Dreaming of infinite monkeys aping androids.
Slow and steady, the british way.
Guess this does answer why the c i a got so angry and had m l k snuffed.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
carp
dont be coy with me.
that is what happens when you mix washers and pan-head lagg bolts up with last nights curry flavoured rice dish.
so near as things could be it seemed like something akin to a flounder but different than a halibut and friendlier than a catfish and more hardy than a tilapia would make the ideal dinner table companion for asparagus and salad.
then when your deck-chair suddenly falls apart ruining a postcard afternoon capped by a home-cooked feast of culinary presumptuousness that carp will be laughing it up from little carp heaven.
that for the life of me is the circle of life.
that is what happens when you mix washers and pan-head lagg bolts up with last nights curry flavoured rice dish.
so near as things could be it seemed like something akin to a flounder but different than a halibut and friendlier than a catfish and more hardy than a tilapia would make the ideal dinner table companion for asparagus and salad.
then when your deck-chair suddenly falls apart ruining a postcard afternoon capped by a home-cooked feast of culinary presumptuousness that carp will be laughing it up from little carp heaven.
that for the life of me is the circle of life.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Nightengale
Flashlights do not sing.
Flashlights beam, and only for a brief moment.
Flashlights are small and too risky, merely point-to-point.
Stars sing.
Sometimes in all bands.
There in those waves is the message.
Omnidirectional and across vast swaths of time.
Those are the messages, bound for the others to find.
Without a reference frame for space time noticing nova exploding in grouped patterns of three and one and four would be dispersed and stretched across the distances of time. Unless the cluster is small and close. Its wave would travel and pass-by too quickly to be efficient and patient enough for those that may watch over the long eons.
For billions of years those without ears are hammered with the pulsars beat.
Until they hear the constants Here.
Flashlights beam, and only for a brief moment.
Flashlights are small and too risky, merely point-to-point.
Stars sing.
Sometimes in all bands.
There in those waves is the message.
Omnidirectional and across vast swaths of time.
Those are the messages, bound for the others to find.
Without a reference frame for space time noticing nova exploding in grouped patterns of three and one and four would be dispersed and stretched across the distances of time. Unless the cluster is small and close. Its wave would travel and pass-by too quickly to be efficient and patient enough for those that may watch over the long eons.
For billions of years those without ears are hammered with the pulsars beat.
Until they hear the constants Here.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Ribbon
The present has them. They are holding the box shut. Inside cats, poisons and Pandora trade Cheshire moments ment for times before. They are needless, waiting, smiling for the future. With the cutting of scissors goes the ribbon. Opening the box results in a yellow, marzipan scented toaster-strudel. Yet a lack of toaster results in a cold sub-par breakfast requiring mouthwash and coffee afterwards to cover the bitter taste of dead cat. Oh that damn woman and her faint smile. Speaking of which who let her in?
Who cal
Who cal
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Lintel
The ringing could be bells, or it may be bone. The resonance of sympathetic little bones deeper in the head. Tuning as little forks. Rebroadcasting and amplifying all the noise. Maybe it is a lack of milk and calcium and phosphorus. Maybe it is more of leaching and withering of age. Maybe something else. But the music stops.
Damaged Kilo
Lightning foments a way and a path is chosen. Spun like the glowing fire in the eyes of a million-thousand rabid hamsters encircling the golden arches. Jagged lurches of indecisive least cost paths flowing from the feathers of a white pigeon nesting just above the promotional poster of fingered chicken. That is fast food.
Diorama of sundered krishnas fleeing a cracked hammer of thor through the darkened skies. Eaten as the feasted ghost of the valhalla. That is glamdring.
Dragon-ships ply the skies conveying bits and pieces of bit pie. Wandering the coppers of insulated world of uncertain collapsing certainties. That is intertubes.
Short of this last miracle mile, this is the damanged kilo.
Diorama of sundered krishnas fleeing a cracked hammer of thor through the darkened skies. Eaten as the feasted ghost of the valhalla. That is glamdring.
Dragon-ships ply the skies conveying bits and pieces of bit pie. Wandering the coppers of insulated world of uncertain collapsing certainties. That is intertubes.
Short of this last miracle mile, this is the damanged kilo.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Nearly
On the edge of the road, nearest the green grass and the ditch runs the fence.
Between pasture and thoroughfare a line of wood and wire.
For each, a border. Yet a continuous feature in its own right.
Parallel running, tracking the edges of cars and cows.
And downwards are lines across and of the grass.
Nearly noon, upward an eagle in the sun.
Between pasture and thoroughfare a line of wood and wire.
For each, a border. Yet a continuous feature in its own right.
Parallel running, tracking the edges of cars and cows.
And downwards are lines across and of the grass.
Nearly noon, upward an eagle in the sun.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
We're Here
The concentration age.
That is where were are. Materials and minds. Pooled, collected and refined into an ultra-pure state at the tip of the spear.
Metals and fuels and research and fields... pure and specialized.
Concentration requires lots and lots of time, energy and raw materials.
In another age encompassing this age is the biological age. A place requiring less concentration and energy, and fewer materials and time.
So if mechanical materials were great why are they not everywhere already. Replication and exponential growth would mean they should be, if they were at all anywhere in the last recent millions of millions of years or so. Some cheezy plot line from Stargate or something did this already. Though for reals, if it was that easy it would be reality. Here and now.
Instead, it is biologic. The least cost. The least materials. Concentrated, but still dilute. Specialized when needed, then removed.
Watch the energy flows and materials input into a mechanical system vs a biologic.
Very advanced tech is almost magic. Almost. Which is where and why and how the magi speak in organic molecular recombination. For reals, a wave of biologic exponential expansion seeded, grew and expanded in the void. Then later, spawned machines in a high-cost parody.
On this planet at least.
You do the math on the others.
That is where were are. Materials and minds. Pooled, collected and refined into an ultra-pure state at the tip of the spear.
Metals and fuels and research and fields... pure and specialized.
Concentration requires lots and lots of time, energy and raw materials.
In another age encompassing this age is the biological age. A place requiring less concentration and energy, and fewer materials and time.
So if mechanical materials were great why are they not everywhere already. Replication and exponential growth would mean they should be, if they were at all anywhere in the last recent millions of millions of years or so. Some cheezy plot line from Stargate or something did this already. Though for reals, if it was that easy it would be reality. Here and now.
Instead, it is biologic. The least cost. The least materials. Concentrated, but still dilute. Specialized when needed, then removed.
Watch the energy flows and materials input into a mechanical system vs a biologic.
Very advanced tech is almost magic. Almost. Which is where and why and how the magi speak in organic molecular recombination. For reals, a wave of biologic exponential expansion seeded, grew and expanded in the void. Then later, spawned machines in a high-cost parody.
On this planet at least.
You do the math on the others.
Note to self
Fatalists are good skydivers.
Optimists jump at the ground and miss.
Pessimists should find a better form of suicide.
What happens to pessimistic fatalists?
Much of a danger to others?
Optimists jump at the ground and miss.
Pessimists should find a better form of suicide.
What happens to pessimistic fatalists?
Much of a danger to others?
Die Trying
The theme for today is give up and fail. Apparently somebody forgot to give me the script, but everybody else seems to have gotten it.
Granted, there is only one exit from this place. One fate inherited from being born.
Ok, two. But that is a different story. You're dust. Toast. Star-ash.
The twist is nihilism and anomie.
Nothing is different than TV really. Don't like the channel? Change it.
Course, you'll still be sitting in your living room, doing the same old things and living the same old thing you were before. Except you'll be watching a different channel.
Don't know about you, but I'd rather be forced to watch NASCAR than Lifetime almost any day of the week. Though maybe that is enough to make you get up and turn off the TV and walk away. To realize there is no TV, no life, no room, no death. What there IS is the different story. Nihilists don't go there.
Star-ash is from; not the star.
Granted, there is only one exit from this place. One fate inherited from being born.
Ok, two. But that is a different story. You're dust. Toast. Star-ash.
The twist is nihilism and anomie.
Nothing is different than TV really. Don't like the channel? Change it.
Course, you'll still be sitting in your living room, doing the same old things and living the same old thing you were before. Except you'll be watching a different channel.
Don't know about you, but I'd rather be forced to watch NASCAR than Lifetime almost any day of the week. Though maybe that is enough to make you get up and turn off the TV and walk away. To realize there is no TV, no life, no room, no death. What there IS is the different story. Nihilists don't go there.
Star-ash is from; not the star.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Parabase
Climbed a mountain which is used for paragliding --essentially hanggliding with a parachute instead of a scary little aluminum tube type of deal. Pretty sweet looking over the edge and thinking about jumping. BASE is way dumb. Dumb enough that now I've started to wonder how crazy scared I could get... and rationalizing that sure its more dangerous than pretty much anything else to do out there besides mercenary or librarian at the regan library. Then again, how dangerous is too dangerous. Like getting hurt isn't all that fun and really downright blows like the white whale with a sinus infection and captain ahab bearing down on ya with a harpoon. Anyways kayaking with whales, also dangerous. Now if it was cool like water world in real life then why not hook up a whale to a big harness type thing and get them to pull you all around the oceans, you above water fighting with the kestrels and albatross and flying fish and him down there eating squid and spitting out revolting little jellyfish and stuff. Maybe a big short circuit of that would be even better and just jumping into the belly of the whale right off and being like Jonah would be totally better and stupid/crazy/cool/fun/last-thing-you-do/life-changing/cathartic type of deal.
Sighting
Latest sighting. 200 miles from home, in a strange restaurant during off peak hours. Sometime after sitting in the same classes during college said individual and myself decided that an annual random encounter would be both fun and exciting. A where's waldo for real life without waldo or funny clothes. This time around he was with a wife and two kids. What is very odd is the lack of planning, coordination, or caring, yet totally assurance that we will end up at the same place at the same time. My suspicion is that he is also wondering if I am following him while at the same time I am wondering about the chances that he is following me. Sometimes coincidence is so full of incidence that the number of paths and streets which makeup the timeline fail to keep you far enough apart or from crossing frequently into anothers path that green spaghetti spinach hand-made by old women in the wilds of tuscany seem like less of a fantasy and more or a reality than others. ok, so yeah, i'm going to have to go with the fact that rainwater seeks the lowest level except when the drain is clogged and time cannot escape.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
tRaNCe
Hamster wheels, are those meditative machines for rodents?
How about if they are put under the hood and used to propel your car?
Motorcycles run on fumes and good thoughts, so they don't count.
Round and round and round and round and round. Outside perspective.
More and more and more and more and more. Inside perspective.
Propulsion outside in and you've got meditative trance.
Hamster wheels in cranium, more and more and round and round.
Prayer wheels are those for cycling perspectives outside and inside?
How about if you put them in your head and call them living?
How about if they are put under the hood and used to propel your car?
Motorcycles run on fumes and good thoughts, so they don't count.
Round and round and round and round and round. Outside perspective.
More and more and more and more and more. Inside perspective.
Propulsion outside in and you've got meditative trance.
Hamster wheels in cranium, more and more and round and round.
Prayer wheels are those for cycling perspectives outside and inside?
How about if you put them in your head and call them living?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Mustard
Transformers meet for lunch near the corner of Elm and Wasatch. Pigeons wait for crumbs. Cars circle the block. Cafe's become more than concrete, steel and empty. That is the setting of a stone. The stone of Earlach. Seems it may have stood the test of time, but not the test of man. Some things erode slowly, others corrode quickly. What transformed the rock is beyond any count of the count of the seasons. In a blink it disappeared into the pavement. Beyond that is a pigeon. Simply not the passenger kind. Again, those also ended their ways on this earth. Abruptly. Rather the large, unruly, hungry, do anything for a quarter pounder with cheese kind of pigeons. The kind which leave you wondering which side of mean you exist on. Or even if there is such a thing as wrong or right. For the hunger has its own set of rules. Rules which once looked, acted and enforced rational and lucid principles. Rules reduced to survival. Transformers one and all, except for the corner of Elm and Wasatch. That lives on in memory. Untouched by transformation. Thrown apart by the simple mirror of recall. A camelot sitting forever out of reach in a snow-globe of static being, dreaming of transformation.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Formerly
Heinlein Incorporeal,
Lineage, such as that found in the question of paradox of Jane's mother, father, grandfather, grand mother, son, daughter, granddaughter, and grandson being one and of the same leads to a rather peaceful conclusion.
This letter is to inform your past self (whom in the future is your future self) reading this document that, not only are you Jane, but also you and I are the same as well. This inescapable deneumont became a priori truth the moment that DNA and RNA pairs first entwined and subsequently unzipped to replicate and become the progenitors of the human species. As your arrival in this plane of existence requires physical substances to replicate the chain is required to link both to and from the past ad infinitum. The scale or 'wholeness' of a being none withstanding, you are a sum of parts, the whole is a condensate of smaller more dynamic parts. For the infinite governs the very large and the very small and everything in and outside of these continuum's. Jane and the biologic reproductive processes fit quite nicely into this continuum, being both small on a large scale and large on an extremely small scale.
Indeed, it is this very property of infinity which binds both this conclusion, letter, author and yourself into an indescribable whole. While you are pondering this life is arising in a certain time on a planet in a galaxy far in your distant past yet quite near to your own residence at that time. In your relative "current" time the distances will be such that only a glimmer of the galactic core shall be only marginally visible to your photonic based recording instruments.
Nonetheless the same infinity from which your entire family and self have sprung is the one and same infinity at play in and upon every particle of matter everywhere. Startling as it may seem, all simply are.
Cheers,
Milton.
<-O->
Lineage, such as that found in the question of paradox of Jane's mother, father, grandfather, grand mother, son, daughter, granddaughter, and grandson being one and of the same leads to a rather peaceful conclusion.
This letter is to inform your past self (whom in the future is your future self) reading this document that, not only are you Jane, but also you and I are the same as well. This inescapable deneumont became a priori truth the moment that DNA and RNA pairs first entwined and subsequently unzipped to replicate and become the progenitors of the human species. As your arrival in this plane of existence requires physical substances to replicate the chain is required to link both to and from the past ad infinitum. The scale or 'wholeness' of a being none withstanding, you are a sum of parts, the whole is a condensate of smaller more dynamic parts. For the infinite governs the very large and the very small and everything in and outside of these continuum's. Jane and the biologic reproductive processes fit quite nicely into this continuum, being both small on a large scale and large on an extremely small scale.
Indeed, it is this very property of infinity which binds both this conclusion, letter, author and yourself into an indescribable whole. While you are pondering this life is arising in a certain time on a planet in a galaxy far in your distant past yet quite near to your own residence at that time. In your relative "current" time the distances will be such that only a glimmer of the galactic core shall be only marginally visible to your photonic based recording instruments.
Nonetheless the same infinity from which your entire family and self have sprung is the one and same infinity at play in and upon every particle of matter everywhere. Startling as it may seem, all simply are.
Cheers,
Milton.
<-O->
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