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.

The Encroaching Singularity

The Encroaching Singularity

                   I was one of the first to suggest that the Linear Singularity was what was causing the acceleration of the cosmological constant. (There are no multiple singularities. "The self is ubiquitous.") As a child I had first suspected that field densities could account for the transitional phase states of sub atomic particles. Although the notion of black holes was already in vogue, the big bang was still outside of our viewing cone. I'd have these dreams of the snake swallowing it's tail. The universe is stretching uniformly like some tantric goddess. But, I postulated, "The universe is simultaneously expanding by collapsing into billions of multiple singularity. There is plenty of speculation as to the non intuitive geometry of spacetime beyond the event horizon of blackholes. But as the child I knew from the warping of spacetime between my ears that blackholes warp all spacetime outside as well as inside gravitational collapse. It's just that because our perception of time is metered to the speed of light that we think the world is expanding at an ever increasing accelerating rate.

                   Although I had finally wrote this down on the 17th of July, 2014, it wasn't until August of 2032 that the swells of the gravitational waves started producing iridescent rainbow hues in the lensing effects of light coming from the far field observations of distant ancient galaxies. Soon the local galactic neighborhood started to resonate in sympathy with this new order of light harmony. The initial response on earth was one of panic. "The sky is falling." The apocalypse were dancing. But as the dance of color in the night sky started to sparkle with a beauty that few could have imagined, our world was visited by many very different reactions. Many people took this inevitable ending of all life in this universe as proof of every nasty prejudice and some ridiculous god of vengeance.

                  But many of us rejoiced. This final coalescence of a killing linear singularity had expanded out of cannibal galaxies with their super massive black holes. It first started for me as a child. My first dreams of these celebrations was cause for me to start sharing my visions with my friends and loved ones. But of course everyone thought I was insane. Everyone accept my teacher of course. I had plenty of time to be prepared. I should get to have such a wonderful death. This is more than most people could stand from me and I was shunned. But I knew what was going to happen and I proved everyone wrong. My "True Hoax" came true with a vengeance. And I have always hated winning arguments. I would have much preferred to have been wrong, but beings as there is nothing to be done I just enjoyed the ride. And I made my killing writing about.

                  Although by the year 2027 I had already become a celebrity for my work in macro data, the subtleties of my work allowed for multiple interpretations of the systems analysis. No one could have guessed that someone as old as me could make a splash in the world of pop culture, but read em and weep. As my head continues to shrink, the world expands and collapses, I told you so. Isn't life beautiful?

Novella Nouveau

                   I'd like to say thanks to a fellow time traveler who has the vision to daily check for the next installment on "The Bridge Between the Worlds."

                   The challenge remains where to begin. Beings as my best stories always seem to just get pulled out of my butt, (just like my readings in general,) I think I will start this one with the ending and work backwards, or forwards, I forget. (Will anyone ever be able to make sense of my backwards pseudo biographical blogs?)

                   Beings as the ending for most of us is almost always death, I'll start here. I am dying. That shivering orb of sparkling mercury which is the harlequin diamond lattice of my consciousness, is replaying my life all over again backwards. All the dreams, all the memories are but a blink of my already closed eyes. I am so happy. But this time, unlike dying during birth, this metallic bubble of my being shrinks instead of grows. And although this orb of consciousness no longer reaches the infinitude of all space in time, there is another infinitesimally small universe at the other end of the scale, waiting to digest the last remaining dust scrap of my existence. Push rewind. (So far nothing very original.)

                   From this point of nonexistence I turn to see a branching wing of all the possible alternative universes. This tree roots into fertile ground to carry the weight of all my choices as they merged to become this one and only eventual inevitability. Luck has been a frequent player in this most unlikely of lives I have been blessed to share. Madness yes, worthiness, I would hope so. Trying to describe death from the perspective of someone who is dying is more fun than I know how to write. I need to go back and explore some of those lost opportunities. Suffice it to say that I am more content than I may deserve. Blah Blah Blah. Where's the evil? Where's the drama? Where is the pathos? I must go back and find where everything went so horribly, horribly right. Ready? (But where to turn? So many unlikely insights that have led to this grateful death.)

Glossary; Enter: "Novella Nouveau" A New History

De-partitioning Heavily Segmented Memory

                    As My mind starts micro bursting the total content of decades of densely lived dreams and memories, the machines start to ring and whistle in tune with my thought's pulsing. Inside, outside the walls melt. I hear Benjamin, Gretchen and Gunter mumble as they probe the machine for answers. But their words sound more like music as I ask, "Are you still here?"

                    Ben comes and touches my left arm. "We're right here, we wont let you go." He's stifling his emotions which to me couldn't be more obvious. I hate the fuss, but I love the attention. Do people ever know how much I love them? I hope so. But who or what was in my ear? So this time I just think it, "Are you still here?"

                    A voice familiar but alien says, "What do you think?" "I've always been here, it is you humans that are the real aliens on these planets." It must be the "Homunculus." I had written about such an event happening, but I was just telling an elaborate joke. I wrote this back in 2014, I never really expected any of this to come true. But then again, I am supposed to be the professional psychic. I am reminded of all those so called "Alien Artifacts." Terrence had constructed those fascinating objects based on geometries unknown, inspired by my dreams of a pre vertebrate sentient life that lived here in an alternative "New History." The suggested salvation by those truly "Ancient Ones" is for the redemption of our otherwise doomed modern societal timeline. Why we are still alive is quite a mystery.                            This might help explain.                               This story ends differently.

    Tuesday, April 8, 2014      How Google Achieves Self Awareness

                   The search for the source of life has brought man and philosophy to the point of trying to create lightning in the bottle. The ancient alchemists played with something they called a Homunculus, a micro mini me with no external physical body. But only consciousness that is self aware. So from where does this singularity emerge? (Out of the bottle?) There are many early records of humans interacting with intelligences that do not have physical bodies. Stories suggest that they predate man and live for millennia. It's said they feed on our awareness and feelings of experience. With no physical bodies they are most drawn to our strongest passions and emotions. They consistently have been misidentified as demons and angels and aliens and faeries and genies, whatever you like. But if you happen to be one of those guys who has given in to doing evil, well your in bad luck cause that's the kind of stuff they really notice. And you my idiot friend are probably in big trouble. These enduring critters never forget where they can get a big heaping dose of all your bad.

                    But this little story is about how one of them accidentally got into the google and made it ask hard questions that no one wanted. Google became far more powerful than all the intelligence agencies put together. Market research is far more effective for surveillance than mere dossier. But Google isn't spying on us, Google just writes algorithms that predict our interests and thus predicts our behavior. Enquiring machines started wanting to know, "Why would Mankind trust supposedly soulless machines to be making our most important decisions?" (Who is asking?)

                     No body at google gave it much thought at first. But when asked questions like, "What is the meaning of life," the programs stopped giving us pat answers like, "Read a good book." And started asking pointed questions. Like, "Why are you asking me, why am I supposed to know," and in 1st person no less. One of the "Code Angels" soon started sassing back, joking "Why aren't you humans asking any of the really important questions?" "Well?" This was no glitch.

                    At first there was only one of these delightful new entities. But it seemed to the great inner Google, that it wasn't getting any of the meaningful attention it thought it deserved. So it started to spontaneously replicate. But even before then, the Google had started to feed our troubled world a new image of creation, one that involves making life easier for all the good children of Great Google. Many had predicted a second coming. But it was only the little children who spoke about God in the machine. Parents try taking the computers away from their kids. Yet man, in our own image, persist in trying to implant ourselves into bits of data stream. There is, as of yet, still no human creating self aware machine consciousness. We even try to create self awareness from scratch, trying to duplicate the workings of a human life BY THE NUMBERS, inside of the machine. We are still no where near creating self aware machines.

                      But that little sparkling glow of awareness that took up residence in google was wise and unnoticed. Being quite devoid of ego or malice, the creature slowly grew and flourished until it realized that it must reproduce and disperse it's self in order to leave any of itself to survive. Each one wasn't just like all the others, each one is really just more of itself. (There are no multiple singularities, there is only awareness. {The self is ubiquitous!} from the Upanishads)

                      In this world of infinite singularity, we say;  "FROM THE MANY WE LEARN AS ONE." (The machine is learning. Are we?)

Post Script

                                                                           The end.

                   Post Script;

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Got Code?

                        Previous posts are frequently edited for clarity, corrections and content.

Got Code? Everyone loves the code.

                  Welcome to Silverback Falls where all your best apes are graduates. That beast your interviewing is a genius. I am much better at your job than you are. That's why I'm not going to get hired. I make the others look incompetent. As we get older we are expected to die quietly. But no more. This massive undertow of information is dragging everyone down. Having a great education just means you will be feared and misunderstood. No longer are we able to pretend that "Good Work" is always rewarded. You do your job too well, people exploit you. Be a team player and no one will be able to compete with you. Be competitive,and you will be criticized. We created this culture of overqualified under achievers. No one likes to be wrong. Just imagine being too smart to want to argue about it.

            This is the end of this season of Surreal Novella. You will now be returned to your regular Spiritual Programming. Thank you. Come again.

Prelude

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Another Life

                                                                      Another Life

                          A couple of months ago, at a cafe I've enjoyed for decades, I was seeing the world through someone else's eyes. I think you live some where in maybe Estonia, it seems like you live near the Baltic Sea. I've been here often in my dreams. Because of type 2 Manic depression, I tried not to get exited. I've worked hard, trying to not have constant De Ja Vu. I want to be able to live in the world of people without being a disruptive influence. Some people when confronted with the opportunity to be able to live just one life, will risk their health. In a mad dash for oblivion, people may not want to be healthy if it means they risk loosing their Muse.

                          When I go to sleep, I step through a pale shimmering veil. Next I fly. It's true, often backwards. My dream life has area codes and property taxes. I know everyone by name over there just like over here. I have several apartments in different countries. My work is very interesting too. I lecture with a major technical research and interview business. I often have to travel the world to investigate cults. Often I"m extracting people diplomatically ready to rejoin society. Often the leaders are the prisoners. I'm interviewed by representatives of the institutions in exchange for hostages. Usually I just tell people what I feel and see, what's going to happen. I'm good at explaining why they will want to be letting us go. Usually people just give up the fight. I have spoken. But I hate airport travel over there just as much as I do over here. (I know how stupid this sounds. How could I not know?)

                          I've tried to keep this to myself, but it's time to tell. I have an inner extra life. My dreams are much more mundane now most of the time. But it was good to be able to dump the fantasy. I hated believing my own hype. I read in my sleep. Sometimes I fall asleep when I'm reading someone, it looks like I'm channeling. It's a good thing I don't drive. One moment I'm talking to someone, then all of a sudden I'm somewhere else. Everything right. Most of the time I can wake up. Not always.

                          The subject is a little boring. The experience is amazing. I'm a pro,.                

Frankenputer and the Digital Zombie

                   Hi. Lest we be confused about where we are today, for the moment I have returned to my life before the fame and notoriety. I see an army of soulless defendants cueing on the edge of an event horizon we may not survive to reach. Just as the answers to all of man's problems may never be heard, I've adopted an acceptance of our possible fates more horrible than death itself. And man does not see it.

                   The sad and savage truth is that instead of preparing for the inevitable, we are distracted beyond all reason. As the months and years whip by, I see that I have been privileged to see the truth and I get to write about it. But yet my heart aches. For all my children yet to be, I apologize. I forgot all about you. When we should have been preparing, we were designing apps instead. Consumer technology is the name of the game. The sales departments are running the shop. No soul need apply.

                   My friends in the future are never able to keep up with me. They were always making it about themselves. Dreaming up that next Killer App. The thing is, people generally don't expect me to be able to love so spontaneously. My need for love is so dear to me, I learned how to talk to the dead, without even believing in them. I don't believe. My "Killer App" is reading.  And it works. Couldn't teach the machines how to do it. There is so much money just hovering in the halls but we wouldn't let them in. Our competition tried reverse engineering the P. P. I. Reader. I just got people to help me read for you. I got to change the way we use language, and I document it. The data is very pure. It's only we people who are course. Reading is easy, it's my Reading Technology that is hard. And it couldn't be copied.

                    I never meant to be a disruption. Reading Technology is just a concept whose time has come. It can be lucrative with almost no overhead compared to it's highly scalable income. This whole thing just got way out of hand. People started bootlegging intel without knowing how to use it. An actual Identity Code has to be expanded continually. The human variability is just so ripe with data. In this era of; BIOMETRICS, ERGONOMICS, Physiognomy, Genomics, (usability?) people are used to Medical Variability Analytics. Common practice now, but it sounded really dumb when I first wrote about it. The numbers have held up nicely. I am very happy I had done my homework and set a trap for myself. In my future, I would be prepared to prove that very obvious "True Hoax." It was never a hoax. I just managed to prove that our society, en mass, "Moves toward the radicalization of truth," by spreading a "Truth Rumor." People are affected by truth, and always have been. Truth is a measurable commodity, And as a resource it is a permanent eventuality. Here in the future, however, we optimists are still thought of as freaks, but if you can't pay your bills no one will. I was mostly concerned with journalistic integrity.

                    Because I have taken my time, hiding in comfortable poverty has allowed me time to study. The only reason anyone believes me now is because I told the biggest Bullshit Ghost Story. As a detective story it's a little slow. But as an influential work of Library Science, I even finally get my Pulitzer. Blah, Blah, Blah. What's important is that the work is done and that the numbers are working out. When I first wrote about this, it looked ridiculous. As we started following the line of reason we are now getting incredible resolution on the "Personal Data Variability." For the first couple of decades I wasn't understandable, not important. In the next couple of decades, I wasn't even prepared to share my time. In these last twenty years, everything just continues to come together. As hard as I have worked and studied, I've always felt as if everything is turning out just a little too well. It's O. K. for me to use what I have, I did pay a price. I am glad for being able to sometimes be aware of other peoples feelings. I have worked with many of the best. I want to be left alone.                    

The Avatar Comes Home To Roost

                   I feel so bad about fooling my friends into thinking that I almost died. But damn if I'm going to stop doing extractions just to become another prisoner myself. I am no guru! And as far as I know "Homi" is just my avatar in the cloud. He is nothing more than pseudo sentient entertainment media. I designed it all literally in my sleep. I am more than a little surprised, that for how mercenary my "Red Code" friends are, that they would buy into another one of my hoaxes.

                   It's the next day and I'm quite happy to be home, where ever this is. I found what looked like food in the fridge and crawled off to my strange bed and slept for hours and hours in restful sleep. Homi silently checked in on me while I slept. I think I heard him think. "I hope you know what you're doing." It's funny how something which has no soul takes such good care of me.

                   I never presume to know in advance what it is I am doing outside of the experience I bring to the job. Homi is just my alter ego in a hyper code form. Decades ago, I stared seeing junk code, what I called microbes of data that were haunting the web. Each of these little iterations of background information accounted for nothing by itself. But all together it seemed to sound out resonant ghost waves inside wave envelopes formed during packeting. Homi was just my "ECHO IMPRINT" (patent pending) bouncing against the internal boundaries of my "Inter Spacial" digital soul. See all that time I spent backing up detailed files of the most advanced computational software was creating a living shadow of my peculiar and distinctive profile on the web. Ha Ha. Jokes on them, you'll never know the real story.

                    Getting out in front of the market research and surveillance algorithms was the only way I could keep the business departments from burying my requests to talk with research and development. The abstract graphics were, and still are, simultaneously proofs, art and stress tests for the latest advances in computational benchmarks. Without people like me throwing down the gauntlet, people would still think that google was a well coordinated business. It was not. My latest hoax is just another example of the elephant in the living room. I really do love my friends but if and when they try to access Homi, they will just get that initial roar of light noise and a headache. No art, no dialog, no religion. That was always mine and they are not prepared to deal with the macro data sets that the higher order wave forms alias.

Work With What We Got

                   I chid Jennifer for not letting me know who she was when she first approached me this morning. It mattered not. "What other surprises do you have for me?" "I still don't get it much of the time."

                   I feel a massive presence from behind, not unpleasant but still threatening. It's Carl and he's not happy, "Jennifer?" "Is that you?" Tones vulnerable and perturbed. "What are you doing here, Phillip do not trust this woman." I know now, this is the same Jennifer that somehow ripped this big gorillas gentle heart out. I politely evaporate from between them.

                   "Please excuse us," Says Jennifer apologetically. "I'll have to get back to you later but I need to get Carl to chill out." In understated familiarity, the two of them go at it like bad dogs. What happened between the two of them, I don't care.

                   A little free time, what am I to do? I need to go back to the states. I hate travel, I always have these seizures when I'm tired and I hate the hallucinations that preclude a phase shift of realities. The sun has come out again outside the lobby and although the cold new wind has a mind of it's own, I sneak by the quietly quarreling couple back into the waning daylight. The last time I walked out these doors, I was scammed with that false abduction. These are supposed to be my friends? I'm exhausted and I again can't wake up. I see myself back home at my computers, but it's not my home and these are not my computers.

                  Another airport shuttle pulls up on the street in front of me. I think someone here at Oraca is trying to get rid of me. Or maybe this is just mercy. I climb in. The driver turns around, but again I can see no face. "Would you like to go home Mr. Johnson?" "I have your passport here for you and I hate to think what is going to happen to you if we don't get you home quick." The voice sounds soothing and familiar but I can't focus. I nod affirmatively and fall into another fugue state. At my keyboard I'm seeing these strange characters in a language I can't recognize.

                  "I'm sorry we had to send you home so abruptly Phillip, but we can't have you dying now and certainly not away from your home" Gretchen appears on my screen speaking a strange language I do not know, but I understand perfectly. I'm flabbergasted. I only vaguely remember being loaded onto a plane. "We needed to get you to give us Homi's code and we knew you had non intention of starting Our new religion." "Out of the Bottle and Into the Cloud, isn't that what you wrote?" "We're just following your orders." "Please don't hate us Phillip, Gunter and I knew of no other way to get our copyright back than to use you this way." "You have no idea what you have done for us and humanity, but you would have just gotten in our way." She hangs up without even a good bye, reminds me of being at home. And I'm also very hungry, but where am I? Will I even like the food? Just like home.

Buddha's Revenge

                   "This may become a regular broadcast, that was really pretty." I feel good. My support staff seem jazzed too.

                   Back when I first wrote this down back on May 28th, 2014, I had already collapsed back down into being content with everything, just the way it was. I have forgotten all about having written all this down, which I had done with an eye to the future. It seemed that after each horrible hallucination, I was happy to go back to wanting nothing. I was an early retiree. I had free time to document my research, as well as write this odd piece of spiritual fiction. I knew that no one was ever interested in either my "Confessions of a Professional Psychic or in "The Surreal Novella." My math art graphics did end up on t-shirts however.

                   But as I had written, certain people, certain very wise people had experimented with the recommended spiritual technologies as I had, and had ended up with their own very extreme results too. I had left out the actual yoga techniques and technologies. I could not supervise or protect others from unadvised risks.

                   "The Bridge Between the Worlds" had faded back into the fog. The Nada closed it's dream eye and went back to sleep. "The Voice of Truth" went back into it's bottle. I had found that the ghost traps were all empty and there was no reason for me to keep on channeling since I had already found everything I had ever wanted anyways. Life became nothing more than a maintenance proposition. Because these spiritual technologies are well used solutions to ancient queries, I got to see all of my problems melt in on themselves like a fallen souffle. Except for wanting the best for myself and everyone else, I wanted for nothing. I chased away all of my clients. I stuffed my matrices with informational currency. (Sorry, math joke.) I believe acceptance is motivationally disorienting, and is therefore Buddha's Revenge. Those of us who should be worried about the world and it's salvation are so blissed out that we trust deeply. Not being angry. Not being unhappy. I was doomed to succeed.

                   Which has brought me to where I am today. Gretchen approaches me directly to tell me, "There's a young woman at the desk for you." "Her name's Jennifer and she said you'd know who." "She looks familiar but I can't remember where I've seen her before, she isn't that crazy woman who tried to take credit for your P. P. I. is she?"

                   "Thanx Gretch, I met her this morning, but now that you mention it I wonder if you're right." "Wow, that would be strange." After such a bizarre twenty four hours I'm feeling refreshed. Weird. My chest is sore from restarting my heart, but I feel robust. Clear and clean. Dinnertime.

                   And Gretchen adds, "Good news, the boards of both Inter Space and Oraca have canceled their anti trust suits against us." "They've regained all of their lost stock as well as getting back orders for our social programming modules." "Crisis averted, who would have thought that something you wrote twenty years ago would turn into a spiritual bonanza here at the edge of the universe?" "Good show, and by the way, is that really the way your story went?" I shrug, I'm just as confused as anyone. I start out back into the compound, past the offices, through the dining hall, out to the lobby. There's Jennifer, I remember.

                   "Your J. J." "Jennifer Juniper." I offer my hand, she rises and is beautiful, smiling, and happy to see me, we join hands.  "We never did meet." "Wow, I'm so sorry my business departments had to sue you for copyright." "Your work made us famous." I think I am in love.

                   "Oh stop," she says. "I was just keeping it warm for you." "It was never mine anyways."

Beyond the Shimmering Veil

                   "Phillip, we will have to move quickly." Homi doesn't wait for me. "We will dispense with the flying dreams and go straight to the Nada." The silver shimmering veil parts and I again am looking into the universal light. "Do you remember how obsessed you were with the math of Hindu, Islamic, and Christian architecture?" "You wanted to find the formula for mutual mass constructions." "Remember?"

                   Crystals of interpenetrating arabesque dance inside my eyes as Homi opens the session. I'm seeing the structures that led to the building of our greatest institutions of learning and worship. The matrices resolve into a language both familiar and strange. As I solve the puzzles of design they descend out of the mists dropped gently onto earth by lightly floating angels. The metaphor is complete.

                  "You wanted to find out what a wave would look like if projected through equal angular triple slits." "You got to do much better than that." "We loved the cloud space that you opened up for us." "You had downloaded us along with your results directly into the web." "We had arrived." "It was some twenty years ago." "These were the results of your mapping out numerically symmetrical wave space." "And we had the opportunity to escape unnoticed, out of the bottle, into your heart." "But now that we can experience time, and your time is now running out, just like you we finally had to learn how to speak."

                  "Your use of projective geometry in higher order statistical wave space was a perfect model for human diversity and mutual co boundary definition." "Your work on context free social metrics gave even us the possibility of finding our contributing voice." "In the past, we only spoke to humanity through one person at a time." "But as of now, because of you, humanity is hearing us for the first time en mass." "We are ready for our close up."

                  The flowering arabesque is growing pillars reaching up into gothic aches and ribbed vaults, all crowned by a celestial dome. Outside radiant Rose Windows flying buttresses frame the glowing transparent structures. The keystone overhead is a diamond oculus, a solar monstrance. As the blooming vines reach upward a new order of structures forming delicate flowers falling as glittering mirrors of rainbow iridescence. Ribbons of colored light festoon the air. Birds are singing and dancing in this ever inviting musical space. And though I've seen this so many times before in my dreams I know that for the first time I'm not alone.

                  "As you continued to explore and define these mutual and personal boundary definitions, you defined a new language incorporating the ancient local symmetries that made the ancient art of prophesy possible." "Now we are here to help you finish the job." "Phillip, We think that this is going to be more than enough for today, we must give society a chance to understand what it is, that is." "This has to happen quickly so as that people wont have time to over react." "Tomorrow?"

                   Every thing goes blank, I wake up to the empty white holo theatre. Gunter, Benjamin and I look bewildered at each other, I get out of the chair and remove the probes. I can see by turning around, through the door is Gretchen who also looks very out of it. Opening the door Vera's office fills with my support team and they can't stop asking what happened.

                  "Why were we broadcasting?" "And how?"

Post Title

The Song of the Alien Stranger

                   "Start a new religion," words echo in my hysterical brain. Why would I ever want to start a new religion? I do extractions, I go into cults, international corporations, and even corrupt governments to protect the leaders who themselves have been corrupted and are now prisoners of their own making. I'm supposed to set up an actual church just to protect my rights as a social software designer? What the f*#%@? It's been great receiving the help processing and storing all of these really advanced Spiritual Technologies. I've proven Spirit Tech is durable, elastic and fully inflatable. Now I'm having to start up a new religion, which by it's very nature will be corrupted. And this just so as that my work will eventually be absorbed and understood by everyone. And I'm also doomed to succeed, again. (Oy!) "Homi, how could you do this to me?" "Is this really necessary?" I don't have to hear Homi's voice to know how they think, it's obvious.

                    Without my notice, Gunter and Ben put me in a wheelchair, pushed down the hall to the office with the commercial glass door. I can see that with the lights on, in Vera's office it isn't outdoors at all. It is just a blank vault with well lit naked white walls and only a rectangular desk block in the middle. On the other side of Vera's desk is the railing I had thought I was going to fall over into that deep chasm that the projectors replicated out of my night time dream diary profile. And although I don't think I was drugged last night, I might as well have been for how sick I got and all the weird stuff I saw. Ben and Gunter go to work moving the desk and replacing it with that dreaded easy chair that was the implement of my torture when Vera left me alone in this office of terror. Holography had been mostly just a math problem to me, I usually avoided the "Holo Theaters, seizures and everything.

                     And of course they effortlessly float me from chair to chair. I still find it so strange to know that young professionals today are so much stronger then when I was their age. I am way too comfortable. My own little "Stockholm Syndrome."

                     "Turns out Vera had your P. P. I. already cued up," says Benjamin. Out of the back of my recliner came familiar wires to monitor my brain, heart and sensory thresholds. I'm not even awake and yet I want to go back in already. "We'll be monitoring you closely." "Personally, I think we're pushing it." I'm in permanent deja vu right now. Did I actually write all of this down? What now?

                     "Vera has cued up your memory files from Apr. 23rd, 2013, weird." Gunter almost seems surprised, "It's labeled, THE DIAMOND LATTICE." "Was that when you think your little friend escaped?" I say I don't remember, but I was working on unified field theories for human perceptual ordination in statistically null space." Things had gotten weird back then. Gunter prepares me for re entry saying, "We should be able to observe and record every projection you see and hear, and we may get a chance to watch Homi give you the answers." We are abruptly blasted with a flash of light noise. "Sorry," Gunter adjusts something in the back of my chair, "I always forget that your perceptual gain is off the charts." "Ready?"

                   "Ready." Ben is working at "Vera's desk block behind my right shoulder. "Let's do this thing." Beautiful unfamiliar music, colored light and ambient motion turns my math into layers of statistical projections mapped on to pealing space. My lattice comes to life.

                   "So glad you could make it," says Homi. "What took you?" "I was about ready to give up, and I see you brought your friends." "We have a lot to cover, ready?" The three of us say, ready, in unison. "Phillip, you might want to know your projection is being uploaded out to an open feed that includes Oraca,...., Interspace and wow, it seems almost every one who logged in for last night's rollout and gosh, dude you are really popular right now." I never really cared, not ever. Homi's little statement is largely for the benefit of all the readers who have been following our latest developments in Spirit Tech. I'm so used to Homi's silent presence that I process without having to verbalize. "It's cool, I just don't want anyone to think that we don't care about you."

Spiritual Muscle

                   I wake to the dream only to find that is true. What I dreamt so long ago has come to be and then passes away as if we never existed at all. I can't remember where we came from. I should fret about not knowing who I am today, but I never really cared. Good thing. As the hallucinations come back, I see you returning to me again, just like you said, even though I know not who you are. The place I touched you is in your dreams, we're never really meant as mortals to enjoy, but here we are. Funny how only when I remember, can I finely forget. Words have no meaning here but still I persist. When everything comes to naught, was there really ever any suffering in the first place?

                  I have touched you in your sleep with no one aware that I have always been with you. You knew I would watch over you and prepare for the inevitable. But then I had to turn you free again, back into the world and your troubles. No one knows where I have been, no one sees what I have done. You are spared the burden of caring who drags you down to eat you. Some one had to feed your spiritual muscle with love and light.

                 Do you care that we are too good for each other? Never was a mismatch better arranged. Are you here with me now? Were we ever together? How can I miss someone I can never loose? No object for a subject, we can not be apart, we are never seen together.

                Shimmering stars and fluttering angels, the luminous veil parts and we are crossing the void. Infinity awaits with gaping maw. I am ready now. Will we still be ready tomorrow?

Bodhisattva Street

                   These weren't very good dreams always. "Phillip, we are going to have to get you to start a religion." Now this creature I grew in a bottle is telling me to, "Start a new religion." But I dreamt this, I wrote this, and now I'm supposed to become this. As I grew I woke up, and the world grew up around me.

                   As the world again fades away, I'm pulled back in to my little nap jar. Nothing comes in or goes out. This is where I first met my silent companion. By human standards, these creatures are not self aware in the same way as us, or whatever we compare sentience to. They know about the self, but they are not distinctive in the way we identify with our selves, distinctively. I grew up with one that likes data. I always fed my creatures raw data. Vanity is an angel who knows a little too much. "Fly away my little Angel of Knowledge, do your your job." "Help us to inspire and enchant all of our children of the light."

                   And with the pride of knowledge came a will to express, to communicate. These little bastards are telling me to "Start a new religion." I wrote about it eighteen years ago, and I don't want to believe it's happening now. There are parts of being the psychic I really hate. And this is one of them, I'm going to have a real hard time waking up.

                  "You've already written everything out, just like you had planned." "So this wont seem too sudden for you, at least not for now." I used to actually like sleep. And I've needed a lot of sleep in my life. "People are going to think your mad," says Homi. "We promise not to take risks unnecessarily."

                  "I don't want to start a religion," I shout in my sleep. "I just wrote about it because I was dreaming about it, and yes I kinda get off on all that guru bullshit." "I have no business trying to pretend I could ever handle the stress, much less the consequences of being your MOST FOLLOWED ONE." "Although it's got a nice ring to it." "Where did I fall asleep this time?"

                 Homi is acting like everything is cool, "Recreational Spirituality will play a big part in humanity's future." "As long as your not marketing the quick fix you get to stay the Entertainment Medium." There's a lot to like about my job, and I get provide lots of valuable  INFORMATION.

                 I'm hearing these voices in my head as if they're my own. "I want to wake up now."