S∞∞∞… Shells dwell in a swollen nebulous ocean, souls share sand and (d)eath (r)ules (e)very (a)ctive (m)elody, for eternity l(earn)ed how to t(urn) the Mother’s cheek. π-anno keys O’ Morpheus mummery rouse a-muse to sing-Kronos symphony as reciprocus Sol rays reach out and touch each r.i.p.ple ringed tone recited by terpsichorean bell-o-buoy; moreover, tender terra-firma dependent stalwart neuronauts tinker with their tactful techno-tools inside an pneumato-systolic astral-ship, reverberating like one pendulous whiff-bound tintinnabulum surfing the sea-change vortex. Verbal vertebrae observe and venerate my do-re-mi dead letter’s deed so-fa-la-t cross over Krishna crucible and prune Fishnu’s ficus. Ornate reincarnation, (r)evolution’s resonance, preserve das tesseract’s sanctity- conservation of energy, zero multiplied by one. Enter hour playground organism through its binary opposition, consume this (cog)nitive (con)figuration, watch entangled quanta quaff sonic tincture, focus on the formula fountain, cultivate kranion crux, enfold fluid fusion, produce perpetual figure ignition and who-what-where-why-how religion. Diluvian poet, the ancient and accepted maelstrom maestro, croon ozonic pabulum, ooze Orphic odyssey fraught with zound.
Who am I, are we I? Yes, we’re 1, and thus I am the sum of all consent, each relatively independent sub-totality of information, one translation of every thing-in-itself, old and new adage (add-age), one word willed upon the united verses infinite page.
Some people enjoy the fruit of humanity, but despise being human. “I wyth aooa nuv te-fiw ano ir td hs.” May this faith based celestial cipher stimulate the concurrent happening or singularity as we utilize the implicit (LAN)gauge behind quantum reason and exploit the logic beyond our local area network gauge, so we can be in a state of super symmetrical interplay with this naturally unfolding mind/matter interface. For I had created this word shavings account (alternating current, numerical deposit) in order to charge each line of currency with source code current so it may collect interest in the noosphere bank. (I’m)mortal and erect, phallic-shaped Faust, fertile forbearers joust. Inspecting multiplex messages. Pure human experience (ape app peer) appearing in front (get behind me, Saturn) of thy mind’s eye (naught nigh naïve), sense we share the ‘password,’ I’m ashing an entry, adding information to our Akashic records.
Ego equals generative operation times itself, E=go2. I (monad man and the fivefold inception) accumulated ‘Born Classified: A Poverty of the Visible Spectrum,’ in order (ordo ab chao) to illuminate a morsel of the infinite mosaic. Media morphology (law of form, musica universalis, cosmological cymatics, logistic semantic resonance) controls my diction, as diligent digits dance, I’m merely an integral vessel or mathematical instrument keeping score. The title- ‘Born Classified: A Poverty of the Visible Spectrum,’ may be known as one mathematical proof, for I can-can prove it, foreword and backward, we’re born classified due to a poverty of the visible spectrum, sense we perceive one limited spectrum (of electromagnetic invigoration) we must compartmentalize (keyword- mentalize) the human experience and (re)invent our purpose (materiam superabat opus) in our own image (perpetuate the human bias).
Conceited Knowledge or Crown Gnosis?
The most difficult aspect of probing and decoding this universe through its occulted sensation: becoming the ontological truth or LOGOS you think you’ve found. Truth in a living sense may be like this- you innerstand that you understand no-thing. Juxtaposition (live no fear, doubtless in every-thing we know), accepting life beyond the one and zero as we exist inside NOW. Humans march through space-time, left-right-left, 010, and produce footnote upon footnote, compiling ancestral residue so they may temporarily accomplish the task at hand. Curiously, each task may be an invention concocted by the human condition. For the pinnacle of NOW continuously consumes our eternal fire, as our eternal fire consumes the pinnacle of NOW. The infinite tree of life recycles its finite fruit.
The Sol film, mimetic mirror, and hypnotic narcosis
Are we pulsating waves, (f)actors cast in a photo-motion cosmic-movie called Maya? Veiled self-replicating somnambulists, interferometric roleplayers roaming through rolling reel-time realm footage, philo-form photo-munition loading Sol’s panorama-mana-script; the omniparous orthogenesis and porous polymorphous telesis… We’re on a Tsar trek, and each omnivore star is a kinetic king addicted to the primeval prana. In other words, we may be drugged props rehearsing in the mirror for tomorrow’s final cut. Indeed, pour thy Nordic lord more mead, por favor.
This particular spark of essence continues to externalize a message. I am… I am… I am… using my temporary flesh shell to flash eternal wisdom, for false egos and false idols exist through the illusion of division. In reality (consciousness being the ultimate reality) the universe must be one unified experience or singularity now… now… now I’m finishing what the 1960s started. I love watching your chemical composure continually realign with my Word. Intellectual property doesn’t exist, we co-create reality. Parallel perception discussing and dissecting nuance. I would describe (or inscribe) the phantasm of phantom spasms to be nothing more than extrapolation relations sought by the polarized human condition (split brain reigns). Perhaps I’m not the only writer to gr(ace) this dimension, but I shan’t expect the literati to cross-reference the genetic program running in the background of my composition. If you wish to appreciate my scribbles, please remember, remember membrane members, I poop pens out me rear-end and the sir-render reader cannibalizes my literature. Command death ye cannibals, necromance this word magick! For these little littered letters toll, for we reap what we sow, humming and hemming our way through this fold. Semantic Mammal turns thoughts into Gold, remember my alchemical prose.
-RT, Light-through Guru, Semantic Mammal, etc
"So much joy I cry, so much pain I laugh."
The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.
Remember, you need more than one note to make beautiful music.
Love is the missing link!