June 8, 2019

Entangled but not dead





A trained unprofessional non-expert clueless layman asks rhetorically. This. 


What if we parsed time so minutely, so astronomically fine-grained, with the help of advanced instrumentation and cosmic technologies, that our equipment's measurement would render that which we measured cognitively incomprehensible? Such instruments would exist in our large-scale human reality, our realm of sensory experience, as that which we can control and witness through our limited earth-bound senses, but concomitantly, so sophisticated that it would peer into the most microscopic temporal slivers that exceed our comprehension. 

We would experience a technological dichotomy. Instruments which deliver an invisible reality in the language of our accessible and unsophisticated 3-dimensionally-evolved biological senses. The invisible physical reality captured by our instruments, incomprehensible in its raw form, made misleadingly tangible when rendered for our simple engagement. 

But the instruments can only deliver the information payload in everyday human physical language, an unrefined delivery system that is incapable of conveying the infinite obscurity unveiled within the magical quantum scale afforded by the instruments. 

If time were parsed beyond our comprehension, we would be unable to perceive such data because our sense of sight and temporal embrace lacks the resolution to delve as deeply as that tool we designed to view hidden realities. We've constructed tools that allow us to conjure a world beyond our comprehension. It is Godly. 

Time, deconstructed into parcels of itself that we cannot experience... When we beg the equipment to show us one such parcel, merely presents us the unambiguous rendition our senses can handle: there, or here. The infinite range and its spectrum's ladder unseen by our eyes, but seen by the instrument.

Our interpretation does not capture the astronomical sophistication. 

What if our instrument's measurements are cheapened by our limited 3-dimensional perception? The only solution would be to refine our senses to the same calibration as our machines: to experience Experience as gods.  Or machines.

We are defining abstract infinitude in the limited parlance of our 3D world.

July 22, 2017

Frankenstein

test frankenstein is coming back to life >010hark is online >close

May 8, 2011

The Quantum wonder of a post-mortality existence

Alas, freedom is nothing left to lose. Right?
When spoken of in these terms, the preponderant understanding of freedom insinuates someone who possesses nothing, owns nothing, has no one. In this materialistic modernity we breathe, this is how we define “nothing.” Nothing rains externally on our being.

“Nothing to lose” imprints itself in our minds as a state of utter moral and physical destitution where we are not tied to debt or personal attachments or ideals. Truly a “free” soul we think with not an ounce of warmth in our bones. Freedom is frowned upon in a materialistic society. In a cluttered civilization of subhuman narcissism, freedom is the antithesis to responsibility and acculturation.

On the other hand, I would argue that even the filthiest, most abhorrent homeless man is capable of having “something to lose.”

Having something to lose, conversely, has nothing to do with assets or glittery diamonds. Something to lose is a state of mind. It’s an acceptance that co-exists with denial of the self-defined value of that which shallow people grasp vainly for the right of title. If the homeless man values his wretched existence and places external value on it by virtue of his egotistical hungers, then this very filthy existence we vomit at is something to lose for the homeless man. It’s this sense of private and indefinable self-valuation that determines whether the loss of something is accepted or battled.

I thought of this because I frequently use this blog as a podium for anti-consumerist rants, but ultimately, what I’m preaching is different. I didn’t realize until now. The freedom I seek, my betrayal and rebuttal of modern materialist plastic props we worship are really stated simply…those which I can LOSE peacefully. The state of utter abandon in which loss is consummately accepted, is freedom. Acceptance of loss (in its potential form) does not necessarily connote that the loss would have no effect on your soul. Rather, it is the ability, and willingness, to accept loss, to integrate it into your possible outcomes. Similar in structure to all the possibilities that endure in the quantum world of probability waves.

In our world, everything is possible, but like the corresponding overlap of these possibilities with the highest probabilities which unify to create the darkest shaded areas of occurrence, your life of nothing to lose is merely the relinquishment to fate and exaggerated acceptance that the probability wave is its own cruelest master.

Nothing left to lose is not not caring. Nothing left to lose is caring, but calmly accepting as a surplus quotient. And I truly mean accepting.

Not lip service.
Not playing tough guy.
Not being a plastic stoic cowboy living the unflappable fantasy when all is going well in your air conditioned chamber.
It’s about truly living the probability wave, it’s about seeing life’s events (your fucking life) as a culmination of an infinite series of undetectable strati which slowly embroil themselves in a fight to the surface as the rest of your life gyrates uneasily as it parts and gives way to fate. Or loss.

See, nothing left to lose is retracting the fact, the paradigm, that you ever had anything to lose to begin with. It is to renounce fate that never was.

Nothing left to lose is to start anew and recalibrate your expectations, because there are no expectations.
Nothing left to lose is to shed that which led you here. It is to vanquish your footsteps. To erase your legacy, your historical path. It is to truly stand alone, empty, in this spot and to have nothing, then, now, or tomorrow. To lose is to lose yourself in the probability wave. Accept, swallow and step aside as the probability wave flies by in a pitch-black, turbulent, dusty cloud.

The greatest challenge of our mortality is to have lived it.

To have let it pass while moving forward anew in a post-mortality world.
For everything you had to lose is lost. Gone.
Once the past is lost, and all that you were and are and will be, is lost and released, the void and eternal blankness will accept you.

For you have now lost. This is the point when you have nothing left.

October 9, 2010

The art of Random

Tell me.
How random would this be?
I’m walking along the street, headed toward the train station. This section of the city is directly under a busy flight path that directs planes inbound in a Westerly direction toward LAX. Above, a large Qantas 777, arriving from Sydney, slowly descends in a slow lazy arc toward the airport and as I’m walking, one of the engine mounts cracks, sending tons of pulsating engine in a downwards spiral where it reaches terminal velocity as it heads directly at me. Due to the environmentally unremarkable sound of a jet engine I don’t bother looking up. The engine descends rapidly and before I realize what is happening, it crashes loudly and catastrophically into the sidewalk where I’m walking and pulverizes me into nothingness.
On the surface, we might call this a “random” incident.
It might even elicit canned responses and observations such as “he was in the wrong place at the wrong time!”
In the macro sense of natural reality, yes, perhaps it was random.
However, if we were to parse out each stage of this supposed random event, we would see that it was not “random” in the quantum sense. Each minute element composing this disaster unfolded and assembled to create an entirely explicable and measurable incident resulting in my pancaking.
From the faulty engine mounts which were stressed by the weight of the engine and finally fractured (a very real and understandable phenomena) which was brought on by the speed, vibration and altitude of the aircraft, to the wind currents and drag…a million variables joining to rupture the screws and other fastening elements thus resulting in a loss of strength and engine cargo. And also, the other set of variables in this drama: me. The speed with which I was walking to the train station, the route I took, the fact that I was heading into the train station now as opposed to half an hour ago or ten minutes in the future. An infintite multitude of variables, which, summed up and mathematically calculated by a supernatural or Godly genius, might have foretold the exact space/time intersection of non-random, scientifically ordained incidents leading to the the jet engine landing directly on my spot. In this context, the incident was not quite so random, was it? In our large, macro human world, randomness is an illusion. It is a product of many thousands and millions of individual factors igniting at the same moment and flickering into a sense of action we note and assume is random from our broad perspective. Failing to see the minute chain reactions which launched the event to action, which propelled it with quantum momentum, we measure random in terms of events rather than the more elementary nature of random which eludes our conscious comprehension.
It’s said in quantum physics that subatomic particles theoretically can be anywhere in the universe at any time. Quantum reality is populated by probabilities and the sum of these resolves itself in the apparent appearance of the said particle. There is an elemental randomness which is the subatomic precursor to the big and human-sized bouts of randomness we experience or marvel at in our everyday life. The subatomic world baffles our “big” reality which is nothing more than a uncountable assembly of subatomic constituents, each obeying its subatomic laws which are eventually played out in the large macro host they form. The subatomic world, so infinitesimally small that we can say it constitutes a shadow world of our own in which the same laws of nature exist but on such a remarkably and astoundingly elemental level that they are rather unrecognizable to our human-sized perceptions.
A particle’s random chance of turning up anywhere in the universe is the most elemental incident of “random” we can possibly contemplate at this time. Whereas a random engine may fall off a random wing and land on my random figure, the randomness inherent to this situation is only a wild mathematical sum of millions of minute and disparate instances of random occurrences housed together in a large swath of circumstance we call reality. On the subatomic level, random is composed of many less variables, if any, and the chances of a particle landing in another galaxy or in your bedroom are the random dictates of a deeply incomprehensible natural design. “Random” denotes something quite murky at this level, but in some ways, still represents what it does at our human level.
At which level does the subatomic relinquish its strange and unfamiliar reality to our big natural state of existence?
Where is the point of diminishing subatomic returns to be found?
I truly believe the next physicist who can expound and detail mathematically where and when this point is reached in everyday chains of reality will in effect unveil a portal into understanding the pathways that traverse the subatomic world and its macro counterpart. The scientist who can test and map the continuum between the two. The scientist who can demonstrate a testable model which bridges the two worlds will helps us decipher the common thread joining elemental randomness of a subatomic particle’s placement and the rough approximation of a million random building blocks that form an event in which an engine falls form the sky to the place I stand.

September 19, 2010

Untruths

I always wondered about the presupposition that I have an awareness of when I have been lied to.
Isn't the ostensible purpose of lying to shield its disingenuous nature from the lie-ee?

I have no idea if women have lied to me.
I've suspected it.
I suspect I've been lied to by men and women.  I suspect I get lied to all the time despite my purported wonders of perception.
I can live with being lied to.
What annoys me most is the assumption on the part of others that I'm bothered by their misbehavior, which many times they take a twisted sense of pride in.

Are you starving of swollen belly?
Have you ever been?
Have flies ever landed on your eyelids because you had no strength to swat them away?
Utter misery is only known to those who experience it.  Utter pleasure, likewise.
And those who have known only of either lead superficial lives.

September 1, 2010

Inverse of happiness



x: 
Write something happy.
I can't cry anymore
Lana would want to be celebrated, not mourned

me:
Happy feels...empty.

x:
Then sad feels full?  What about your glass half full then, and half empty?

me:
Not sad.
Sad is a simple and shallow inverse measure of happiness.

Hey, reminds me of :

"A frown is a smile turned upside down!"

Beyond sad. 
I'm not sad, I'm...buried in darkness.

x:
then what?

me:
I don't know.
I just know happy and sad don't do it for me.
They are just degrading decor smiling upon this void that impales me.

I run from them but I don't know where I am going.

My glass has water.  Or it doesn't.  


August 30, 2010

Whores and Idiots

She asked me.
What is it like?

She said:
They are just people pretending too.  They can never take of their masks.  I feel sorry for them.  


I responded



Indeed.
But it's a deeper malaise than that.
I can't describe it.
They are so sincere, they don't wear masks.
Their skin is their mask.

So righteous is their self-belief.
That the costume has become the soul.

It's not even acting.
The pretense, like Frankenstein, has found life.