Tuesday, October 18, 2016

In Possession of a Strange Fact

So, I'm trying to read American Sphinx about Thomas Jefferson, Jean Baudrillard's America, The Hacker Manifesto, Europeana by some Czech dude (whose name can't be spelled without impossible keyboard gymnastics, but approximates to Patrik Ourednik) all at the same time and I'm afraid I won't finish before the election, At the same time those damned amyloid plaques are likely invading the rhizome structures in my brain. Oh yeah, I forgot Gilles Deleuze. Fuck!

There are still a few things we all know together. For instance that the Donald not the Duck speaks to us through our bodies somehow and some of us believe him. That would be our ape selves. Meanwhile we have some similar reason not to trust Hillary, not Sir Edmund who wasted his time on mountains, same thing maybe) though there is a slim majority of us which prefers to use our brains and not our bodies for thinking, maybe. That could still implicate the men against the women, given the good hair requirement recently for president.

Meanwhile it is clear that burgeoning technical assistance with things like driving our cars is going to de-skill us to the point of meltdown when somehow collectively we have to take over driving in a moment of inevitable crisis. Like how we are pretty deskilled politically anymore since we don't know how to talk with one another. And some stupid proportion of the supposed genius class in all this actually does believe that the probability is that we actually do live in some form of the Matrix. They have the certainty of Henry Kissinger, and are apparently willing to sacrifice masses in the face of it, quid pro quo or something.

Strange times when the panel of Baptist Bible Bumping illuminati would rather have the Donald represent their causes than one of their pure own because they deem him trustworthy in the driver's seat. These people deploy hermetically sealed rhetoric of a sort which would, if only we could believe it, make talking to one another so much easier if we only truly were machines. Now I don't mind a good psychopath in the bus driver's seat so long as he knows how to drive and has no reason to kill himself, which just isn't true of this guy. I'll even take Mitt back, uncanny valley though he hails from.

I work at a University (so newly called by the gods of wordsmithing which are crowd sourced anymore) which is widely understood to be a last bastion of free speech except that I'm too terrorized to take part in any discussion. It's impossible to call out the supermanager salaries of the deciders, which outside these walls is a legitimate topic for intelligent conversation. The new Union is off the table, even though it's a baby union without any teeth. And if I challenge the high priests of technology in some vain attempt to jump-start necessary conversation I get shouted down faster than a wooly head at a Trump rally. And I actually know a thing or two about it and how it works or doesn't!

Whatever. I get to watch Henry Kissinger on the big screen tonight for the China Town Hall, in which I wasn't invited to participate, or likely even thought of. Amyloids against outrage is working OK for me.

Not so much, though, since I contain this outrageous fact in my so-called Brain, which could bring down the whole House of Freaking Cards, but I can't figure out how to say it out loud and clearly. It's an artifact by now, since I can't conjure it so reliably as once I could.

Like this: At the end of the particulate road there is a mental leap to be made. One accomplishes this in the manner of calculus, where the intervals diminish to the point where your iterative approximation approaches multi-digit precision to the point of being able to shoot the moon, for instance. This is highly distinguished from Zen in the Art of Archery, that method over there which involves letting go of calculation altogether.

Said mental leap is less risky than to suppose we live in the Matrix, for instance, since said geniuses put money in place of their mouths to investigate the wonders of quantum computing and in general one can conceive quantum theory tested and proven. Which provides a whole new way to define simultaneity, which is pretty useful if you ask me,

The speed of light limit which also descended from Einstein made that whole matter problematical, since no signal could exceed the speed of light, and light propagates in something other from a pure vacuum (a superconductive space-time continuum - I seem to love those double "U"s and double "LL"s - from which particles appear and disappear at random). Whatever, right? Who can keep track of it all is the point.

But meanwhile we have instantaneous knowledge of the disposition of self-implicated particles distant in space and therefore time. Quantum entanglement, so-called. And no one wants to name this knowledge. It's called emotional knowledge. Things we know without calculus, for instance.Things felt emotively and not perceived. There is, it seems, a conceptual cosmos just alongside the real one, but it's not the one Plato imagined since it isn't populated by the forms of math. It is as alive and ever-changing as our very own repudiated Earth mother. The relations are not all perceptual, and involved in exchange of particulate matter, in definition of force. That's my very fact right there!

Emotional knowledge doesn't lodge in geniuses like me evidently, and it might actually be the wiser for inarticulate folks who worship the Donald now in place of Jesus or alongside Him as the case may be. Who knows, maybe I'm just hopped up on marriage, recently paying witness to my very own daughter's, who has a brain besides. Younger and better than mine is for certain anymore.

Anyhow, there's no exchange of particles as involved in force fields so necessary for signalling, which could at least provide a genuinely secure lockbox for secrets we might like to transmit to secret lovers, which is apparently the first thing quantum entanglement might be good for.We'd better get a handle on it for love before the government does for power is what this election is all about I think.

Privacy of electronic information that the Donald wants us to think might be in his head. Let me tell you there's only static noise there. I know static noise. What might he do if called upon, like this is some big mystery and somehow the Hillary's sin was exposing government secrets to the likes of Edward Snowden who remains a hero in his Siberian Igloo to many among us who are probably therefore tracked and targeted, yadda yadda.

But my own degenerating brain remains intact enough to be in touch with my un-nameable so-called God, since it has, my brain does, enough complexity left to go beyond the calculus of what can be represented by neural networks of whatever complexity of digitation or metastasis or what you will, since I retain emotive ties to the entire earth beyond my reckoning and I do still feel the pain of its awakening.

These quantum features are not contained within my skull of course, and involve no signalling, but what do we think bore us out of nothingness? Do we really think the complexity of it all can be cataloged by Google? Embodied by Apple? Driven by explosive batteries made whole by Tesla Musk? Making us each an unwitting terrorist by remote signalling? Hell, I very nearly bought a Note 7 for the pencil and paper-like retro possibilities, which would be helpful with Chinese. Glad I didn't buy a new-age diesel either. It's just the bother of it. Who we gonna trust?

Quantum synapses are distributed all over life, which defies calculus nearly every time. Aside from Ed Snowden, there is Jane Goodall, There must be one or two others, don't you think? We kill or otherwise incarcerate the black ones, although I did see Shaun Harper on CNN maybe, and Bryan Stevenson on Netflix, so OK they're getting out there. Is Angela still suffered to live? I hope so.

Right, so we're not this big earth lense to focus god-love, but it's probably kinda like that. Ever present all the time kind of thing. Which means it might be worth having some courage before it's too late, meaning before the planet gets killed off by well-meaning white guys with power, and money enough to shut you up or make you irrelevant for sure.

There is no signalling love, although nice words help an awful lot. A patriarchal Jesus is no Jesus at all, and shame on you afraid to say so.

So yes Virginia quantum encryption is at least as dangerous as the H-bomb. But when the complexity of our digital interconnectedness renders us fully helpless against when the Web goes dark as it inevitably must, we can still hope and pray that those with trigger buttons will have and hold discretion as the better part of valor, and not do something stupid against an autopilot long since in its red zone, throwing up its figurative arms in abdication, reverting responsibility to man and man alone.

Anonymous our greatest author. Plague in real and virtual viruses. Overpopulation of self-aggrandizers for whom no house nor yacht is too big and gaudy really. Even when they do well by doing good or maybe it's especially that way. Isn't it humble not to want the big decisions for oneself?

Well fuck all I'm going to speak up if not today then maybe tomorrow or maybe the next day, because what have I got to lose other than access to the pills I need to stay alive, right? The trouble is I don't know what to say that wouldn't kick me out of the conversation. And once that happens fuggeddaboudit, right? I mean you might as well be crazy!

The red pill or the blue pill (I can't keep them straight except to remember that it's the opposite of politics just now)? Which ever one keeps me interconnected and alive in real reality, assuming there is still a distinction anymore. That's the one I want. Love is eternal, but so is death, you know, and I haven't figured out how to say what I have to say and I have to do that before I go.

Well, bye bye for now, since I have work to do on this edge of homeless for those who aren't just in it for themselves. Parse that!

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