Sunday, July 28, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Our recycled universe.
This blog will have been cut in June, 2013. Thereafter it will have been copied and pasted to emptyless.com
Until then, acmegenesis.com is a stepping stone away.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
How am I?
The brain does so much it never informs our mind about. That's the norm. From our senses comes far too much useless information and the brain must allow but a fraction to integrate, mindful lest it make attention distracting. If it weren't for observation we wouldn't notice anything.
Mere slivers of raw data comprise the whole of consciouness and only the tiniest grains from that
harvest pass through filter upon protective filter. Fuzzy associations mesh, integrate, propogate and cling to one another forming the raw materials of memory. From those few specks of familiarity, awareness is realized and as they continue to accumulate a form of self-awareness bestows upon itself an illusory will.
Alleged will bears supposed identity. One is warp the other woof, thus the fabric of mind takes form. Senses, the source of discovery via feedback refine through the course of development. (Don't believe everything you think) The elements above catalyze something previously
unrecognized the phenomenon of memory and presumption -- beliefs have come to call; hence the self becomes more structure through the realization of what we call beliefs. At last an opportunity for thought. What is thought?
On occasions the mind may reciprocate in such a way that reinforces, refines, distorts or simply amplifies the signal. The resultant feedback loop is experienced as something novel perhaps creativity itself. It ebbs and flows, some experiences are shortlived, but the as the messages are bussed
YES. I KNOW. I'm working on the page breaks. I was just considering my own development and I started going off. It's my daughter's 5th birthday, and I've been full of thought / BS.
through our cultural refractors, extant world views, motivations an over complex meta-reinterperatation emerges which may be understood in the very
moment but may be impossible to convey in any linear fashion. The delta circles back to feed it own tributaries; this place is ineffable -- the
territories of mystical experience. The illusion of time itself may seem to come to a stop after what I can only describe inadequately as In the
awakening of this suchness, momentary infinities of miniscule enormity continue their quickening slowness along the paradoxical staircase of ascending
descentions Dualism, polarit and the possibilty of comparison too dissolves in the gently fierce similarities of difference know, as an arrow flies
true. But rather from A to B to A ad infinitum ultimately requires a and analytic trip back through the . My two cents.self-awareness or datum On
occasions rare in some but ubiquitous in others, the mind may reciprocate in such a way that reinforces, refines, distorts or simply amplifies the
signal. The resultant feedback loop is experienced as something novel - perhaps the seeds or reapings creativity itself. It may not seem to emerge from
the self; perhaps like a message recieved an other, an alien source. But no. We may suspect our thoughts are not our own, question our identity or be
unable to recognize one's self and become intimately aware of no thing. but it's If the senses are unavailable, no matter. Our saturated neurons
fabricate their own disintegrations journeyebbs and flows, waxes and wanes are within you some experiences are shortlived, but the as the messages are
bussed through our cultural refractors, extant world views, motivations an over complex meta-reinterperatation emerges which may be understood in the
very moment but may be impossible to convey in any linear fashion. The delta circles back to feed it own tributaries; this place is ineffable -- the
territories of mystical experience. The illusion of time itself may seem to come to a stop after what I can only describe inadequately as In the
awakening of this suchness, momentary infinities of miniscule enormity continue their quickening slowness along the paradoxical staircase of ascending
descentions Dualism, polarity and the possibilty of comparison too dissolves in the gently fierce similarities of difference know, as an arrow flies
true. But rather from A to B to A ad infinitum ultimately requires a and analytic trip back through the . My two cents.
Mere slivers of raw data comprise the whole of consciouness and only the tiniest grains from that
harvest pass through filter upon protective filter. Fuzzy associations mesh, integrate, propogate and cling to one another forming the raw materials of memory. From those few specks of familiarity, awareness is realized and as they continue to accumulate a form of self-awareness bestows upon itself an illusory will.
Alleged will bears supposed identity. One is warp the other woof, thus the fabric of mind takes form. Senses, the source of discovery via feedback refine through the course of development. (Don't believe everything you think) The elements above catalyze something previously
unrecognized the phenomenon of memory and presumption -- beliefs have come to call; hence the self becomes more structure through the realization of what we call beliefs. At last an opportunity for thought. What is thought?
On occasions the mind may reciprocate in such a way that reinforces, refines, distorts or simply amplifies the signal. The resultant feedback loop is experienced as something novel perhaps creativity itself. It ebbs and flows, some experiences are shortlived, but the as the messages are bussed
YES. I KNOW. I'm working on the page breaks. I was just considering my own development and I started going off. It's my daughter's 5th birthday, and I've been full of thought / BS.
through our cultural refractors, extant world views, motivations an over complex meta-reinterperatation emerges which may be understood in the very
moment but may be impossible to convey in any linear fashion. The delta circles back to feed it own tributaries; this place is ineffable -- the
territories of mystical experience. The illusion of time itself may seem to come to a stop after what I can only describe inadequately as In the
awakening of this suchness, momentary infinities of miniscule enormity continue their quickening slowness along the paradoxical staircase of ascending
descentions Dualism, polarit and the possibilty of comparison too dissolves in the gently fierce similarities of difference know, as an arrow flies
true. But rather from A to B to A ad infinitum ultimately requires a and analytic trip back through the . My two cents.self-awareness or datum On
occasions rare in some but ubiquitous in others, the mind may reciprocate in such a way that reinforces, refines, distorts or simply amplifies the
signal. The resultant feedback loop is experienced as something novel - perhaps the seeds or reapings creativity itself. It may not seem to emerge from
the self; perhaps like a message recieved an other, an alien source. But no. We may suspect our thoughts are not our own, question our identity or be
unable to recognize one's self and become intimately aware of no thing. but it's If the senses are unavailable, no matter. Our saturated neurons
fabricate their own disintegrations journeyebbs and flows, waxes and wanes are within you some experiences are shortlived, but the as the messages are
bussed through our cultural refractors, extant world views, motivations an over complex meta-reinterperatation emerges which may be understood in the
very moment but may be impossible to convey in any linear fashion. The delta circles back to feed it own tributaries; this place is ineffable -- the
territories of mystical experience. The illusion of time itself may seem to come to a stop after what I can only describe inadequately as In the
awakening of this suchness, momentary infinities of miniscule enormity continue their quickening slowness along the paradoxical staircase of ascending
descentions Dualism, polarity and the possibilty of comparison too dissolves in the gently fierce similarities of difference know, as an arrow flies
true. But rather from A to B to A ad infinitum ultimately requires a and analytic trip back through the . My two cents.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Monday, March 2, 2009
The finally before it was midnight on the sun.
plenerous is plenty generous of you.
but do you read more than right of your means?
but do you read more than right of your means?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Cairo
I am writing to your eyes tracing the contours on my hand typing now, but also writing parts in so-called cursive when I was eight or so. Before too long, I will tell you about a biking accident I will have had when I was 14 but that’s all after (parts of this story) but before I started wearing two watches to help me deal with what comes in which order, even though I think it might started way before that, when I remembered a fall that almost never seemed to end.
Here's what I remember about Egypt. I remember that the Egyptian pound was more colorful than the English version and pretending to actually read Arabic. I remember my brother telling me that if we entered the mummies' tomb there would be a curse on us... and I remember believing him and nightmares of severed limbs and dark silent deaths in vats of honey. I remember the belly dancer in that restaurant in a boat on the Nile and looking to my Dad to see if it was okay to look at her...a lot. I ate sugar cane on a raft and wondered if I would remember any of it the way I remembered things from my past that I can no longer recall. I remember trying to remember stuff when I was eight too, like when I fell out of our attic window when I was three. No one remembers that but me because I was too scared to say to anyone that it happened. Remembering memories themselves. I rolled off the roof and fell three stories. I remember the memory of it. How it took a very long time to hit the ground. VERY long.
You know how you can remember that you had an epiphany just before nodding off but that you can’t discern the content upon awakening? I'm falling asleep, I'm having a good idea, don't forget that good idea, I'm too tired to write it down, I'll remember it. Good morning. Oh no! I can't remember my idea, but I remember that I had one. That’s a collision of now and then language, to be sure.
It’s hot at Christmas. Sand, not snow. First time for this and/or that, he wrote, trying to choose a tense or point of view, but neither differentiating subject nor object. When is he going to take part of an Egyptian monument home with him? When did it already happen? Who is this child he’s narrating?
Darling, the difference between crocodiles and alligators is the way their teeth are arranged. Thanks, Mom, I feel better now. If fall in the water and a crocodile comes, he would not dare eat me because I'm poisonous and if I look him in the eye, he will know it so – I will convince him. I’ll make him sick.
The water is warm and I can swim to Banana Island, easily. I bet a lot of people died in this river over the last 4000 years – but then, this river has kept many alive. Nevermind. Wake up.
_______
________________________________________
Six hundred hours, the sun’s up and it hot already. Where can I find some papyrus? Do they still make it? It's real paper papyer...us...papayrus. Paper inventors.
Later, I learned what etymology was and tried to find out how the word “etymology” came about. It was Greek, after the before fact.
I have learned to spell my name in hieroglyphs and the meaning of the scarab beetle while on the way to Thebes. My sister is throwing up again but my Mom is holding her like flowers. We give her Dramamine and Coke.
Thebes. With five mirrors the Sun is coaxed down the deep underground halls. There is a beam above our heads and our guide dips into his own mirror into it like a ladle to illuminate the Book of Gates on the walls. I learn it is very important to be dead sometimes. And have a mirror.
Tomorrow we go to the Pyramids at Giza. The real Pyramids. The Pyramids Miss Thompson told us about in 2nd Grade, four years after I fell from the attic, but the same day Bridget Cornwall got a bloody nose for no reason. OK, now WHAT day is it? Eventually, I will have leaned how to use “tenses”. But not for long…I will have had a bike accident that will have changed everything.
How will I know a mirage if I see it? Will it tell me? Clearly, nothing is obvious in this heat. Oh, sure, it’s DRY heat, but so is an oven, ya know.
We live in a kind of place for people who are staying a longer time than other places with their short staying people and after a week I can go on my own if I stay on the grounds. Eventually I can go for long walks outside with my brother. It doesn’t take long for me to turn brown or find my way to the street for a sugared ice. From the steps outside I’m kissed by the singing from the Mosques. There is no way to not hear it. I love my new sandals, because, see, if someone looks just at my feet he cannot tell if I am Egyptian or not. I want to be Egyptian now.
His Father had asked someone to give him a ride around the Pyramids in advance. But the child was completely taken by surprise when the Arabian stranger lifted him up from the dirty sand and offered him to his cloaked partner on the camel.
When you look down on people from a camel and they are wearing a hat you cannot see their face. So you cannot see them smile approvals. You cannot see that it is okay with your Dad, who is wearing a big hat.
Most camels look like they are in a bad mood to begin with and when camels are late they become very serious indeed. Maybe camels must never be late and that is why. Yes, that's it - there is no such thing as a late camel. They are fast enough to out race their own smell. They can lose their shadows. Wide flat pods rush to find the horizon. Nothing is out of range. Nothing, for a camel.
Before I know what is happening and as soon as I am handed to the rider he goes. Fast. With the wind at my ears and a strong arm around me I try to peek behind us but the rider’s clothes are full and thick like his laugh. His laughter is married to the bounce of his friend. Someone has seen us go or we are not alone, I hope, but I have no proof. I have been kidnapped. We slow down and I hear the camel’s heavy breath and the gentle voice of my guide relates an incomprehensible monologue as he loosens his hold. I am riding around the Pyramids on a camel in the lap of an Arab at Christmastime. It was nightmare for moments, now it is a dream. NO, I cannot even dream this, it is too incredible. Without credibility entirely.
My Dad, on another Camel, overtakes us, then my Mom and my Sister and my Brother. I have not been kidnapped, I had just not been warned. Now I will not have to escape.
The Sphinx is caged. The fragile monument sits within a fenced compound. I clearly remember the guard unlocking the metal gateway for us and only us. It was my father’s connections to the Egyptian Consulate got us in. I remember learning the word consulate and understanding my “passport”. I remember at first being fascinated by border-lines on maps and not much later becoming very saddened by them…for everyone, somehow. As we walked around the monument I could not resist tracing my hand along its contours, and when no one was looking, I took it, as small piece broke off in my hand. Yes, I put a piece of the Sphinx in my pocket. I wonder when I may put it back? I hope the passport that enabled my thievery, will not prevent my making it all right again. I dream of the rock’s return often. It comes and goes as a mission. You should smell it sometime, it has an interesting smell. Even though everything in the universe is essentially the same age, the rock smells older than most smellable things.
I'm in bed watching the fan spin on a spinning world - time to sleep - I'm so sleepy from today's sun. I should write down that this life and the people and things I have done are everything I never thought I always wanted, but I am a little boy, and have not learned to write down what I think might be important thoughts for later, if I get them right before I fall asleep, and I think that I will remember it in the morning anyway. Did I?
Here's what I remember about Egypt. I remember that the Egyptian pound was more colorful than the English version and pretending to actually read Arabic. I remember my brother telling me that if we entered the mummies' tomb there would be a curse on us... and I remember believing him and nightmares of severed limbs and dark silent deaths in vats of honey. I remember the belly dancer in that restaurant in a boat on the Nile and looking to my Dad to see if it was okay to look at her...a lot. I ate sugar cane on a raft and wondered if I would remember any of it the way I remembered things from my past that I can no longer recall. I remember trying to remember stuff when I was eight too, like when I fell out of our attic window when I was three. No one remembers that but me because I was too scared to say to anyone that it happened. Remembering memories themselves. I rolled off the roof and fell three stories. I remember the memory of it. How it took a very long time to hit the ground. VERY long.
You know how you can remember that you had an epiphany just before nodding off but that you can’t discern the content upon awakening? I'm falling asleep, I'm having a good idea, don't forget that good idea, I'm too tired to write it down, I'll remember it. Good morning. Oh no! I can't remember my idea, but I remember that I had one. That’s a collision of now and then language, to be sure.
It’s hot at Christmas. Sand, not snow. First time for this and/or that, he wrote, trying to choose a tense or point of view, but neither differentiating subject nor object. When is he going to take part of an Egyptian monument home with him? When did it already happen? Who is this child he’s narrating?
Darling, the difference between crocodiles and alligators is the way their teeth are arranged. Thanks, Mom, I feel better now. If fall in the water and a crocodile comes, he would not dare eat me because I'm poisonous and if I look him in the eye, he will know it so – I will convince him. I’ll make him sick.
The water is warm and I can swim to Banana Island, easily. I bet a lot of people died in this river over the last 4000 years – but then, this river has kept many alive. Nevermind. Wake up.
_______
________________________________________Six hundred hours, the sun’s up and it hot already. Where can I find some papyrus? Do they still make it? It's real paper papyer...us...papayrus. Paper inventors.
Later, I learned what etymology was and tried to find out how the word “etymology” came about. It was Greek, after the before fact.
I have learned to spell my name in hieroglyphs and the meaning of the scarab beetle while on the way to Thebes. My sister is throwing up again but my Mom is holding her like flowers. We give her Dramamine and Coke.
Thebes. With five mirrors the Sun is coaxed down the deep underground halls. There is a beam above our heads and our guide dips into his own mirror into it like a ladle to illuminate the Book of Gates on the walls. I learn it is very important to be dead sometimes. And have a mirror.
Tomorrow we go to the Pyramids at Giza. The real Pyramids. The Pyramids Miss Thompson told us about in 2nd Grade, four years after I fell from the attic, but the same day Bridget Cornwall got a bloody nose for no reason. OK, now WHAT day is it? Eventually, I will have leaned how to use “tenses”. But not for long…I will have had a bike accident that will have changed everything.
How will I know a mirage if I see it? Will it tell me? Clearly, nothing is obvious in this heat. Oh, sure, it’s DRY heat, but so is an oven, ya know.
We live in a kind of place for people who are staying a longer time than other places with their short staying people and after a week I can go on my own if I stay on the grounds. Eventually I can go for long walks outside with my brother. It doesn’t take long for me to turn brown or find my way to the street for a sugared ice. From the steps outside I’m kissed by the singing from the Mosques. There is no way to not hear it. I love my new sandals, because, see, if someone looks just at my feet he cannot tell if I am Egyptian or not. I want to be Egyptian now.
His Father had asked someone to give him a ride around the Pyramids in advance. But the child was completely taken by surprise when the Arabian stranger lifted him up from the dirty sand and offered him to his cloaked partner on the camel.
When you look down on people from a camel and they are wearing a hat you cannot see their face. So you cannot see them smile approvals. You cannot see that it is okay with your Dad, who is wearing a big hat.
Most camels look like they are in a bad mood to begin with and when camels are late they become very serious indeed. Maybe camels must never be late and that is why. Yes, that's it - there is no such thing as a late camel. They are fast enough to out race their own smell. They can lose their shadows. Wide flat pods rush to find the horizon. Nothing is out of range. Nothing, for a camel.
Before I know what is happening and as soon as I am handed to the rider he goes. Fast. With the wind at my ears and a strong arm around me I try to peek behind us but the rider’s clothes are full and thick like his laugh. His laughter is married to the bounce of his friend. Someone has seen us go or we are not alone, I hope, but I have no proof. I have been kidnapped. We slow down and I hear the camel’s heavy breath and the gentle voice of my guide relates an incomprehensible monologue as he loosens his hold. I am riding around the Pyramids on a camel in the lap of an Arab at Christmastime. It was nightmare for moments, now it is a dream. NO, I cannot even dream this, it is too incredible. Without credibility entirely.
My Dad, on another Camel, overtakes us, then my Mom and my Sister and my Brother. I have not been kidnapped, I had just not been warned. Now I will not have to escape.
The Sphinx is caged. The fragile monument sits within a fenced compound. I clearly remember the guard unlocking the metal gateway for us and only us. It was my father’s connections to the Egyptian Consulate got us in. I remember learning the word consulate and understanding my “passport”. I remember at first being fascinated by border-lines on maps and not much later becoming very saddened by them…for everyone, somehow. As we walked around the monument I could not resist tracing my hand along its contours, and when no one was looking, I took it, as small piece broke off in my hand. Yes, I put a piece of the Sphinx in my pocket. I wonder when I may put it back? I hope the passport that enabled my thievery, will not prevent my making it all right again. I dream of the rock’s return often. It comes and goes as a mission. You should smell it sometime, it has an interesting smell. Even though everything in the universe is essentially the same age, the rock smells older than most smellable things.
I'm in bed watching the fan spin on a spinning world - time to sleep - I'm so sleepy from today's sun. I should write down that this life and the people and things I have done are everything I never thought I always wanted, but I am a little boy, and have not learned to write down what I think might be important thoughts for later, if I get them right before I fall asleep, and I think that I will remember it in the morning anyway. Did I?
Friday, October 3, 2008
even our differences are similar
maybe you'll write it or read it or hear it
it depends. you may not continue. you may not finish. i don't care.
i can smell it.
inhale and smell the new forest of marshmallows and bleach .
change you care your charge
but about as much as lint
i've just been diagnosed with terminal existence
and only have the rest of life to live
i micromanage my neuro-chemistry
the first lesson they teach you in elementary pharmacology
is that anything you put in you body is potentially toxic
at some point you can overdose on
bananas vitamin a
even too much water can kill you
barbiturates and alcohol have great grim potential
that's how the Heaven's Gate Nike shoe purple scarves cultists got to their comet
you know of your self
"know thyself"?
how?
when your brain does all kinds of shit it never tells your mind about?
ok, so know your mind
mind your friends
mind the network and no your mind
i micromanage my neuro-chemistry.
my mind i know lit up
the electro-chemical thing managing to type this
maybe I'll write it or read it or hear it said:
the universe is one particle moving at the speed of now.
And it does at least three things.
It cuts, copies and pastes.
it depends. you may not continue. you may not finish. i don't care.
i can smell it.
inhale and smell the new forest of marshmallows and bleach .
change you care your charge
but about as much as lint
i've just been diagnosed with terminal existence
and only have the rest of life to live
i micromanage my neuro-chemistry
the first lesson they teach you in elementary pharmacology
is that anything you put in you body is potentially toxic
at some point you can overdose on
bananas vitamin a
even too much water can kill you
barbiturates and alcohol have great grim potential
that's how the Heaven's Gate Nike shoe purple scarves cultists got to their comet
you know of your self
"know thyself"?
how?
when your brain does all kinds of shit it never tells your mind about?
ok, so know your mind
mind your friends
mind the network and no your mind
i micromanage my neuro-chemistry.
my mind i know lit up
the electro-chemical thing managing to type this
maybe I'll write it or read it or hear it said:
the universe is one particle moving at the speed of now.
And it does at least three things.
It cuts, copies and pastes.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
song titles
chile
P.S.A.
Trigger
CRM114
Anamorphic
P.S.A.
Trigger
CRM114
Anamorphic
Penrose
probability
Gomboc
Gomboc
Kind
How to Count
Charge
Charge
Ground
Table
Pupil
Morpheme
Morpheme
Aspirin
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)