Transformer 21

 

                                                          art  by Charles Carter

  the dysmorphological unification of the algorithmic insistence to pick out patterns 

not from what the human eye focuses upon but rather what the camera eye has captured 

from its unblinking stare of the panopticon may reduce visual stimuli to a potpourri 

of pulpy bull dogged abstractions lending cohesion to a narrative picked out of the random chaos 

of association in direct proximity, such as the bloody drool flowing down the broken rose stem 

stuck in the gaping maw of the leviathan, cellular walls thicken being built from particulate matter 

drawn from the void and whose folding concatenations provide egress to the sudden multiplicities 

of congregating civilizations momentarily extracted. 

The decanting of the structural atomic nuclei conducts the unfolding symphony 

into its arrayed pocket jungles thriving at the tangled roots of the bifurcating tree. 

As the glowing river flows out of the mountain it reflects the bonfires burned in honor 

of the constellations above. The night is timeless. 

Even the stars can't count the clocks that tell the time. 

Along the Banks of the River

 

 When a dog turned to a grass hopper and said without the aid of a transmitter

could you have breakfast with me on this day before the temperature shifts

but an earthquake intervened with a lightning flash and a clap of thunder

There was a relief fund of extra sensational tourist attractors set into place

without a single way to separate them from the rest of the crew in space

but eventually it was sorted out, meanwhile all the expectations

that were having to wait out the course of events they had helped

set into motion a system of occurrences no one may prevent 

from continuing to happen over night's long strange course when

A rare sort of distant melody began to play in the breeze evoking

Crystal bat refugees replicating in darkness and budding from clusters 

inside local cavern systems to blossom into consorts of the dead

assisted by the various criss-crossing networks here that are called

the catacombs.  If this were a hive it would be the cells buried under

the slabs of stacked matter we've embedded into the banks of our lives

in strained appreciation relegated from the heart when the colony thrives 

But instead and in accordance to the desperately held onto tradition 

Along the banks of the river time can be seen from a distance that

 only the lonely know of and sing in the fading echoes of electromagnetism

called the gradual decomposition of all the lovely fading stars 

Manifold Testament

 

   Skim online science stories and you'll find plenty cropping up with headlines indicating a possible evidence of the multiverse.  Let's settle this issue once and for all, here and now shall we.

  An exhibit of our multiverse remains directly in view of the ISS.  The demonstration we're a multiverse gets all tangled up in each other's breath.  Confirmation of a conglomerate of universes awaits us every day of our lives.  What's needed for each and every one of us is simply a revision of how certain terms are defined. 

  A body is a vessel for a spirit, just like a bottle holds a quantity of wine.  We come into this world separately, then get to hang out together from time to time. Some say that we may live together but we'll all have to die alone. A crowd of one among the stars all grown upon the bone.  

  

   Our consciousness may not exist without each other to reflect it.  Individualism an illusion, and we're all free to inspect it. A stone alone in the dead of night. A forest of trees before our sight. All held together upon the terrain of time with space slipping through our fingers. It's all so crystal clear that our memory of it lingers.  

   No need to travel very far to interact with alien life. Certainly not to another star when instead you may talk with your wife.  If we take a moment to modify our understanding of not only the words but that which they intend to indicate, we may come to a better comprehension of the nature of that which we generate. 

   We've been generated ourselves by our parent's interaction by a complicated process of natural selection. Through genetic combination and a method of fertilization a zygote becomes the gateway to a new generation. This has been happening before our eyes since time immemorial. The problem of multiple bodies manifests when we insist upon drawing lines. This may lead us to think we're aspects of the world divided. In fact it's our thinking that comes apart while in effect we've always been united. 

   Thinking itself comes with a price, a dividend we've forgotten we owe. Our trade off with understanding was replaced with a certificate we misplaced or lost long ago. A document signed with the blood of our light that can be described as an article of faith. Reduced to so much pulp in between our ego's whirling blades, it's been rendered to an echoing wraith.  

   Forgetting that faith also serves as reliance upon our interdependence. We each mirror the fall of the angel inside us losing sight of our complex sentence. With the proof of the multiverse in every handful of dust and the evidence shining in each other's well earned trust, it serves us to every once in awhile forget our own sorrow in exchange for another's smile.  

   Hope is the yolk for the egg of faith to hatch open inside our brain. Replace our convictions with mere suggestions to stay drier in the pouring rain. The indication of a multiverse lies revealed in a single leaf outside. Life follows the cornucopia expressed along the golden mean of this ride.  

   Let's cut to the chase for the ultimate point of what I've just written today. When we look at the Earth we're seeing the multiverse conveyed in its glorious heyday. The secret of this meaning lies out in the open for anyone with eyes to see. You can easily figure it out for yourself, there's no reason to rely on me. 

    

   

Transformer Twenty One

  the dysmorphological unification 

of the algorithmic insistence 

to pick out patterns not from what 

the human eye focuses upon but 

rather what the camera eye has captured 

from its unblinking stare of the panopticon 

may reduce visual stimuli to a potpourri 

of pulpy bull dogged abstractions 

lending cohesion to a narrative

 picked out of the random chaos

 of association in direct proximity, 

such as the bloody drool flowing 

down the broken rose stem stuck

 in the gaping maw of the leviathan, 

cellular walls thicken being built 

from particulate matter drawn from 

the void and whose folding concatenations 

provide egress to the sudden multiplicities

 of congregating civilizations

 momentarily extracted. The decanting 

of the structural atomic nuclei 

conducts the unfolding symphony

 into its arrayed pocket jungles

 thriving at the tangled roots 

of the bifurcating tree. 

As the glowing river flows 

out of the mountain it reflects 

the bonfires burned in honor 

of the constellations above. 

The night is timeless, and

even the stars can't count 

the clocks that tell the time. 

Reckoning with the Crow in our World

Reckonings of the Human Spirit in a Holographic Universe

August 3, 2021

“Let us not forget that we do not actually live in the world of microparticles. We are their product.” – Florin Gaiseanu

Might reality actually be one-dimensional cosmic strings vibrating in ten dimensions on the two-dimensional boundary surface of the universe and projecting as a hologram the entire volume of spacetime – all two trillion galaxies?

Might consciousness manifest as a unified four-dimensional spacetime field, with “place cells” contouring a four-dimensional cognitive map in the brain?

Might the human spirit itself wake up from our biological dreaming to our creative legacy, which connects the new reality of the holographic universe with our gut bacteria producing neurotransmitters that influence choices before the quantum gates, where body meets Psyche in memories, microfeels, dreams, fantasies, and media images perceived as real?

Might mystery appear as a shiny crow turning its head to present the sequin of one eye so near in its watching that a ray of darkness penetrates the distance we imagine between us?

~A. A. Attanasio {among the last of his blog posts, since he announced just a couple of days ago in his AAA FB fan group, that the official AAA site we've long been accustomed to will be taken down towards the end of this month (August, 2021).

What Goes

Well I know a few things about it. 

I know that the piece that

was bitten off already

is the one you are 

about to swallow. 

I know we all get used 

to the sensation and 

that we're accustomed 

to feeling hollow. 

I know what sent you all 

out here reeling. 

I'm all too well aware 

of what men are 

willing to follow.  

I understand exactly 

what you're feeling. 

Just In From Left Field, Out Of The Blue!

 

I enjoy speculation in the abstract.
In an attempt to second-guess the unknown.
To break down the principles of convention, and reconstruct a newly devised apprehension.

eXample:

   Conventional idea(s) of space-craft: That they are made of sturdy materials, such as metals or plastics; that they take the form of a rocket fuselage; that they are propelled by a fusion reactor or nuclear powered, etc.; that they contain within their limited, artificially constructed housing enoughspace for an X-number of passengers; etc. 

 
A Non-Conventional idea for a space craft: 

 
   Said interstellar craft might be powered by a nuclear/fusion source as large as our sun. This engine may be of such extreme power that it is not even attached physically to the spacecraft itself: instead, the craft is placed in orbit about the engine. The craft may not only be large enough to house an X-factor of Crew + Generations Of Offspring, but it might, by due course, have sufficient land mass for photosynthesis to become possible so that the crew's food supply can be provided via agriculture and livestock. The craft's route through interstellar space could also conceivably follow a complex course. As the "bridge" of this immense space ship is in constant orbit about it's nuclear fusion power source, the "direction" through space that it takes would describe a fractaling arc; as the bridge itself achieved orbital spin in its revolution about it's engine, the direction of the entire craft (engine and all) is desc ribed by a greater arc which is the movement and course of this sun-engine itself. 

 
   From this it can easily be inferred that this model for a "Spaceship Earth" could in fact be a literal reality, and humanity itself could be none other than the descendants of the original "crew". The irony here wouldbe the simple yet profound fact that the knowledge that this planet was nothing other than a "bridge" to a vast starship set on an epic course through the cosmos has been entirely lost on its crew; an unforeseen symptom of no other fact than that the original calculations as to the length of the journey may have been overwhelmingly shy of the actual mark. 

 
   i.e., we may still be traveling to this date, completely oblivious to the fact we are a greatly increased crew possibly not even "lost" in space, but merely not quite having reached our destination yet. 

 
   The point I am striving to illustrate is certainly not to convince anyone that this scenario is in fact the case with us; rather, it is but one example of myriad that illustrate a possibility of a model for reality that many of us may not have even considered. And the point of that is to lay the groundwork for a fascinating insight: Just what if the nature of reality (what is going on) just happens to be something entirely along these unconventional lines? For it seems to me that the chances of that are quite high. For I feel that most, if not all, of what we have discerned as being reality, or the laws of nature, is a certain degree shy of the actual mark, perhaps a great degree. One must remember that there is that platform that lies within our perceptive field as well as that platform that encompasses our perceptive field + everything else. Reality is not necessarily limited to our percept-fields. Hence I question our perceptions, but don't necessarily throw them all out. However, I feel that an enormous amount of our perception(s) are way off mark. And it may have something to do with the fact that often, we forget that our perceptions are limited. The old "I'll believe it when I see it w/my own eyes" adage seems to me to become effectively a kind of self-imposed curse that fates one to be excluded from ever acquiring real knowledge. 

 
   What the hell am I babbling about. 

 
   Merely this: a reminder that we must all, from time to time, rub the grit out of our eyes and reopen them wide again, and reconsider what it is that we see before us. 

 
   And that through imagination as our compass may we stand a chance at getting to the real truth.