Thursday, October 24, 2013

pinionfork, or arborescing trifurcatorily

What are they armed with? They aren't armed with anything. They don't have arms. Well what do they want? Well what does anyone want? To swim up Maslow's hierarchy, to self actualize, to surf the rarefied cosmic network and find creatures maybe radically different than themselves in terms of material composition but of similar character, you know, the same thing you do when you try to find friends at school. But what if they're goths? Or republicans? Or Fox News addicts? Have you been reading Scenes from a Multiverse again? We'll have to wait sooooo long to get a reply via radio -- we're assuming that they're going to use radio? What if they are more fond of the strong force? What if their reproductive processes are incomprehensible to us? What about their literature? What memetic constructs of theirs will have to be banned or memed by our memome first? You're really not thinking this through. You still have this notion of enemy/friend. Expand your spectrum of roles a bit here. You could have mentor, tutor, imagineer, buddy, you could have more intuitive and stranger relationships with them already. Okay, okay, perhaps I've been somewhat alarmist. But there's still some confusion of language. I can't tell where their conversation begins and mine ends. All I have is first, second, and third person, and it starts feeling like a massive Abbott and Costello who's on first skit. And when you start interrupting, or do you mean when I start interrupting, the narrative gets really confusing. I mean, the interlocutor could be one of the Ant-Parakeet entities which are symbiotic with humans in some crazy seventy six dimensional relativistic bathtub curve space and are required if successful memetic reproduction of lolcats is necessary, anything more than that and it gets insanely confusing. I mean, if we sat down overamphetamined military brass and that paranoid branch of the energy arbitrator class with whoever or whatever, what would be the first thing they might say. "Hey, we've got this Warhol Worm primed and ready to go for your memome which will, rather rapidly, bring about world peace." how would they react. Oh, a 'thing' as such we need to be worried about. Let's prep the defenses against Mr. Neutron! (which didn't feel like Monty Python at all), let's be alarmist and silly. "The harmonics in my voice have already delivered the payload to your cerebellar regions. Within a day, a tranquil serenity will overtake you. Within twelve, social media networks will have found soulmate pairs or social groupings of greater concord than your primitive dating sites could ever arrange. Do not be alarmed. We are here to relax you. Only then will you be able to take flight." Wry pedantic scientist with sciatica: "Take flight to where?" "Places real and surreal that are amongst and amidst you at present"