Thursday, August 21, 2014

Far Culture value systematics

That quavering oceanic Bardo of abridged interconnectedness? The Pharl? Glistening Gold accumulations as the zenith of wealth embargoed in great vaults thickly covered in dust and guarded by excesses of actin and myosin qua actin and myosin? Functionality becoming some still frozen image of an old, failing music box. We do not trust the Pharl, with its occasional whiffs of geodesic domes in the desert oases. (though, truth be told, we have nothing against geodesic desert-homed domes, it's just the landmark for our apprehension of the Pharl. "thar be Pharl here!")

Nonrepetition, even cosmically, an antidote which succours our discomfort with Eternal Return, counteracting those twisted and entwined genomic fears with cosmic ferocity.  The fringes of the Polynongahela (water and light and rainbows and photosynthesis and muons and didgeridoo sound trailing off into the ethereal distance of the mindscape, interconnected with sturdy metahyperreferences) like zebrastripes or cuttlefish patterns in fronds gently filter feeding on photons are what we quest for.

Paradoxically, the nonarbitrary, but not in the context of a Science classifying entities according to anatomical or phrenomic abstractions and throwing a fit at each anomaly, or Religion's deranged conceptualization of some soul-prototype in a deity's anthropoforge: a butterfly flies without care for the whims of lepidopterists and quibbles of aerodynamics engineers.

Immediacy, drenches, waterlogs, comprehensibilizes, makes manifest, accelerates, produces plenitudes of coherence, makes available. (usually láithreacht)

And the Nagunatakaschelian: I'll take a seemingly gray and incomplete obscurity with semantic completeness and clarity and lucidity of intent over a vivid swirl in crisp appareance and memomic vacuity: the visual and the symbolic are starkly different environments, and where their natures clash, stranger truths lie in snowy crypticity, like the dreams of a butterfly-in-chrysalis in diapause during the winter.

Nonimposition: we're not hegemonizing, or interested in increasing our territory. We have no especial sacrosanctly enshrined identity-conceptualization, either at a cultural or biological or memomic level. One corollary is that our arcologies may be opaque or obscure to you: we've had great contention about it either way: make the vaporous language starfish galaxies available? To whom? To those who would build empires of oppression? To those who would sing cosmic songs with them? Our shibboleth is empathy: there is, we believe a constraint, or a portico, some indeterminate transition between those empirewrights who would leave trails of destruction, and those who would sing cosmic songs. To first, we prefer the Nagunatakaschelian. To the second, the láithreacht. Now, admittedly, this leaves us looking vague and unfocused on occasion, or produces strange highly context dependent remarks from us, but when we are in greater numbers, perhaps, our blurriness may abate.

torrential effervescent rainbow starfire waterfalls

Love transcends, alliterating over remote iridescent crashing galactic seahorse probability escarpments, glittering in starscape cliffs, color-flavor locked quark gluon plasma in rhyming, superconducting dynamos of intercalated energies and forces, unabridged continuances and kaleidoscopic zephyr helices of neutrinos abundant with improbable chance-plume life forms, which collide, babble, anastomose, bedeck themselves in memomic fineries, the thronteareal lambda calculus tryptamine elves grinning at us like sheaves over fractals of theta functions, an orchestral panoply of coruscating harmonious cosmic energies, sublime and ethereal, compose and comprise our interferent Pahoehoe wavefunctions on the great Polynongahela, where we are and have for each other torrential effervescent rainbow starfire waterfalls of love and thought, kythed through and between each other, oscillating intertwining, elucidatory, biological memomic liberation engines exulting in didgeridoo muon love songs, rivulets of hyperorgasmic mutual intercomprehensional bliss effortlessly conducted across Bifrost between us, we irradiate each other with star-currents of philos, eros, agape, and storge, eddying with vaporous tempests and arch-gulfings of realities-spanning tranquility like rivulets of ultraenergetic transhyperincomprehensible wavegrains charged with layers of astral iodine consilligrent with metaethereal waterlogged accumulation of surpsassing-all-possible-universes-scale co-awareness of each other, every quantum mechanical fiber of each other resonating harmoniously and resolving confluently with the other as cosmic rainbow peace engines aware of the other, having drank the Swift Luminescent Energy Drink of the Psyche, and surfulgent in the eurhimde of each other in Where Skeins become Meshes Become Pleats.

Caveats: I wrote this for an imaginary person a while ago (the contrast between the actual and ideal is not lost on me here). I feel the need to share it now -- I've been accused of writing love poetry of late, and would like to illustrate what happens when I set out to do just that. There may or may not be actual people who my mind is moved as above, but I didn't want to edit it, as I think the above piece stands as a unit.) Also, I do not dispute it may be 'too much, excessive, etc.'

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

signal response amidst resource management seizure

Epr butterflies lying intoxicatorily atop skew manifold caustics that message had a shannon entropy, had I a decoder? A no need to respond immediately chirp a-ok bypassing baroque and necessary filter systems strung like baleen plates in my meme recognition phrenoanatomy. The responsivities, although, are muddled: immediate physical translocation demands various vexingly resource-management-intensive stress configurations which are inimical to more immediately instinctual "attention now would be most propitious however sidereal ambiguities not handled by quantum lepidopteran epistle" scribbled on a postit and forgotten in an ancient office lodged in a Byzantine subsystem of an bivouac three and twelve thirteenths kilometers beneath the surface of a gas giant many fortnights by municipal bus away (transfers are acceptable). Hyperpreparation is en vogue amongst the denizens of this office: the reply has already been crafted, copy edited, consistency checked thirty seven ways to Bastablon: okay, there are some slight issues with broadcast, but the holographic coherence demands that it go out in its present form. so, under such circumstances one of the office Beetles (the people in charge are called Beetles), writes a "request for enzymes", and waits and sees...