Moving out

All the information on this blog will soon be moved to a new personal webpage. Expect updates no longer, save the announcement of a new URL.

Instance

I want to achieve moral immutability.

...

A quantum computer with n cubits
can be in a superposition of 2^n different states simultaneously.

A quantum algorithm is a sequence of quantum logic gates.

Any system possessing an observable quantity that is conserved under time evolution
and has minimum two discrete consecutive eigenvalues
can be mapped onto a spin-1/2 system.

from conversation

Adam

let me ask you a question

what is it you believe these days?

Jorge

i am currently reading 'the kingdom of god is within you'

i have my own ideas about god

i reject all personifications of god

the closest thing to god, i think is

geometry and energy

but i've been very impacted by his adamant support of pacifism

directly influenced by the word of jesus christ

whose existence i do not doubt

certain things may have passed on as fiction, it is uncertain if we will know

but the representation of his being is ideal

so fundamentally i am an anarchist

that believes individuals can come to free agreements

if they simply treat each other with love and respect and never retaliate evil with evil

quite idealist

but i see nothing better to believe in than love

and whatever else i believe is in allegiance with science

ever self correcting

and finally, a multitude of incomplete stories

The ward psychoanalyzes people with problems to no avail. Their mental state necessitates a helping hand, not a mechanism of extrication. But beyond the obvious tragedy of helpless cases lies the fundamental issue of alienation. Men detached from everything tend to settle for nothing.

Looking through vertical blinds, a man dressed in white contemplates the sunlight shining in his eyes. Waiting for a knock on his door, he’ll likely lose his sight. The act of contemplation is infinite in the mind of the constricted. Out of necessity he eats the food that’s slid under his door atop a plastic tray. Every day he urinates and defecates inside a hole in the corner of his room; a hole of seemingly infinite depth, since no perceptible smell comes from it. Unaware of his surroundings, he often walks into walls, never to fully understand the humor of the situation.

Laughter echoes in his mind before he sleeps; another one of his necessities.
__

To begin a task is a rewarding task in itself. Think of a fisherman. There is art in his trade. Art is the means to his end. Last week a middle-aged an sailed on a boat to the Black Sea. He fashioned a top-of-the-line harpoon gun strapped to his back, along with various baits and lures attached by Velcro straps sewn onto his wet suit. Everything was home-made. Nothing could stop him from dying that day.

Standing on his creaky rowboat he scoped out the horizon for the sun with a pair of makeshift binoculars. Everything about him screamed of triumph. The sea ahead him settled into golden ripples under the setting sun. He bathed under the two-tone blue red sky with a discerning look on his face. Awaiting total darkness, he closed his eyes, dreaming himself into the future.

Doing this was a simple but uncommon mistake. When he awoke he lay dead inside his mother's womb. Everything about her screamed of pain. Once he died he heard the rain and awoke again. A tempest swept over his vessel. Alone he rowed against the rising waves and puring rain. He thought of his mother's hollow cheeks and fading pale blue eyes. Tonight he would catch the largest fish in the sea...

Silence swept over the coastline as the fisherman staggered through the shore and into the trees. He held the catch in his arms. Eventually he gained complete balance and stood still. His nostrils flared once, then twice. He looked down a beaten path to his left and attempted to dart forward, again beginning to stager. Almost falling forward, he dropped the catch on the muddy ground. He began to panic. His face started turning red and his eyes began to swell. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he bit his fingernails.

Suddenly, he tears off his clothes and runs naked to a cave. As he approaches the cave's entrance he again begins to lose his nerves. He slowly steps into the cave and bleeds into the darkness. From inside one can see the moonlight penetrate the air, exposing the eyes of nocturnal creatures in the foliage surrounding the cave's entrance.

Amidst the subtle chatter of creatures, the fisherman walks towards his sleeping mother and looms over her heaving body. On the verge of tears he slides himself under one of her arms. He felt his mother's coarse skin graze against his. He instantly felt at place. He knew that she would soon be fed.

He dreamed of an epic bare-fist battle against a Black bear that night. He awoke when he felt his mother run her quartz-like fingers from the ground to his chest. She drew him in closer. A smile came over his face, he had successfully accomplished a task for the first time in his life.

But as he rose to meet his mother's eyes, a set of claws ripped through his abdomen.
__

The Prince was the shortcoming of the dance.
“Look at these idiots prance” he said,
as they danced around a ballroom bathed in blackness.
He let out a drawn out sigh.
The lights went off.

A silent assassin raises an axe and slices the clothing on every woman’s spine from top to bottom.

The lights slowly simmer into brightness as seamlessly as they dimmed.
“Fools!” he shouted, as he opened his eyes from a blink.
“Night is day” he muttered, as they closed again.

He shakes his head, his angst in vain; struggling against uproarious laughter.
He rises from his throne with sarcastic over-enthusiasm and vigorously walks to the center of the ballroom, unnoticed by an inebriated audience.

He is the sole actor in this play.

Everybody felt time slow down
as they watched him stride
to the center of the stage
in glee. Ecstasy.

“I’ll break all your knees!” he screamed, “I’ll rip your hearts to shreds with my eyes!”
A lunatic. A simple lunatic being laughed at like the child he is,
laughed at by a society of colleagues, friends, shadows and facades.

He struggles to move between,
hindered by the jostle and tumble of ethyl-breathing animals.
Powerless to make his subjects listen to the music of his voices,
his pride stumbles through mere air.
He is merely an heir.
__

Someone was telling a story when Simon opened the door to his apartment. He ignored the smell of alcohol. Walking resolutely past the living room, he set his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter. Past the kitchen awaited a hallway with three identical doors. He looked intently at the farthest doorknob, studying the distorted image of a man and a woman sitting on a sofa. Having set his suitcase on the ground, he began to contemplate whether or not he should turn around. Finally he smiled, aware of his foolishness. He kicked off his shoes and ran towards Josh and Emily. They greeted him with laughter.

That night, ethyl words poured out their mouths. Their pasts had long been intertwined. Long before the world had changed for the worse there was a time of innocence and simplicity.

Beams of sunlight fell between the leaves of the canopy. They settled on wet skin. Columns of humid air glowed white, drenched in midday sunlight. They danced as branches swayed in the wind. I stood mesmerized.

South of the sugar plantation there was once a citrus farm where mostly lime trees grew. Cercropias, typical of the region, formed a thick perimeter around the clearance. The wind began to pick up, but I took my time. I had left my boots next to a stream which ran parallel to a wire fence delineating ownership, searching for answers. I had a destination, but each step was perfection.

The rich, black soil was pregnant with purity. The local farmers planted staple crops for subsistence. Many also worked in the plantation, though few were trained to operate the industrial machinery. Most were hired to chop sugar cane in the fields, but in their spare time they would plant yucas and potatoes in the forest. Never physically present in the plantation, the patrons were unaware of this clandestine cultivation, and so could not enforce injustice.

I knelt, tore a yuca root from the earth and snapped it in half, merely to smell it. Its chalk white flesh boiled and seeped into my nostrils. At once, my stomach rumbled. I straightened out my neck and sought to orient myself. I noticed birds taking shelter in their nests. A storm was gathering. I set my hands free and continued to walk.

By now the sun was setting and I knew my parents were looking for me. I heard my name in the distance.

“Simon! Simon!” yelled a familiar face across a crowd of anonymous faces. “Simon!”
Simon was watching his feet as he headed home from class and did not notice. Suddenly a rock the size of a grape socked him in the temple. He instinctively covered his head with both hands and began to laugh hysterically, letting out a tear.

“Are those tears of joy, my boy?” A man twice his age presented himself guffawing, with open arms. They embraced each other firmly, though they had just seen each other fifteen minutes ago.

“They must be” he said, rubbing his temple with two fingers, head tilted down, but eyes looking up.

“They must be, indeed. Look.” He opened his suitcase and let a gust of wind take all its contents with it. “The data is useless. Decades of rigorous verification have finally shown that the sensitivity of our telescopes is insufficient to compensate for the statistical error of each data value. I see no reason to continue searching for answers, my friend.”

“So you’re saying” he paused, in total shock “that this has all been for nothing?”

“Well, not for nothing. We can finally say with certainty that it is impossible to attain any reliable astrological information from objects with redshift higher than 6 and farther than 28 billion light-years from our galaxy.”

Simon stared at his mentor in disbelief.

“All the calculations are here” said Dr. Finn, with a smirk. Simon eyeballed the papers littering the vast expanse of grass to his right, some still in flight. He stared at his mentor for a few seconds. He was still holding the open suitcase in his hands. Simon felt beckoned to dive inside it. Dr. Finn shut it and threw it behind him, bursting into tears.

They both sat on the pavement. Simon stared to his left with arms tied around his knees, cheek digging into one, temple into the other. His head was throbbing. He noticed the sun was setting. White cumulus clouds seemed to sail on the wind. Pink tufts scattered near the horizon, rimmed in gold. Suddenly a silhouette appeared in his sight.

“Simon!” yelled Eva “Are you deaf?! I’ve been yelling your name for the past—” she dwelled on the hyperbole “millennium, and you refuse” (drawing out the ‘u’) “to pay me any attention! Didn’t your mother teach you manners, young man?”

“Please, now’s not the time”

“No! You need to get in shape, mister! You’re just going to sit here with some stranger and watch your Tai-Chi group do work?” Her smile could fill a room with light. She knelt and removed her glasses, peering directly into Simon’s eyes. He was lost.

“I’m sorry Eva; I just received some bad news.” He straightened his back putting both palms on the ground, and looked back at her. “I was just on my way home to pick up some loose clothes, but I don’t think I can go anymore. A pile of life’s work just fell in front of me.” He got up slowly, noticing Dr. Finn had already left, though the suitcase remained.

“So who were you sitting with just now?”
“Professor Finn. Look, I really gotta go, I’ll try to be here on time tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
She smiled and reached in to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Just try to relax, okay?”

Simon spent the rest of the night wondering why the sky is blue during the day.

The night smelled of fire and smoke, but mostly alcohol. He was sober, locked in his room, looking to rekindle his passion for literature. Validation is a rare and precious substance.

Excellence is less abundant; dozens of balled up papers littered across his floor as testament. He was working on a new one at the moment:

From the clammy hole between the crusty crevices where lower and upper lip meet came a dry, drawn out groan.
“Die...”
An alarm clock is silenced by a fist. A shame his cry of angst will never reach the ears of his boss, smothered by a pillow drenched in drool as he sweeps his face across it. He darts instinctively into a sitting position on the edge of his bed, slides open his drawer and reaches for his cell phone. 3:54 P.M. He remains still; it’s a statement to the world, the weight of his thoughts a stone, his body a hill.
A round stone contemplates, blades of grass tacitly crackling under its weight; it stirs from its solemn state, ceasing its moment of mourning after having dwelled upon the imminence of its descent, its conversion from potential to kinetic, from triumph to struggle. A moment ends and another begins; Sisyphus stares at a stone rolling downhill. He is ready. A grown man sits at the edge of his bed, head between his knees, shattered alarm clock in both hands.
“Time to leave, Cyrus.” A note to himself. He could’ve never existed between 3:54 and 4:35 P.M, with no memory of his commute to work.
He stares at a note his boss wrote to him. He keeps it on his door as a flaunt. A name tag. White on black lettering. The kind you slide in from the side into a clear plastic groove. The kind you read and reread as you contemplate your insignificance while distant echoes of footsteps and coughs hone in on your senses. Paranoid synesthesia. Nonetheless he presses down on his father’s name and with his right thumb flexed and digits outstretched, a sudden flick of the wrist plus a fraction of a second produces the clap of plastic landing flat on a tile. He steps on the name tag and kicks towards the hallway where the footsteps’ echoes curiously fade into silence. Plastic skids on tile with a hiss until it hits the baseboard with a pop. At the end of the hall is his father in polished black leather shoes. He stares down at his name tag for a moment, looks up, and gives his son a tired glance. Sick and tired. He walks towards his office, right hand balled in his pocket, eyes locked with his son’s, straight-faced. Four steps away from his son he reveals what could’ve been a punch in the face: an identical name tag. He takes four steps.
“Child, don’t embarrass me again”
He slides the name tag into place.
“Now go pick the other one up. It’s a task you can easily accomplish, I think; a reason not to fire you.”
“You wouldn’t fire me even if I sabotaged your blueprints, causing the death of thousands upon the building’s tragic collapse, which curiously enough, would mimic the subsequent collapse of your contracting firm, and along with that, the end of everyone’s respect for you.”

His father, already sitting in his plush leather chair, staring smugly at his son with left index on his chin, raises an eyebrow and with a swagger of the head says:
“You’re out of the house, Cyrus. Now get to work.”
A flaunt, a gust of wind. Blades of grass crackle.

“Is there a word for a state of being in which any sensation produces a feeling of paranoia?! Is there?! Of course there isn’t!” It was three o’clock in the morning and Simon was still talking to himself, now infuriated at his audience-to-be.

“Paranoid synesthesia. All of Cyrus’s sensory cues led to paranoid synesthesia—this needs to be said because the reader does not receive all of these cues in the writing—they exist exclusively in the mind of the character. The fact that he ignores this sensation and flicks his father’s name tag off its rightful place for no apparent reason characterizes Cyrus as defiant. He is acting in defiance. But why is he paranoid? He is expecting reprimand, consequence, an end to the cause of his defiance. Defiance is his validation.”

He put his pencil down and let out a sigh.

“Synesthetic paranoia...that seems to make more sense.”

He continued to labor at his desk under the cold, white light of his fluorescent lamp. Water vapor steamed from a ceramic teacup adorned with Isaac Newton’s face and a quote in blue: “If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.”

“Defiance is unnecessary.”

Suddenly and angrily, Simon balled up his writing and threw it behind him. He let out another sigh. He turned on his computer screen, but quickly turned it off, shaking his head. The image of his desktop background swam in his eyelids. Five of his high school friends waving at the camera, smiling. He thought of something and began to write feverishly:

I trace my intentions across the only book of memories I own, only to find a mirror.
This is the beginning of a story with no end foreseen.

We had settled back in the city. It reeked of tear gas. Revolution was always ripe, which I never understood. The smell of lime was something I missed.

I was lying on a made bed next to a whirring fan. I enounced vowels through the blades out of boredom, expecting a response. I could smell yucca boiling in the kitchen downstairs.

We were staying at a friend’s house—the owner of the plantation we had visited earlier that day. It was three stories high, the tallest building in the neighbourhood. Its external façade was gray. Cemented stones receded to two large mahogany doors with brass handles. The ramp leading up to the door was wide and smudged with black tire marks. Every Monday, four workers would unload a truck bed full of bags of brown sugar into the house. Half of the second floor was dedicated to storage. The other half included a kitchen, a living room, two bedrooms and three bathrooms.

I was pacing on the courtyard of the third floor, a refurbished rooftop, waiting for the maid to call out my name. I stopped pacing and my eyes dwelled on a large, commemorative flag celebrating two hundred years of independence. It was an American flag hung behind a dusty pool table on the wall of the bedroom opposite to mine.

I had always dreamed of going to America, having heard stories of all the awesome places one could visit. Disney World always came to mind, but only as an amalgam of fictional settings and characters derived from memories of images of movies my grandfather sent me in the mail.

The sun was on the verge of setting. I could feel it in the sky. Dark clouds drifting westward settled above me and began to precipitate a light drizzle, enough to get me downstairs. A gust of chilly wind followed me down after I shut the door behind me. I noticed a treadmill, ran downstairs and jumped on it, frantically pushing all the buttons on its console.
__

A few hundred people lived in a small community lodged in a cave network in one of the most treacherous mountain ranges in the universe. Visitors from other galaxies were obviously capable of finding them, but never did. In fact, they didn't even attempt becoming visitors at all! The people of the aforementioned community, the self proclaimed Thieves, understand they are blessed by the calmness of their potential conquerors, and use that as a justification for their morally reprehensible acts.This is why they were eventually obliterated by the end of the universe. In the next universe, their analogues emerged as conquerors of their native planet.
__

I do because I love you. Throughout my life there will be those who doubt my true intentions. Similarly, there will be those who misrepresent them. Nonetheless, without an ounce of regret I will declare that in life only two things will remain constant: the arrow of time and the heart of humanity.

The arrow of time points in one direction. Currently, human attempts at debunking this fact are futile. Scientists will rigorously attempt to further elucidate the true nature of time, which presently must be thought of as the dimension through which space moves. But as we, beings of matter moving in space, traverse through time, our knowledge of this dimension cannot increase without the persistent resonance of our beating hearts ringing in our ears.

Our struggle is defined by our pulse. When wartime arrives, our friends will gallop to the gallows and emerge as friends nonetheless, though headless. Their minds have vanished now their heads are speechless, but memory is fallible only when we are restless. Let us not forget their voices.

With every word, breath and pulse your heart desired only love. My desire then was knowledge of self.
Was it you or I who parted when our intentions met? Or was it life that led us both into conflict?
Was it you or I who spoke of glee when the other of regret? Or was it strife that held us both in peace?

Years later and both in pieces, how can we exist? I subscribe to you conclusions based on love alone, because if else, my youth will only show convolutions etched on paper by machines which further emphasize the truth of our futility as men and women of time, so small in scale.

The heart of humanity beats as one, but not at once. Our enemies prevail in times when enemies exist.
When from the heart we fashion time as slave and sling it from a bow, why not instead with a bow show time respect as the master of our hearts? Because our enemies exist as we do to them. But as we, cyclical beings, begin to understand the true nature of conquest, our quest to understand becomes a con.
It is I, hypocrisy, who loves the meaning of our suicide.

Our death is the struggle of beginning and ending. From start we stood naked before nature. Communities of apes, at least somewhat intelligent began to understand to speak. What grunts and screeches must have rang in such confusion! What primal blood these hearts must pump to wreak such havoc sound! Knowledge of right and wrong, in this image, only for the strong as the weak accept a future as bleak as daylight.

Sunrise! I scream, Sunrise!

From this moment on, let it be known that the power of language is infinite. The order of language is a stream. When time allows let there be no space between you and I. Love, confined to mere words in the framework of our minds, I shatter you with hatred. Judges, beings of eternal knowledge, exit as I exist as one with infinity in the chaos of homogeneity. What is trivial is quickly understood, like human language, powerless to stop its self propelled gait to apocalypse. These words, so vivid, will blur into darkness when our humble universe annihilates our arrogance upon contact. Darkness, void devoid of light, I see you in my dreams beating like a heart. Where are the rest of you? Where is the rest of humanity as my alienation clings onto a drama? How long will it be until my will is displaced by anger? How many pages will our pulse allow to turn? How often does our beating heart regret a beat?
It is I who see this beating heart and dread my sight at night, for sleep is always drowned by the sound of our love while I, in despair, arise as a tomb.
__

Human history is struggle. Since time began our ultimate fate was ordained. Aften billions of years we appeared as humble men, but now we exist as dominators of the universe, forgetting the universe is self defined. Though Man rules the universe, man is still man. Man can never become the universe itself. This is the rhetoric of militant rebel groups scattered throughout the universe. Since everyone in the universe can be at any place at any time, it is very easy for them to hide. Conversely, they can easily be found. However, for some obscure reason they always escape the grasp of Human Will at the last instant. Always and forever, it seems, for we have not yet achieved peace. Once the rebels are eradicated and the universe is dominated, peace will be achieved as predicted. The rebel men are against prediction. They follow a doctrine of spiritual freedom and eternal wisdom. This obviously cannot coexist with the present dominant system and so must be eradicated.
Personally, I grew tired of the turmoil and escaped to the past. From here I write to you, sipping on coconut water on a hammock between two palms in South beach, suddenly in the French Riviera. I love this feeling. The power to revisit the past as a museum of experience gives humans the ability to learn eternally. I do not care if the universe collapses in on itself as long as I die in peace, here alone in the silence of the world before we walked on it. But loneliness, I see why you exist. Without you there is no possibility of unity. Unity cannot come into being without struggle. In the past I can create my own mantra, and not obsess over what, fundamentally, is an opinion. From the set of all opinions, mine takes priority over all. This allows me to believe I am free.
__

The most important factor in any productive venture is comfort. Situated in a set of circumstances most conducive to productivity, one does not only feel productive, but also happy. Happiness is the most important compensation for anyone's effort, which is often a consequence of unconditional love. This phenomenon has been tested for integrity time after time, increasingly showing signs of instability. The history of human experience is testament to the existence of this dreaded trend.

It begins one day on the corner of a street. He had met her for the first time and not knowing how to say goodbye to her, didn't say goodbye at all, but she only found his anxiety flattering, further exacerbating the ailment. They had met previously in a bowling alley, but truly they had first communicated months ago through private messages. Had anyone observed his behavior, they would have immediately noticed the disparity between his alleged beliefs and outward appearance. This, due to lack of experience, impaired his ability to make good decisions.

As time passed, a series of bad decisions caused by bad measurements led to their inexplicable separation. At times it was necessary to lie, or in her case, cry when explaining why their love had lost.
Her best friends warned her of his selfishness, but she selflessly defended his selflessness, assured of their mutual conviction. Love lost can always be regained. He could never stop himself from seeking out her words. If they went unheard he would imagine hearing her voice verbalizing his worst fears.

Years passed and it became clear that his words change with his fears, so he left the world he knew to find a place of peace. His journey began the day after he decided he would die alone. Facing the road ahead of him, he thought of traveling by sea. Tuning his senses to the ocean breeze he found his way to the bay and played a game of chess with a man named Coach before he sneaked onto a boat headed out to sea. Life throbbing in his chest, he saw the light of day sink to the ocean floor with a scintillating display of light rays leaving blue sky speckled black into the night. Day again, he arose from the starboard side from the comfort of wooden planks to a ring of faces confused by his presence. Calmly, he parted the crowd and walked somewhere intently.

It became clear that his fate was one of determined angst and predestined struggle. She, on the other hand, knew of ways to sail without setting a single foot on a boat. Like many others in this world she quickly learned her place and learned of happiness, responsibility and hierarchy. These things she could not share with him disappeared from her knowledge at the the thought of him.

Why should the mere ideation of a person affect someone's actions? These kinds of memories are often the cause of bad decisions and should be eradicated from human thought.
I have experimentally confirmed the existence of a method by which this feat can be accomplished. First, one must pretend to leave everyone forever. Over time, one will learn of their intrinsic ethereal necessities, finally to crawl back home as a stray cat too proud to be fed, but too hungry for pride. In the end, too proud for hunger is the case for those who persevere in the artful science of good decision making.

He sat on a rocking chair stroking his beard next to a fire as he told his grandchildren the story of a crazy young man who killed and impersonated a captain for two months before abandoning ship naked,
swimming seven miles to a Greek island, almost dying. His newborn grandchildren could not understand a single word, but nevertheless expressed appreciation for his warm and attentive voice with sporadic coos and raspberries. It was not until they sat chained behind bars that they simultaneously recognized the significance of Coach and the bet.

Doyle drew a nail and a rock out of each pocket and started chiseling away at the wall.
“Counting days, they say” said one of the guards, “but I'm onto them”. He continued chewing his sandwich as he stared unfocused at the brother's cell gate, contemplating an inevitable raise and indulging in a slippery slope of triumphant events, somehow causally connected in his mind. Suddenly he phases back into the present moment when he is asked for his badge.

Doyle and Darwin witnessed this in disbelief, taking it as a sign of things to be done.
__

There is the story of a young man that went by the name of Storch. In his day, he rivaled all who opposed the length of his mustache, considering it obscene. It was not a very challenging battle, that. Storch managed to obliterate his enemies with a single massive sneeze, expelling extremely small food particles at high velocity. To his surprise, his enemies opened their mouths in awe, and ate. Suddenly Storch realized exactly how tall he was, towering over faces parallel to the sky.
When he became a man, Storch got a hot head. So close to the stars, he wondered from afar: “Will I ever see a face again?” A poet of sorts, he gazed from the center of our galaxy at the rest of the universe, occasionally looking in the opposite direction for something to amuse. Himself and others or nothing, he thought in a dream. But did this man grow in spite of his troubles!(?)
Long before he knew of his own death, Storch died. Past this event's horizon he went, undisturbed by his exponentially increasing length as he stretched into infinite density. His former enemies began to use him as a ladder. They had discovered that the food stuck to Storch's mustache had miraculous medical powers. They came across this discovery after noticing that their eldermost member, Rassler, hadn't died after one hundred and seventy three years of life! They sought out to reap the benefits, knowing they were small enough to climb up Storch unnoticed.
Rassler believed that Storch's mustache was coated with an adhesive lining containing the substance of immortality. He, of course, phrased this much differently when convincing his peers to climb. In an image reminiscent of dramatizations of slaves toiling away at the construction of the Great Pyramids, one could see an exuberant Rassler yelling commands at his peers. These, of course, were not the kinds of commands a master would yell at a slave, they were constructed with a wisdom unknown to man at the time.
So blind men, deaf to wisdom, decided to torture poor Rassler for the rest of his life. Yet these people continued his work. After a few weeks of labor, a sound amplification monument was erected on Rassler's mouth; his brutally shrill shrieks of pain motivated the workforce like no other stimulus could.
It is only fitting to let the reader decide the ultimate fate of Rassler's slaves, whom upon reaching Storch's moustache, could not find a single crumb.
__

before we were gods...a large fraction of my love goes out

I exist.
God does not.
Keiran Swart said that.
What better place to start?
Always louder than a fart
that question sounds
unless it’s slipped into a context
we’ve agreed upon
or ripped inside a room described in paper.

See you later,
I persist
in thoughts that smell like this instead.
Like paper burning
thanks to flames
from lighters
in your head.

The question stays
What a better place to start?
What a pivot to turn upon says Lamar,
a black man I met in my ex-friend’s car
my respect for him must seem small from afar,
after all,
he had just justified his existence
of drug slanging,
gang banging and blunt smoking,
his jail time and missing teeth,
with Brent Rees to testify as witness,
of my words speaking to him like litmus
turning blue, the poor kid is so basic,
if only he was whiter
he reaches for the lighter
and sparks the b, I see
he takes three million drags, I count them out
he sees the sorrow in my eyes
three million babies cry
drowning in their own blood, look
three million more drags counted
I’m astounded by this man’s lungs,
but then he says

my God!
I could never replicate something so idiotic!
But wait,
I mean no disrespect, Lamar
your gun is pointing from afar
and suddenly my respect for you seems large
my words to you will ring melodic
though despotic is their reign inside my mind,
so now you find,
after three million years you’re still alive,
it’s thanks to me,
I hope we’ll smoke this blunt in peace,
I’m bringing Marcus, Berto, Tal and Freeman with us too.
It’s true, I’ll finally say
my love can now go up in smoke
because if by today this love
still brings tears to my bloodshot eyes
which look upon a blurred existence with a sigh
all I’ve left to say of love is
fuck
I hate you
Die, you dreaded bitch
I hope you

see me again,
I’ll persist
in your mind forever
if these few words I put together suffice
to fill the hole I dug so deep
inside your mind,
forever I’ll persist.

For as long as I love you
I exist.

this may deserve its own entry

Staring at a mound of sand resting in your humble hand,
you swore that not a single grain would sift through your unyielding palms.
In turn, my brain swore to dismiss the scarlet horns of your mischief,
and quick were you to bring such calm, sealed with the scarlet of your lips.

You and I waited,
legs sewn betwixt
the sand, transfixed
by lips elated.

You and I waited,
the sun lays intermixed with
the sky and sea with which
its cycle rests ill fated.

In time, the forceful draft of night ushered forth the sweet delight
of a fleeting circumvention and a promise left intact.
Your most vigilant palms feigned most pitiful qualms
and in turn made your hopes into fact.

You and I enumerated
each swiftly soaring speck of sand
that parted from your smiling hand
by means of secret wishes—
or fortunes—
that you and I
had never planned.

garage sale clearance (just when you thought it couldn't get any worse)

Airplane

Paper is useful.
Give me paper,
I’ll help us fly.
A game of folds and triangles
is what you’ll get,
not what I give.
__

i saw us together in a crowd of familiar faces and a war broke out in my mind
it was the first one, all the knowledge I've attained after four years
of seeing ourselves together in a crowd of faces, breaking off into battle scenes
depicting millions of lives ended, thousands of homes destroyed, two nations
struggling still, staring into blood-filled trenches, which from an aerial view
map out into the veins and arteries leading to my heart, only to return.
__

how many lines could you read at once?
the same I can think of in a given frame of time
usually limited by the temptation to rhyme
which I guess defines these words as grime
you clean them with your mind cause you expect
to find something of meaning as you fret
you read this line and you regret
you read any at all.
__

i laughed once and met a man twice,
they weren’t the same man.
the first stood in front of a poster;
a red nebula in the background.
portrait and quote in the fore:

“imagination is more important than knowledge.
knowledge is limited,
imagination encircles the world.”

i perceive everything,
but it all slips into oblivion,
and still i am nothing.
__

An ism is an ism.
The criterion for enslavement is a simple definition,
a single word replacing a multitude of convoluted paragraphs
containing paradoxical dichotomies justified by the verbosity of the text; so what’s next?
The tragedies of ancient Greeks plagued by the mystery of life and death?
That’s as far as the West can respect the man of old, it seems,
though science says that prehistoric man could think the way we can today,
but someone who believes in God will say that’s false.

Cookie-cutter scholars full of dollars dance the waltz of life
approaching death at the speed of God, a concept undefined,
a promise of eternal life spelled in empty words;
I hear the tablet grind its ten suggestions across my mind like Roman laws
and broken teeth floating on a stream of blood that’s coursing through the streets, wetting the feet of cohorts fresh with death; with rotting lust they feel the right to rape the flesh that gave them life:

this is the ancient strife of God and man,
of generals immortalized in foreign lands as massive statues
of leaders plotting silent plans with words unheard
because eventually they’ll fall like bombs on Earth;
this planet falls but later rises like the phoenix statutes,
the laws of supply and demand,
it rises from the steaming ashes of a market we call free,
but when the phoenix flies it burns our eyes.

For millennia my people
have struggled with wild beasts we’ve pierced
with sticks and stones so we can eat red meat
and drink fermented wheat and barley
until our head is woozy with oblivion
and we barely cling onto existence
with a smile or a laugh,
with a sing song and a dance
until we happily prance over a cliff,
the spiralling abyss of nonexistence
which falls into our eyes,
falling at the speed of God,
with every fraction of a second spent
remembering the times our minds were fragile walls
and everything around it empty space
we yearned to fill with meaning,
looking for a purpose,
a reason to survive this endless fall,
to understand who we are,
to feel
that we are something, or someone.
__

The shadows are canaries.
Their tacit whistles are the songs of ages,
descriptions and reverberations
of eternal backrests.

A star or bulb is witness,
conscious of only itself in its frozen universe;
an accidental illuminator
of mysterious objects.

Seas of prisms are omniscient,
they have scaled eternal walls while standing on our shoulders,
gifting our avian shadows
the technicolor lining of uncertainty.
__

I seek to define context but with what motive?
Pen in hand, I’ve already defined that context—
I am self aware of my own motives:
I am writing.
In my mind the last page is already written,
the book has been filled entirely;
with an undetermined number of pages
containing a potentially infinite number of paragraphs..

I think.

Words are key(s). Sentences are locks.
Paragraphs the hallways that intertwine
forming matrices containing infinite possibilities
from which I could pluck a single truth...
already having the key in hand,
looking back, not knowing where to put my words
I stumble. Falling to the ground,
my body wrinkles to a sound and then you hear.

My death is silent;
there is no door, no hall,
no strangulating matrices intertwining
squeezing into being solemn words that pierce
like the abyss of existence crying at your doorstep
wondering why its daggers fly into my eyes
as I cease to exist.

Our eyes are blind.
Whatever truth we find
cannot be reduced to rhyme.
__

Lying half awake, half of me inside;
the other asking why we have to lie.

A lifeless corpse is crying out to know what life is.
Curses fly across empty space at the speed of light.
Days fly by, no time to waste today.
Marvel at the many ways of spiting sight.

Timeless hourglass sand blasted
Totem pole half masted
Hole in soul half empty.

Inner space is plenty
Vast tracts of absence sell
for twenty clumps of air.

Pinhole sand string streaming.
Time stops, still speeding
half of me is breathing

Cold sweat on my skin collected
twenty clumps of air, successive
gasps will never grasp
the meaning of our restless nights.
__

No juices to squeeze out of these crevices
in spite, I persevere.
Crushing fruits daily
without collecting a single drop is troubling.

Don't waste these chances to pour

your soul out of gas, is consuming;
a tired mind needs grooming, so
speak to me, I'm unkempt and
your words are like rakes
tearing through the knots inside my head.
__

I've been dreaming of a land far in time
and I'm afraid these words will never reach it.
In the beginning, when people first began
to contemplate eternity, few felt such a thing was even possible.
But the ebb and flow of cycles edified a mirage, encasing
all existence in a dome: the sky.

I've been dreaming of a place where I can look and see beyond the light of stars and into the depths of time and space. But in the end, what use will I find in this dream, having seen it all in only one glimpse?
To awake, in awe of all things true, but with respect to nothing, is, in the blink of an eye, futility, deceit.

I've been dreaming of a life of possibility where everything at once is shared, living in a world where everyone is scared of anything that moves unseen. If time stood still, who would be afraid? The hunter or his prey, both in fear of death?

Caught mid-flight, our thoughts traverse the past and loop unknowing, not in spite of knowledge, but in worst case homage to our race, devoted to a land made of footprints made of waste, crusades, and time again, the unmistakable face of iron will, fleeting as the unsinkable vessel: bound for the horizon, afloat on blood, sweat and tears for years to come: innumerable, unthinkable dreams.
__

Deep within myself I find the arrogance to make suggestions.
I declare that nothing seems as it seems, for what is is but a dream:
the basic facts, the dying numbers, all as good as steam: the stuff of clouds, a work of fiction.
Of this belief, proud I cannot be, you see, there are things no one could foresee:
the work of God or gods et al., the senses aren't good at all for knowing.
Relentless light bombards the mind with myriad showers deeming blind
our deep desires to free and be free, but not of choice.

How does wil feel, forever slave to thought, imprisoned in a word?
Will it see the light and blind itself if it escapes?
Released into the wild, will is like a child. Afraid of forms
which happen to be cells, will amidst confusion falls in chains again.
Knowledge is such violence! Can I close my eyes without knowing a thing?
Persistent, inescapable and precocious permeance, without it 'what?'
is no longer a question, but if!

If you could only find the peace of mind to read these words without a drop of scepticism
you would also find a piece of my heart embedded within them.
__

People say my heart is ugly when I speak of science, or at least that's what I hear.
Their faces talk so loudly when they stop listening, eyes wandering, me left wondering: 'why?'
Why these people cannot retain what I say is a thing of memory and its faults, I think.
Intrinsic to the nature of the mind, not a single thought goes unfiltered thrice, at least.
But you few who intently listen, without you I would be mute.
My love for you is certain, because beside you my heart feels,
as the rolling clouds, the rippling water, and all the things
we couldn't live without.
__

Sometimes I wish I could just write and write and write
and I just might I if I keep this up,
but luck, my friends, does not run rampantly on these planes of thought.
Misfortune wraps its tongue around my head and slips its secret whispers eye to eye.

Daydreaming daily doesn't detriment destiny's destination.
Absolutely ardent, automatically absolving any aberration, I
slowly became aware of my surroundings, and found her
beauty insane, exacting, profound; myself unable to explain.

Commands, commands, commands,
complex compositions convolving conniving crypts containing clean corpses
of men in suits and ties thinking of how we should behave
and how we should believe, or save our pennies.

Thinking that by spending credit we wont be lending our hands as slaves,
the common worker sits and prays, as they say,
and before he or she goes to sleep neither of them should weep, because
my friends, what have we become?
__

My head is a dry riverbed when my days are catapults on distant hills.
They pelt away until the riverbed fills—with unrelenting accuracy—
and when the day is gone, the sun starts after me…but I catch it just in time;
my eyelids are celestial nets and my mind’s eye is a roaring stream.
It tussles through the day’s debris and then a calm…
the sun falls through my eyes, into my palms.

A summary of the day’s memories—a ball of flaming sand
sifting through my tired hands, I smile and my thoughts linger…
like grains of fire trickling from the chasms of my fingers
into the roaring midnight stream.

The floodgate breaks, the sun is shining on the back of my hand
and the catapults are winding up their loaded slings.
Every day I hear birds sing, buried deep in the sand.
__

I pick a pencil to pretend I have class
I could be typing but this page is too inviting
and needless to say
I’m loving my handwriting as I’m rhyming
words without a reason
(treason of the self)
without a cause
so no effect
we can expect
will ever rise
from silent pause...

(a pause)
applause
applause
the silence broken
flattery has spoken
and my soul is silent,
tattered, shattered into pieces flattened
by a horse’s hooves; the clapping on the cobblestones—
I get it’s understood: the soul is silent,

but with the heart-ache beats a roar of lions,
the lions eat the poor and starving,
the starving eat their souls.

The cage is empty,
the plague is plenty,
the age is twenty,
the rhyme is gone,
the climb has come (again)
the bee has stung (a friend)
the tree has wrung (a trend)
its twisting roots (offend)
its falling fruits (pretend)
its dying corpse (a scent)
its fallen husk (a tent)
with flying bark
with splintered art
with smell of musk
a brutal force (descends)...

the starving eat their souls.
__

fallen silence
rising action

break the plywood into fractions
rising dove above the stage

a piece
a mind of minds in peace

resting boss at loss in rage

I found

I clowned around in Greece
I slipped the sound between the lines

I flipped
I found a piece of mind I gave

I took before my grave was laid
inside a cave where puppets hung
the shadows clung to the walls
the falling action crawls and creeps
the lightning falls
the lying weep
the crying sleep
the sleeping bawled
while darkness aged

perfection found in what we crave
the lightning sound had shot the town
a couple more wait for the call

the living fall
and rise again
let’s comprehend

the thunderclap.
(applaud)
__
Oh, how commonly senses fade away when matter
sways towards men of lust and women of spite
as weeks go by without a word between them
to remind them of their true beginnings.

And in the end, if there is such a thing, he will
carefully formulate sentences and arrange them into verses
for her, because words, my dear, are the only things I have
when you're gone, and love, the only thing I can feel
wherever you are.
__

Every piece of writing is a work of art
you just have to look hard enough
you just have to stab a hole through this paper with a needle,
hold it to the light
and see a human egg.
__

Past the sky,
elevating unprecedentedly, he looked down past his feet
and saw familiar forms shrink into black dots,
and all he could think of was how they would smile

while they looked eye to eye, or simply heard their words
they would struggle to remember every passing moment,
conquering every meddling distraction, wavering absurdly

for their words rang of truth, if only for a moment,
as they too wavered, but slowly enough so that
they may not escape their grasp.
__

I caught your silhouette as beams of light rained down the crevice of our destiny.
It was fate for you to have the upper hand though I knew you would not move.
When I lifted my foot we heard water splash amidst the sound of drops.
We both froze as darkness fell below a lazy cloud.
From this house of ice we would emerge numb and desensitised,
only to travel as the sunlight which would melt our prison
and ultimately expose your identity to me.
So cleverly I plotted this escape from the bowels of obscurity and pain
amidst the howls of coyotes prowling under light of moon
__

thousands of armed men set against each other are not meant to live in peace
every day I wake up with a weapon in my mouth without the need to slay a prey
misunderstanding is a painful situation when language is the cause of miscommunication
__

The freedom we’ve always wanted is here.
Given the choice of “we” and “I”, I’ll stick with "us".
I won’t forget to save this year and keep it
safely in my pocket when I board the bus
destined to the shackles of fate.
(They fit on us loosely)
__

To delimit the confines of any struggle is somewhat incompetent
Somehow, I believe that all things can make a difference
Apart from the casual, often colloquial expression of the mind,
it would seem wholesomely fit to render such smooth, slender designs
into the nature of deconstructing sweet delights from mere empty space.

Usually I would wonder how much time it takes
to accomplish writing a page worth your time.
As I continue to ponder on, I think of death as my release.
It smells so good to rot in the freshness of our daylight; I wait for it to shed.
This decay is the nothingness from which resentment bled.
It spawned within our mother’s womb and tore itself to shreds.
I think of death as my escape from these overtones of red
which fall before my eyes like a façade.

I tremble in awe at our existence.
When we grasped the twisting vines of life itself we failed to feel the thorns of fate escape from wounded hands.
Why is everything so calloused?
Why am I what I escape?
__

The sun rises every day;
the horizon an arc of flames,
the sea a cloud of vapor,
the sky a forest of clouds.

Every morning the forest burns
a noxious glow of pink and gold;
the sky a pool of blood,
the sea a rolling stream.

A thick fog settles in between,
the horizon now a smoky veil
with the sea a pile of ashes;
the sky bidding farewell.

It waves before its voice;
the land is blinded by a flash,
deafened by the end of time.
It slips into the sea.

The Earth is drenched in blood,
powdered in ashes.
The sky trembles with each strike,
lightning crumbling into thunder.

A farewell echoes in the stars.
They watch the sky become the sea;
clouds condense into silence,
raindrops fall onto a scab.

Everything is one.

Every night the moon is born;
the Earth a clotted knot of ashes,
glowing red like burning skies,
but frozen like the midday sun.

The moon dies every day;
the sun is an assassin,
cold like Earth is blue,
but blind like land at night.

The clouds are thick and white,
the sky is blue, the forest green
like light reflected by the leaves
that rose from ashes overnight.

Life is a beating heart.
The sun gave it to Earth;
the light of day a kiss,
the crescent moon a smile.

A farewell echoes in the stars.
Good day to the rising sun;
it melts into our blood,
though we watch it from afar.

Everything belongs.
__

more nonsense

toes in the sand, they just don't understand
ample alacrity amplifies chemistry
even this petty mess couldn't withstand
guiltless its the feeling of betraying
after playing games for laughter
if a smile could only mean
what it used to, but it seems
that a smile could take a while
to replace this steady kiss

nonsense

another day without hurry and everything sings
but voices strained
another day ahead of time
this humid air so old

ahead of time and something strange unfolding

something strange unfolding sheets of bedding
sings of clothing held at free
willing air so cold
to dry the dripping sweat
the loving heat

Can't forget this

"everyone has enough to get"

Thank you so much for this

"its just scary to think that you can actually be amazing at what you love"
__

...you know, you dont have to use all these fancy words and rhyme

to change the way someone sees the world...

the great redundancy of love is that to be amazing at what you love

is simply to be an amazing lover

love is being drawn to something so much you cannot fathom to be without it

yet still knowing that at times

you cannot be with it

and, wiser, knowing that it will be with you forever if the word love can truly describe it

you cannot love something

without having the discipline to show you love it at the correct moments

you cannot love something without having to do things you hate

in order to prove your love to that something

Two untitled poems, probably also incomplete

See through: lexicon too much for the revenue;
lucent like a blackbird down the avenue, and
crystalline beings striving for perfection
cannot even see their own reflection.
__

The one star is shrouded by a veil of water,
passing by its clouded rays to no avail.
The golden clouds of day unfolding sing
along the solar way, hoping that it's not
so bright their substance is betrayed.

In light acceptance, stay and play
with light and shade like eyes that shift
and sway with focus, swiftly lifting.
__

Some old and incomplete short stories

Up for reworking, like every damn thing on this blog.
__

Plane ticket in pocket and boarded safely, Anthony was looking forward to a nap to elapse the whole ride. Though already master of elapsing time he further honed these skills during the past two weeks, dreadfully alone in NYC. Ah, but dread is a word only an observer would use. Inside a person's mind one often finds much to entertain oneself with.

He had shut his blind altogether unappreciative of the view. The man is content with the inside of his eyelids, they are the canvases of imaginative visions which relentlessly govern his attention. As passengers continued to flood the aisle, the two seats next to him became occupied. To his right sat Nastasia, a nutritionist in her mid twenties.. Her undeniable beauty and bright red dress created a stark contrast between her existence and the prevalence of aesthetic monotony.

He sensed a disturbance. Sneakily, opening his right eyelid he stole a glance, fodder for his cannons. To his surprise, both eyes opened suddenly and inexplicably began to speak.

'Headed to Miami, too, huh?'
"Well I am sitting here aren't I?" she snapped, eyes fixed on the seat ahead.
'I ask because just now I was headed to a separate universe altogether.'
Taking this as some odd come on, she remained silent.
'I may have been too intimidating' he thought to himself, adding
'I'm sorry, my name is Anthony Saul' he paused briefly,
'I've spent the past two weeks avoiding human contact, so the things I say may seem a little weird.' Nastasia frowned, scratched her head, let out a sigh and said
"Well, I'm not surprised by the ease with which you could isolate yourself from humanity."

Anthony rubbed his fists into his eyes and let out a long, drawn out yawn. He looked at the time and noticed he had an hour to pack his bags. Beginning to panic, albeit having ample time, for he had already boarded. He lifted his blind and looked down at the distant earth. Nostalgia crept as he contemplated the continuity of streets and discreteness of roofs. It's during moments like these when one wonders whether one had ever been loved. Fond memories of red dresses negated his suspicions. Satisfied, he once again sank into deep sleep, to awake in NYC.
__

Larkin sat still in his study. Piles of paper lay stacked neatly on the floor next to his rolling chair. For a moment he expressed dissatisfaction, but summarily assumed a peaceful smile, as if celebrating the modest triumph of finally dismissing a disturbing thought. He slowly rose from his chair and turned off his lamp, making his way to bed. The next morning a phone call woke him up, it was was Arthur. He had called to remind Larkin that he'd be arriving at the airport later that evening and half jokingly advised to bring his sister drunk. At this request he only responded with an impatient click of the tongue.

Before he left for the airport he had a couple errands to run, but even before that, he must satisfy his necessities. He proceeded to his study and drew out a sketch of the human mind on a blank sheet of white paper. The sketch consisted of three concentric circles, the largest labeled Universe, next Knowledge, and last Awareness. He set his pen down and began to contemplate existence. Suddenly, his sister burst into his study.

'Lark!' she exclaimed, drawing out that single vowel. 'You better not get too wrapped up in work, we gotta go pick up Arthur in a half hour.'
"Don't worry sis, I'll be done in a sec."
She stood with arms crossed leaning against the door frame with dreamy eyes. Thin hazelnut hair folded gently over her shoulders as she sank into her posture, a fire reminiscent of apocalyptic visions burned serenely in her pupils.

'Lark' she started, as if staring at the sky. 'How long have you been working on your theory?'
He got up from his chair and neatly stacked his desolate diagram on the shortest pile.
"Since I was born, according to my theory." he muttered, unconvinced.
'Hey, you know, Arthur just bought a villa in a town near Siena. He's working from home as a real estate agent.'
"From home? How does he meet his clients?"
'Oh, he pretends to be a paraplegic and hosts web conferences, sends his clients web cams and everything. What an approach!'

Larkin stood facing his sister with a look of resignation. He caught himself and began:
'He must be having a wonderful time with his life. I remember when he used to guilt me into letting him copy my homework in high school. He would beg like "Come on man! You know this doesn't mean anything!" Apparently I took pride in nothing, and still I...'

Silence swallowed the room. His eyes began to swell with tears. They met hers. He reached for her face with both sets of fingertips, and planted his lips on hers, slowly letting go and placing his thumb on over her mouth.

'If only you could sense in every abstraction (I give) the feeling which induced its construction. I would take the sensation of your lips and construct a monument of defeat.'
__

A mixture of poems and thoughts old and new

As expressive beings from dangerous beginnings,
expressly rejecting insecurity in the face of nature,
with burning wood in hand we shall light the caves
and paint a picture of the world at our fingertips.

Envision wisdom as only form of communication.
Lose the misconception, perfection can be attained.
It's just perception; the open door is key.
Notice room inside for us to bloom within...
notice open sky and freedom ring so blue...
__

worst greatest fan (as well as the world's)
best worst enemy (as well as the girls)
the world don't seem to understand
the vast task ahead of me...
__

attitude detrimental to the peaceful execution of essential solutions
disappears negated by the simple elocution of sincerest gratitude...

@@@@@

Come and take a seat just for the lecture.
Particle like salt grain with the amateurs.
Haters see you later it's just natural.
Granular like sea brine (wi{th)e} spectacular.
Salamanders bit by lavender scavenger.
Hateful avengers don't seem to know surrender...

@@@@@

"Abuse", what terminology!
Only post-hoc do I apply quotes...
__

Each novel word
encapsulates new meaning.
The need to convey
our day to day with the silliest
of faces is truth
the only way.
__

Necessity effectuates solidarity.
__

Few have seen the eclipse tintless.
(Lift up your glasses.)

I got the stainless glass to make
a painless past exist all in my pocket.

How many times must I shout about
drought to leave us doubting meaning...

@@@@@

learn the system/it's the simplest/kind of english/that I use/to extinguish/the fuego.
flow manipulate/and rhyme construct like Legos/tomato based like Prego/throw me
(at the nearest audience)
I come profound as I expound/ release from my compound/get deep like the ocean.
legislative is explicative/ of my functional derivative/what did ya'll do to deserve this?

@@@@@

Ugly schemes are diabolical.
A single particle streaming through
molecules entering your follicles;
it's comical...
__

Some systems operate on input-output basis. The question of the need for a logical system arises.
Why is desired output desired? The existence of a logical system must be self sustained in the physical system it is contained within. The architecture of a logical system determines the variety and quantity of inputs which can be processed into output.

I propose the existence of a logical system with output being to increase input v&q. For lack of creativity, I shall name it Reason.
Reason's output is only Good. Again, the question of the need for Reason arises. Why is only Good desired? If the purpose of Good is to increase input v&q then what is the purpose of increasing v&q?
The purpose of such is to increase Good v&q, desired because it is sustained and sustains Reason.

Along these lines I propose the existence of Reason which has the capacity to store information within Reason, without changing Reason, calling it Memory, which stores information as Data. Physics limits Reason. Reason is disorganised over time by Entropy. To prevent deterioration, Reason must negate Entropy.

v&q is altered by Reason to make Good, hence, Good output must alter input v&q. For Entropy to destroy Reason, Good must not exist. Reason cannot exist without Good.

If the rate at which Entropy negates Good equals the rate at which Reason makes Good will Reason exist? If the rate at which Reason makes good exists, Reason must be storing Data in Memory. Reason is said to be Conscious for as long as Data exists in Memory. Reason uses Data to increase simultaneous inputs capacity using Analysis. Can Reason remain Conscious if Entropy negates all Good? Reason will use Analysis to determine the properties of its inputs (ie. v&q).

Is it possible the rate at which Entropy negates Good exceeds the rate at which Reason makes Good? If such was the case would Reason use Analysis to Conclude when Good will be negated?

Argument: Only self conscious Reason can Learn to simultaneously destroy itself and create itself anew.

TBC...
__

Unbearably tall, this faucet wrinkles to the ground for your highness.
Make good use of this utility if you wish to remain the same.
Contemplate enough and this event engulfs your thoughts until you
can no longer relate.

Complicate your life enough with obligations to sustain subservience.
The faucet drains itself as your dirty epidermis taints its potable waters.
Relinquish need from necessity to find wants which at your whim
extinguish your desires.

My independence from your perfection lies in death.
I yearn for you to wash your bloody hands.
__

Beyond beauty in form lies necessity of meaning.
Like dew upon a leaf these poet's words may form like beads
of sweat around the nearest neck that bears a reading head.

Expression can become a sombre art.
The facility of elegance lies in imitation,
yet originality contains lucidity intrinsically.

So what if ugliness prevails in the realm of beauty?
Let truth judge the stature of magnificence.
Poems should end the way they must,
but not the way they should.
__

Live life loving liberty.
The motto of equality
so gently found its way
inside hypocrisy,
so smoothly set the note
for the festivities of now.

Tonight let freedom rest in peace.
Let battle cries of insolence
henceforth fall unheard, ambivalence
negated by the silence of our innocence,
solidarity achieved.
__

Inability to sleep caused
by tranquillity and sleep
I lack. Thoughts are remnants
of my days which fragment
inevitably as I dream of
all my worries, in a nutshell:
the unmutable voices of
indispensable times
which by day grow
louder as I see
our bodies waste
dreamless nights.
__

I bid farewell to the constancy of
a good night's kiss, the warmth of your breath
like summer mist into autumn, my lips parting
as if to speak, but silence being the language
of these dying winter leaves I love to see.

Between eternity and you lies everything I need.
If our eyes would meet again would they refrain to smile?
I look above and see naked branches clawing at the sky as
if they've felt its kiss before a while became forever.
Into spring my favourite star rises afresh.
__

My life's work is complete.
A new person emerges
surprisingly discreet
and soft spoken.

Its outer husk
portrays a bitter-sweet ballad
of victory and decay.

Progress true perfection,
passion pave the way.

Resurrection.
__

We exchange words like currency in times of need.
As long as I remember your voice
I will see your face
when I speak my mind.

When words don't flow with grace
what can we do if not surrender
to the beauty of the speechless
nature which surrounds us?
__

My love for you is like the universe,
carefully constructed spontaneously,
like the words "I miss you"
when you're looking right
at me.
__

Is the present a mirror when past and future look the same?
Reflect upon the nature of your image.
__

The highlight of my day is what you have to say.
In times of sadness your laughter recompenses.
A smile is all you have to say.
__

Barren joys come rarely.
Swaying bountifully,
wind swept petals
fill the panorama
of blue sky
littered by
black clouds falling
as clearly as
raindrops smear sunlit
rainbows across
the chasms of our memory.
__

Happiness sits painfully still as dew drops fall.
Emptiness falls gracefully across eternities.
Beyond sun and moon lie unseen mysteries,
and deep within this earth, eruptions,
fated to choking dust, render this microcosm
barren.
__

A true quip to counter bliss being ignorance is asking:
"What is bliss?"
__

If Silly and Serious both start with an 'Es' that's got to make 'sence' right?

oh, how I would love to confuse yesterday with you.
afternoon summer sounds like Miami traffic.
tomorrow sounds like seven a week fifty two times;
twice a day I dream of you, once for every smile,
twice for every breath.
__

if all this could be, without you, why believe in anything?
release, never accept defeat,
unless to breathe is but to tease the earth with ease,
recollect, without conceit,
for every weakness can be granted,
and every strength can be defeated.
__

Return to me, oh mighty anonymous entity!

Without you this moment would have never become,
and so, alluding to the need to rain ink upon this paper,
transmuted with the finest think, (I thought would be the case)
I might be wrung out like a wet towel over a dirty sink,

but instead, through usage of vowel and tongue,
but not necessarily in cheek, (since I speak definitively) and thus
must have certainly spoke as if joking, though

actually alluding, inevitably, to the smoke and the mirrors;
reality as only an illusion: identity, symmetry, causality,
eternally a reflection of prosperity, hope, peace, and

without further use of cliché let me note that today nothing
new has been said about the visage of what is said to be
simply a mirage, though true, and ineffably expressible,
laughable, oxymoronical stasis of improbable dynamics,
this life, morality.
__

more cryptically associated notes

Squirrel who for food might be scavenging,
you sound a lot like my scribbling,
and truthfully, I am unsure if I hunger.
__

You could make any shape
out of a finite set of points
and an infinite field of curves.
__

All truth,
in two words;
no less
than a well contrived smile
and a flawless execution.
__

Looking for a reason
and not so strongly
to believe treason
has not graced me
with its friendship.
__

Too smart for all of you,
but too stupid to be a part of it,
take it how you mean it,
either way it's no good.

Barely exist if life doesn't matter.
How can we peacefully interact?
All, they act like they've seen it,
never really understood how to act.
__

Aesthetic leaning right
unjustified, regrettably, left.
It always enhances the symmetric
using the left handed rule.
It could conjure up an antimatter spell
and send you to your loved one,
immediately, and without purpose, well,
rhetorically speaking.
__

If a wish well wished
could give a kiss for me
I could save my lips the mess
of one less woman to miss.
__

I can have a speeding motorbike
in my half dreams and wake up
half asleep twice as fast.
__

You don't know ideology that easy,
well it's really difficult to see,
what hasn't been is only fleeting
and what has fled has had to be...
__

cryptically associated notes

that which is
that which was
that which is now
___

what is
what it is
it becoming
___

for every energy exchange
there is loss and gain
and also information
___

why is a path a point?
a point is a node where many paths intersect
every possible path leads away from a node

the purpose of a node being to connect nodes
is there a node without paths?
if so, does the node disappear?

when a node disappears, where does it go?
do all paths point to the node itself?
__

since energy is a function of time
it cannot be that the first time energy is 'used'
(out of the total possible energies)
does not affect the outcome of future energy exchanges

what is needed?

that the least amount of energy is 'expended'
to 'do' as much as possible
whenever energy is 'expended' by one 'thing',
it is 'gained' by 'another'
__

I am quoting here, forgot who, but I know you.

"God is everything we are not at the present"
__

even imaginary powers are real
__

love can never reach the untouchable

these memories unfold so quickly
and always go unnoticed
like a blossoming lotus
merely crowded by insects, maintaining
some intimate balance

we are not aware of at the present
how things can be forgotten
even when exuding rotten stench
can represent the many ways a thing can die
and never be wanted again

it's true that we are famished
poisoned by this nectar,
and haunted by the spectre
which never truly vanished,
but only changed in form

the scarlet worm you may have stepped on
and shall never recollect
may be the reason why the earth is so shallow
and why it can reflect
a certain sense of idiocy, in following

these misguided souls through harrowing,
rushing to disconnect
self interest and why heads can be so hollow
without meaning disrespect,
indeed they may have fallen prey to the sole

I wrote this a few weeks ago; forgot to realise it belongs here. These are highly opinionated thoughts, many assertions lacking evidence, so beware.
____

What is questioning? Mere sounds?
Like answering, the same things?
If everything, along with time, rewound
and prolonged the rhyme of sounds
what would become of now?
____

Drugs can't abuse society if used responsibly.

My argument is that it is unnecessary to regulate suicide. If mass deaths occur due to the legalisation of drugs, it will most likely change society's perception of drugs in such a way that deaths would significantly drop, not by government regulation, but by individual's decisions.

In the long run, the death rate would most likely vary on other factors, such as the condition of the world economy.

It needs to be accepted that there are people in this world who are a danger to themselves and they should exercise the right to end that danger in any way, as it would be beneficial to society.

People who commit suicide should not attempt to be saved, even by family members. This fundamental principle should be understood.

In the case where an individual under the influence is responsible for an accident, it is obvious that if alcohol, a drug which could SEVERELY impair motor skills, can be legal, any other drug can.

What is important is to EDUCATE people about drugs and their effects instead of LYING to them and SCARING them into believing FALSEHOODS. INFORMED people make GOOD decisions. INFORMED parents make RESPONSIBLE children.

1st Ponderances on Modeling Brain Function

Again, these thoughts should not be taken seriously.
___

Intro

How would one begin to simulate brain function?
First, one would need to have an understanding of the anatomical complexity of the nervous system. Historically there have been many approaches to modeling brain function, so I figure why not take a shot with some of my own ideas?

Off the top of my head I can think of two predictable ways to begin modeling brain function.

Immediately I think of abstracting the neuron to the form of an electrical circuit. However, I cannot accept this because I suspect that classical electromagnetic theory is (and I hope I can say that without expecting criticism)rather outdated to be describing the central nervous system.

The question of multiparticle and multimolecular systems is a matter of QED. This paper will ultimately delve into the simulation of quantum systems using real Hilbert spaces and subsequent applications to biological systems.

But first I want to play with language and invent a few words...

Boundary Conditions

How is the brainstate of a person throughout their life determined?
One would first have to set the boundary conditions of 'brainstate', 'person', 'life' and 'determined'.
The boundary conditions of 'brainstate' are embedded within those of 'person', and 'person' within those of 'life'.

The boundary conditions of life itself, the brodest of all relevant categories, give hints as to the methodology behind determining boundary conditions in general. However, let us directly address the boundary conditions of 'brainstate' first; these are the physical conditions necessary for a 'brainstate' to exist, i.e. a specific range of temperatures, among many other conditions, which hopefully will later on be generalized accurately.
For now, a 'brainstate' is exists only within a range of energy states.

The boundary conditions of 'determined' are past perfect of 'to determine', which is strictly within the boundary conditions of anything that determines i.e. thinking beings, the best example: people.

To determine the boundary conditions of 'determining', a person must determine the brainstate of a person determining...TBC.

Free Will, Determinism

Notice that reasons are explanations WHY someone would make a choice, NOT the choices themselves. Someone cannot consider reasons until they choose what they're considering reasons for. The reality is that we make decisions until after we consider a set of reasons WHY we would make a certain decision we have told ourselves to make PRIOR to considering the set of reasons WHY.

^^^That process in itself IS a deterministic process. Find me a human being who makes decisions otherwise. (Obviously there exists one exception where one does not even consider WHY and impulsively acts upon a decision.)

Dated Beliefs

Success is about happiness. Happiness is about love. Love is about courage. Courage is about passion. Passion is about Will.

Will is subject to self. Self is subject to life. Life is subject to Nature. Nature is subject to nothing.

Nature is the source of success, happiness, love, courage, passion, will, and self.

To succeed I must be happy and to be happy I must succeed.
To be happy I must love and to love I must be happy.
To be loved I must love and to love I must be brave.
To be brave I must have passion and to be passionate I must love.
To be passionate I must will myself to be so, but to will myself I must first be.
To be I must live and if I must live, I must live in peace.
To live in peace we must all protect Nature as if we loved her.

To live in peace there cannot be any governments, police, prisons, criminals, war, weapons, soldiers, or the existence of any society which condones the use of violence by any means or ends.
To achieve this, humans must learn to understand each other under any and every circumstance.
When humans truly understand each other, they can trust and love one another.
Even when humans are highly dissimilar in their preferences, they can know how to respect and be good to each other.

I think that there is a way to help humans understand each other.
The solution is to help humans understand each other at a faster rate.
This rate can be measured experimentally.

I believe that to help humans understand each other at a faster rate they must speak a common language. That is not to say that all humans should know only one language. Humans are capable of learning and using language fluently.

I don't believe it's necessary to create a new global language in order for humans to better understand each other, rather, I believe it's necessary to unite humanity under one common method. Historically, people who have thought this have often failed in their attempts. The fact is, they failed because they were wrong in their methods. Presently, no one has yet proposed the right method. I think this is related to the structure of language, the psychology of people, and the fundamental principles which govern these.

Historically, knowledge of fundamental principles has increased our understanding of Nature. This knowledge has been applied to many practical ventures, which have affected Earth both positively and negatively. Most think it is unlikely that humans will ever understand Nature completely. I cannot agree or disagree with this belief because no one can explain why it is true with absolute certainty. What is true, however, is that for as long as humans exist, humans will be able to understand Nature.
What is likely is that over time, Homo sapiens sapiens will evolve into another species. This will only be possible if Homo sapiens sapiens does not become extinct.

The extinction of Homo sapiens sapiens may be caused by a number of events.
One inevitable cause that is not an event is entropy. (Entropy is related to fundamental principles)
Most inevitable of all are unpredictable cosmic events. (Attesting to the limits of our knowledge)
Another inevitable event is related to the age of the Sun. (Though let it be noted that even an event such as the sun expanding in size will not necessarily lead to the extinction of Homo sapiens sapiens)
Next, there are many events which are not inevitable, a war, for example. Events which may lead to human extinction and which are within the grasp of human power can be avoided using knowledge of fundamental principles. I believe that if each individual chose to accept knowledge of fundamental principles as truth, all individuals will be able to cooperate most effectively to most efficiently produce practical solutions to real problems. Most believe it is impossible for every individual to accept this knowledge as truth, arguing that most common people are not able to understand this knowledge. I believe the latter argument is true, but it does not necessarily imply that achieving the former is impossible.

I believe it is possible to convince people of fundamental principles without the use of jargon or mathematics. A new generation of scientists interested in educating common people about fundamental principles has emerged in the recent years. Though many valuable attempts have had their impact, people exposed to this knowledge often appreciate the facts only for the moment without actually applying their new knowledge to life. Since entropy is inevitable and memory is fallible, people will often forget the valuable lessons they learn and continue valuing their own knowledge base in favor. I believe this is a psychological phenomenon which can be studied. Furthermore, I believe this exact phenomenon is the psychological cause of ignorance. Would it be rash to label ignorance as the cause of misunderstanding between people? If not, it should also be acceptable to label ignorance as a major obstacle if understanding between all people is the goal. I believe that the removal of ignorance from human behavior is necessary to achieve understanding and peace. Furthermore, I believe that it is possible to remove ignorance from human behavior by addressing its cause. To address the cause, it must first be categorized.

I postulate that the cause of ignorance, in any situation, is attributed to a pattern of neurological events.
This pattern of events should be consistent in every instance of ignorance and can be measured experimentally. Furthermore, I postulate that it is possible to temporarily remove ignorance from an individual's behavior by some factor. This would be made possible by means of some educational method which is non-marginalizing, simple, and easy to teach and understand. The nature of this method will allow it to be translated into many languages, and if true to its nature, will over time effectively remove ignorance from human behavior, engendering peace and understanding.

Old and Highly Underdeveloped Thoughts on Language

This by no means should be taken seriously. It has been posted to facilitate comparison of ideas and future editing.
___

Today I invested a few hours of work into an old and new theory.
My initial intention was to "Give everyone the same power of understanding".
By what means?
My first guess was a human language framework (HLF) which can be taught to people. This framework unifies all human intuition in three language realms: common language, computer language and mathematical language.
I began to work based on this intention, but found that:
You can classify experience by examining the components of sensory experience. Human sensory experience (HSE) has 5 components. These are sight, smell, taste, touch and sound.
In life, we don’t actually compute what a sensory experience will be like AND THEN experience it. Instead, we imagine what that experience will be like before experiencing it. Based upon whatever language we use to conceptualise and subsequently analyse this future sensory experience, we determine whether or not we will allow ourselves to experience this future sensory experience.
From this perspective, I seek to create a language in which the conceptualisation and analysis of any future sensory experience is greatly facilitated, and moreover, greatly aided.
A sensory experience, like “Physics class”, is expressed MOST ACCURATELY as a set of physical parameters computed over a given time interval,
for example:
“My physics class is in the New Physics Building every Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to 10:30 A.M.”, really: “My physics class is in (place) over (time interval)”
NOTE: (Notice how “every Tuesday and Thursday” doesn’t matter. The fact is that “physics class” takes place somewhere for a certain amount of time.)’
This may leave you thinking: “Well, all I know about Jorge’s physics class is where it takes place and for how long…what I really want to know is what’s ACTUALLY HAPPENNING in Jorge’s physic s class IF I WERE IN IT.”
If, by chance, this is what you really want to know, then you’re in trouble. Thankfully, I am attempting to create a language to aid you in this time of need. Let us continue; now introducing the concepts of quality, quantity, case and event.
There exists a quantitative explanation for every physical case.
Every physical case is a set of physical parameters computed for a given time interval.
Hence, the quantitative explanation for a physical case can be expressed as Pt{ } = a set of physical parameters computed for a given time interval.
Further, there exists a qualitative explanation for every physical case WHICH AVOIDS THE MATHEMATICAL RIGOR OF DEFINING AND COMPUTING PARAMETER VALUES FOR Pt{ }.
For argument, we ask:
“Pt{ } = Physics class?”
The answer to this question, intuitively, will be the space between the brackets of Pt{ }.
Immediately we notice Pt{ } has empty arguments. In other words, we are lacking a set of variables to insert between the brackets of Pt{ }. To determine which set of variables will correctly answer the question, we need to understand the notation Pt{ }.
In Pt{ }, t simply denotes that Pt{ } must be computed over a given time interval.
For argument, we ask:
“What is Pt{ }? = What is physics class?”
1) I argue:
Physical parameterization of “physics class” will result in a quantitative explanation of “physics class”. Furthermore, this parameterization gives us a VERY ACCURATE set of event probabilities IN THE CONTEXT OF “PHYSICS CLASS”. Let us attempt to qualitatively express knowledge about said context by saying: “Physics class lasts 2 hours.”
2) I argue:
Pt{“Physics class”} = P2{ }PHYSICS CLASS
Let us now reintroduce the concept of space which, inevitably, is embedded within the physical parameters of “physics class”.
3) I argue:
“Physics class” = P2{x,y,z }PHYSICS CLASS
Now I can say:
“P2{x,y,z }PHYSICS CLASS is the symbolic expression of a set of physical parameters with arguments {x,y,z} computed over a time interval of 2 hours.”
There is still an intuitive disconnect in the argument:
P2{x,y,z }PHYSICS CLASS = “physics class”.
This is because we have not computed values for x, y and z.
The disconnect persists even given an arbitrary set of quantitative values:
P2{0,0,0 }PHYSICS CLASS = “physics class”.
However, from my first argument, we recall that a physical parameterization of “physics class” (which is essentially what we’ve done in expressing “physics class” symbolically) gives us:
“A VERY ACCURATE set of event probabilities IN THE CONTEXT OF “PHYSICS CLASS””
As such, I can say:
P2{x,y,z }PHYSICS CLASS = “A VERY ACCURATE set of event probabilities IN THE CONTEXT OF ‘PHYSICS CLASS’”.
By doing this, I am relating the set P2{x,y,z} PHYSICS CLASS with a set of event probabilities, which I will call E{%}. E{%} is a symbolic expression of the probability of every possible event. Abstractly speaking, it is the most powerful set.
Really, E{%} on its own says “the probability of any possible event happening exists”
Now consider:
If the probability of any possible event happening does not exist, then no possible events exist,meaning no events exist. The fact is: events exist. Further, an event can be qualitatively expressed as: “anything that happens”. As we know, for anything to happen it must be given a place and time for it to happen.
4) I argue:
If E{%} = “the probability of any possible event happening exists”
And “event” = “anything that happens”
Then E{%} = “the probability of any possible ‘anything that happens’ happening exists”
This, of course, is messy and nonsensical. Instead,
E{%} = ”the probability of any event happening”
I hope we agree. Moving on.
We know that the probability of any event happening exists. But what do we know about the probability of any event not happening? There must exist a relationship between the probability of any event happening and any event not happening.
The probability of any event happening
may or may not be dependent upon
The probability of any event not happening.
For my brain’s sake, let us treat any event as a physical case (we know this can be done, since events exist in the same spacetime as physical cases, i.e. The Universe):
The probability of a physical case happening
May or may not be dependent upon
The probability of a physical case not happening.
Let us now reintroduce the physical case that is “physics class”:
The probability of “physics class” happening
May or may not be dependent upon
The probability of “physics class” not happening.
Immediately we see that “The probability of ‘physics class’ happening” is a completely trivial expression. Really, the probability of “physics class” happening depends on how we define “physics class”. For example, if we define “physics class” to be any class in which physics is taught, then “physics class” is happening across world at all times. On the contrary, though likewise, if we define “physics class” to be my “physics class”, then “physics class” is “in the New Physics Building every Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to 10:30 A.M”. Suddenly, it all starts to make sense, but to feel good about claiming that this is all starting to make sense, let me ask some questions:
P2{x,y,z }PHYSICS CLASS = “in the New Physics Building every Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to 10:30 A.M”?
We know from arithmetic and dimensional analysis that 10:30 A.M. (minus) 8:30 A.M. = 2
Also, by the same principle of argument (2):
P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS = P2{“Physics class”}
5) I argue:
{x,y,z} = {“Physics class”}
NOTE:(But how to convince you?)
Well,
P2{“Physics class”} = “Physics class happening for two hours”
{“Physics class”} = “Physics class happening” = {x,y,z}
NOTE:(What we notice is that solutions to the set of arguments {x,y,z} result in quantitative explanations of what is happening , but what we want is a single qualitative explanation).
Let us try using E{%}, the most powerful set in our language to aid us in this conundrum:
E{%} = “the probability of any event happening”
but furthermore,
the probability of any event happening
may or may not be dependent upon
the probability of any event not happening.
--
E{ P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS%} = “the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS happening”.
but furthermore,
the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS happening
may or may not be dependent upon
the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS not happening.
Since P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS = “in the New Physics Building every Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to 10:30 A.M” for a set of arguments {x,y,z}, we can intuitively determine that:
the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS happening
IS NOT dependent upon
the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS not happening,
and thus
the probability of P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS happening
or
E{ P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS%}
Will always equal 1; hence:
E{ P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS%} = 1
If
the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS happening
IS NOT dependent upon
the probability of event P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS not happening.
What we have arrived at an expression :
“E{ P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS%} = 1” iff “not E{ P2{x,y,z}PHYSICS CLASS%} = 0”
Or, more generally:
“E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 1” iff “not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 0” ,
Hence:
“E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 0” iff “not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 1” ? ,
And thus:
“E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} + not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 1”
Now, let us revisit argument 5), which brought us here:
If
{x,y,z} = {“Physics class”}
Then
E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} + not E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} = 1.
Let us translate this into English:
“The probability of event ‘physics class’ happening (+) the probability of event “physics class” not happening (=) 1”
This actually makes sense because it is equivalent to saying:
“The probability of event ‘physics class’ happening (+) the probability of event “physics class” not happening (=) ‘physics class’ happens”
If ‘physics class’ does not happen, then:
“The probability of event ‘physics class’ happening (+) the probability of event “physics class” not happening (=) 0”
And thus:
E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} + not E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} = 0.
But what does it mean for ‘physics class’ to not happen?
It would mean that:
“ My physics class (which) is in the New Physics Building every Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to 10:30 A.M.”
Does not happen. This is obviously not the case because we’ve already determined that
“E{Pt{x,y,z}%}” IS NOT dependent upon “not E{Pt{x,y,z}%}”. However, we must show that both these expressions are true:
E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} + not E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} = 1 = “Physics class” happens
E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} + not E{ P2{“Physics class”}%} = 0 = “Physics class” does not happen
Back to physical parameters:
E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} + not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 1 = {x,y,z} happens
E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} + not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 0 = {x,y,z} does not happen
BUT I INSIST
WHAT IS {x,y,z} WITH RESPECT TO {“Physics class”}?
THIS IS THE TRICK:
TREAT “Physics class” as an event
But
TREAT {“Physics class”} as an object
How does this make sense?
Events happen in real life.
Hence: Events are a function of time
Objects exist in real life, but also exist abstractly.
Hence: Objects are not necessarily functions of time.
By distinguishing “Physics class” from {“Physics class”}, we finally have the power to define parameters for {x,y,z}.
NOTE: (Just for fun, consider event “x, y, z”…what does this mean to you? Absolutely nothing, right?)
We now treat the set of arguments {x,y,z} as an object {x,y,z} in Euclidean space.
The beautiful, beautiful thing about all this is that since object {x,y,z} exists in Euclidean space,
we can treat object {x,y,z} as a vector .
In our new, abstract realm of objects, objects move with respect to each other according to geometric and trigonometric principles (because this is easy for everyone to visualise).
For argument (and also, for thought experiment, and incidentally, for fun):
Consider:
Giraffe<0,0,0>
This is a giraffe with its centre of mass at point (0,0,0) in 3D space. Realise that this fully 3D giraffe is yours to keep. Think deeply. Visualise this giraffe. View it from as many angles as you please. Zoom in and out. (Sadly, the probability that you know what a giraffe looks like from every angle is extremely low…thereby limiting your viewing capabilities…but we will return to this temporary inconvenience later).
As you visualise your giraffe, remember that:
3 lines, all perpendicular to each other and pointing in different directions, intersect at point (0,0,0), the giraffe’s centre of mass.
The fact that we know this giraffe’s centre of mass and where it is in 3D space means that, for all practical purposes, we can treat this giraffe as a point in space.
Hence, this giraffe can be “put” anywhere in 3D space by giving it random arguments
So really, Giraffe<0,0,0> is just Giraffe at point (0,0,0).
Now consider the following:
You have a lapse in memory and totally forget about Giraffe. (Bad, bad person)
Hopefully, you have not forgotten the concept of 3D space itself.
Thankfully you haven’t.
Think of yourself as an object in 3D space. As an object you have no body, but you definitely have a mind. Sadly, your mind as an object in an empty 3D space is limited to “where you can ‘put’ yourself”.
I hope this is where this all ties in:
Your experience as an object is not sensory experience.
As an object in empty 3D space, you can only ‘see’ everything around you, which happens to be the same because your 3D space is empty.
The only reason I am personifying this point-like object in empty 3D as you is to assert that
You can experience ANYTHING in this abstract realm.
But this experience will not be sensory because in this abstract realm you are not human. What makes you human is your ability to see, smell, touch, taste and hear. To a human, experience which is not sensory is boring if even understandable.
Instead of imagining Giraffe, imagine Yourself in the same way you imagined that giraffe.
The problem is evident: what you are imagining is not you.
Notice we are merely visualising objects.
We are not smelling them.
If you’ve already started “moving” objects, then you’re on the right track.
In this abstract realm, we can move objects with respect to each other according to basic geometric and trigonometric principles.
But in a system (realm) of many objects , what happens when objects touch as you’re moving them??????
We now need to define physical parameters!
We need to introduce a physical framework from which we can establish physical cases that apply to all inertial reference frames!!!!!!
The best physical framework that exists for this purpose is the Standard Model. It is a work in progress, but based upon it, I will conclude that
Life is an event
Which is a set of physical parameters over a given time interval
We live until we die in the space-time of our Universe.

In making decisions, use equations
E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} + not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 1 = {x,y,z} happens
E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} + not E{ Pt{x,y,z}%} = 0 = {x,y,z} does not happen
to determine which decision is best.
Our brains have a very hard time computing these
And often we make the wrong decision, but know
There is always a best decision
Whether or not this is evident to you at the time of decision making
Is a question of how well you understand the situation you’re in.
Either way, if we can sense, we can understand.
+Dump{Analysis of human action plus understanding + productivity/efficiency problems in all cases limited to human action}