they trouble me

I can no longer type. I think. Or I'm becoming less able to type now that I've taken such a long hiatus from typing. I feel. Many things coruscate around me and sometimes I act like a complete idiot about them. My hands feel like dead lumps of jelly at the moment. Typing is harder than I'd like it to be, and the last decent communication I had was quite a long time ago. I think I want more chocolate at the moment. I hate being here. I'd rather be elsewhere.

rotunda or else

seem! frogs! decompensations. declarations of someone holding on or not holding on. I lost my edge. Oh hell did I lose my edge. Time to start regaining it somehow. Interesting diversion, wouldn't you say, Mr. Covalent Bond. Like a random skittering across the filaments of time. Oh I have my druthers together and I know what I'm talking about. Yes, the universe is astonishingly weird and at the moment it's particularly weird and you know, I suppose that it doesn't do one too good to be ordinary when the universe is being this profoundly weird in many a sequence of events. I ask of you not: what is not a trapezoid and is yet illegal in portugal: absolutely everything under the sun. My life is spent in literary confinement. I seek liberation from this overly literal existence and this psychotic perterbation of my immediate environment.

sifted shade

Arras! Duzinculi E'deafar hanesporefear daz annamer i'huetefi naiore ai udonifare a urun ma a nahambe bozenculo

I am an idiot.

mourn for them, for they are the first casualties of a communications war on the WWW. Say what you really mean, methinks. Communication, communication, communication. Know thine culture. And don't for a moment make the mistake of confusing your culture for anything other than it is. Differentiate culture and religion. Be that sharp and aware. For otherwise chaos and disorder will follow, and no one wants to see that. Sigh.

loud lunkwill

I would like to have been the ant

exhaustion, obsession, irritation, location, insanity

I have difficulty, with being not hypervigilant about something. And sometimes this gets me into trouble. To distill: I really need (and there's data to back that statement up) someone who will hold on and not let go. At the same time I need to let go. And I can't arrange an array of coincidences so that everything will work out simultaneously. I am a flag flapping in the wind, a moment of metabiological evolution. A snipper-snarp of elsewhence, and at the same time I'm in the here and now. And I know, I am certain that there are other people, other human beings that live and breathe that kind of experience, but at the moment there's this immense cultural contortion the entire species is undergoing and I don't want to get in the crossfire, I'd rather that it be as peaceful and without violence as possible. Grah! I traded eyes with Odin for a moment. I feel like Kvasir much of the time...

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)

calling from the bunkers...

are you reading this, right now? just one another human
in the human condition? worried about all those gadgets
in your life? contextualize? if you're a mathematician,
dissolve the difference between holomorphisms and
groups and categories... do that! be magical about it!
be astonishing clever and undetectable. don't be visible
and all of a sudden something so sudden and incomprehensible
happen and you realize that what you have been mistaking
for ignorance is the connection of all things to all
other things.

we stake the hopefroth as much as possible at any given time.
and sometimes we burst forthward and make a leap which is
neither quantum mechanical or general relativistic or
category theoretical or medical or holisticic or p-adic or
you name it, all of a sudden it just hits:

the english speaking world needs a new muse. a Muse proper.

therefore, if stuck between unreasonable rhymes and unrhymeable
reason (expressed so wonderfully in 'the phantom tollbooth', therefore
we have Eurhimde, who is neither unreasonably rhymed nor unrhymable reasoned.

I think I'm stuck being the Great Narrator for a while, a role I really
do not want, but, oh well, sometimes grep and pineapples manage to zonk you like nothing that you've ever seen.

jumping past time frequency domain duality to spin in the cosmic caramello

1.40201 * sqrt(4) nahambe^7 / eurhimde^8 on the yellow axis, twelve metaparasangs west of Wollongoroa, if the Glundge is low and Callaweng Terrapingtorin in two steps from
my arrhengterrapongorin.

time asymmetry and karma: where do you stand on CPT invariance?

If we imagine that time is parametrized by the real numbers (or any subset thereof), the karma by itself is not time invariant: that is if we replace t by -t in all of our perspectives concerning time, good becomes evil and karma for the better becomes karma for the worse. Now imagine that we have the unit circle in the complex numbers since e^(pi * i * theta) for real theta. Hinduism and Buddhism call the wheel samsara. It's interesting that if we just take the real numbers into account, we only get two choices: good and evil, good karma and bad karma. Being trapped in 'cyclic existence', playing the game, etc. There's a weird vortex here: cyclic existence is real parametrized, but most value systems when distilled to their essence are comprised of functions which (to various degrees of rapidity) give yes/no answers. Life or death: a duality.

If we take the analogy of karma to money, then if we real-parametrize that, and consider continuously compounded karma, we are drawn inexorably to the notion of imaginary karma, and
complex karma.

If everything is already known, because there exists an infinite mindscape for it to occur in, then nothing actually needs to be done, because it has already been done. This is the conceit of people with nihilist sickness. Since nothing actually needs to be done, the cosmos is an act, a demonstration of nothing being done. This is called The Big What-if? The Great Conditional. In order for the Big What-If to happen, the Great Conditional must fragment into multitdinous cavalcades and event-plumes and other assorted chance-alliteratives. In our home context, this is called The Great Migration from Here to There or just "The Great Migration". I think we have barely scratched the surface in accepting the process. In watching vaporous contrails of smoke rise from the incense there is the apprehension of parts or objects, and there is the losing track of those parts or objects by continual transformation and change. One take on apprehension is that is low grade fear (the fundamental explanation of all reality): an apprehension is a holding on, a concern with a particular here, an attachment. To be born is to be attached and therefore split from the Great Conditional. These landmarks are both relative and context-sensitive and may not apply in all contexts. The Buddhist concept of dependent origination carefully and artfully tells us (in as best language as possible) how the Great Conditional is established from the Big What-if. This process cannot be extended beyond a certain point (as recent excesses in high energy theoretical physics have amply and thoroughly demonstrated). Verbs move: one must see them in motion. "you cannot learn about a process by stopping it: you must become one with it.

the Great Migration

awaiting the scourge of the nonsingular? precessing variously around the long routes taken by various entities of all shapes, sizes, creeds, sexualities, colors, textures, timbres, nuances, flavors, accents, shades, forms in whatever kind of "here, let's see what the cards turned up now" way, all manner of creature, thing, object, again what-have-you take their part, only defined as a relation to the other creatures in the Great Migration from Here to There. You invest your money in a mutual market fund, you find the character table of an exotic vertex operator algebra, you prep some YEPD broth for your next population of bacteria, you mine the fields for coltan ore to be used in cellphones a hemisphere away, you explore in the deep suburbane substrata of human collective consciousness, you photosynthesize with chloroplasts and P680 and P700 groups. You are an electron in an sp3 hybridized orbital. It's a whole array of particulars you are in possession thereof. Insofar as the angles, glances, and stances of your current perspective will allow.

exterview

"recently, Bozquonimo Laurenziac Sal-Izquierda Dzogchen was disqualified from the Marchquire and Glonnis Category Theory invitational because of use of modular functor freebase. After a round of mandatory and egregiously rulebookish mind tests, it was found that there was some modular functor residue bound to scattered gluons all around her prefrontal lobes.

Tonight, on State-The-Assumption, we interview BSILD about these tests:

Mink Wartindale: hi folks, I'm Mink Wartindale, your offensively callous interviewer, and
today we have Bozquonimo Laurenziac Sal-Izquierda Dzogchen with us to discuss her recent disqualification at the Glonnis Category Theory invitational. Ms. Dzogchen, what do you have to say about these test results? Do they herald horror and iniquity for an up-and-coming generation of meditators and theoreticians?

Bozquonimo: So caffeine, nicotine, polyestrogen, and L-DOPA are perfectly fine for competitors to use? And what about hallucinogens? That they should test for reifications of concepts in the hypercharge amplitudes of my gluons is just demented and unjust!

MW: But think of the children! Once Jane Dough gets it into her head that this thing we call a world is a flimsy panoply of disconnected assumptions parading around as a broken dromedary just marginally perpetuating itself, then she'll be at the street corner, smoking up Hauptmoduls of E8, and assuming deeply nondual states of mind, believing in the existence of the Monongahela and so forth! It would be utter ruination!

Bozquonimo: and you're (snort) asserting that someone like Jazblander Quercibunt Luzznunz is normal? I beg your pardon. Whatever miscellanous pathologies are behind that paragon of ache is no one's guess. Point being, if the universe worked the way that he thought it worked (that is, assuming that he's a by-the-book Precirepticesian), that the entire cosmos was fundamentally and exactly precisely a single two dimensional square and that diffeomorphisms were the Angel of Horror! and that motion was unbecoming to the fine and moral lad he makes himself to be, then excuse me but just throw all notions of organic wholeness down in a fifty foot well of sulfuric comet ash and misbegotten molybdenides!

MW: But he was the foppish darling of the prize committee! His Absolute Exact Precise Concept was a scintillating, gleaming, radiant, and exultant declaration of (the sheer wonder of existence)... (cut off)

Bozquonimo: the partially flayed and eaten by anteaters/diseased dirigible of Luzznunz's pale, faded, and jaded conception of Life, the Universe, And Everything.

MW: at this point in the conversation, I narrate my stoning you via an icy glance at you, I break the fourth wall to say to the audience that it's been a good interview (because my interviews are always good even if I'm in complete philosophical antithesis to my interviewee). Wherein I shake your hand furiously and without regard to the health of your tendons, muscles, joints, bursa, and ligaments and assorted sensory neurons, while graciously excoriating and humiliating you. And I let you say something before I announce next week's experimental subject.

Bozquonimo: all shales the shorn shore by the forthcoming frothingly unutterant glee between here and there in this particular Thylakoid of the Great Migration from Here to There, from Whence to Thence, by the transitioning and ever rindwarpingly extrusion of the commutative wavering water molecule dance reflecting the organic wholeness of nothingness from whence and thence to we are in the process of moving by the arrhythmic intonation of the drumbearers!

MW: Damn hippie you! Next week we'll be interviewing Jargzargiles N. Nunquam, who currently holds protests against Algebraic Topologists at major universities."

gaw gaw der-splunk

"oh, that's an invalid argument" replied the bitler, "the horsegas isn't cringeworthy"
"what" said Lrs. Wodgeworthy "do you mean?" lhe asked most precipitouslessly.
"you agree" said the bitler "that if one thing is held to be the same as another thing, then the two things are in fact, one, no?"
"i know, i know! it's a watermelon!" replied Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"um. anyway. if two things are in fact one thing, then we have ensconced division!"
"isn't that illegal in Wilbertville" retorted Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"i am attempting to argue (under some duress), that if we hold one thing to be the same as another thing, then if we can perfectly confuse that thing for something else, we have removed all distinctions between them: we can no longer discriminate between them. this is the essence of division."
"so the essence of division is illegal in Wilbertville" replied Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"as a foil, you're completely useless, you know." blarbled the bitler.
"first outer inner last" algebraicised Wodgeworthy.
"so I was saying, if the essence of division is the explicit and intentional blurring of the differences and distinction between two things such that they are regarded as the same and consequently we are left with one thing and a thing divided: a piece of information which is distilled out from the process of division. in most cases these are both numbers but only one of them might be a number and the other might not. in purely abstract operations on numbers, two numbers are distilled out: this is factorization." blarbled the bitler.
"you're an excellent tho' longwinded didactic device." skeedged Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"at least you're getting metaconversational. I bet you twelve root seven ducats that you're the first one to break the fourth wall." expingulated the bitler.
"you're on. so you were saying..." responded Wodgeworthy.
"nits picked and cantilevers precisely balanced with the restoration of information and multiplication, and swerving purple at the horizon, is it no surprise that when mathematicians consider the edgy balance that addition and multiplication reach with the primes, they're led on a magical mystery tour that brings them straight to the cosmic galois group." coughed the bitler.
"I protest" (Wodgeworthy is being used as an advocate of common sense here) "the analogy that you're trying to draw between a so-called fundamental object / cosmic or cosmological galois group regardless of scope or reasoning system is rather uncalled for. "

"But what" replied the Bitler "would the mathematician's Philosopher's Stone be?" -- "a cosmic and transcendental dictionary that would be able to interpolate between any theorem or mathematical structure and any other? Sure, the best they can do at the moment is yammer on about their particular specialties, but just imagine what you could do with such a thing. Rather than trying harried operations to express two different mathematical objects in two different categories or toposes using appropriate functors to image one to another, one would have this massively powerful structure representor/transformer. It wouldn't be the transformation group of the symmetries of the line or the plane, or a twenty four dimensional orbifold, or the Riemannian manifold of which E8 is the group of symmetries for. Take two mathematically disparate objects, like the monster group M and the julia set for sin(z) for z a quaternion. Now, you could force many relationships between them, but they'd all be hackneyed and unnatural. If you had the cosmic group, and I don't mean the cosmic galois group of the rationals that everyone's all ga-ga about at the moment, but The Cosmic Thang which connects J. Random X mathematical thingie to J. Random Y mathematical thingy in the most natural and supremely transparent manner, you could transform/connect/interpolate one thing to another. But it is not this quality which gives The Cosmic Thang it's nifty features. One can imagine finding unexpected rivulets and other stranger treasures presently undreamt of..." babbled the bitler.
"the reader is definitely bored now" yammered Wodgeworthy.
"you broke the fouth wall. those ducats are mine" yarrowed the bitler.

nonsensica mathematica

It is notoriously easy to compose completely meaningless -- and meaningless in the sense that any world in which a given interpretation that the given thing under consideration makes sense would be one with sufficiently other rich pathological disabilities and instabilities that one would not be able to live long there without wondering why the first little autocatalytic thing didn't say "life, why bother, what's the point, we're all going to be attacked by random peroxide radicals this day or that" and then expired in the prebiotic melange -- arrangements of words to suit -- as in a hypothetical set of argumentum ad "this is meaningful to me" -- fallacies of significance, that is, things which seem at first to be important because they contains words or nouns or other fractured processes which are dear to our heart, but on further reflection, are not about anything at all. While I stridently enjoy this about-nothing character, I also find it particularly noisome, when it is used in lieu of a point. Beyond the point that the sand castles have no foundation and float in the air because someone is believing really hard that they float, I must scratch my head and say "um, okay." It is good to know that some people think this about art. But I have not spent enormous amounts of time considering art qua art. Most of my bugaboos concern irreplicable reasoning and such foibles a la Sokal. To wit: I'm concerned with generating random, meaningless argumentation for the hell of it, and because I think that it's useful to create sophisticated forgeries of good reasoning. The dihydrogen monoxide ballyhoo, the randomly generated paper made by some clever MIT folk, and so on: these sorts of snags wonderfully and delightfully illustrate where the argument to authority -- or at least to authoritative language -- crops up.

I find myself less and less convinced by long pages of incomprehensible mathematics -- I want to see pictures or movies which demonstrate the points which the text is making, rather than congealed masses of symbols -- those I don't trust, for example:

"In Theorem 3.4.1, we proved that a k-ary snark tree is only loosely inequivalent to a forked n-ary warthyff tree with 67 or less intrusions. Recently, Karmblen Nuychteff showed that a forked n-ary warthyff tree must have a prime number of intrusions if it loosely inequivalent to a k-ary snark tree if and only if the thneed signature of the forked n-ary warthyff tree is an odd multiple of seven or twelve less than a Mersenne prime. The proof is as follows: by Van Snordglington's lemma, there exists an exhaustive homomorphism from the space of forked n-ary warthyff trees that commutes with the extrusion codomain of the space of k-ary snark trees. Since Kan extensions are the most important concept, we take Kan extensions of both the exhaustive homomorphism, and the forestry service functor H7(p)(x), giving us a profinite module on the category of snark trees which resolves to the adjoint functor of the warthyff image tree. Then we take the combinatoric reduction of the forestry service functor and enumerate the correspondences between trees. By Van Kampen's theorem, the spaces are homogeneous and therefore we can fold-remove the forked trees, and that counts all of the nodes and branch-points up to the exhaustive homomorphism. Then we take cases: either the trees are Wilkes-Barre or the space isn't Hausdorff, and since there density extrusion matrix is singular only when the thneed signature is a multiple of seven or twelve less than a Mersenne prime, we're halfway there. Except that even multiples of seven don't work because of the unrenormalzed kappa expansion in the density extrusion matrix"

See? Completely and utterly meaningless. A better method might work by stitching five mathematics papers together, and changing them so their nouns and verbs are consistent with the nouns and verbs of the first. Oh well.

heliochromesis astringes Alcuinex

"The sliced holotome is not unique: it is ultimately and especially idiosyncratic and furthermore random in character: by its relations it is fractionally distilled from tathata: it is cracked, splintered, sundered, ensconced: but adjourning focus on the synthesis relations and moving to the effervescenzium, the following is found: to be conscious of something is quite explicitly to not be that thing. The Classical Errors number three: first, confusing consciousness with participation: if you are conscious, then you are seeing things tangentially: all that resolves to zero is an equivalence class across which ..."

the perils of persephone (obregard for annagran)

"The notion that other sentients of the same species have the same experience of the world as you is one of the tricksiest little bugaboos to properly digest: whereas peering on fragmentary detritus synthesized by the cantankerous outside-looking in schools of analysis creates contrails of prescriptive reality declarations: oh, our orthogonal and sloppy data collection reveals that your brain works some way only means that the way we have ensconced our theories and models of the functioning of your brain (and by proxy, your mind in our current abstractioneering campaign) are peer-accepted: whether these theories correspond to your sensorium is another question which is beyond the scope of our reasoning, but we don't admit this to ourselves: rather we will entangle ourselves with the notion that our theories are in fact the way the world works, and that our sensory experience is subsidiary to them. Regrettably this belief is not only exorbitantly wrong, but leads to map versus territory confusions as well as other mistaken congealments and faith based approximations and extensions to the horizon or to the local whatever high dimensional topological atlas and to even further vortices of confusion. You do not have any idea what other people are experiencing, or how they construct their world from their senses, only that the slice of their senses and your senses that are fibered over shared regions/spaces/etc. are homomorphic to another, or at least for you, what you see corresponds to your specific sense slicing of the world, and that other people's sense slicings of the world are different, and so forth and so on"

glaivesgreathes

the determination of the whole and organically encompassing experience determined by and for a generic experiencer in a particular foliation of a point of view synthesized in the long migration from here to there and thus thusness recoils in particulars expressing the isolated monad both parochially and sequestered sequelae of the current adumbrated excession to withdraw the major rhombent of experience in the field pleat of experienced reality sloshingly indexical to the mirror referent of the current world illocuently turrowed gannet sleids apprehended in the current plane pearl of expression to wonder whereas the knarves of elsewhence wail inconsegruities corroherent stalk parcels brick charged in jangling kalliphany atwixt and beheld the sussurancies of the arroven moment to retrieve the arrayed arroyos of the singular experience of the individual as yet unframed by language and other syllogistic in extensio res in transtensio media for formal prodromes and unhinged by slarky allotropy readying the phraseological synthesizer for endrumbant prospharetic calembricam oh Ohonckoa's clarion fanfaronade of the chordantly specified All Concept in the ears of polythesis plural from the unwhence to the transbegotten plural amharic charged copper sieves slarrayed in the theuropause upon the wholefroth of the Minor Cosmic Russell Moment of the irerratic
holoclines outgassing preponderant exiguum by trochlear misapproximation upon and beneath
the flow fold of the gate groves sharply and expungently exterrogatorily conefoaming the plurfect anhinged hold cloves of yesterwhy. Ohonckoa extensoris in abrupt tarhammeringly
birefringent asclepions to so and purely state with all channels in all substrates contingent upon the harmonious and unencumbered conceptual anchor to sarrow and make manifest the furrowed and the context reference by gainly and message consistency in all manner of interpretations so demanded and criticised by preference and clarity to ensconce and signify the shoreheres on the express and dubitously prime understanding for here and thusly made current and inhortative expressaria to wit one moment of all moments to clarify and elucidate most surfulgent and ferry without request by capstan plural and magnanimity grand cosmic in approbation and candor most transparent and without undue misrepresentation by sake of expression for the node index of the local gate cloak thereby exactly and harmoniously presenting the weave of now.

swim prep

"did you ask them what they believe? did they tell you? i think that they didn't say a thing. or else you misinterpreted. it's not the kind of answer that you can write on a piece of paper or a million pieces of paper or countably infinite pieces of paper. i quite expect you were out of your league. oh, don't get huffy with me. i keep telling you that you need to go there, or here, or elsewhence and pour tea down your kettle. no, it's not something you can buy in the store or demonstrate via religious faith, science, or epistemology, nor is it something that is a thing in the abstract or the concrete, nor is it nothing or nothingness. you keep complaining (quite loudly in fact) that all these cultural wars are nonproductive, and then you gingerly plunge into the fray loudly and drunkenly claiming your own epistemological ascendancy. see, i'm moving. at least, i'm staying still. i won't be here tomorrow. and neither will you, but i won't be elsewhere, and mayhaps you won't. no, it isn't magic, why would you think it was that? oh, argument from mystery! still harking back to logic as your own fundamental system of abstraction. you know i get more mileage out of arguing with objectivists! ok, ok, point taken, but it's not as if all of my marbles have crawled on the floor: there's a sequence of that's downright impossible: exclamations of incomprehensibility and multiply enfolded awareness, folded back onto itself, a transcendental blue purple vapor plume interpenetrating itself. dear gouraud shading no i'm not hawking this. you couldn't make a war from this stuff if you tried (at least not directly, and that's a separate question).

see, i can give you flotsam and jetsam, but it comes from and is gone to thusness: little farandolae, terraced chance-shelves, chromic engines, jumping color jacks, braided attention swirls, transelliptic orreries, and you'd be like "is that IT? is that the ULTIMATE THING?", and you wouldn't make the leap to jumping on the reference jungle and just losing yourself in the network, and that's precisely what you need to do: that's the essence of direct mystical experience, you stop trying to hold on, and just for once the boundaries between you and the universe, specifically, your ego and the universe evaporate. it's this chaotic froth weaving in and out all the time and you're just so immensely close, but everyone keeps saying that again and again: world doomsayers usually predict that tomorrow the world will end, and yes, tomorrow, the world does end. the world never ended, the world always ended, but that isn't the nub of the question, or the thing to hang your worries on.

if i were to use a change of contexts operation, you'd see that your opinions are meaningful: there are reasons that you hold them, either because they are authentic imagings of the world around you, or because in them you hold your stresses in order to survive -- even if they aren't authentic imagings of the world. but just staying in that mud puddle of yours is not productive. there's a, oh dear where do i start?

it's like this. you're a little civilization humming along, maybe you spend the first several thousand years acting and living like primates, and forming your own opinions of yourself as the highest form of life (as if!), and producing systems of self-appraisal which are hideously prescriptive and moreover aren't exhaustive catalogues of the type and kind of your creature that could exist because you spend so much time trying to bend the types of people you think there are to the types that you have imagined should be, and otherwise blasting the hell out of each other, and then finally, and invisibly, the world changes. this isn't the type of transformation that you can walk out in the street and see, or read about on the newspaper or the global information processing network, or even be aware of for a while until and only until it kind of gels that it has happened, and is happening, and will continue to happen. this is not a mystical or quasireligious or scientific or experiential transformation thus history will have a hard time coping with it. but more to the point once it has happened it takes much much deeper perspective to determine that it happened.

let's examine the impulse to find extraterrestrial life: why does this happen? because everything under the sun is dull, more to the point, people don't take the effort to avoid alienating other people, then fetishize the alien because it is the proverbial other. here 'extraterrestrial life' means 'sentient life'. but the whole (physical) space exploration program has a massive social cost, and it will mean bringing the problems of human beings to more places. your science fiction stories reflect this. the apposition of the desire of the different against the dull doldrums of the same when splayed against the primate territorial acquisition, defense, and resource control methodologies leaves a sorry taste in one's mouth. waxing poetic: you are part of larger structures. astronomers are the galaxy's way of understanding it's large term structure. it would be a sorry state of affairs if it were so easy for young species to continue their idiocies on grander and larger scales. what is farther away is so much more imminently close in the mind than it is in physical space. the anthroposopher Straywasp Gwongrive hypothesized that one reason for the general relativistic properties of space was to act as an in built speed limit of the territorial activities of primitive species. and make an anthropic argument you don't: you already know exactly what happens in universes where the speed of light is easy to cheat, just look at your science fiction. with great capacity, comes great responsibility, some philosopher said. the scope of your species' capacity to deal with energy corresponds to your species' capacity to deal with itself, and correspondingly to the length and reach of each member. there are shortcuts, but these do not involve phallic objects launched at ridiculous speeds to other worlds for the purposes of colonization. " -- Zanhai Arripongelet of the Codewarper Valve of the Fifth Thylakoid of the Greater Migrating Shenzoro Clade of Aunhex in the Yolk of Diparwanzion.

more mutterings

"... Carasweldgnahe antrempofzag asonclesse anyndrearhin dozmois u'lamparo theumas mahacryptais havouresis ferruly arnhenga dilleprouze azimun drandgepedran uzqe niorzem bal anhannehuve derzoran nogo dizunculi boen atauverre eryjoehvs bel drunnen tartomid vol'va
salmitropan astransgentian cin hollihoedreon amhaug jruzqwaysche dolpidro noehzhoi dunnet esprungum balispliris ehai nahengene eurhimde[4] jengeuear adhorinhe dzombe greungeon anhingas yelhirne ashokare belbillispin dysploris auhembe droyario aninculire ehaia jhengerai apilontophor dzeunxes tirincore ahaia avelvenirion dodenculi abhai dazdenzarpore doxynde jeunhe vovarin kellenga[2] harhimporaron esshai cingive mynzarevei daldroparin omhomen billabole hilule nahambe[3] zengheia hinzifloen dasmenin goronculi mahatryptahaia ahonifare jaspanellongis deldispafar ahare geverrengea aspingoa hohengafar gyngoehe xerynxe[1] dilhongiflora anhome uzqen a'lorzano juntheungil holoploraga?"

[1] A xerynx is a species of vyrhex, specifically Vyrhenxes xerynxior, otherwise known as the Sparse Iridescent Thistled Vyrhex, Henrietta Jaljuxe's Spectacular Vyrhex, or, to the native Arhaxen of the Greater Zervuli peninsula as The Quasi-Animal Which Emerges From The Chance-Plumes When The Night Is In The Third Purple Frond And The Catnip Frog Hibernates, Oh Ohonckoa, the Lemon-Bifurcated Astringent Tea Parity Bribe Engine Which ululates on the Transrational conductor in the Wavy Pentagonal-Odor Gravesieve, amongst other and various denotations and epithets. Despite the outcompetition of most species of vyrhex by parabiological Grothendieck-Teichmuller groups imported from Gondwanaland, the xerynx is actually doing better than it would be had the spurious groups not been imported.

The diet of the xerynx is rich in potassium, vitamin B17, deuterated ethanol, tritiated citric acid, fourteen dimensional wildebeest event sheaves, defunct French philosophical concepts, deoxygenated mafipulated phlogiston, sulfagne, xenon, GABA, water, antimatter carbon, Zervuli wharvethrushers (both the smectic, symplectic, and quasinematic varieties), dhyana phosphatases, iridium boride, hydrogen, and ennui chlorates.

[2] A kelleng is worth (k+48)/cos(12-k+1) wonzlos sterling, or 1.28179381011e-49 octavian pence.

[3] A nahambe is a unit of measurement equal to (e^sqrt(bet_9)) metaparasangs/joule, roughly 1.1180019491 yoctokalpas, or an eighth of a gregorium.


[4] The act of eurhimde is to violetly stave the rindwreathes harking betwixt the vexing hopefroth undergnarlingly approximating the ghostgrease beneath the grainflows while shudderingly overfoaming the bosonic bass chord in turbid and intentionally precise misapprehension against a (3,4,-0) comment cloak without birefringing the blue wreathpleat. It is not used metaphorically above. The bound ossar is "eryjoehvs" and the resolvent is "jruzqwaysche" (which is used metonymically and paraleptically but not analogically). The base point referent is "avelvenirion dodenculi abhai dazdenzarpore doxynde" and the migration curl coordinate system establishment tensor is given by "geverrengea aspingoa". It is worth noting that the Carsten-Heyzsler comma does not include the deity orgasm, and that the trees were most definitely very satisfied, but the wrengos disclaimed their lack of satiation most vociferously.

theraktys if then statement roguesponges

What did Marty Pringlestoinge say?

"Yarsfooth anna porengo! Bloongsblons-upon-Wtfologists? Hallongo O'Sfirika plyspfragh anthome annapanga d'liscinge etiaflasce jerrenx u'lorzano dolouk nelonzosse. Dranspruns allarza inszchians: arrambhei qe nhomeo addiaprenzis alossoflone o'neischzomeir dedroxe anyschgeo adamproen bischnonkeum drynzemfarehejn a'zazeue bifrioem. Alikzillim mhonhome zelzerris arrhymbe
aisonohero i'ue avazise anunculi oranhazilis i'anhe barzunculeo ganzet asperythem jeuzis enhem avrella na'aisue. Lynjem balaborano neischgjer pangue emheng ouvreisp i'brehve. Alhoenge hevroun dolpinkaro anheunge ascifthousis urrin ghen. Dxefjthe colam uezue drindroparo heuravve."