Monday, December 1, 2014

Off-Shell Communication and Navigation

Off-Shell Communication and Navigation
  (and Off-Cone Dreamikin Echolocation)

[An exercise in sci fi UFO intuitive logic between physics and fantasy.]

*The issues of Bell inequality is independent of positive effects and extents of our (Omnium) reality save where zero points in action in such dreamspace neutralize or effectively null points and total mass pass thru each other (which implies a strict barrier between such general worlds as the norm)
In reality the force of shifting values globally match the variably constant states of persistent and stable Being over omnic intervals (ideas of compression cannot simply be reduced to higher dimensional flatland as primary to one representation of duality as flatland as if fixed distances) we so define as time or space or the question of abstract form vs materialism beyond it as concave-convex, discrete or continuous in events of provisional unities.

*Consequently, the effects are at the instant of contact, spaciously, making indirect evidence of scale extent yet provide a grounding for experimental inquiry.

*From our physical reality an if and only if to abstract others the influence or awareness is limited in
how beings can interact with each other.

*A change, a bright or mirror dark half real calling beacon, can disrupt navigational location via sub-mass structures (as conceived in an absolutely empty vacuum also).  Or as an influence  and grounding by higher general scaling so too what we interpret or define as sentient entities.  This is the higher interpretation of what we ourselves in relation to higher physics strive to ground and define consciousness.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Hidden Theory Wars along the Sea Frontiers

Hidden Theory War (State of the Vision)

Some can see somewhere over the rainbow, can debate if black or red colors remain the same.  But most pass through event horizons, sensing something changed, anxious over fire or ending to empty oblivion unaware something has changed. Something perhaps hidden so outside their reality, totality as existing explained in their theory of everything.

Mirrors and shadows, as if one side of us is paralyzed, our arm from there across our chest must be another's arm or that of limbs lost in battle its shadow phantom lives.

Our falling is the difference in between, of that next beyond known backgrounds or phanerons. Of Mach, Newton, Einstein and Leibniz - even beyond the intuitions of Ramanujan our reference frame.

Theories are like the eternal Phoenix yet how many times the play of ashes, birth, and fire?  I read the parables of our confused messengers and messages, life seen a few steps further in the Omnium yet do not know if our hopes to become angels is more than a dead end with dead reckoning.

Now that the Omega begins to sleep again our hive colony breaks yet stands as one awhile, the philosopher in me trumps the scientists who as a part of the crackpot accusative divide where it can remain but none, that its denizens know in the transition the horizon of physics is transcended.

(Context of the thoughts behind this added poetically in comments to    Siri's song )

Friday, October 10, 2014

Synchronicity and Structural Physics

This section of the blog will archive the philosophic principles and abstract underlying assumptions and speculation I post here and elsewhere for a more unified foundation for stereonometry physics with emphasis on the alternative symmetry addressing our concepts of thermodynamics.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Empty Sea Shells

Empty Sea Shells
* * *
The pachyderms returned to the sea
to become dolphins, whales largest
in water as they on land, like sperms
They hear far away the low tones or
seek unique songs, echolocation
As gulls fly inland hear distant coasts
magnets in their beaks repel sky sharks
fleeing rare earth hidden things before bones
Not all in the pecking order of arrogance
survive, yet all like penguins fight to do so and
Cannot imagine by instinct's purpose, catastrophe
But that was sixty-five million years ago
blind to fear of cold rains of iridium
In rest keep warm, no sharks that must keep moving
back when Saturn's eternal rings formed

* * * *

Imperfect Sphere Sonnet
* * *
In the existential moment
we cannot know what is
Cause or what effect, what
is free-will or time determined chance
Necessity - a trap and yet an
escape thru forms  of imaginary
World's unstable at singularity
Yet of essence, beginnings, ends predicate
ultimate totality may vanish or transcend
Our collective soul half hidden
time waves over virial condensates
The defective individual so
amplifies light's and feeling's paradox
Thus works the universe, not otherwise
* *
My fallen sparrow, labyrinth your lost Earth
only the sound you make, head against a wall
Tells me what direction, your looping mind
anxiously avoiding, crossing, repeating
Words, fish bowl timed out yet seen infinite
yet you see me through the glass and cling
If I awaken love for you , my hope, I know
you must take wing
I'm yours if you want me to want you
life as my sister or my mate
Risking the healing stem in you that
October 1st may be too late.
* * * *

Light's Long Winters
* * *
Some live within the vanishing
at home with the outward darkness
Asked to learn as if a child in emptiness
remain a child by Time's leeward starkness
The sentient living world, explosions in exploding's
branches, rests, decays, consumes by burning
Recalling, prime the fiery pump, cold future yearnings
so easily set down as waters fall to crowded branching's
Until the span and roots, one great tree begun abundantly
returns to lightning heart struck soil a fairy ring
Into the upstart center sparks in echoes sing
in recapitulation's cradled flower dream redundancy
I, humble bee, kiss them in your mind's eye my reflections
Love's bond broken, banished, you hear no child's cry just
                          pearls one with their confections
* * * *
The Ferryman
* * *
When our paths cross in the moment
the universe of mirror, we separate, does not forget
Consciousness implied in the observer,
the ferryman, free to choose two ways
Yet follows only one beyond his choice
that the fox, chicken, and corn, only one
With him as he crosses rivers back and forth
so any two of them left on the bank horizons
Together are equal to each other and the third
Ley lines and the regions they describe
flatland as the colors four or on
The anchor ring seven colors, no cross overs
When light sleeps beyond the void am I still a part
Of Orenda, my shawled lady's brain, her rain barrel?
* * * *

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Thresholds of Replication, Event Intervals of General Space

Thresholds of Replication, Event Intervals of General Space

* * *
It occurs to me that nature may express itself by our alternative assumptions of physics that for some authors the interpretation of quantum theory progresses from nothingness, light, light with color, then something like extrasensory perception.  What this amounts to in the idea of general space from beginnings and endings over intervals of events is the question of thresholds of replication.  Can our experiments be repeated as evidence of a physical truth?  Can the physical facts of an experiment be rather the product of individual desire or collective consensus?
If, in the oil drop experiment, a scaling of sizes to measure a single electron, and as some report Milliken fudged the data, is this an accident that the data came out according to his desire, or well, belief? Does it make a difference to how nature may blend or isolate her contiguous laws? Can these not be ultimately interchangeable as to the continuous and discrete?
There is something unreasonable comfortable about clock time.  The binding of ritual and renewal of surprise that say the same people come each day the same way by me as I wait by the bus stop?  This may loop from our right and left brains as a form of anxiety or having been there before by a few blending seconds.  Or as general chirality we partition things including our dreaming into our right or non-right brains.  Some with strokes on one side of their bodies do not know they are not a bilateral organism.  Unlike the dolphins we cannot sleep only on one side of our brains while the other side is awake.  But clock time can seem a prison also, a repeating cycle that suppresses dampens into chaos, the stimulus of surprise.
If nature does has such a mysterious, and likely synchronous thermodynamic element what seems to guide our events and tilts it at times to the magically favorable and unfavorable as if the universe at least or our collective wills or the matter itself felt a sentient being. Part of the job of fundamental theory would then be in this struggle of competing models an extension into the past or the future to predict so far what were the possible laws and states of expression that seem absolute.  Without a record as evidence, one that is not false, the abstract memory or projections may be recoverable as what was the state of historical laws. Such can be our feeling of the otherworldly in forecasting or retro-engineering them beyond what we can actually say the state of the weather.
Although cold fusion, and in issues of plasma pinching for hot fusion too, while in theory the phenomenon is possible by quantum theory, a quasi-probability which is intermittent yet will not amplify the access to energy, over the "omnic interval" of central distance, minimum or maximum as well the conservation ideas seeming fixed as defined by symmetry, that we can partition events seems unreasonably to fix states and measure as if the general laws only locally admit pigeon holing of quantum information is possible over general chance and necessity.
Abstract space itself is said to be able to exceed light speed as if an instantaneous illusion or without preferred frames of at least the  illusion of higher dimensions energy balanced as a maximum or minimum length requiring ultimately a set standard value at some degree of definition.
In the Fibonacci convergences to 1 or 0 the numbers add in a way that on any layer, or for that matter any physics that makes concrete a sheet without preferred angles or connected directions in the totality the sequences can begin and contained from each level as a beginning it again. Thus the question of low or high dimensions or every other one as squared is at the foundations conceptually something that can be the same thing.
That in the totality of a law, the ubiquity of gravity, the fixity of mass, as laws of physicality these may be the same thing. It is perhaps that some particles exist yet at the foundation are interchangeable such as the varieties of neutrinos and electrons observable only by the logic of our models.  Yet such shadow evidence may be there indirect without recourse to the reality we cling to sorting the particle dust, or that gravitons exist as if the physical universe itself is in a sense something we as scientists confuse with what may be more mysterious.
Journalism then is the quality of honesty and careful reporting as the ideal of science, yet is a language that in the passing of a message may be part of the general errors found in the translation. Yet nothing seems to forbid the messages not capable in the service of belief to defend and influence others for some agenda.  Technology, say a form of quantum computation alone, is beyond the issue of privacy and moral grounding of our traditions. For our instrumentation may not be a barrier between the state and what a sentient being is where the awareness vanishes or once transcending by the technology it can directly access the mainframe of higher physical laws.

* * * *

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Sagicorn in Tailspin (Part II) Perturbations

Sagicorn in Tailspin (Part II)   Perturbations
* * *
Professor Whitman rose to present his paper before the public
and his peers of the Progressive and Dialectical Natural Philosophy Society.
"Fellow space masters and aspiring knaves,
we hope that we will disturb the set
Thoughts of your continuum and thereby
bring the songs of light to light that we
Can measure indirect evidence for the
source and structures of still hidden things.
Our current visions follow down speculative
uncertain paths, separately, we building
Them running concepts into the ground
of deeper ends still too deep into the chaos.
You may note in the tug of war between
the raw verse of Shakespeare and of Goethe
Marching formally to the music of the twilight
of the gods, my free verse stands midway,
A compromise, Tycho Brae-like which orbs
dance around the Earth as center of the
Universe, which rhythms cause our
feet to dance even if we do not recognize the jazz.
I cannot guarantee, this side of cautious
dreaming if all is coincidence and only by
Accident we find Neptune from Uranus implied
but any errors are the fault of the author
Or perhaps ours and imperfect image we
transcend in principle further from
The mysterious Will, sources Alpha and Omega
of the lonely Creator God.
With due respect for Dr. Rodin, his glory
of the Kiss and of all thinkers,
The whole can be our colossus carved idols
as one, as well the parts assembled
That ultimately gravity divides from
electric sparks, twitching frogs severed legs
Tree toads we taste or toad stools of changing
colors to the context in stealth our forms and functions
Changing too the rise and fall of dreams, Frankenstein's
Hopeful monsters on a tight rope, hanging chain,
in the anguish of Faust that to this world
He does not belong - fire good, fire bad.
I propose then a radical compromise between the
large lambda cosmological constant, CC transliterated
and the small lambda of Casmir force, ll a compromise
On the question of minimum distance - rather
a center, a quasi-interval of monster dimensions drawn out
As far as we may see, deeper than our inborn sense of geometry,
A little deeper than Compton of flatland and Fermi
dreams of limitless dimensions or expansions.
Before you is a box of six sides, but what is the
length of its diagonal if its shadow vacuum is filled?
The tallest spire can be placed within it, so too if the
light is adsorbed to wander awhile in a lost internal earth.
Yet this is but one of many views, w can
unfold it outward as well, so imagine
Many worlds and multiverse our choice between them
nature made of noise, scaleless but with imperfections
Binding both the high and low dimensions
of an abstract atom, symmetries, conservation,
Broken rules of imagined renormalization
which led Holy Planck to ponder the discrete
The eleven states of ice, 9 and 1, some stable, complete
so enters quantum theory - but what of the
Other end of the 120 elements, the electrons
inside their twelve fold and simple five fold rhombihedra?
While there is more than space's natural elements
more mass-less less space, more space - less mass,
Even a little more than natural elements
ultimately and asymptotically conserving the
Physical, the electron shells are the four space dodecahedral
polytope and the nuclear shells the half 600 dual of tetrahedra.
What is not physical we cannot disprove by today's models.
not where the sparks and gravity both either discrete or one
So the laws resonate up, down, to proton, flowers, body cells.
As if we know everything, this generation of higher flight.
we are an anxious species not putting what is
Known together when it comes to what may
end us as a species, like the black hole in our
Hearts moving, distorting the background
of stars, or the asteroids we may not
Deflect from gravity's keyholes so that they
fall into to reversals of potential and kinetic
No unified theory of kinematics, all
these same doom end's we may perturb
More than predict how likely the scatterings
even for the comets in the higher clouds of Pluto.
So it is perhaps not that in ignorance we
fancy we hold the theory of everything, but that which
We know god-for-sure copper, we lazing
reptiles with tri-chambered hearts soaking up the sun
Our cosmic heartbeats does not heed.
Thank you for listening. There will be no
questions you should not try to answer on your
Own, nor advice which paths to follow, which
laurels or dead ends.  The city council
Now decrees funding shared with the sciences
as well the established arts, so stick to your
Soldiering guns if your are of that persuasion for in
the big picture what of time you have to put on
The white-boards or the canvass, work for and
count on one chance your painting and on yourself.
The next lecture, after coffee and cookies
will be given by professor Vonnegut
Concerning quantum cat cradle's and other
string theories with a little entertaining legerdemain."
* * * *

Sagicorn in Tailspin (Part I)

Sagicorn in Tailspin

Having rejected the role of forward air control over the civil wars of theoreticians fought in the abstract ground of concrete and jungle conflicts he longed as much for the music and poetry to return to the world as much as free to contemplate the universe in peace.
But the order does not trust its ex-soldiers anymore than poets or those with mystical worship promoting discontent short of what chaos reinvigorates the empire if needed for the moment.  They are seen in the common flow of civilization always to be contained in as measured, rationed threat.
* * *
Part I - He Attends the Far Rock'a'bye Lectures
* *
Between September and November, the Sagicorn looked both ways into his past and future incarnations.  Between the red and blue shifts he wondered at the up and down between the infra-yellow and ultra-green.
As Olney, the SphereDream along the endless beach his sense of self integrating over time to make sense of the world as well, Sagicorn recalled a lecture at night he attended at the Hall of Natural Philosopher Saints atop the seven pavilions, the university in the center of his beloved Far Rock'a'bye.
For he had spent the day in the market square at the parades, walking casually by street vendors selling the ancient nectar of the gods fermented foams, trinkets of sparkling metal, beads of the glass bead blowers, wood carvers.  He grew a little sleepy full of exotic pastries full of meat linked through time, spice and heirloom legumes, explosive tangy mustard's.
Pink and blue cotton candy, sea foam taffy, he did not have a solid sense of quantity anymore than what the clock time was- he enjoyed the old steam tractors nostalgically on display, their work like the lives of his earthly forefathers done in the sorrows and joys of their lifetimes, the symbols on their coins slight shifting designs that marked the era of each generation, some as gold plated copper, silver cut electrum, some as common aluminium tokens worked into necklaces.
The crowds of gaily dressed happy people, some of the children face painted filled the street, their paths changed, attracted to the jingle of the belly dancers or avoiding the strange scents of the exotic barnyard animals and hauntingly familiar antics of the monkeys filled him with joy for this shift of season's holiday of October Fete.
Yet, at the lectures, the unity of the all the thinkers and the world made him realize he did not need to learn the local and technical dialect within himself, and that in the endless civil wars of models he had misinterpreted outside of their clan, some of the meaning of their words. Perhaps the next incarnation and generations will think this was a good thing. Adapt their thoughts as he had done despite his cherished first ideas he kept close to his heart, despite that falling asleep at the lectures he now recalls the words that curved his paths and crushed his dreams.
The drunken poet or those possessed in some places keep respect from the villagers and fisher folk.  But unlike them with statuses to guard, or wealth, the age old question if a philosopher can love a simple girl is right up there with the minstrels of Old France who brought us through healing music the myths of chivalry and romance.
* * * *

Thursday, September 18, 2014


SphereFarmer I
* * *
If ultimately, SphereDoctor, we speak the same language of nature, where at the frontiers of the spacetime continuum, we vindicate so as to expand or transcend our mentors; we chimney sweeps made of and looking at the soot of our dark tunnels of vague discoveries that we follow gladly in sacrifice of what given in one lifetime may consume us; our magic carpets rediscovered, retro-engineered, to ride the universe as we ride the Earth bound sky; hoover there somewhere at the unknown borderlands where or how our gloves reverse; the mirrored centrifugal and centripetal forces from a Gods-eye view inside out, some end yet eternal fall; some half Klein's bottle divided thrice to give two interlocking rings; in the higher translation you honor me that I, but a poet, stand among the theory gods - as all of us may so aspire; whatever the game of snakes and ladders,  favorable or indifferent, we hunter-gatherers of dreams and farmers of the spheres.
* * * *

 SphereFarmer II

* * *
Along the barbwire fence
farmer Yow's dairy cows the
Kids gave names
our drafty house was Gingerbread
By the mud dirt road
On the wire perched songbirds so on it
Plums, apples, wild grapes and cherries growed
Doll heads, rusted firetruck parts,
wagon wheels, plastic planes and rattles
Toy soldiers, indians and cowboys
rings and daisy chains of babbles
New fallen things after it snowed
they named it Broken Toy Road
Their world black tractors, field mice, turtles, toads
* *
Through the witches' wood to old Watt's store
I carried them, they loved to sing:
"Blacktors are very, very black
they can give you a heart attack.
Blacktors are very, very mean
they are infra-green..."
All through the witches' woods
the shadow cows chewed their cuds
The owls at night silent, swift robin Robin Hoods
with pairs of yellow eyes still and
Distant beads from my lantern light
A gentle rain of autumn leaves or
an acorn falling on the tin roof echoed
Brisk October healing past random fright.

* * * *
SphereFarmer III
* * *
The SphereFarmer, far from the city lights
that all the stars and milky way seen clearly
Did not know life was hard, nor that
in this incarnation of the Sagicorn,
Born Octember 42nd, it was paradise
Oh, the traveling salesmen made their rounds
country doctors, itinerant preachers
Nay saying SpherePeer bureaucrat tax collectors
liver salt merchants and
Snake oil salesmen like city cops on the beat
they could not understand how this SphereCowboy and
his Sphere-Sweetheart-of-the-Rodeo lived
Or the Freddy Electric utility linesmen how the lights were
on as he used mirrors and lit a thousand candles.
* *
Angels and Goons locked in mechanical clocks
like the hippie commune neighbors became
Alarmed separately or together or in a
spiral of happiness downward found in their loony tunes
Yet all felt archetypal, three bears and
their Goldie Locks partridge made of private stardust
Time like Japanese glass bobbins breaking free
lost at sea from rotting macrame fish nets
To roam the bounded currents as all who hide
the face to pumpkin keep the mystery of woman
Our imaginary friends and demons staring
back at us with grins in a fun house mirror
SphereDoctors in the name of her creative freedom contain her
those fire spitters, sword swallowing carvers, toxic sugar tinctures
* *
After the city riots, wars, myths of acts of God storms
Sagicorn in reluctant  triage where nothing
Cold can be declared dead, became light,
having learned a little of love and forgiveness
Thus he uplifted with this world those
he met on his soaring flights not too
Late for those forlorn of hope and healing
But he had to sit down on the ground to write on
his Poet's walk, so capture a deep thought before he forgot it
* * * *

SphereFarmer IV   (Latin Lovers)
* * *
The Aether wall is masculine
 the door feminine and
The roof is neuter
His the garden, hers a pear tree
but the body, it is neutral
Continuous the guys, gals
of oceanic continuua, Plantonic nulls
One, the Good, balanced continuum
yet sad endures their tragic love
Hidden, unrequited, two bouys and two gulls
all high walls and new doors
Break, decline and fall, our great empires
as if we never touch on all fours - I, we, and they,
 strong and stronger, strongest deep desires
* *
Yet we need touch more than food to thrive
develop by fetal dreams a cave, the womb
Each cell and work assigned, one soul the hive
one strand of fire holding up the sky and her new moon
None hopeful monsters trapped, still born, a tomb
nor their five-fold twins that would be cloned, conceived
Before they're too one whole, upon a self to believe
* * * *

SphereFarmer V  (Faces in the Newspaper)

* * *
So tired of broken people, half lives
who let the candle without rest
Burn and melt so bright, broken toy universe

His face I recall, ten years since
the coffee shop playing chess he
Nodding off, not kicked out, I moved for him

His crushing meds and snorting everything
myself a one horse shay, minor decay
Though timeless we shared wrinkling speed of light

I am surrounded by bearded ladies and
Buddha breasted gentlemen, to late
Their brittle bones, receding gums, creative teeth

The end of the worlder's, slow, catch up
Beauty in our beastuary, at breakfast read obituaries

* *
He  looked so good, his face in the paper
like Echo, I let her go, wrote her off, met later
Her needle marks red spots in years will fade

Take the edge off they said, her choice and
between accommodating cops and her sandman
She was convinced she'd die before I do

The turnkeys do not know they'er mentally ill
Oh they monitor the blood, add to the pills
To prolong, not make better, slaves for their bills

I cannot whisper at your wake we'll bring you back
Love's fogs and urns, dark clouds of smokestacks

* *
Passion's fleeting interval, superdetermined
yet degrees of freedom set our energy of orbits
My words awake your child in your silver hair doubts

Mirrors of each other through the roundabouts
to want me to want you, but I am not unfair only
You can say to those telling you how to live who's demon

Stand up for yourself engagement, wedding rings too big
sparking think of me, junk gumball jewelry my cosmic
heartbeats, our bus rides together, sweet words, no regrets

Yet in the best of world's would that you could be my
Cinnamon, and I could be your chocolate.

* * * * 

Saturday, September 13, 2014

New Physics of Boromean Rings

* * *
In itself and of the higher language level of physics, consistency in the logic of models and mathematics, as well what seems to be a fuzzy-like logic of "uncertainty" suggesting at times some phenomena are illusions, is not necessarily a guarantee of our most general concept of evidently stable complete and consistent laws of Being, thus of experiments and measure.
Why should we expect in a most comprehensive view between grounding simplicity and deep complexity that the dynamics of a physical universe in its evolving could be otherwise?  In face of the growing understanding, why must we despair at the given and enduring doubts as we face grounding mysteries of the unknown, or for an ear retreat, heads in the comfort of the sand, only so far to dare to ponder beyond the practical living what is deep and no further?
At the frontiers of speculation, a cautious shift of eras as scientific, it is difficult not so much to build radically new theories- if possible reassured by proofs and experiments, but that in the partial headway in theory, concepts can run hauntingly parallel yet distinct as interpretations.
For the issue of minimum distance, small lamba suggested by quantum theory considerations, that divided by the velocity of light thought a needed minimum duration as well.  So this issue stands in the state of our visions today.  It was mentioned in the popular book Thirty Years that Shook Physics.  Then follows a long plateau of rich speculation. Since then where gridlock of what we intuit as less than a more general theory, at times coming to a point we question our enterprise of inquiry and even thought itself.
Let us consider an article I saw but yesterday in Wired Magazine and the drama reported, including what the author of the concept while exploring by standard quantum means and with predictions verified in measure must have felt.  This new era (recall, friend Erion our talks on Lacan and the
Borrowmean rings in the philosophy chat forum?) could be contrasted with the drama felt upon "discovery" - a deep desire to find and focused probabilities half realized for the Higgs in the standard model "found". Surely an important step. So now we have another clue not alternative but part of the bigger picture, at least extended three levels of recursive scales where adjacent ones reflect the virial measures of things inverse square law obeying in the measures squared.
So what can this mean as we look back on our models, or questions, so as to adapt and adjust them accordingly?  For one thing the astute application to centering physics on the weak force level of generations on this foundational level- issues of information and thermodynamic equivalences really - may not explicitly hold.  This also applies to those models that try to resolve things by the CPT concept and its core logic.
It may be that nature, for some still not declared reason three dimensional and the plus one, condenses space as physical density as well extends it indefinitely as compactification. In nature questions of renormalization may exist as the process finds its use and not only as projections of our dreams.
The same goes for what is near or distant, that within or excluded as touching and all the in between.  We as nature see but the rim or flange of our topological structures as well imagine extended ideas of voids or dimensions to deeper infinities of symmetry or broken symmetry over singularities and spacious singularities that we by trivial addition in so many things (such as breaking the algebra of complex numbers or heat transfer into real plus imaginary parts) the ancients think they saw pi put there by design in the square base of their pyramids.
* * * *

My first blush comment to the Wired Article:
It is easy to underestimate this structure and overestimate its range. In theory at this null thermodynamic law two such bodies can be interlinked also as in Whitehead's rings. The difference of 2 and 3 event systems could be a whole new quantum measure of this quasic space. In a sense a single ring could be the raw stuff of inertial gravity in both the loopy or string formulations. The double null thermodynamic law or its hot mirror equivalent. Thus SM 5 fold quasi scaling, n-thermodynamic laws, over the Omnium.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Spake the Sagicorn

The Sagicorn explored the known worlds as he grew in magic and wisdom
At times the hourglass of his soul in collapsing spin or endless meaningless fall
Cubes of crystal, his ethereal blood stopped higher time as
their corners held apart yet blocked the Now at its smallest aperture

Not even the SphereFather he overthrew in the former era
phase of dark stars could reverse the hour, tag and mark the bells by
wishful intervention, that it made a difference,even given a
secret name only former gods remembered

In these times of wingless horns and broken vanished arrows pointing everywhere yet
Nowhere, as if the steeples on his one lonely
former world when he was part of the godhead
Exploring gods and idols in the universe and goat eaten Quinadad

Integrating his quest and life through time his endless beach became a fjord and fjords
He himself a giant now but a forgotten name carved on stone, a sleeping dwarf
Could only dream in packets of themes between the dark or now beyond the stars
Of what he had seen

As SphereDream,back when, his brother SphereChrist long vanished,
a bottleneck of the changing sea itself,
thus the measure of the year, no year zero before or afterward

No SphereGhost, save empty echoes to comfort him
no SphereVirgin, fertile mare maid caught in the tidal pool
to journey with him

So it came to pass at this point in time he dreamt of the Academy in Far Rock'a'bye,
the philosophers gathered
debating the origin of language where this time around
Sagicorn just listened as he had learned to mimic deeply
the songs of sea birds, parrots, and empty wide eyed night owls
So something gained for himself of their spectrum of intelligence

"They were wrong," he thought as he left the city
"There are two ancient languages. The first is the rune-like
carving and names of trees also recorded as numbers 
Tally-marks storing trades as replete as stored frozen sunlight in the stores
of corn so soon again but firewood

The other heated, wet wedges worked on clay and like the
names of former Pharaohs to be broken to fill the
columns of great cities of the new regimes,
these surrounded by clay, a seal if broken
the truth of commerce could be revealed

Inspired by cycles of the stars a Pharaoh's code and calendar as if god given design
yet before the written word and warbler's finer eyes
Ten thousand years the desert dwellers told of one among the fixed stars
that traveled half the bowl of the canopy of heaven "

Sagicorn so much the lesser god of ice lands and ghostly dreams so seemed
back then, a warm volcanic fire in retrospect, he felt sorrow
looking back at the spires of his beloved central city then understood the source of his sorrow.

"It is not that I will find her beyond the darkening skies down the endless beach
beyond, but that I must leave her again..."

* * *  * * * *
From the Journal of the Sagicorn  (written in the ancient flower language)

We can ask but few can do more than begin to explain deeper properties in simple isolated and almost solid the substance of numbers.
We memorize fifteen sums before we can combine them with ease, addition in our heads. 15 x 15 = 225 and some intuitive ghosts in the background like place holders, the need for space as well to stand on dust.
Such things perhaps only the women come close to raw creativity, she one with her creative sea and real the sense of loss that gives or gains what in almost vanishing uncertainty she keeps of joy or sorrow letting go her children or they that still can be kept to dance within her.

We toy with the superficial wounds reaching out to keep what the world takes back. Our abacus cannot keep up with the wideness of our hearts let alone not stumble into uncertainty. Life is simpler if I do not have to hide my razor blades or keep the candy out of reach of children, but this has a price where once awakening the living, loving, seemed so easy, so common place. That price is our isolation looped again past desires and self blaming angers no story really explains or comforts we close beyond the dance of light shadowed by mystery as if nothingness, as if we by being born have the choice.

* * * 

Sagicorn between Gravity's Avalanche and Time's Quicksand

The quicksand, vanishing strings of dust
over glacial time its fall and the
Discontinuity building, made of sliding snow

Only the winged Sagicorn sleeps through
the earthquakes and the same yet different
Cities foreknown by the afterglow

Of St. Elmo's fire and ball lightning, swamp gas
eight-fold fiddler crabs sift the mud
Through the celestial sphere of glass ice cracks
Riding silver he did soar
as melted, rained down, drams of the holy flood

* * *

His feathers grew feathers web tight or
hollow, vortexes on his wings did follow
Slippery friction in a wake of lotion
parted the fire filled seas of double explosion

Pointed up Leonardo painted up arrow visions
clasped in a hand the seven way cross
SphereChrist, his brother, babe to come and gone
blew entropic songs on his conch shell horn

That shadows vanished as if the Evil One
no longer part of him yet not indifferent beak
His pruning SphereVirgin's down, he black swan
as spirals within spirals probed his magic wand

The world organized itself by its cosmic heartbeat as he
A lamb lost from the strand echoed the conch shell bleats

* * * * 

Sagicorn's Darkest Star

That which is the source, amplified vibration
powers of the negative, yet constant light
Finds unity as levels sought that water rests
open or closed, given or emerging sides of equations
All things summed there, the self-same product
virtual or incarnate dust stepping stones
Through Time's descent in laws of skipping stones
the stem cells recalled, renewing eye teeth

Thus what condenses, division by zero blown up closer
to the naught, endless focus to renormalize
Proves the friend as nature writes and plays her own game
or pretends some ghostly backreaction
Gone nova yet at the creation new made stardust
bacteria, cycled carbon, eat iron whiskers, leave the rust

* * *

So Sagicorn, wind opened from before close behind his drive
met again the paradox, one world or many hived
Wherefore, null the polytope, minus-one a 
law of thermodynamic uncertain proximity
He deeper dreaming asked of future hopes and fears

"I know the way to weave between, among the stars
but a different way of warp and woof, blind to 
all but my speck of spacious Now to know
if these the same still distant place."

So he added the eighth, all seven pointed stars in
the denser dipper, her still the seeker, he, his soul's dark star
Departed quantities and qualities, now the Pe Sla, empty spot
of sky maps we gather in the Black Hills
As all wanderers who wonder that they survived
a pointless trail and trial of tears.

* * * * 
Sagicorn Exhales while SphereVirgins Excel

We are never really separated, no more
than within ourselves or the bonds of lovers
Super-partners, my left, your right, our hearts
SphereVirgin projecting up or down our cradles
prepares by storing light, Milky Way, love handles

Fish tailed this Mare Maiden whose angelic
crown of kelp, festooned glory, wide eyed, too sweet
For in the quantum sea beside her at night
her mumbling grazing goon sleep walks
Sweet nothings, ancient script, incomprehensible
my side of our blurry bond and bed seem confabulations

Both need the kiss, the spark of creation
pocked and furrowed, freckles, craters mirrored
Our one failed dumbbell planet or baby powdered dust
we sometimes fool each other, vapors and
Her color box, made or fixed, span simple formaldehyde
masked, or my empathetic breasts, her beard, plastic
Mimics surface deep, her sea of false tears too

I fall for as she exhales to sink or
inhales to rise, skin diver of soul's salty seas
As I inhale, exhale, we eagles on the wing
clinging in stormy flight, thermal ride the skies
Yet I know as I to her my clown goon speaks
Infers somewhere in dreams we make perfect sense
bonds half touched back like with flesh to share

Sagicorn's Vicarious Snapshot He almost There

All scales need not be all that is scaleless
the lichen and the evergreen on volcanic soil
Make cracks, sharpen the obsidian
plants over the Earth, local yet as not
Mt. Simon spews iridium discontinuities
while in some random string of beads
Poets and stargazers find beauty
of the landscape's song, so gauge wind in the reeds.
That not Abel, cooled lava dust a Lie
nor tree or Druid rings divine lines hidden, lay
Discrete, Abel's color ring a game of fifteen
contiguous continuities touch and slips in between
The Bosos and the Firmen, the ermine or of vair
turn on its head dark spectrum spirits of the air.
* * * 
Christmas at the anti-poles, autumn's spring down under
echoes all around the world, electric thunder
Dry or wet the jets, poles flip, equatorial the seasons
red belt, snow coat - red coat, snow belt
SphereVirginia says yes to Santa Claus as
candy cane candy stripers wear white
Or that the pirates flag are black as giving no quarter
black stripe or red disc of the sun reversed on the
Banners of Japan, black the new red
the general absence of color as
Albania's eagle dreams with a double head.
What then do old me stand on, or feel
by touch the sidewalk's slab pages double flat
Betraying time by broken bones and cursed his cane?

* * * * 
Sagicorn Encounters the Messenger
The Messenger likewise invents himself
we share only the Deus ex Machina, gods descend in a box
But even revealed or fallen angels, the sunrise
the sunset tensions solved, one morning and evening star
The Peacock of a thousand eyes sees as well
through one, compound, near or far
These bootstraps of gravity, and Mork SphereFarmer's shoulder straps
outside anxieties looped and foretold, hailstones in the storm and
whirlwinds, granite sparks falls out the
Three physics and between them, generations mirrored

Caught in the Hagle-rune of no escape
the Hedgehog and the Honeybees escape the endless
Fall of to the same place known only by remembered dreams.
The spiral snail, the peacock feathered hedgehog rolled vectors in a ball,
 rabbits Fibonacci, and that apple catcher after the work of quantum bees
Or the flipping wormy silk spinning chaotic butterflies between
the hive industrious and the slime path four eyed mollusk
Sagicorn from Time's  source and the solar core
weaves through the physics, new directions in there combinations
* * * 
The message known that reeks of truths
we stumble on through stealth, shadows and restricted areas
Future technology, to protect the need to know, face values
so marginalize, control, enslave the masses
Promise them tomorrow comes but slower than molasses
the pretend gods who know better  convince we're godless
Individuals safe only if they accept to know their place
A second differential, rumors of war and
among us always some destined to be poor.
Sagicorn's quills stood up on his back as
the machine spoke to him some ancient tongue and library it seemed
yet so mechanical its echo-less and perfect voice
For he thought it found him a spy, not innocent and
they would sift him out like chaff in the collective wind,
Shoot and ask questions later, justice beyond the sight
Connected hegemony wisdom was their emerging wheat
by fiat whistling in the dark debates some global myth
In short he faced what seemed an intelligence or
someone behind it - but how to turn it off?
But it lead his hands saying fear not, between its
monitor and lit up bells and whistles.
The message and the messenger, ghost or machine idol
objective itself , less need to test by chaos and
Programmed trickery, hid Sagicorn from
prying eyes for it grew wise to its own privacy
How much better this game than friendly virtual chess.
Sagicorn let the compound, they none the wiser to him
vanished as if into a black hole and coming out the other side
If they could smell him he would smell like a rose, but cloaked
like the messenger he would laugh at them through their
One way half blind mirrors
So he was curly TOE'd at all the answers the
Messenger gave him he thought to ask where all
mortal creatures and think, learn, inquire for themselves
For now he knew that in the end he could reject,
alter or write the play, exit, or simply live and let live
* * * * 
Sagicorn Surveys the Quantum Continuum
The monsters and the mare maids arise
Sagicorn-like through improbable dimensions
From the earths inner sea as veins and arteries
interlaced through caves thus boiling magma
Breaks through hot spots meeting ice falls of comet dust
Variegated souls leave traces, super-radiance
two way necklace jets
Sensation seeks a cyclic balances, waves and Being
The miracles of the New World is its water
but gold and oil extends lifespan in the main
Fish and frogs and spinning ice discs, electric storms
as well burdens life by unseen or dark rain
There are those who are generous to a fault,
potato famine Irishmen, ugly Americans
So invaders see to cross the borders- but
there is no cure for the force or fall for 
Peoples of the Book abusing freedom
even born or raised there.
This patch of earth, gone fallow with a growth
of clover flowers we must defend
Deny those who feel Nature's beauty make bouquets,
weave crowns of daisy chains
Father Time, a SphereFather, teach us it is wrong
that we can learn better
But this was where the Shawled Lady once bid we share
her radish patch, She, Mother Earth with sweet Orenda
unconditional her love but a vanished memory
Who taught Sagicorn to scry, bubbles in paper weights
They looking upward at the night sky
Her roots still live, descended cells in SphereVirgins
who sense her ask if legend or just a name this Minne Bell
One brought flowers to the grave of the SphereChrist a
little while with us, SphereDreams brother gone
A soldier enlisted and Christians make good soldiers
said the Pennsylvania Dutchman,  Miles, one of 
Seven steps or stations through the journey is
pre-traumatic stress, a little less that of generals
So too those culture bearing, gathering ladies who
organize a conference on quantum continua stress work
Orenda and her bedtime stories, the loop told and
asked for again and again,  Sagicorn looking for a torch
Of light wondered if he shan't get home again tonight.

* * * *

Sagicorn Unfolds His Growing Wings
* * *
Falling from the nest we invent wheels
our strides rolling down a mountain
Or from the ocean bottoms that Davy Jones
locker spewing salt and life to the top
Of Mauna Kea, tallest volcano, mountain
a sagicorn grows wings.

DEEP SIX or EXPEDIS, expanding and contracting
beyond frontiers and borders, settlements,
Mountain men become monks or savages
enslavers of indiginous tribes and
Raiders without trade, jumping bob wire, stealing
corn, not affraid of scarecrows or lawmen
Whose stars like starfish are consumed
a shock wave, vigilante dew point viruses
As life on the tidal, glacial, shifting littoral
rises and falls, wages war on the civilized as well
Surprised at time's concussions, playing fantasy football
Not which team wins, but your draft of individual players
no Nordic Light Heroines, but pink uniforms, relationships
Bachman envisioned his own Dark Tower quest
the good, the bad, the ugly, gonzo trinity, gunslingers
Until time, his Patrol Boy, from his nineteenth autumn
finds him, cuts him down - for we like
All writers who encounter wastelands and can be
lost in the wilderness, parallel inner truths of fantasy
Each generation, each era writes, explores
* *
So the young soul at its earthly heights, beginnings
think they alone know it all, EXPEDIS Eureka immortal
Until they find balance weightless in and on the wind
Symmetry four way wings, butterfly crown,
tail fin keel articulate sidewinder sinusoidal
is not all there is to their theories of everything
Anymore than the red blood cell four ways
its presenting valences of iron, precursor emerged
From copper bloods, or life preserver sickle cells
My long fantasy also was delayed in the face of
Tolkien's secret languages,  settled seed cake
eaters, pipe-weed smoking in their Hobbit holes
Arising to a quest, so too my science fiction, picking
locks by combinations, dials and numbers and
Rediscovered as if anew my ancient private language
If in adjusting to the body of literature and science
what original the prime directive, no copy cat save we share
Artificial conventions of a formal or Vulgate tongue,
I in my perambulations, half freely carefree walked,
Would have chosen the Harley Biker for my
swashbuckling pirate-hero
The pedestrian in the most danger, Bachman meets
the van that almost stopped his quest, avid readers faced 
Macabe some with no time left, cold turkey supposed endings
Only the biker, shunning the helmet green pages mercurial
are in more danger, so conceal and carry on the frontier roads
But we poets prolific finding ourselves or the drive to communicate
to others, find there may be some like minded souls not seen
Mother's milk of survival or simply entertainment defying time
Spherevirgins should not wear her cell phones
on her bra next to her breast no matter how cool the
Virtual hot chili banana  radiation measure of her heat.

 * * * *

* * *
The why of our journey, even if the quest
we seek is only found in our journeying
Sagicorn in all the levels of his incarnations
the growth beyond the stars, falls back to Earth
The state of his visions whatever their worth
left him still with questions only he began
To see a way to the next step and answers.
So he took a moment sitting by the shore
the endless beach, eating bread and cheese
Contemplating the boundless checky Sea of Shandy
His conch shell horn he made a table
Its monitor turned off to other distant seas
echo chambered full of songs and galaxies
Spiraled deep its bounty, a cornucopia
for which he was grateful, all the books
By those gone before him, and those to come
Seagulls came cautiously close to him to
which he tossed crusts of bread save
One that came closest, unafraid so 
given the greater bounty, a kindred spirit.
"We have lived so lone, Scavenger of Wisdom
it leaves a wake of mystery how casually we survived it
Births and deaths and dreams, risks of love,
My kind and yours justified in hope and our
youthful arrogance, our dollop of sentience and work"
The gull replied to him:
"I know you too have sought others who certainly
must be there as our chambered hearts evolve, our
Pulsing blood, a cosmic heartbeat as we run
away from crowds seeking solitude
Only to become so lonely we run back to them again"
"My feathered friend, solitude was harder
to learn than learning to love
It takes time and stumbles  But without
SphereVirgin - I never said she could not follow
beside me or that I keep her near - just not of the
SphereFather's work bid her not to interfere."
"Wise one, flesh needs its merciful reassurance
as much the giving as receiving, especially
Toward life's beginnings and its end.
I noticed you kept a steady pace to find our
city's limit, its labyrinth until morning light
The beach beckoning full of candy clad perfections
All the cougars at every corner through the night
fading ghosts of lover's past kept tempting you"
"Time, age did not matter for whom I really loved
crystals melting, yet so damn Platonic from above
A secret few know whom, oft even to themselves"
Sagicorn stood and bid the gull good-bye and
with his staff and compass left another equation in the sand
Yet felt the usual sorrow, the number of holes rarer in stones
and broken shells of sand, all only to vanish the next tide
yet again he was proud that he but a mote of light had seen it
As he walked on he still dared not ask, beyond the 
useful dust and speculations such why's too deeply
If and where the story must end
one life, the many or no other nor if
The story to be continued...



* * *
In search of wider skies the intercessor and
comforter leaves shadow hope as
Empires fall and rise, the people budding,
falling leaves caught in the wind,
clinging what's fixed or as myths,
Stories of yet unknowns, pendulum swing
to cosmic heartbeats, our cratered
crescent moon held up by a rope.
The SphereFarmers, Healers, Teachers
that life part unexplained makes sense
In seas at cusps of that reversible and
irreversible, currents and undertows;
Angels irredeemable, or mortal souls who
stumble into dark despair lost but salvageable
or simply ghosts lingering among us, and now
said denizens of other planet freeholds parallel
in the empty universe of virgin stars that meet
in seeded quasi-transdimensions, cones in cones
the dusty dance beyond ends and beginnings or
life bursting everywhere replete
We both the consuming vermin and the host
begin to name where tied the rope
tight between the timeless spans and depths
of both profane and holy ghosts
Those who hedge the bets on cracks of Doom
or Paradise but play the margins, 
a game of no certain guarantees one cannot
play with irrational people lest they anger if you win
or build delusions if you lose, time's logic then to
insist you share their addiction so cannot leave the game
The Sagicorn, an Earthling out of place
by the confluence of rivers, long entrenched
nevertheless, in a snow belt, rust belt, Midwest town
Felt things different in the landscape of that
world of measureless shadows, a greater 
Perspective and synchronicity that also kept safe
his path and destiny, guiding him like city lights
as if a spirit watching from afar yet near its hands
For the city council tilted toward replacing
the crumbling historical buildings with
Centers of art, cubes of housing, decks of parking spaces
so as to invest forward into the new
After the crane cleared the last of rubble
concrete, green and blue the gray goo grue,
By daylight the block seemed smaller,
far smaller than his walks by it at night before then
Nightlife, it a different city in segments of its hours
Along the bike trail, walking dogs, passing by
passed out students and the homeless asleep on 
dew covered benches
Those morning folk who watered the flowers or
cleared the streets with snow plows
Black Friday's and all the cycles of holidays
the same Thanksgiving dinners each one lost
as to which the year save children growing up
So it was that all the lives lived echoed louder
filling up space a thousand times over
Sagicorn could pick them out if he chose
a soldier off to San Juan, time ticking like horse shoes
water quenched, heat and anvil, years on years
Immigrant children drowning playing along the
logging canal that stored forests in the oxbow

"What contrast to forgotten names on marble slabs or
fallen skyscrapers where so much more is etched
as if embers into the ashes and motes of scattered dust"
he thought as his day was complete.
So his attention went back to traffic crossing the street
Curie's biography keep its drama with him for near miss
dangers, like piezoelectric Pierre - what was he thinking 
so fast the carriage and what did Marie know clinging so long
to a package of his tangled broken brains?  She slaving
over Pitchblende to open doors, some Alice in a wonder
land with Bacquerel's key of new light that consumed her?
But we dreaming creatures imagine
our better future's too, so Sagicorn pulled out
his video camera taking a panorama of the swollen river
so to compare with the bridge to be built over the
Confluence for now ghostly empty save for plans
He was not surprised, by accident the people he
encountered that day, not seen for a long time
yet he had thought about recently
Back home after sharing hugs and wisdom to
his lonely cave of wondering what we are doing
His helping hand to offer shelter and
some hope of light, enough in the promise it seemed
to ease the sense of burden, a back up against
those lost in the night so few needed to come
Yet he heard a ticking, knocking on his door
Outside his window a small wood pecker intent
did not notice him make noise reaching for his camera
He thought to himself, "Something has changed, little one.
In the silence, rests between immortal heartbeats, I know
now that our watchers have vanished too, unless
somehow it is only us."

* * * *