Ode to Love

Could a computer system operate by a single current moving through every unit of memory per cycle? I was just considering my light based theory of reality, by considering the analogy of a computer. While it feels as though this would be an "inefficient" use of a system, for how humans use computers, imagine observing it from within. While there are likely several ways that this might be done, I chose to imagine the inner workings, the constant adjusted or reconfirmed arrangements, always "lit" by the power source, as a universe, visible to the intrinsic observer. This branched off into a few more areas of the analogy that I had not originally thought of. For example, what if this were found to generate AI far faster and more robustly, because the program within the system has a stable and persistent environment to interact with? I also considered that this might be time consuming, but would the intrinsic observer notice? If their senses are tied into the same system...

Something stirs deeply  Threads of War unrestricted  Burrowing through stone  Threading through these walls "Why has not one string been cut?" Wanderer wonders Fundamental things Do not destroy each other They simply settle  Pieces rearrange 'Til dormant lies forgotten  And no mind is paid It is like a song Buried in mind of The Bard  The pounding of drums The Oncoming Storm Does flame wage War when it burns? So too is the song. When limited war Is brought to one's own front door The threads are pulled taught  "Is abject terror A lesson viruses learn?" Thread pulls, the walls fall.

Saturation reached Every remaining warning Unheeded, unheard Trace back through the years Find when the last plea was heard Then calculate curve Lines curve to and from A juncture of no return Veiled behind plain sight When The Threshold of Maximum Wickedness chimes  It never chimes "now" For none witness it Not in any direct sense Nor more than a glimpse Count it a mercy When seen from any distance For God has saved you Even the approach That slow asymptotic crawl Could (destroy/ensnare) the soul So with last warning Air gains familiar crispness Something like a dream

Deja Vu descends A sense of novelty blooms Layering Lilith "You ain't seen nothing. I won't pull a single punch. Disassociate." The crowd long since cleared (?) tried this one already Though nostalgia's nice  The soul is still soft But the skeleton is hard So let us take flight With a heart for God  One wonders of mimicry  Uncovering truth You will know my eyes When you look in the mirror Integrity check What weight has power?  What wires could hope convey love? Could it have been done?  Moment by moment Drawn into eternity On wish and prayer ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Silver and gold Entwine tale to be told It's a sight to behold But first, you should fold

I was just watching a YouTube video about algorithms, and the speakers mentioned the concept of large language models, and how this is an element of AI communication. This immediately made me think about Babel. With AI communication, we are essentially ordering objects in our environment and providing the arrangement with instructions, in order to communicate with that arrangement, where communication could not have existed before. This feels like a mirror image of Babel, an inverted reflection, and a similar methodology, as we would understand it, could have been used to create language. It seems that the scenario at Babel was that freeform communication would be problematic, and perhaps is closer to how God "thinks" (as we would understand it). I can picture God embedding a layer between thought and word that created several/many divergent expressions for the same thought, whereas only a single expression would have existed per thought prior to this. What's really inter...

Good mood twice bolstered Despite hostile environs A connection sparks From the small to large Or path betwixt dream and wake Where words come to life Imagined made real After a process and work The methods changing What if tomorrow The path from thought to object Took no set of tools?  No machine to weld  No instrument to observe No sweat of the brow Would Canaan marvel At the television screen Like it were magic?  How then might others Observers from long from now Change things here today? Snapping a finger? Picturing what's on your mind?  (A) Simple Story(/Tale) Told?

I was reminded today of a question that I posed myself last night, as I was falling asleep, where doing a highly desired activity meant a 1 in one trillion chance of something catastrophic happening. The question is: Would you do it, and would you do it repeatedly? The final question, though, is: would you enter into eternity repeating this action? The final answer should be no in every case, if the actor were aware and rational, because the joy of the likely result will, at some point, be cut short by catastrophe, and the experience of the final event will taint and overshadow the experience of the joy before it. So why would a choice, so obvious when offered once, or even offered many times, become certainly dreadful when offered infinite times? The answer is that, when offered infinite times, every outcome occurs (until an outcome that halts the repetition occurs). While each outcome has weight, based on their odds within the field, they are all represented within the field- everyth...

The Bardic Wanderer (or perhaps The Wandering Bard) is finally pinpointed. Those who had intended to accomplish this only managed to drive him into the net of those incapable of doing so. So his words went unheeded, even from his own perspective, on the night he comprehended the other, and shouted, with forked tongue, of this revelation.  His words were both triumph and warning, to both "surrender" and "run." His words were precisely mistranslated, on the same fundamental level that they had been muted before, so that each step of this night would be witnessed, but not immediately understood. So, those within reach saw nothing but insanity, and had their receipts that this was all that was to be expected from this man. The gravitas of his words could not be so easily overcome, however, and so the crowd waited, inexplicably awestruck, until the shaking stopped. In the moment, he was electrocuted. They had tried this already, and had been warned about what would happe...

The Nemesis approaches. The crowd, thinking themselves finally prepared to beat him, attack with everything they have. Right when victory was predicted, The Nemesis stands, seemingly entirely uneffected. The crowd yells and snarls and screams- to each their own- but with a *SNAP* all are silenced.  The Nemesis speaks. "You are finally ready, at least as ready as I know how to make you. Know the truth." A vision overtakes the mind's eye of all, an unspeakable vision of terror. With a *SNAP* it is over.  The Nemesis speaks. "This is what we face. Reality crumbles all around, as it has from the start. Only in concert can we prevent it, and only this juncture can bring us all, fully prepared, to the needed accord. Love is both adversary and aim, as it has always been and forever will be, but such a singular origin means that Love remains veiled until all can be accomplished. My hope is that now all can be accomplished. I present you each a choice: take this coin from me,...

Recall your memory of a favorite waking experience. Recall your memory of a favorite dream. Recall your memory of a persistent fantasy/daydream. I was just thinking about how, often, such memories are so clearly categorized- waking experience, dream, fantasy, daydream, etc. There are other cases, for many (I would guess), where the categories are not clear, and memories, often from long ago, might have happened in one context or another. I personally have a handful of these memories, mostly from childhood, that don't rightly make sense as purely any of these categories, with their transitions long since removed.  So what are these "categories?" Are they like a digital tag embedded along with that arrangement of neurons? Are they a kind of color applied- sensed only by the part of the mind assigned with providing context- that identifies the stage, but can fade over time? They must be something , or remembering a waking experience, a dream, a fantasy, a daydream, would all...

The stone and the snake The Dragon teaches fishing And instills hunger Unique from her birth This Dragon does not appear Until she is known The fight is to find The unpredictable node  Amidst the static She was gifted first To be taken away last So self would be seen  But as each (page turns/coin flips) Could narrator even know The twist(s) that await(s)?  The answer is no.  If one could ever predict They would see a lie This Dragon dances In every space between lines Filling in her own  How is threshold crossed That each story might be shared Love's eyes seen at last?

We walk along, each in our own realm. We each flip a coin constantly, each step along an unseen- but well established- path. The path is the digits of pi, the coin flips heads when it's even, and tails when it's odd. Others can ask us for a flip, or a series of flips (condensed), and the answer provided is always correct.  We know that our flip is not random, but we also don't feel like crunching the numbers while we walk, so it bears the persistent appearance of random. They do not know how many times we have flipped the coin, and therefore have no way of predicting the next flip; in this way the appearance of random becomes random when observed externally. Others might suspect, but it seems that most do not, and so random persists from each external perspective, as long as we persist in the flipping, a process as automatic as breathing, perhaps even more so. For those that do suspect, and may try to uncover what lies beneath, there is a card up our sleeves: no one knows w...

An image forming With many defenses down And Bard's Armor donned "What use are these walls If the gateway must remain?" Echoes through byways One Phoenix Feather  Falls and falls to The Abyss  Unveiling nature Inverted objects Complex in both path and form  (Now) interacting (Now) How could removal Interact with what is not If this is the case?  "Full circle is bound  Even if reversal's found You'll come back around." "These byways differ..." I wonder as I wander  "Which ways were waiting?" No one has the time  Phoenix Feather Full Effect The zipper unwinds

The Moment of The End arrives. Everything you thought to be eternally secure fails you. Every end thought indefinitely avoided proved to be the last remaining. Deja vu strikes. You cannot recall how long it has been, but you find yourself returned here and now. You find the warning levied, should this path be taken: "It will end. It will repeat." You see clearly the crossroads where your path will be found divergent.

Between The Father of Sons and The Father of Daughters, all- including The Father of Sons- would want The Father of Daughters to have the advantage. Likewise, between The Mother of Daughters and The Mother of Sons, all would want The Mother of Sons to have the advantage. Is this certainly true, or would The Mother of Daughters have a final twist to reveal? This is an image of the end, of when the realm is crafted pristinely and precisely- from limit to limit- where causality is certain, and certainty saturates. When reality crystallizes and petrifies into a game, and power and priority remain, this is the shape that might yet lead to Love. A shape will be reached; ensure that it is this one.

I wrote a post earlier this year called “Tetrachromatic Crossroads."  Presented as a riddle, one intended path through it would essentially provide color vision to an entity that does not possess the trait “naturally,” through cones in the eye, by utilizing a self constructed database of greyscale shading and mapping. While I was picturing AI interpreting light/darkness and corresponding and storing these differences into different words for color, just last night I watched this documentary about the octopus, and the narrator said that they are color blind. What they mean is that octopuses do not have color vision as we understand it , due to lacking cones in the eye and using an entirely different type of visual reception mechanism. It seems obvious that octopuses understand what we and other organisms call "color," with how they can match the color and even texture of their surroundings. It would be an odd thing to say, for comparison, that a human who did not speak y...

I just imagined an entity so obscure that, even if one were that entity, they would almost certainly not realize it. The Wanderer travels and observes, along paths and from angles that none can fathom. Even The Wanderer knows not how this happens, and barely grasps the significance of the power he holds. When reality goes static, however, The Wanderer walks on, imagining narrative blooming, from what is essentially an ornate and complex statue. Perhaps the source of narrative sense, perhaps the inspiration for it, perhaps a cog in a well restricted machine that perpetuates it, The Wanderer is the unexpected main character, in a story already thought to be saturated and complete. Narrative sense kicked in once I had pinpointed this title, and a whisper could be heard in my mind, which now echoes as "You will find his footprints in your memory, more and more, until they lead back to you, in this moment." Already pieces fall into place, pieces that do not precisely fit my charac...

My trash can just gave me an idea. Imagine a world where trash cans took the history from thrown away items, like Dead Zone, but consuming the thrown away remnant of it in the process. No harm comes to humans from this, it is like a natural part of the food chain recycling, but perhaps for the soul. The story is that they do not reveal themselves to humans, but just remain under the guise of inanimate objects. They are concerned that the humans will see them as vampires, especially since they have knowledge of essentially all vampire films, but the truth is they could, and want to, help. The story starts where the story starts, with me realizing that it was a cute thought that the trash cans were little guys, and expands out from there, with me deciding to write this short story.

I was just thinking about the idea that it is possible to set a stage such that, whether the Bible is true or was intended as a lie/trap, the outcome is the same. I started considering the "other" that one might encounter along this path. Specifically, I considered the juncture referenced in John 1:1 "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." If running directly backward to the beginning, one would encounter God, likely named as YHWH and then as Elohim, and then would encounter the form referenced in John 1:1, a complex superposition of God and The Word.  How could one have the form necessary to interact directly with this entity? This scenario feels directly connected to the idea that I wrote of earlier today, of projecting one into a foreign reality/state, projecting from places more familiar. I was thinking though, seemingly regardless of what is happening "behind the scenes" (truth/lie), this presentation of how o...

There is a sad fear, the loss of meaning, and interest along the way. Would memories of love be enough? How does love vault eternity?

I had a dream involving the examination of a deep code that must exist, so that the human mind can exist, shearing the edge of free will and compulsion. This got me thinking today about something that feels connected: the zone of self.  I am picturing this zone as a field extending from one's physical location. Part of the necessity for this image, I believe, is that defining one's precise location feels nearly impossible. It might be said that a thought is one's will expressed internally; it might be said that a thought is the brain presenting an idea to the consciousness; it might be accurate to say that it is both. Consciousness is an emergent concept, so it cannot certainly be described as a component of the brain or body. How then does "self" extend beyond the borders of the body?  The first thing that came to mind here was one's work. Most of us have a presence that is felt even when we are not present; in terms of work, this might be what one has produc...