like creatures to contend with.

Are you being served?

In the world of instant communication, television, intarwebs, cell-phones and twisted-pair spooky action at a distance entanglements this critter dares ask the question... am I being served?

Indeed you are my friend, indeed you are.

Electronic mana raining from the heavens, filling your little head with all manners of thoughts. 24/7 entertainment straight cross the pipes and into your abode.

Served like nobodies business. In fact, tis time for contrarian Bob to make an appearance... it's EVERYBODIES business you are into.

Now that the world is your circus and your digital daily bread is delivered straight into your sparking little ne0-cortex of utter impressibility. You ARE BEING SERVED.

More to come

Welcome to vertigo

Cantor, Boltzmann, Godel, Turing. Meet Adams.

Sometimes the restaurant at the end of the universe does indeed serve the best possible BLT.

Question being, is a BLT still a BLT if there is no-one there to taste it?

Though reality is simply a milk-shake, and yes, you can get fries with that.

Oh, and by the way.... This is true. QED.

Ring of Darkness

Wrapping this all up in a nice golden bough for you, so get out your hatchet, ceremonial knife, machete, mace, or preferred trauma inducing instrument of kingmaking

This goes out to you Kurtz. The jungle maybe crazy. You may not be. Though the quest for your absolute pristine white whale of perfect goodness may get you drowned. Or chopped up. Crystalline diamonds are conceptualization wraiths, vivid and bright and without substance.

Good fresh tilled earth would have told you this. So would a hobbit. Though I'm sure a scarcity of hobbits coupled with the iconoclastic rants of absolute infatuated elves contributed to your taking hold of the one ring and binding yourself to it's fate. Maybe I'll just start calling you Isildur. Maybe Saruman. He had his uber-orcs, you had montangnards. Though that's splitting hairs.

How in these tales of the ages does the PBR get morphed to an ill-fated fellowship? Well at least Conrad and Copola got their question answered. Though those are just questions posed again and again and only now recently heard again.

Maybe they had it right all those centuries ago, and it's all just about that crazy little sprig near the spring and power is absolutely corrupting... so you'd better make it's cost terrible and swift.

Sulphur Fries

Around the world there is tea steeping. In my cup too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is music playing. In my ears too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is breathing people. In my house at the moment as well.
Around the well there are lots of living moments in the world.

Tyrone Nicholas

You are somebody else. You and everyone else.
Seems to me to be a bit dissonant.
That you could be named Tyrone.
Then again so could someone else.
However, me, myself, and we are not the Tyrone.
No sir.
Not even Tyrone in the royal we.
Definately not even with green eggs and ham.
Jack or St those could not be Tyrone.
Though they can both be Nicholas.
Indeed both are. Which is quite wonderful.
That you be not Tyrone and just Nicholas.
Especially when it comes to make the money shot.
That's when I get teh confused though. OR used to.
These days I've determined Jack exists, but that St
does not. Know how... taxes. Jack pays his. St Nicholas
does not. No way he'd cross international and state
borders delivering unlimited amount of playful goods
without one form or another of the government
getting their cut.
No sir.

Orinocco Sunset

Chicken = Diet Beef

Diet Beef = Fat Happy Consumer

Fat Happy Consumer = Chicken

So, clearly one can simply equate chicken and chicken as being the same thing. However, the astute among you will not that chicken is not chicken is not chicken. Perhaps someday with advanced cloning techniques chicken is chicken is chicken. Until that august day arrives, heralding a new era of uniform, clean, wholesome, economical, and tasty fried up goodness we are living in a world of chaos. CHOAS!!!! I tell you. It makes me quiver and sad everytime I eats the McGnugget knowing that it's an amalgamation of hundreds of different chickens. Someday my dream of eatting hundreds of ground up indentical chickens shall be bourne out. Chickens come out of their shells. Just like a unix prompt... they all come from somewhere... so maybe, just maybe someday instead of init spawning them it will be a vat of industrial protoplasmic incubatory gel. Multitudes of thousands of billions of identical chickens rising forth from that primordial ooze... and onto my dinnar plate. Num num num. I eat you all my good dear chicken freinds. You so tasty with a bit of cornmeal, salt, pepper and rendered bacon-fat lard. Even more tasty as I can tell you all taste exactly teh same nows! Long live the one true chicken of culinary goodness. Through your flesh we gain everlasting life, my avian culinary friend! May you live a quick and short life, and grace my plate with your presence. It does make you wonder though... if communion is like a cloning thing, and always the same bit o' the creator, or is it more like a special little peice just for you everytime?

Words to Live By

Land into the wind. Do not piss into the wind.

Stop. Drop. Roll. In that order. Roll, drop and stop may result in injury.

Do not fixate on the horizon. Fixate on death or taxes. They don't hurt as much at higher speeds.

Don't forget your towel. A buffered analgesic is also nice. Beer nuts will smooth your landing further.

Avoid large yellow construction machinery. It ends bad for fleshies.

Between Heaven and Earth

Falling is the space between cosmos and chaos.

More after the jump.