aracalont

or surfing the network. I mean the cosmic network. You know when we go live, right? You know when the Vogons are coming, right? You know how long the plans have been at the demolition office? You were paying attention, right? You've got your shots, right? You take periodic phenomena of all magnitudes? You're Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect and Zaphod Beeblebrox (if you're male), and Trillian and Fenchurch simultaneously (if you're female). We're working on a third here, call it Green, call it a Breen, call it nice, call it mice, call it a thing, whoa man. No matrix morpheum, no WWII insanity, just the actual date. It's time for Kali Yuga to start, really now. Too much checking and not enough balancing. And really, a stable equilibrium would be desireable. Just listening to Jeltz's poetry is pretty wearying now. I mean it's phenomenally and monstrously painful to not comprehend out of context objects all the time. So, if you're bored, try government by Hentarchy! Where those who surf probability waves are charged particles, Lammergeiers? The internet is electrical now. When the internet is powered by strong force machines (not transistor based, but lattices of buckytubes in three dimensions (isn't that the most obvious hyperconductor you can think of), we're going to finally all experience triality simultaneously, and then is when the real aliens are (heh), going to start (heh again), visiting. (laugh, sparks and zithers and realistic contumnations aside, it's really sad seeing yet another onctopoetic species not grasping at the postonctopoetic, to say nothing of transparinoesis)