The Silurian Dome

                    After the mass extinction of life following the Pre Cambrian explosion, the Silurian Era saw the re coalescence of life into more manageable forms. But the will to over diversify remained in blobs of self awareness that had survived from the previous catastrophic epoch. (See illustrations)

                    Soon the oceans refilled with early fish as plant life started to colonize the land, there was already this ancient dome. And in this dome was the repository for all of the extinct genetic life information preserved. And in it of course was also the rational foresight that had become that experimental breeding ground for the failed foregone aquatic experiment. Changes in the land had then pushed our dome up into the air and this disembodied citadel of life communicated with the stars, waiting for the days when a unified vision of life would again see the coming darkness. Now these presentient awarenesses occupied that strange place between self and non self, but they still understood the process of evolution first hand. Time was just another endless inevitability.

                    These little domestic aliens were trying to communicate. Why they had to try communicating to me I can't imagine. It started in my cupboard. I had these jars of homegrown canning sealed anaerobic organisms. They started out as purely unorganized organisms. But soon I could see that there was motion. First it was like the subtle but so perceivable stirrings of like slim mold moving on a lattice of random fibers, but soon then there was actual symmetrical bodies coalescing in strangely simple yet elegant forms. I thought I must be imagining things.

                    One day after displaying them in an avant-garde experimental art show, I was having a friend help me unload the boxes of the jarred creatures. One of the critters slipped out of the box and crashed itself onto the sidewalk, smashing the jar to pieces. All the other jars were also jumping and bumping with life. Strange yet beautiful primitive animals had taken up residence by virtue of almost spontaneous evolution.

                    Needless to say my friend was horrified and never spoke to me again.

                    After I finished unloading my little friends they continued to rattle around in my cupboards for several months, following me with eyes at yet still unformed. I wanted to share them with the world but I started having these dreams. Mostly beautiful but haunting, I was seeing all these alternate "New Histories." There seems to be a parallel world where the world doesn't come to an end. That's where I got all those "Alien Artifacts." But as for the dome, it was finally found, Apr. 23rd 2023, just as I predicted in my dreams. Just North of the San Bernardino Freeway overlooking the Puddingstone Reservoir. When it is finally dug up, we are already looking at the collapse of the Physical Universe into that newly discovered Linear Singularity.

The Silent Oracle 2034

                   "Good morning world. Today we have the pleasure of talking with Hermes Trimegistus, the Silent Oracle. How's it going Hermes?"

                   "Can you help me sneak out the back?" "Who let you in here?"

                   "Hermes, I'm Phillip Johnson from the MERCURY PRESS, our listeners want to hear your opinions on the end of the world and why have you chosen now to start speaking again."

                   "I wasn't the guy who said the world was coming to an end, someone heard me discussing the collapse of the universe into a conformal singularity within our lifetimes. I was just working on exotic manifolds in higher order geometry, and the next thing I know I'm prisoner here in ORACA Brussels, Belgium, held up as the "Last Prophet." "I never stopped talking, nobody listens to me." "And by the way my name is George Ladle, not Hermes."

                   "Hermes, George, whatever, Why aren't you in school, you're barely old enough to ride a bike?"
                 
                   "Look you old bastard, I never asked for this attention. My parents shipped me off to this place to learn manners, Mom and Dad didn't like hearing that the sky is rising." "And besides I started making lucky guesses about all kinds of things I'm not supposed to know anything about." "I guess I did get a little too self righteous."

                   "You mean to say you aren't the 23rd Tantric Master of the final days?" "What's with all the devotees, the silk pillows, the fruit offerings?"

                   "Tantric Master?" I don't even know what that means and if I did know I would lie about it because that sounds simply disgusting." "You old people gross me out, always lusting after everything from money, power, fame, adoration, enlightenment." "Look the groupies are really cute, but I thought I had descent parents and I just want to go back to being a normal suburban kid." "I don't care about your stupid newswire or the end of the world, when it happens no one is going to care about it anyways."

                   "But George, you must know you're right, the Far Field Observatories have verified the Cosmological Constant has reached your predicted shock values for unanticipated acceleration?" "Gravitational Lensing Effects are already warping time waves into unsheared light rays of rainbow iridescence." "People already agree, the stars are more beautiful tonight."

                   "That's not the worst of it, I keep having these dreams where we are not the first, or last universes to have been reincarnated en mass, only to blink out" "Every time a universe produces life forms self aware enough to produce these levels of scientific exploration, somewhere a Higg's  Boson reaches permanent stability." "This always has an orbital correspondence interface with the separate dimensions producing a final linear singularity." "The little crime that got me imprisoned here was that I showed how higher order wave space is always reducible back into a subspace using only supergravity." "Physical reality is merely a sub condensate of uniform discontinuity." "I'm sorry I called you an old bastard, any chance you can help me out with a little extraction here?"

                   "George, or Hermes, I'm going to loose my job for this, again, but your parents want you back home, we are free to go." "I do extractions in my sleep." "And as you very well know, we were never here."

Welcome to the "Deep Time"

                  As you remember, we last left our intrepid bullshit artist, "The Mythic Zenophile," clinging to the tattered remnant of a failing code halo, circling the event horizon of a place where hope still exists. "We will love you to death," was to be the battle cry of shut ins all across the world wide overground. But it was too late. "Mommy, when I grow up I want to have super powers to smell peoples thoughts, just like Zenophile does," Mommy? Why can't we run Zenophile for president? Mommy how come? The story was going nowhere.

                  In the real world nothing ever really happens, it was already somebody else's responsibility and we are all just fighting over the scrapes now anyways. The world was scheduled to come to an end a long time ago. There's even a lottery now to see who's going to gets stuck having to unplug the machine, after all heroic measures to revive humanity have failed of course.

                  Inquiries have started coming in from all across the overground. "Aren't there supposed to be severe risks involved in those interminable missions into the "DEEPTIME?" People started to want to sign up for these hazardous duties, mining the event horizons of any possibly supportable alternate parallel realities. The fact is there is no way to get back home from these expeditions. This only adds to the suicidal glamour and appeal. The Interspace Nano probes are designed to be self designating, but the kids still want to ride along even when it's just another failed futile expedition into the predictably small and commonplace. Time has run out for all of us here in the real world, before most of us were even born. There is no longer a future to dream about, so time travel demands that we escape into the present, now. Into the Deep Time. Even still the moment just seems to want to, slip away from us once and for all, anyways. Good bye.

                  "Deep Time Explorers wanted," are how the bulletins read. "Limited engagements only. Sign up or be left out." "Tomorrow isn't happening so you better find somewhere else to go, today." that's what your kids are thinking about when they are staring blankly at you from across the breakfast table. They're thinking about being courageous Zenophiles. Each and everyone of them. They all know it's bullshit, and that even if we could find that one door that leads us back into a real tomorrow, somebody would just take it away from them all over again, telling them, "You know better than to dream of a better world." "We are all Doomed!" It's how God intended. Your children are raised by digital nannies. If you want to find God, now days, you will find him online. Come children, your futility awaits.

What Is Inter Sensory Perception?

What Is Inter Sensory Perception?

                   May, 21st, 1980  At the last study session with my teacher at the Mercury Academy, I told Steven that if he was that person I intuited him to be, that I was going to avoid him "Like the Plague," for his protection. I was leaving the school. He stood up from his desk, walked to the office door, opened it and told his secretary to cancel all of the appointments for that afternoon and inform his clients to reschedule for later consultations.

                   Sitting down again, he says, "Selfishness is usually what people do to wreck things for themselves," and that about me he says, "You don't give anyone a chance, you are always making decisions based on what you believe is best for everyone else and that is very selfish of you!" Steve was really pissed at me.

                   I said, "You're damn right, when the issue is one of my own conduct and the effect I would have on someone else, I certainly do make decisions based on what I believe is best for everyone else." We were both right. I said "I know myself very well and I obsess horribly about people." "And if any thing I did ever affected you adversely it would devastate me." I went on "I know that my chances of ever meeting anyone else with your talent, status and connections is pretty much zero." "But I'ld still rather achieve fame on my own merits anyways." "If such a thing ever happens, I don't want it to just because I know you."

                  Somehow the subject then switched to predictions about the future. As if everything was still on course, I brought up my observations about why even though I knew that even back then, that we would be visited by terrorists here in the U. S. there was, (and still is,) no signs of a sudden precipitous end to the world, because of Nuclear War. I knew this partly from studying my own hands, (Palmistry is a potentially predictive medium,) and by comparing the hands with all my clients. Everyone was still dying, (and still is dying,) one at a time of each person's own singularly personal karma. I conjectured that my intuitions, along with my diagnostic readings concurred. I said at that time, "The intuitive self can know, what the surface mind can only wonder about."

                  Steven did something then of such profound beauty and love that I even still today am in such awe. I will never have to say I don't understand. He says to me, "Pay attention, I will never be able to repeat most of what I am going to say." "It is actually possible to predict the outcomes of large scale events because of how many people are effected." Back in 1980, he mentioned the fate of the Twin Trade Towers coming under attack by airplanes crashing into them. At that time I knew nothing about New York city. He went into much more detail about what else was going to happen to the World, it's peoples, to him and to me; The Arab Spring and it's resulting power vacuum, my extreme disability, the death of my brother from AIDS and my belated miraculous recovery. And lastly his injurious brain damaging fall down a flight of stairs. Shattering an Oak table with his scull did ultimately end up rendering Steve aphasic, just as he had predicted.

                  I said, "But you'll still be able to help people, wont you?"

                  Steve glowered at me. "My brains are going to be scrambled, I am not going to be here to help you."

                  I burst into tears and sobbing. He said that my reaction was probably just because of everything that he had said, about my brother, the world, my crippling illness, etc. But I think he did soon realize it really was about him. I asked him, 'Isn't there someway we can arrange to have someone there so as to make sure this doesn't happen to you?" He went on to say that by the time it would actually have happened to him, he really wouldn't care that much because he would be tired of having people not listen to him. And that he would be distracted by something that he really shouldn't let bother him.

                  He also said that I would probably get very angry at him when I would finally realized what he had actually done to me. He said, "You still don't  remember what has happened to you."

                  I said, "It's o.k." "I think I already know, I'm pretty sure I've been routinely interacting with you while you're in disguise." "If you want," I said, "We can still talk in the kinds of casual party situations we seemed to be sharing routinely anyways." "I really don't mind at all," I said. I just didn't want to be getting him in any trouble. I think he was relieved to find, he had trusted the right person.

                  He gave me $5.00 for dinner at the end of our very extended consultation session. That was the last time I saw Steven at the Mercury Academy. I've waited decades to finally write this one down. Thank you so much my dear readers, Thank you for letting me share this story with you. As far as I know Steven never told another soul what was going to invariably end up happening to me, to the world, and to Steven. What's the point? Stranger than fiction. Easy enough to say, but infinitely harder to believe. 

A Future We Can Only Imagine

The Subjunctive Conjecture

Monday, November 18, 2013

ENTER: The Void of Content

                   I've been reminded that this book does not appeal to most of my friends, age group or popular culture. My lack of interest in quick returns dooms me to write for a time still to come. Please forgive my abrupt departure from a supposed fact into a supposed fiction. I hope this is fun for you my loyal readers. Read on. The Surreal Novella is "The Bridge Between the Worlds; <ppireading.blogspot.com>. Remember blogs are written backwards, Start at the bottom of the archive.

                  If I am intent on proving the accuracy of my findings about the full range of mutually defined dynamics and variability in the human opinion bias, I must publish. I've discovered that I am writing for the wrong audience. No one believes the assertions of a person's private research until it's published. My "True Hoax"  is about people who tell stories that come true, it's technically Science Fiction. Just like empaths are just science fiction. That I say it is true is just here say. I want to appeal to a discriminating audience, I rejoin the fantasy. The subjunctive conjecture I made makes it possible to construct such an incredible story. My childhood point of departure is, "A Person's Guess Is Always Better Than Odds Would Allow," the 1st Primary Assertion of the Para Psychological Methods. From that early proposition I speculated my way into the future. Now I must go back into that future so as that I may tell you what is going to happen.

                  As much as I like library science, I must ask that for the time being that I be allowed to abandon the goal of turning over my diagnostic matrices until such time that society can be protected from the abuses of mind control. (Cults will be very common and popular.) The only way I can do this is to inoculate readers with the awareness of the inevitable responsibilities that come along with data mining and surveillance. People have sacrificed personal freedom and privacy without even noticing. As a psychic, if and when I observe the discreet variabilities of a person's distinctiveness, most people are so oblivious about what I am doing, that I can mind my own business. It is far easier to abuse the power of knowledge than it is to share an understanding about people's signature behaviors and attributes. I feel for those who think they're turning their "Objective" microscope back on me. Thus it is necessary I refocus the blog from information retrieval and processing toward that shimmering tableau that is the Gift. This story has a very happy ending, but if you have been following, you probably already know this.

                 But as all good drama has an antagonist, we are going to offer ourselves up to the gods of mayhem. The chaos we see in our own ignorance, is our own resistance. When we look at the foolish illusions of objective authority, we all will tremble. There are no ultimate authorities in this tale, we are all wandering blind. "The Truth Is Out There." WE will find it.

                 I have about eighteen years left, give or take a few days. So let's start there. PPIServices will have had it's rollout about three years before. It will be a smash. The big handle is the extremely comprehensive PsychicPersonalityInventory. The general public will eat up the very user friendly soft tech applications that allow people to process their own diagnostic matrices. If someone wants to learn what they are probably going to die from or what their worst character defect is, we can do so at our own discretion. Using only the tests each person selects for themselves helps make everyones PPIReading personally unique. There are infinities upon infinities of possible ways of reading any individual person. One of the greatest advantages of using a PPIReader is that it can be done off line with only a printout score sheet and a pencil. No electronic trail is ever needed. All of the particular specifics of a persons individual Biometrics are processed independently from each other. Using state of the art personal encryption key security systems make it that our personal "Identity" becomes just  "To Much Information." The same thing making personal surveillance a waste of time becomes our best friend. The only real limitation to how much information we will be able to process about our selves is time. People will get sick of knowing everything about themselves and each other, just the way I do. Like google searches, most of our personal information will be lost in the black hole of information undertow. No one outside of your friends will ever care who you are. Privacy is a first casualty in our age of information. Getting our privacy back is going to be quite easy if we don't mind anonymity. PPIServices will make it much easier for us to know what it is, that really is nobody else's business. Let's take a look at what happens to people in the future. (Enter: The Subjunctive Conjecture.)

A Story of No Return

Time for a Story of NO RETURN     Wednesday, June 19, 2013

                    As our semi swerved and fishtailed coming to an abrupt stop, I woke up in the cab sleeper. I could see by the flashing lights that there was a fuel tanker blocking the road. Steve had fallen asleep behind the wheel. We almost died in flames. But no, just close, no explosion. Steve kinda blamed me for not staying awake after telling him several made up bizarre stories. Sleepy bye bye stories that almost made us go boom boom. My stories made him skate down the highway, eyes closed, as truckers are reported to do from time to time.

                     When we got to a truckstop, Steve was still scared and pissed. He said, we almost died and asked me if I even cared? I said I was glad we were still alive, but if we had died, we wouldn't be around to care anyway, so what difference did it make. He accepted my logic but it was a small comfort. I was just a hitchhiker. Why should a nobody like me end up being the reason why Steve stopped driving all together. It would seem I'm not the only person who gets dangerous highway hypnosis, bad. Who would have thought that entertaining stories about aliens in flying saucers the size of dinner plates could end up so scary.

                      I had no comprehension that this was the beginning of a strange wonderful profoundly disturbing relation with one of the most brilliant amazing messed up people ever. Chance encounter with Steve meant life was on detour into the world of the unknown. No return.

Zenophile: Rare Perception

                   The time has come to tell you why old seers never die, we just float away.

                   As my life's work is coming to conclusion, I'm seeing the world and all it's people take a giant step back. I still have a couple of years as I've written, it's going to be weird for all of us. But my reality has continued to deepen. It's like my brain has actually grown a pair of legs, and all the intelligence that comes from personal freedom of heart and mind has only made me smarter.

                  The net result of a lifetime of spiritual technology, produces results both subtle and overwhelming. I no longer need to talk to people except to maintain social courtesy. I can aways use a fresh outlook on particular points of view. But because of the way awareness scans the field of inquiry, my ravenous appetite for learning means I pump people dry. And I never fully forget. I'm incapable of missing people. You are always fresh in my thoughts. I still have desire, but not much. As a reader, this really isn't about me. It's about what happens to you, the reader, when you too become read.

                  Time sped up, but the world and everything in it has slowed way, way down. I not only can see your point of view and complement it with mine, but I can also extrapolate from mine, to yours, to the rest of the world and everyone else's in it. It's almost impossible for me to want to talk to someone without a simple objective, no matter how small. Otherwise I try to shut up and just watch. I went through my second puberty getting my health back at fifty, and now I'm returning to silently witnessing everyone just like I did in my preschool years. My Mom thought I was dumb, literally.

                  I know that when I die it will start out with the same experience I had being born. (When I told my mother that I remember being born, she shook her head in disgust. From her wheelchair she glared and said,"If you remember being born, you deserve it." "You were a horrible birth." She was right, at the last moment before delivery, I hear my parents argue and I turn around inside my mom. Tangling the cord around my neck and going footling breach, I was dying. Stars of shimmering semi consciousness manifest as a shivering orb of mercury, expanding to meet the ever increasing weight of my mothers organs contracting down on me. And as the pressure increases to the point of almost ending my life, I had grown as this quivering mass of reflective liquid to the size of one of my universal infinitudes. BANG! She somehow managed to push me out. My parents never wanted children. Eventually my mom learned to love me, blah, blah blah.) But yah, death, personally it's not always a big deal. Most people generally don't want to know how and or when, but as the pro psychic I'm cool with that and I never try to bother people with things you don't really have reason to know about.

                  Oh yes, I almost forget, we're falling up. That's right. Fly away little fledgelings, fly away.