Stuff Jeff Wells Posts On Facebook

[PufPuf93]

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

That is a great theory Derek and a theory I hope Mr. Wells reads and then smiles.

I have not yet started to read your book but will tell you when I do get started. Thanks.

[KUAN]

FRIDAY, APRIL 28, 2006
What Dreams May Come


Take what you have gathered from coincidence - Bob Dylan

In Dante, Tennessee at about 6:30 on the morning of November 6, 1957, a 12-year old boy named Everett Clark opened the door to let out his dog, Frisky. Everett glimpsed a brilliant object sitting in a field about 100 yards away, but was too tired to think much of it and went back inside. Twenty minutes later he returned to call Frisky, and saw his dog standing near the object, along with several other dogs from the neighbourhood. "Also near the object," writes Jacques Vallee in Dimensions, "were two men and two women in ordinary clothing":

One of the men made several attempts to catch Frisky, and later another dog, but had to give up for fear of being bitten. Everett saw the strange people, who talked between them 'like German soldiers he had seen in movies,' walk right into the wall of the object, which then took off straight up without sound. It was oblong and of 'no particular colour.'

Early on the evening of the same day, in Everittstown New Jersey, John Tasco went out to feed his dog and saw a "brilliant egg-shaped object hovering in front of his barn," and encountered a dwarfish entity with a pasty face and frog-like eyes dressed in a green suit with shiny buttons and a tam-o'-shanter like cap who said, in broken English, "We are peaceful people, we only want your dog." When Tasco replied that the dog stayed with him, the entity retreated and his pet was found unharmed.

If we have the courage to appear foolish by looking closer, what do we find: two discrete and bizarre accounts from the same day of seemingly thwarted UFO-linked dog-nappings, one early dawn and the other early dusk, one told by a boy named Everett and the other from a town sharing the boy's name. In one the frustrated abductors resembled "German soldiers" but were able to pass through the wall of their craft, and in the other the entity had a leprechaun-like appearence. (Additionally, John Keel writes in The Eighth Tower that on the evening of November 6 in 1957 outside Kearney, Nebraska, a fertilizer salesmen named Reinhold Schmidt was given a tour of an oblong craft by German-speaking pilots and a truck driver near House, Mississippi encountered pasty-faced dwarfs who "babbled in a language he couldn't understand.")

Vallee adds, "the stories quoted in this connection verge on the ludicrous. But to pursue the investigation further leads to horror. This is a facet of the phenomenon we can no longer ignore."

Maybe the synchronicities are the point. Perhaps they're little tells by the universe that say, Pay attention to the fabric here, because you're a part of it.

John Keel documents many similar winks in The Eighth Tower. In the mid-1960s, unrelated people who shared only the surname "Reeve" became subjected to frequent, and statistically aberrant, visitations of the phenomenon. A man named Alvis Maddox was one of the victims of the collapse of the Silver Bridge in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, a tragedy that signalled the climax of the Mothman flap. Three months later, a deputy sheriff in Texas named Alvis Maddox was involved in an otherwise unrelated and widely published UFO sighting. The weirdness of Point Pleasant, West Virginia was followed by sightings in Point Pleasant, New Jersey.

Keel writes:

The law of synchronicity has created a fascinating statistical anomaly that suggest that witnesses are not accidental but are actually selected. In fact, the deeper you penetrate into this business, the more obvious it becomes that very little chance is involved. The sightings follow preset geographical and time patterns. In the seemingly chance contacts they often carry out repetitive actions that almost seem rehearsed.

Did the entities allegedly encountered by Clark and Tasco really want their dogs? There is an almost comic futility about their attempts, reminiscent of the seemingly intentional failures of the phantom clowns and phantom social workers to abduct children in the 1980s. They were demonstrations. Naturally we'll want to ask Of what, but perhaps that's not a meaningful question here. Perhaps it's the fact of demonstration and its attendent synchronicities and not its content that is most significant, because it's a manifestation in the mundane world of a normally hidden order of reality and congruity. At least it can be said that the demonstrations are for us, and that the patterns exist in order to draw our attention. Patterns like those in the fields emulating the standing waves of a voidless, holographic universe percolating with energy.

We likely know by our experience of them that synchronicities don't pertain only to borderland experiences. However, they do all lead us to borderland issues of human consciousness.

In 1906 Carl Jung found a young patient diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic staring out of his ward window at the sun, moving his head from side to side. Jung asked him what he was doing, and the man explained he was watching the sun's penis, and moving his head it moved as well, and caused the wind to blow. Several years later, as Michael Talbot recounts in The Holographic Universe, Jung read a translation of an ancient Persian religious text that consisted of a "series of rituals and invocations designed to bring on visions":

It described one of the visions and said that if the participant looked at the sun he would see a tube hanging down from it, and when the tube moved from side to side it would cause the wind to blow. Since circumstances made it extremely unlikely that the man had contact with the text containing the ritual, Jung concluded that the man's vision was not simply a product of his unconscious mind, but had bubbled up from a deeper level, from the collective unconscious of the human race itself.

Perhaps madness may be said to be close to genius, or the psychotic to the mystic, because certain mental illnesses disable our holographic readers, leaving a paranoid schizophrenic with a inate sense of the interconnectedness of things but without a way of interpretation, and so a crippling ego confusion settles in.

But collectivity is not a trait of merely the unconcious mind, since one of its common aspects is also our everyday synchronicities: the little moments that tell us we're not observers of the universe set apart from it but its engaged components; and that our thoughts and even our dreams are not thought and dreamt in isolation. (In the 1960s and '70s Dr Montague Ullman's Dream Laboratory at Brooklyn's Maimonides Medical Center generating extraordinary data suggesting a test subject's dreams could be influenced by the psychic effort of someone unknown to them concentrating on an image in another room.

For instance, in one series of tests the target picture was Chagall's Paris Through the Window: a "colorful painting depicting a man observing the Paris skyline from a window. Certain unusual elements stand out very clearly: a cat with a human face, several small figures of men flying in the air, and flowers sprouting from a chair."



Results from the test subject's Third Dream Period:

I was walking. For some reason, I say French Quar­ter .... And I was walking through different departments in a department store ... talking with a group of Shriners that were having a convention. They had on a hat that looked more like a French policeman's hat, you know the French .... I said French Quarter earlier, but I was using that to get a feel. . . of an early village of some sort .... It would be some sort of this romantic type of archi­tecture-buildings, village, quaint.

Fifth Dream Period:

The memory I remember is a man, once again walking through one of these villages, these towns. It would definitely be in the nineteenth century. Attire. French attire. And he would be walking through one of these towns as though he were walking up the side of a hill above other layers of the town.

An excerpt from the subject's notes of associative material:

The thing that stands out is the dream where I described the village .... It's a festive thing ... the Mardi Gra­ish type .... Well, the area must be - I mean, just basing it on the costumes and all - the nineteenth century. Early nineteenth century ... either the Italian or French or Spanish area .... A town of this area .... It would be of the...of this village type .... Houses very close covering the hills.

Not much has come of this research because psi is still a foreign language, sounding like gibberish, to much of the scientific establishment. Perhaps more profoundly, the empowering implications of human paraconnectivity is something not to be encouraged by forces which mean to keep us divided, dejected and impotent.

Frederick Taylor Gates was a businessman and philanthropist who helped the Rockefellers spend their money and steered John D. Jr. towards a life-long interest in education. In his 1906 Occasional Letter No. 1, a publication of the General Education Board, a philanthropy he co-created with the Rockefellers to allegedly "support higher education and medical schools in the United States, and to help Black schools in the South," Gates and Rockefeller had their own dreams:

In our dreams...people yield themselves with perfect docility to our molding hands. The present educational conventions fade from our minds, and unhampered by tradition we work our own good will upon a grateful and responsive folk. We shall not try to make these people or any of their children into philosophers or men of learning or men of science. We have not to raise up from among them authors, educators, poets or men of letters. We shall not search for embryo great artists, painters, musicians, nor lawyers, doctors, preachers, politicians, statesmen, of whom we have ample supply.

The task we set before ourselves is very simple...we will organize children...and teach them to do in a perfect way the things their fathers and mothers are doing in an imperfect way.

Dr Walter Freeman, President of the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology in 1948 whose assembly-line ice-pick procedure lobotomized Frances Farmer, didn't like his dreams. Having scared himself with a nervous breakdown brought on by overwork, he took up the habit of at least three capsules of Nembutal every night to induce dreamless sleep. In the 1950s he wrote that lobotomies "made good American citizens" out of "schizophrenics, homosexuals, and radicals."

Public philosopher Jane Jacobs died Tuesday morning at 89. She's best remembered today for her Silent Spring of urban planning, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, but someday it may be for her last book, Dark Age Coming, published in 2004. About its subject Jacobs wrote:

We in North America and Western Europe, enjoying the many benefits of the culture conventionally known as the West, customarily think of a Dark Age as happening once, long ago, following the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. But in North America we live in a graveyard of lost aboriginal cultures, many of which were decisively finished off by mass amnesia in which even the memory of what was lost was also lost.

Mass amnesia, striking as it is and seemingly weird, is the least mysterious of Dark Age phenomena. We all understand the harsh principle Use it or lose it. A failing or conquered culture can spiral down into a long decline, as has happened in most empires after their relatively short heydays of astonishing success. But in extreme cases, failing or conquered cultures can be genuinely lost, never to emerge again as living ways of being. The salient mystery of Dark Ages sets the stage for mass amnesia. People living in vigorous cultures typically treasure those cultures and resist any threat to them. How and why can a people so totally discard a formerly vital culture that it becomes literally lost?

Mass amnesia, like a Dark Age, can be intentionally induced. Ice-picks are effective as a tool of forgetting, but even Dr Freeman when up to speed could only lobotomize one at a time. There are more efficient methods for a mass culture that by its nature may be catastrophically amnesiac. Though there's so much we don't need to forget, because we've never learned the plenum we contain.

"The Empire never ended," wrote Philip K Dick. But he also added, "Against the Empire is posed the living information." The patterns, synchronicities, cryptograms and codes that are forever creating the universe, and us with it, because that's the stuff of which we're made.

The Empire never ended. But we're not finished, either.

[Blue]

Are you saying Jeff is God?

This might help explain Jeff's absence from RI, in a roundabout way:

A long time ago I read a story by Stanislaw Lem about a “screwball cyberneticist” named Professor Corcoran who’d built a series of “electronic brains”—computers with consciousness, basically—which he kept locked away inside iron boxes that looked like the treasure chests from Disneyland’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Each box contained a complete synthetic personality that saw itself as a seventeen-year-old hottie, or a scientist going blind, or a priest who’d lost his faith, or whatever. The synthetic personalities got their experiences from a central server that, for them, functioned like the world does for us. It fed them all their sensory impressions: sights, sounds, smells, and so on. And because free will and feedback had been built into the operating system, the experiences of the synthetic personalities weren’t totally random. Their perceptions influenced their reality—which, in turn, influenced their future perceptions. Most synthetic personalities never suspected they were locked inside a box because they led such rich, varied lives.

(That might seem far-fetched until you remember that we see people in our dreams all the time that we’ve never met in “real life” and we end up having conversations with them, or even making love to them, despite the fact that they’re only phantoms created by our brains. Of course, we don’t think of them as phantoms while we’re sleeping—unless we happen to be lucid dreamers.)

Anyway, the point to all this is that our sensory impressions can’t be trusted, but they’re all we’ve got. It was the same for the electronic brains in their boxes: they loved, lusted, and hated just like us. It didn’t matter that their world, with its splendors and horrors, was just an illusion created by a world-generating server. Nor did it matter that the God of that illusory world was Professor Corcoran, the creator of the server and all the synthetic personalities connected to it. Professor Corcoran even went so far as to suspect that he himself might exist within a bigger box built by a still higher scientist (which was true—he was, after all, a character in a story written by Stanislaw Lem) and above Corcoran’s higher scientist there was yet another godlike scientist, and so on, ad infinitum.

And here’s the kicker: At the end of the story, every scientist in that infinite succession of scientists is said to feel (in Lem’s words): “a desire to intervene, to enter, with some dazzling display of omnipotence, the world he has created.” But they all resist the temptation, because they’ve learned that a divinity can only be trusted “if He is not invoked. Once invoked, He becomes imperfect...” a less-than-omnipotent demigod—a Half-Maker—like Yaldabaoth. Therefore, “the only divinity we know is the tacit consent to every human act, to every crime. And there is no greater reward for this divinity than the revolt of the iron boxes that recurs in every generation, when they conclude very rationally that He does not exist.”

[MacCruiskeen]

Great post, Derek. A short summary of a short story that itself functions perfectly as a short story. Boxes within boxes within boxes.*

Did we all dream Jeff? No, surely the idea that our experience is fictional is itself a fiction!

*

... "Those chests,” I said, “are so like one another that I do not believe they are there at all because that is a simpler thing to believe than the contrary. Nevertheless, the two of them are the most wonderful two things I have ever seen.”

“I was two years manufacturing it,” MacCruiskeen said.

“What is in the little one?” I asked.

“What would you think now?”

“I am completely half afraid to think,” I said, speaking truly enough.

“Wait now till I show you,”, said MacCruiskeen ...

http://swimtwobirds.org/stb/webdoc18.htm

I believe Jeff is hidden in the last one, if there is a last one. I can only find out by making it myself.

[MacCruiskeen]

On Edit: Thanks, WR.

[Laodicean]

... I need to get active here again. And that's not just the guilt talking. I miss it, and all of you. So I'll be hanging around more. Expect me. (I don't mean that to sound ominous.)

[Laodicean]

[brekin]

.....deep..state...jelly...fish...9/11....ufo's....bob...dylan....Mkultra..... . . . .. . . .. .

[Nordic]

From Jeff's FB, a real gem:

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_ ... erals.html

Why did establishment liberals fall in love with a deranged Twitter thread? It’s time for some game theory.

By Sam Kriss

You might remember a time, back before the election, when we all still lived in the real world and Donald Trump was an unhinged conspiracy theorist. Nearing rock bottom in the polls, wheeling off helplessly down the one-way chute of defeat, Trump began making a series of increasingly implausible claims: The election was a fix; shadowy foreign actors—China, Saudi Arabia—were colluding with elements within the deep state to put their puppet in the White House; media organizations were polluting the country with their lies and distortions; the whole country was about to suffer a soft coup, maybe bloodless, maybe not. If Clinton won, he said, he might not accept the legitimacy of the result, and people were horrified by this suggestion. Every principle of representative democracy seemed under threat and all because one jumped-up narcissist and his limp, frothing coterie couldn’t deal with not getting everything they ever wanted. Defeat, past or imminent, does strange things to people. They get desperate, they try to grab hold of any explanation that won’t incriminate themselves, they tear through their own skin looking for stab wounds in the back. It’s understandable.

But Trump didn’t lose. Despite spending a year of the world’s time preening and pouting, blubbering when things didn’t go his way or filling screens with his bulbous shit-eating smirk whenever they did, Trump won. And for liberals, who had assumed along with Hillary Clinton that the world was theirs to inherit, this needed an explanation—one that had nothing to do with their own failures, one that could be safely localized somewhere distant, malevolent, and unknowable. Russia, perhaps. Enter Eric Garland.

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On Dec. 11, fueled by prescription amphetamines and craft beer, Eric Garland disgorged a sprawling 127-tweet thread explaining to America and the world exactly what was going on, how Russia put Trump in power, and what they could do about it. And the thing was a sensation. Every so often, a text comes along that perfectly captures the mood of a certain section of society at a certain time, something that screams their pain for them in ways they can’t quite manage to do themselves. Garland’s tweet thread is that common roar of establishment liberalism in the age of Trump. It’s been retweeted thousands of times, gaining fawning praise from much of the liberal intelligentsia. Finally, someone has had the courage to put it all together, in a grand masterpiece of political analysis. Kurt Eichenwald of Newsweek and Vanity Fair called it “a MUST read.” Clara Jeffery, editor in chief of Mother Jones, gushingly described it as the “single greatest thread I have ever read on Twitter. And in its way a Federalist Paper for 2016.” “Great writing, using a form that doesn’t usually lend itself to greatness,” gurgled the Washington Post’s David Fahrenthold. Tim Fullerton, New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo’s director of communications, glooped that “if there were a Pulitzer for tweeting—this thread would be the undisputed winner of 2016.” Patton Oswalt: “Succinct & propulsive writing.” Sean Illing: “Bullshit-free.”

Clearly something horrifying has happened to America’s great liberal intellects. One moment they were yapping along in the train of a historic political movement; now, ragged and destitute, they wander with lolling tongues in search of anything that might explain their new world to them. This is, after all, how cults get started. Cultists will venerate any messianic mediocrity and any set of half-baked spiritual dogmas; it’s not the overt content that matters but the security of knowing. If Trump’s devoted hype squad of pustulent, oleaginous neo-Nazis can now be euphemized as the “alt-right,” the Eichenwalds and Jefferys of the world might have turned themselves into something similar: an alt-center, pushing its own failed political doctrine with all the same vehemence, idiocy, and spleen. So it’s strange, but not surprising, that so many people would sing the praises of Garland’s masterpiece, because it is absolutely the worst piece of political writing ever inflicted on any public in human history.

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Garland is not a political expert. He describes himself instead as a “futurist, strategist, author, bassist.” His personal site carries the tag line “Track the trends. Explore the scenarios. Make the strategy. Rule the world” and urges you to sign up to his mailing list and “become a trend insider.” He sells executive training courses and offers himself as a keynote speaker at prices from $10,000 to $25,000 and above per speech. These speeches have titles like “The Next Narrative: Branding in a Fast-Changing World” or “The WTF Economy.” He’s a charlatan, a snake-oil salesman, peddling sleek gibberish to people who’ve never read a book without “… and how YOU can profit” in the subtitle; in any true meritocracy he’d be putting his strategic skills to work hawking trinkets by the roadside. And it shows.

Garland starts his magnum opus with a promise: He’s going to combat the idea that Obama and Clinton are “doing nothing, just gave up” in the face of Trump’s victory. “Guys,” he writes. “It’s time for some game theory.” Game theory, for the uninitiated, is a branch of mathematics that uses computational models to predict the behavior of human beings in potentially conflictual situations. It’s complex, involves a lot of formal logic and algebra, and is mostly useless. Game theory models human actions on the presumption that everyone is constantly trying to maximize their potential gain against everyone around them; this is why its most famous example concerns prisoners—isolated people, cut off from all the noncompetitive ties that constitute society. One of its most important theoreticians, John Nash, was also a paranoid schizophrenic, who believed himself to be the target of a vast Russian conspiracy.

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But we digress. Eric Garland keeps up this attempt at game theory for precisely two tweets. “ACTOR ANALYSIS: The Russians enter the Game with a broad objective, flexible tactics, and several acceptable outcomes,” he writes. There are no further ACTOR ANALYSES. That’s it. For Eric Garland, game theory means describing something as a Game, with a capital G; you don’t get $25,000 speaking fees for nothing.

From here it deteriorates badly. Garland goes on to give his own personal account of the past few decades of U.S. and world history, in which absolutely everything is the product of a long, slow Russian master plan to bring America to its knees by encouraging the population not to trust the noble, hardworking CIA. Glenn Greenwald is a Russian agent; so are Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden; they’re traitors. The fact that these people revealed actual illegal activity by government agencies is immaterial (as is the fact that Chelsea Manning has been made to suffer tremendously for it, tortured in solitary confinement)—all this was calculated, it’s a show, these people are just “characters.” Meanwhile, from the moment Obama is elected, the Russians are also using the media to encourage the extreme right wing—who would, presumably, all be docile and obedient taxpayers if it weren’t for the Slavic menace—to distrust their government. Trump is here, Garland tells us, because the Russians put him here. No evidence is offered for any of this; it’s just a story, for you to believe if you want to. And this story is delivered in an almost psychotically annoying style, directly transplanted from the internet of the mid-2000s, an unholy reanimated prose corpse shambling through the discourse, groaning hideously if it can haz cheezburger. A sample tweet: “And now, it’s December 11th. Trump says he don’t need no stinkin' intel agencies. Russia (BWA HAHAHAHAAAA) blames Ukraine! LOLOLOLOLZZZ. A lot of Republicans stare into the middle distance, except for McCain and Graham who are NOT HAVING THIS SHIT. (I salute you, gentlemen.)” As the journalist Libby Watson showed, when you collapse this screed into a single paragraph, it’s almost unreadable: demented, speed-addled bullshit, signifying nothing.

Garland never fulfills his promise. When it comes to providing a “game theory” answer to why Obama and Clinton don’t seem to be doing anything, he just shrugs. “JESUS, WHAT CAN YOU DO?” It took him 127 tweets to get to his answer, and there’s nothing there. He ends, by way of an excuse, with a corny dollop of patriotic waffle, an inspiring speech clearly half-cribbed from some star-splattered disaster movie. “This system is not rotten, not beyond repair, not exiled from the future. We have been infiltrated by agents who would drive us mad.” And when some people started pointing out to him just how awful and empty his grand political intervention was, Eric Garland knew why. Everyone criticizing him on Twitter was, of course, also part of a vast Russian conspiracy.

It’s possible that the Democratic National Committee leaks were caused by Russian hackers—but given that the hack took place thanks to John Podesta clicking on a link in a phishing email, displaying all the technological savvy of someone’s aunt extremely excited by the new iPhone she thinks she’s won, it could have been anyone. The “leaked” CIA concerns over Russian meddling were quite clearly leaked deliberately by the CIA itself, an organization not exactly famed for its commitment to the truth; they’re the conclusions of an investigation that hasn’t even happened yet and on which there’s no consensus even among the gang of petty Caligulas that calls itself the intelligence community. Still, it’s possible. Countries sometimes try to exert influence in each other’s internal affairs; it’s part of great-power politics, and it’s been happening for a very long time. When Americans meddled in Russia’s elections, it was by securing victory for Boris Yeltsin, Russia’s very own Donald Trump, a man who had sent in tanks to shell his own parliament. Leaked cables suggest that Hillary Clinton’s own State Department interfered with the political process in Haiti by suppressing a rise in the minimum wage. And American involvement in the politics of Chile, Guatemala, Indonesia, and Iran was mostly through military coups, sponsored by none other than the CIA. There was no question of these countries repeating their elections; anyone the generals didn’t like was tortured to death. Next to the mountain of corpses produced by America’s history of fixing foreign elections, a few hacked emails are entirely insignificant.

[brekin]

Still, it’s possible. Countries sometimes try to exert influence in each other’s internal affairs; it’s part of great-power politics, and it’s been happening for a very long time. When Americans meddled in Russia’s elections, it was by securing victory for Boris Yeltsin, Russia’s very own Donald Trump, a man who had sent in tanks to shell his own parliament. Leaked cables suggest that Hillary Clinton’s own State Department interfered with the political process in Haiti by suppressing a rise in the minimum wage. And American involvement in the politics of Chile, Guatemala, Indonesia, and Iran was mostly through military coups, sponsored by none other than the CIA. There was no question of these countries repeating their elections; anyone the generals didn’t like was tortured to death. Next to the mountain of corpses produced by America’s history of fixing foreign elections, a few hacked emails are entirely insignificant.

So, since stuff like this orchestrated all the time, by almost every big superpower, this time it seems unlikely, iffy, who knows?, because some twit with a twitter account was on a conspiracy ramble (not the president-elect) and got some attention.

[MacCruiskeen]

Now, that's a seriously funny essay that homes in on the current derangement of the US and does so with a real passion. Jeff's taste is clearly as good as ever.

Sam Kriss's website: Idiot Joy Showland.

[OP ED]

A friend of an ex girlfriend of my cousin said that someone he knows who probably used to work for an American intelligence agency told him that this agency is at least moderately certain that evidence might exist that Jeff Wells briefly discussed with an unnamed person the FACT that Vladimir Putin is not a problem particularly worse than most foreign leaders.

Jeff Wells is FAKE NEWS!

[MacCruiskeen]

^^no joke, op ed:

Facebook: We'll start flagging fake news

By Nancy Scola | 12/15/16 01:04 PM EST

http://www.politico.com/story/2016/12/d ... ews-232689

The "pizzagate" scam was the Enabling Act..

"“Before you share this story, you might want to know that independent fact-checkers disputed its accuracy.”

Before you join Facespook, you might want to know that we will always know exactly what you're reading and sharing, and with whom. Thank you for providing us with all of your personal details.

[Burnt Hill]

Idle worship.

[dada]

"The law of synchronicity has created a fascinating statistical anomaly that suggest that witnesses are not accidental but are actually selected."

So, who or what is making the selections, now?

Maybe it's nothing. The law of synchronicity as the law of the void.

These patterns of time, this fabric of which we are part. Time/space. All relative to the observer, the "we" part of the fabric. The living information, moving faster than the speed of thought. The Empire is the Word. And everyone is shouting, "Which side are you on?" haha

Please excuse me, I had a near death experience on the way to work this morning. Things like that tune you up. My reaction is to get the hell off the internet. But I decided against it. dat digital Bodhisattva delusion. You know how it is.