silmarillion

The time will come when the right is time. Forever swip-swapping the words before the brain can correct the already fluid liquiphage.

It started: off to the light-rail, Dad driving for the first time since the hernia operation.

(09:34:05 PM) uberscientist: it was alright, went to the makerfaire, then occupy phoenix, then a party thingy, then slept on a couch at David's, then went to EJs, then came home
(09:34:12 PM) uberscientist: that's the concise way of putting it

Arrived at the Washington exit. Walked towards 3^rd street. Oh, very exact, precise language, no details of feelings or impressions.

I am playing. I am walking, I am.

There David was, also wearing a tie-dye shirt from Lollapalooza, I wore my tie-dye instructables shirt from back when I was gifted items for my contributions to their website.

The Faire was 15 dollars, but I coughed it up anyway, hoping to be supporting something worthwhile and beautiful.

We walked around gazed at various projects and performances. Had awkward interactions with people I've met before, which is always fun.

There were people selling items, like homemade soap and leather laser etched and hand painted wrist bracelets.

The dirt ground. The dust wasn't overwhelming, but when the sunlight was just at the right angle, you could observe all the little particles floating in the air.

A dry, comment airy.

Fire, 3D-Printing, rocks that talked, LED vest displays controlled by FPGA. Heat sync labs table, Maker bench table. FIRE SHOOTING CANNONS.

David and I left with his father, and were dropped off at the occupy phoenix event. There were plenty of people there with signs, occupying. There were people yelling into microphones, people standing in circles parroting another fellow emitting easily transmitted sound bites.

There were rappers, people doing two minute rants on an open mic and PA system.

There was free water.

Free water in bottles.

Water.

David and I ended up making a couple signs, I threw some powerful allusions to some powerful illusory-symbols on one side of my sign and the other said “DOCTERrrr BENWAY – 2012 -”

David's sign was a beautiful troll: “#bieber” and “Disregard women, Print Money #endthefed”.

There were haters.

Hater's gonna hate.

One person knew of Dr. Benway

“It's not good if many more than two people know who Dr.Benway with the plunger is!” and I laughed and loved and it was good.

There was another fellow who asked, and I asked back “Have you read Naked Lunch” and he claimed to, and said “Oh yeahhH!”... I guess that character has a large impact on me, unforgettable.

As soon as Angela was near, we were leaving, it's the way of things. Rode the lightrail back to David's apartment, went to Safeway, got food. Sandwich, Club Vodka Martini and a pack of Camel light 99s.

We sat and at in Safeway, and I snuck some sip-gulps from my little drinky drink.

The sandwich was about 18 inches long, so I only finished about a third of it, and took it along for the ride. We hit is apartment, bounced to a party at his girlfriends house. I ended up trying to change the playlist on the computer for a while, but then I conversed and jibber-jabber a bit here and there I suppose.

Got home, was sloppy-choppy and texted and lazed about, watched some TV that David put on for me, I passed out, woke up at 8. Ate another 3^rd of the sandwich and smoked a cigarette. Then. laid my head back down to rest. Eventually, Tim and Duncan came over and we took a journey to Eric, Matt, Dustin, Shalia and especially Buddha's house.

I took a couple un-offered shots of gin and whisky. I sort of tried watching football, but ended up in Eric's room to watch catroons online instead. A halloween Regular Show and the “Genius” episode of The Wonderful World of Gumball.

Before all that David and I also visited a couple Halloween shops. David got a grey beard in order to complement his goodwill purchase of the ten commandments from The Lord engraved on a plaque.

So much stuff in those stores.

Some team won the game, the other team lost, pay offs were made, fantasy football statistics changed.

Talked about some very important and beautiful recursive stuff with Tim and the rest of the folk. I wish I could remember all the wonderful communications that we had.

It was interesting.

"With you one goes so far away from reality that it is almost necessary to buy a return ticket. I am afraid never to come back here." 

Expletive Deleted

Everyone else was in the woodwork and it was just us left.

Neither of us had much of a preference to being either male or female, and we shifted between genitalia as we shifted in our seats.  He stared into my eyes from across the table, and forms unfolded from his snake tongue into a pile of vaporous creep. It, following it's whimsy on the lustrous surface.  I took my finger and swirled the Word about...
It translates roughly, but it went a somewhat like this:

We split the corpuscle,
With machine and muscle,
A million new names to put our mind in fetters
And yet we don't know how to split Greek letters!

Find the flesh, next, gnaw...

We're trying to climb a ladder that has already hit the top of the vault, the firmament laden with scintillating lights.  I say take your words that you've found, that you we have woven out of this bamboo scaffolding that we stand upon and wrap it around whatever piece of flesh you can find there at the top and send it hurdling to the ground floor.  And when you get tired of that game take a piece of intestine and wrap it around whatever neck you seem to be occupying at the moment and throw yourself towards the bottom of the barrel where all things that truly touch the third nothingness happen.
BUT IN ALL SERIOUSNESS:

At this point in our journey, looking "down" seems to have much more "unexplored" territory from this perspective than "up" (or horizontally? since there isn't any progress just a speeding up of the inevitable).  Up just has higher bandwidth (information over time).

What do I see when I look down? I see different media for our content to be transferred upon.  At the moment we are transferring our content through digital systems, screens and flashing lights.  "What medium is next?" should be our question and answer it we will! Either it will be answered for us and we will be developers on this new medium, in whatever languages arise from the media's conception... or we will develop the medium itself, ergo, the languages that put content into/on the medium and actually SHAPE the future of what will be "possible" to express on the particular medium (unless there's a developer who designs their own language, falling back onto the "prime" of the media and moulding it to dance for his/her brain manifolds).

WHEW...

From my own personal mind-programming, and studies and observations I am able to speak some level of mixed taught reality, subjective and what seems to be harmonious objective stances upon reality. And to think of reality as a medium itself for the un-graspables, such as love, god, green, sweet... where have the languages of reality gone? I can't speak for the rest of humanity, but I can speak for me/we when I ask: Have we abstracted thought far enough away from the prime to have forgotten that there exists a language, a syntax, a protocol of reality?  A relatively stable protocol that remains hidden beneath layers and layers of unstable abstractions? If we think the word "god" can mean so many different things to so many different people, I'd say that language is relatively unstable in comparison to an actual ROCK (a part of a real "god" to so.me) held in hand which (in some cases) conveys the ungraspables known to me as color, hardness, taste, smell...

But this language that exists in the manifolds of our minds.  And that's where I will dance, stumble, twist and break, whether I know it, or can speak it.

Halloween Costume Idea

Terrifying. That's the word I am looking to embody in motion.

Tropic of Capricorn exerpt

I have a friend who talks to me from time to time about the Miracle of Golgotha of which I understand nothing. But I do know something about the miraculous wound which I received, the wound which killed me in the eyes of the world and out of which I was born anew and rebaptized. I know something of the miracle of this wound which I lived and which healed with my death. I tell it as of something long past, but it is with me always. Everything is long past and seemingly invisible, like a constellation which has sunk forever beneath the horizon. What fascinates me is that anything so dead and buried as I was could be resuscitated, and not just once, but innumerable times. And not only that, but each time I faded out I plunged deeper than ever into the void, so that with each resuscitation the miracle becomes greater. And never any stigmata! The man who is reborn is always the same man, more and more himself with each rebirth. He is only shedding his skin each time, and with his skin his sins. The man whom God loves is truly a right living man. The man whom God loves is the onion with a million skins. To shed the first layer is painful beyond words; the next layer is less painful, the next still less, until finally the pain becomes pleasurable, more and more pleasurable, a delight, an ecstasy. And then there is neither pleasure not pain, but simply darkness yielding before the light. And as the darkness falls away the wound comes out of its hiding place: the wound which is man, man's love, is bathed in light. The identity which was lost is recovered. Man walks forth from his open wound, from the grave which he had carried about with him so long. In the tomb which is my memory I see her buried now, the one I loved better than all else, better than the world, better than God, better than my own flesh and blood. I see her festering there in that bloody wound of love, so dose to me that I could not distinguish her from the wound itself. I see her struggling to free herself, to make herself clean of love pain, and with each struggle sinking back again into the wound, mired, suffocated, writhing in blood. I see the terrible look in her eyes, the mute piteous agony, the look of the beast that is trapped. I see her opening her legs for deliverance and each orgasm a groan of anguish. I hear the walls falling, the walls caving in on us and the house going up in flames. I hear them calling us from the street, the summons to work, the summons to arms, but we are nailed to the floor and the rats are biting into us. The grave and womb of love entombing us, the night filling our bowels and the stars shimmering over the black bottomless lake. I lose the memory of words, of her name even which I pronounced like a monomaniac. I forgot what she looked like, what she felt like, what she smelt like, what she fucked like, piercing deeper and deeper into the night of the fathomless cavern. I followed her to the deepest hole of her being, to the charnel house of her soul, to the breath which had not yet expired from her lips. I sought relentlessly for her whose name was not written anywhere, I penetrated to the very altar and found - nothing. I wrapped myself around this hollow shell of nothingness like a serpent with fiery coils; I lay still for six centuries without breathing as world events sieved through to the bottom forming a slimy bed of mucus. I saw the constellations wheeling about the huge hole in the ceiling of the universe: I saw the outer planets and the black star which was to deliver me. I saw the Dragon shaking itself free of dharma and karma, saw the new race of man stewing in the yolk of futurity. I saw through to the last sign and symbol, but I could not read her face. I could see only the eyes shining through, huge, fleshy-like luminous breasts, as though I were swim- ming behind them in the electric effluvia of her incandescent vision. How had she come to expand thus beyond all grip of consciousness? By what monstrous law had she spread herself thus over the face of the world, revealing everything and yet concealing herself? She was hidden in the face of the sun, like the moon in eclipse; she was a mirror which had lost its quicksilver, the mirror which yields both the image and the horror. Looking into the backs of her eyes, into the pulpy translucent flesh, I saw the brain structure of all formations, all relations, all evanescence. I saw the brain within the brain, the endless machine endlessly turning, the word Hope revolving on a spit, roasting, dripping with fat, revolving ceaselessly in the cavity of the third eye. I heard her dreams mumbled in lost tongues, the stifled screams reverberating in minute crevices, the gasps, the groans, the pleasurable sighs, the swish of lashing whips. I heard her call my own name which I had not yet uttered, I heard her curse and shriek with rage. I heard everything magnified a thousand times, like a homunculus imprisoned in the belly organ. I caught the muffled breathing of the world, as if fixed in the very crossroads of sound. Thus we walked and slept and ate together, the Siamese twins whom Love had joined and whom Death alone could separate.

Just great. Now I know that I really don't know what I want.

And there are so many advertisements faking me out.
Ass, titties, big macs, delicious pizza... social interaction being shown to me on sesame street, sit-coms, my little ponies.
The part of ourselves that encodes the "primal chao" or whatever you want to call it, the core of ultra-introspection... lies (verb).
It lies and says the easiest thing to keep the other liars happy. (as well as itself)
IF that makes any sense. I'm not even high.
There's a liar in every head, and its the language user.
I suppose that's why people are interested in nuerolinguistic programming, because it's studying the physiological reactions that are "truthier" than words and logical-rationality (I don't even know what logical-rationality is anymore...)
That's when I start defining logic with terms and it gets dialectical and impossible to say anything true without 300 pages and a flaw in the extrapolation of whatever axioms I've set at the beginning of the treatise >.<
Flawed circular logic and I can't run away from it.

Non-philosophy, Non-euclidean geometry, dada art
The only things that contain truth that isn't being put through the mesh of lies.
Or so I SAY. >.<

I'm hungry.

Thank you lesswrong for rocking my world even harder. Gonna cry now, yay, systems.
http://lesswrong.com/lw/5sk/inferring_our_desires/

Nah, not going to cry. Read some more, and it's like what - how did I let words get past my liar and to my sacred chao?
Feelings of helplessness, unknowing, fear, stagnation.
Sophomoric reversion, bouncing between mature and childish, do I really? What do I even mean, this ramble is nothing but a smear of word-dash on the crimson tide rising... a false-hood-try-hard-wanna-be.
I get attracted to


........................................................................................

Just writing to myself

EDIT: Gonna read this (article on inferring our desires) (I haven't even read it and I am posting a link to it on my blag, wtfak)
So 11 days have passed since I wrote my last post.
I've been getting randomly obsessed with details... and ponies, but now that the season two tension is over, my mind is clearer and I feel free to begin working on something again.
I wrote down some ideas and the technologies that I want to use in order to realize them into the world:
Open source hardware site - I want to make availiable kits in a novel way, maybe something like the baby of woot, etsy, threadless and adafruit.
A new image board written on with node, maybe with web sockets.
Maybe an imgur image favoriting site, there's lots of lulz uploaded there.

anyway, no shortage of ideas, just need to feel like I'm participating in the creation of our world.

I've joined the IRC chats on freenode #node.js, #express, #couchdb
and I hope to document my journey from zero to working simple application, and maybe produce some condensed screencasts of the experience.
I don't really know javascript that well(and therefore any of those other technologies), so it's going to be a challenge.
I need to figure out:
-How to get express + couchdb talking
-How to write in the Jade templating language

I should also mention I am a database noobie as well, I have barely even looked at SQL...
It feels like I am trying to eat an apple in one big bite, and I still have that nagging "why?" at the back of my mind. It's fun to do new interesting things.
I need to set goals I suppose, like "Read a Jade tutorial today" and "Watch all the XYZ screencasts" or whatever...

I suppose I just feel overwhelmed and need a way of breaking things down into bite-sized pieces. It takes a while to grok things, a very long while...