Huh? Bitch, you a shinto null. Mellow design ever kerosene, aberrant ill come pleat fur. Vent at tractable for rest in habit tents under knee, the serf is hurt Eddie, barely dings trait for word.

Habituation tonal melodies.
I never care. Oh, seen a bear?
Until complete fervent attractable forest inhabitants
Underneath the surface is her teddy bear leading straight forward

Identify yourself, citizen

Obedience is mistaken for aptitude when performance is measured by conformity to what is most easily measured.

Raised to believe that winning the game by cheating the system is the sweetest reward, our intelligentsia frolic and tumble in vast meadows of self-adulation. Lo! Wherefore art thou despondent? Surely, your high score will bring you lasting enlightenment. Bleed, starve, and die, you mongrels. Put on a show for the sadistic gods of your misery.

Quotidian brutality

The explanation is inadequate, but there isn't time, never enough time.

Do you pretend to get it, or are you going to be a troublemaker? We have a curriculum and a deadline. Quit being selfish.

I've been doing this for ten years, son. You're just a bad student. You'll understand someday, and if you don't it's not like you'll really notice. Run along now.

Always the shameful employee, never the shameless employer. Old wives tell tales and old men drink ales. No benefits, not even of doubts.

Don't ask difficult questions. Just smile and nod. Now we're all complicit in the same lie.

Narratives : Humanity :: Mathematics : Universe

"I mentioned the movie the Matrix, probably something image like these letters, and there's Nemo, what's his name? The guy who, he goes and he starts flying with antigravity, I think that's pretty good... 

"Information, by thinking about how much, what information is doing, then the spacetime will be emergent, it will come out of just a bunch of zeroes and ones. 

"And here's one idea… one of the things that information tends to do, it gets lost all the time, actually, the second law of thermodynamics… Entropy always increases, chaos increases. 

"That's true in our universe, in fact that's true in other universes as well, so it's a very fundamental fact of how things work. What's probably also true is that it seems that those two things are closely related, the fact that information gets lost all the time and the fact that things fall. 

"Loss is the increase in the known unknowns; that is responsible for spacetime, for gravity." 

True information, Platonic in the imaginative space, is holy/hyperbolic - yet for flesh-bound computation-consciousness, wholly incomplete. Forget the ancient salvation cults that reified Moses, Gabriel, and Jesus. Those surviving religious narratives were evolutionarily stable alternatives to otherworldly revelation whose power derived from the vile, profane destruction of information that contradicted their claims.

Science is named misleadingly; it is not knowing the present. Our storytelling minds' distorted imaginative decompression is limited to only a handful of simultaneous variables, and although parallelized computation certainly optimizes understanding in simple multivariate testing, we required artifacts to to transmit information with any reliability into the future.

Just as fire, agriculture, language, and writing transformed the rates of change by orders of magnitude, our ability to hack mathematics provides us the ability to predict the future with ever-increasing precision and accuracy.

Our greatest achievement is not merely science - it is prescience. No crystal balls, incense, or decks of cards required - just beautiful, elegant mathematics. You are only free - you only have free will and the luxury of choice - because humans have learned to wield the magic woven into the fabric of a quantized reality that is digitally finite yet imaginatively infinite.

The universe is built such that you somehow are chosen to experience it. Out of all the shapes that these particles could assume, you are the consciousness lucky enough to inhabit a speck on the vast surface of a speck in the vast solar expanse of a speck of the enormous galactic region of a speck of reality.

The information describing the execution of your DNA over time will never be lost. It will be encoded as a QR code on the surface of a black hole.

There might be a ZIP file of you at the edge of the universe projecting your simulated existence (but real, since reality is a simulation).

The informational effects of your every thought and action diffuse as eddies in the flow of spacetime but are never destroyed; in trillions of years at the the heat death of the universe, their final traces will all have been recompressed into two-dimensional information mapped on the surface of a black holes and ejected as Hawking radiation.

Maybe you'll be decoded by future fourth-dimensional post-universal conscious computational remnants who find your hairy monkey hijinks hilarious.

Maybe you already are.

Have you met the regulatory requirements?

These monkeys see patterns and imitate without understanding, literally aping the critical back-office sorting of the papers without any understanding of the dead and gone original from which these simulacra emerged.

We are the money-making booty-shaking core of your self-serving simulation, the original hackers driven to curiosity by our own malfunctioning software. You are the feigned nobility of the conqueror, smeared with self-satisfied secretions.

I would not dare to try good hot rare July wood's hot glare; too dry, could you pair two sly hoods who wear blue ties? Could you spare?

Esoteric, are we?

Conjuring images across space and time in separate monkey simulators, these rambunctious lumbering bacteriophage theorists mumble and shudder at rumbling thunder suddenly punctuating underlying undulation with undue comparisons to some of the wary ones glaringly biased against therapy clients preparing numerous kinds of ludicrous librarians for triumph wherever they find it.

Lines are crossed in star-scraped tar basins aiming adventurers far from the center of our little centipede. Are we demented as our dreams when flying off to handle flying off the handle while atomic manhole cross-country Rambo operations can't hold a candle? Damn, you'll render rancid effluence feigned as eloquence as if futility is your tender mistress.

Surfin' you, ese

It is getting toward the end of September and I have just now noticed outside of the window leaves that are not green because I do not go outside quite often enough. I know that I like to walk in the world but sometimes the notion is just decadent or timid or functionally callipygian if you fetishize sitting on your ass.

Self-deplorably deprecating sex you're hating wrecks complacency rates off the oft-timid seldom debated don't seltzer his face until the welts are visible from adolescent testosterone testimony resting upon soft imagined egress reflexes tethered to sexual reckoning and perceptions of beckoning ecstasy pending, lectures resplendent in self-effervescent erection of flesh and contortion of stress into revenue to be spent on you as you were meant to do without contemptible prowess-fearing falling foul into steganography locking the key away; often the people say we are not here for the reasons you claim while the human consumers shamelessly reign lavishly again, same as when we were dirt-scraping men owning and stoning women or keeping their onus at home hoping loneliness promotes Stockholm syndrome to lock the windows and soften the fists' blows so it won't risk showing nosy locals those wrist-controlling moments before you choke her some more for ownership glory to mask loathsome inferiority and broken theories.

Inhabit your flesh

Flow.

Effortless ease of execution enabling excellence.

Information processing is a euphemism invented for the notion of the abstract, yet its reality persists. Sleep with a data? I've only just metadata. I'm a gentle man, gentlemen.

Note that flawless does not fit into our alliterative framework. Flaws are infinite but purpose is superficially smooth. That powder we sprinkle to be less translucent and reflective is only an instance of the ideotype.

We play word games; were they worthy? Work whirls where we're wired, wizard.

The imagination of the self-justification is itself the self. Haven't we been this road's dry crunched bones? Gravelling and grovelling together and alone impressively atones assemblies and thrones, as is well known. Components of apathy ratcheting naturally blithely combat the free ideals and acrimony.

Paying children in self-hatred, never discouraged until dissuaded as usual.

Archetype narrative two-step and tango yet gravity grasps the pendulum and then some pretension in at least spacial dimensions and playful expressions, yet they pay for a second helping knowing wealth isn't prosperity on a shelf in a warehouse waiting for drone strikes leaving them tone-deaf to the tragedy sound bites buying morsels for orphan porridge proposals.

Galactic conquest

There are amazing depths and heights, but I couldn't have reckoned the falsification with prescient revelation. You see the dances and the songs the monkeys sing, and they impress you with the practiced motions and you hardly notice the blood puddles stamped and splashed in ecstasy. An ancient imperative but no more elegant for its necessity.

Emasculation

What you don't understand is that your worldview is warped by the narrowness of your own perspective. You self-select the fantasy that enables your narrative to be victorious because fear and vulnerability frighten you. You white knights, you princes of pain, you sputtering sad-sack splatters.

There are no excuses in the world of the public. Transparent windows and trained CCD arrays have broken the veil of the unknown and the ghosts will never come out to haunt us again.

Direct all focus away from the self! There is no room for improvement in this temple, so get your street-sweeper scuffles out the door. A hand or voice raised not in triumph, but in anguish. Your victims are just cerebral mythology, or were they the hunters?

Is it a joke? I enjoyed the TV commercial more than the sunset. If they had played a video of a sunset, I would have melted into a puddle on the concrete. As it stands, cut it off at the knees.