but i have so much to say.

http://scienceworld.wolfram.com/physics/FourierTransformSpectrometer.html

i will write it goddamn it! sloth-like as i am.  that paper’s gonna blow the whole world apart, but at least right before it does we’ll realize where we went so wrong.  ha welcome to my fairytale world of today it’s named Grandelusia.

We do not know what other purposes life may eventually generate, but creativity offers us our best chance of reaching them. p.414  On the Origin of Stories:  Evolution, Cognition and Fiction


Boyd’s book discusses the idea that evolution doesn’t start with a purpose and work towards it, it is only an intricate system for problem solving, which  relies solely on variation, forever transcending established models.  The purposes (hands that grab, throats that sing n swallow n swallow n sing, etc.), come later, after millions of years.  I wonder what purposes we are working out now, which we don’t even need to find the words for because they will evolve intuitively from our perpetual play.

Whether the ultimate point was preordained and gradually discovered; or created itself out of a vacuum, fashioned itself painstakingly slowly, through trial and error, with endless devotion, until the perfect project occurred, (see notes on Dennet’s cranes vs. skyhooks) – would one be any less meaningful?

I’ve spent a lot of time regretting not having had a focus, like if I had only seen some clear picture of what it was I wanted, I could have arrived so neatly, I could have sifted through experiences and funneled out only those relevant to my goal, I could have saved myself some time, or something.  But looking back this bottom up logic works with individuals too, it was only through all that varied experimenting that the goals even appeared, way after the process had already been set into motion.  On some level it’s just another example of how none of this seems to really need to be talked about (or figured out)…it just happens of its own accord.  I slow it down and try to picture it out of some slowly evolved sense of wanting to feel in control, but the wiring’s all there anyway, whether I chose to participate actively or not.

Actually, I’m lying cause I happen to know that aliens or angels are whispering all of the answers into our ears when we’re sleeping or sleepwalking.  Actually, the black hole gods are just tickling our earlobes with their strangely familiar death-breath, teasing us closer to the bridge we’re gonna fall from, when we realize that the steps just end cause no one found a way to finish it yet.  Actually, if we just pick apart our thinking and reprogram ourselves for immortality then we have it, just as simple as the museum of eterna’s novel…oh what novelty!  To just swim…with.you…with.in…this consciousness…forever… Actually the thing with the museum is you only get to live there if you never get to die, and who would really want to trade in all those little everyday deaths, those fuckingfightingcryingfests, that get you through the day and make the leaves outside glint that much greener.  Actually if we don’t jump off the hamster wheel with all this work and reaction not action and stress than how are we ever gonna have the space to play…without it will our evolution just grind to a halt and hover at mediocre machine?  Actually since when am I in my body at all and not just on the ceiling or spinning somewhere just underneath where the blades of the fan pass nicely over the air like slicing a layer right out from the atmosphere, since when am I not the green leaf if I want to be, since when can anyone tell me where the fuck to be?  Actually, I think I just remembered, what I wanted, if anything, was to make a way to never forget.

notes on Nabokov’s Pale Fire, which i read at work to avoid talking:

p. 39 The little scissors I am holding are
         A dazzling synthesis of sun and star.

p. 40 Space is a swarming in the eyes; and time,
         A singing in the ears.  In this hive I’m
         Locked up.

p. 41 Life is a message scribbled in the dark.  Anonymous.

p. 43 Four hundred thousand times
         The tall clock with the hoarse Westminister chimes
         Has marked our common hour.

p. 52 Iph

p. 54 let a person circulate through you

p. 61 ‘Beyond that orchard through a kind of smoke
         I glimpsed a tall white fountain – and awoke.’

p. 62 But all at once it dawned on me that this
         Was the real point, the contrapuntal theme;
         Just this:  not text, but texture; not the dream
         But topsy turvical coincidence,
         Not flimsy nonsense, but a web of sense.
         Yes!  It sufficed that I in life could find
          Some kind of link-and-bobolink, some kind
          Of correlated pattern in the game,
          Plexed artistry, and something of the same
          Pleasure in it as they who played it found.

p. 63 Making ornaments of accidents and possiblities.

First off, I wanna make a picture of those exact lil synthesis scissors, n second I will work on further ornaments.

dreamed i was rolling around in fennel, and then remembered all of the fennel stalks and feathery branches i would throw into the grass outside of my old apartment, then remembered that the twins were of course one person. the smell of grass is good and i wanna sleep in it. 

going to sigrid sarda’s show at the ‘visceral’ exhibit in kingston tonight with t, who modeled for it.  wanna see t cast in wax, also sarda’s work looks pretty amazing.

(an anagram, and also an amazing video t sent to me n sisters.  also confessed she did play a part in the making of the deer boy in the video below this here blaggle.)

http://youtu.be/Ga0ohgZFVqc

Human consciousness, floating freely in Godel’s Deep, is not in as much trouble as it thinks in its dread of otherness:  only a half second ago, I was Me.  Heaven is only half a second away – in the other direction. 
The User Illusion p. 417

‘the deeper and more emotionally charged our beliefs – the greater the changes we are capable of producing’

well in that case i got enough juice to power a powerplant, i got enough change power to rack up a whole stack ‘a laundry quarters n shit, i gotta watch which direction so wisely, ya know?