Category Archives: science

Reimann hypothesis, 1,3,7 and: My Cosmos of Consciousness

I have thirty minutes left to sit here, dazed as though under the influence of some drug. Technically, I guess, I am under the influence of what is called 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine. I picked this name of the various tags for caffeine because of the numbers. 1, 3, 7. And to my surprise, 1,3,7 stand, grouped, laughing, colored differently, sometimes male, sometimes female.

I have thirty minutes until Borders Cafe closes and I have to pack up my books, leave, drive home.

In a haze, as a few more people sit, conversing. When I drink latte after latte, the voices become fuzzier, tickle things, grow as if under heat-lamps, little pipe-cleaner legs and carbonate my brain. I feel less lonely wrapped in the voices which I usually cannot distinguish in a crowed, but at least are not my own subjective creation–when I go home, it is simply the cats, a drip of the faucet and my own world of laughter or knot-bodied voices, buzzed in through the door of silence. Sometimes I love them, but sometimes I simply want the no-self to enter. The silence so rare that perhaps only antelope or mountain goats know it intimately, standing off a jagged cliff-side, whipped by God into white-noise.

I’ve read bits of things. Only bits. Not much to claim for the hours. An essay on the Year Million, what might remain. One scientist claims that only laughter and numbers will remain and I, looking around, see a herd of laughter in this one room alone, pre-teens with coffee, sweaters, cell-phones, laughing. Numbers, too. Cris-cross tiles, the corners of books, telling secrets, bumping page numbers and word-counts. In fact, if I stood in the middle of the cafe, waved my hands around, shushed and wiped the floor, all that would stand in my memory of each moment here would be corners of things, indistinguishable laughing.

Among the words I’ve managed to store, a few quotes stick to my shoulder blades.

“Within each of us a cosmos of consciousness unfolds temporarily, a subjective universe develops.” –Thomas Metzinger

Dangerously, stumbling over mismatched mushroom-moments, tangled in our own created-rooms. Just a bit ago, I was reading essays on the Year Million, and a friend of mine popped up in an Instant Message. He wanted to tell me of his travels to Paris. I, of course, grew jealous immediately of his jet-lagged future, luggage-heavy walking, possibly, toward Champ-Elise, imagined myself in his place, gazing up at the Rose Window, twirling myself into Mass, wrapped in a language unfamiliar enough to dazzle and disorient.

No, no. He was going to Paris in his MIND. How? Why?

Friend: To follow up on a lead from 200 years ago”

Me: Explain

Friend: Have to see an old friend.
last time we met was during the revolution.

Me: Ah, I see
To discuss strategies?

Friend: No. To discuss what happened in 1917 after we met and before I went to Ardenne
and died a few weeks later.
It’s been at least 90 years since we last had coffee…lol

Meanwhile, I am trying to wrap my head around Reimann hypothesis and how, perhaps, it relates to Chaos Theory because, out of a garden grow weeds, and though the wind tossed the weeds this way and that, perhaps a pattern emerges, maybe just in their root systems and yet to be known by consciousness of man as we stand above-ground on all things and at most times, save brief moments of mystical or otherwise unquestionable otherness.

(Once, I tumbled off my horse as we ran across a caleche pit, down and through the clumps, her hooves had way with God’s skirt. But then the earth opened up a bit, pulled one of her hocks into the gut and she tripped. As I tumbled, things once upside leaned their heads so far back, the blood-of-the-world got drunk and started singing to me: Shannon! Shannon! Shannon! And in the Shhhh’s, my temples landed, black-and-gold-stringed-sky spilled. When I came to, my horse idly breathing, bridle broken, I thought I saw numbers tied together in the sky, linked in a way that made sense. And for a moment, the world could have ended and I would have been laughing, happy to know the thread-of-things.)

“Within each of us a cosmos of consciousness” and, in a single mind, an untraveled escape for anyone standing at the doorway of another’s experience.

Random moments break in. I am writing, high on caffeine, about numbers and laughter, trying to read at the same time, while interjected by a friend of mine’s discussion about his mental trip to Paris. And who am I to say this trip will not happen, back in time, for him. Consciousness allows us to create fast-tracks to different cities, landscapes, worlds. He is, I presume, sitting somewhere, in front of a computer, possibly drinking a gin and tonic, or a soda. I am in Borders, enjoying a latte, staring off into space. Two points meet, intercept. Numbers created. 1,3,7.

An opossum walks across my mind’s screen, stops, stares, continues on.

My mental-opossum has a snow white face and black eyes and reminds me of an owl. In fact, if I recall my mental-opossum, the association of a great white owl causes a swoop-entrance of the bird above said opossum, and it to scampers. hurriedly hopping along into a mist.

I’m imagining this all while sitting in Borders, trying to concentrate on the Year Million essay on laughter and numbers. What, exactly, is the Reimann hypothesis?

Could I travel now via consciousness, to Paris? Could I bring along my mental opossum and laugh myself into 1,3,7?

This is my cosmic consciousness. A residue-mess of imaginary being, voices, past pain and pleasantries.

“Things that are over do not end. They come inside us, and seek sanctuary in subjectivity. And there they live on, in the consciousness of individuals and communities.” –Leon Wieseltier.

Traveling doesn’t always mean forward in time, but back in time, back into a swirl of moments. Tumbling off my horse that day, perhaps the string of numbers, the threads, were telling me that true reality of the world is never linear, but a spinning.

While standing on a knife-edged present, moment-to-moment, the past and future pitch spoons and forks at us, assailing us with a consciousness that spins, dizzying us to different worlds and selves, selves we thought we left behind.

Driving home from Borders, still jittery from caffeine, an image of me as a younger-me, riding my horse across the dirt that day, tumbling to the ground, landed itself on my chest.

Younger-me sits in the passenger seat, riding boots muddied.

Present-me doesn’t want to look at her and instead, stares in the backseat where future-me sits, dotted and hazy. Is she where she wants to be? Is she happy? I want to focus on her, not the muddy-boots child.

A darkness.

Nothing is ever “closed” to our consciousness. All things permeate even when we don’t realize. And as many voices as a crowd carries, bundled as a bouquet, inside of us, multitudes of selves fight for our attention.

1,3,7. My cosmic consciousness swells, sucks in its belly, swells again.

A darkness.

One moment, a joy not unlike tulips, pushes through.

The next moment, sadness heaves its heavy body toward the door. No one gets through my consciousness but, somehow, we try to translate the selves that seek us.

Just as traveling consciously to other places doesn’t have to be forward or backwards, our moods and selves can spin down, in no particular order, and bring with it mental-opossums and various other creatures.

Driving home from Borders, still jittery from caffeine, younger-me in the passenger seat and future-me in a haze in the back, I think about the various “states” and “selves” I’ve encountered while sitting in my seat, drinking lattes, listening to laughter and counting corners.

1,3,7.

1) at 5:19 PM–

I have two thousand ponies in my ears,
tiny ones; they try to keep
up with my heart, hooves
in rivers of blood and wax

3) at 6:04 PM–

Your kiss, starfish–
all mouth, unafraid–whole
oceans called out and I,
bits of sand, grain,
knew my name again.

7) at 8:45 PM–

How many claws can sadness have?
what can one do when, driving,
the bear breaks through, heavy-
weighted, a chest-pain, bright-sting,
laughing and innocent of the depression he brings?

From the ponies

to the starfish,

and then, the bear breaks through, my consciousness spinning back upon itself.

The Year Million Essay says laughter and numbers may be the only thing that remains.

And, caffeine splitting open anxiousness, I drive into a darkness home, my cosmos traversed by as many selves as seconds, as many voices as mental-opossums and other creatures.

Paris, he says.

And I am jealous, sitting here, counting corners, numbers, high on caffeine and Reimann’s hypothesis.

Tumbling, once, I fell off my horse– the world could have ended and I would have been laughing, happy to know the thread-of-things.

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Great Love: Finding the Other Between Brahms and Quantum Mechanics

“We shall be changed. For this perishable nature must put on the imperishable, and this mortal nature must put on immortality.” – 1Corinthians 15:52-3

There are moments when you know that a voice or language from a distant source– be that an author or memory of a past-self–comes, shattering glasses, with the purpose to lift and nudge you to hope-free joy, for to hope is not to live, but to predict, and the voices outlast all anxiety found in hope, that unstill ground. In these moments–glimpses of Great Love.

As I stood between myself and the window, I had a feeling an Other was perceiving what I soon would unwrap.

Call it opening up, call it madness, but sometimes, one feels waves when the ground is steady, feels love when all corners are dark.

These moments strike only when the mind is ready, when perhaps a broken-down-ness has occurred. And, the very moment we feel the whole world is stagnant, in the cracks of an alleyway, burst gardens! And why not? Sporadically, the Other dances in tune with our neurons. If not sporadically, we might not notice it when it does occur.

I said I stood between the window and myself while sitting down. At that second, I did not know that state of being-in-between, but looking back, as satellites look to stars, catching unseen tails in their lenses, I move toward a realization that I could, and did, stand between former despair and future unknowing, suspended.

What stands between is not really me, but the Other, singing in a tongue of unknowing.

Despair has the capacity to lull our bodies into the dance, too, but only occasionally, and with caution. For, after we begin to see ourselves as the Other, a clearing in a wood is put to flames, or, more physically, a neuronal pathway, used, shakes off.

One experience cancels the next, and to build, we remember ghosts, only ghosts.

Why can’t gardens grow out of every despair then? So what if our minds give up the clearing in the wood, brushed back with flames of the Other, destroyed, neurologically clipped?

Because, alongside the unknowing that comes with the dance, the moment when the voices come in, there must be undergrowth and new associations, though they are painful. Not to withstand the undergrowth and pain, but to understand, know.

Once, I succumbed to another sort of dance. Not the relief of the Other, but anchoring despair. Weighted, I thought to cry out, lift me up! But something wanted my attention. To know this undergrowth, to keep my life from being always “in the clouds,” a gift was being presented and I was to unwrap it. So I cried. Full and belly-shifting. But I want revelation, I thought, not this!

But why, asked the former-me, the voices, the Other. How is this any different from joy? Unwrap it, slowly, sing into the suffering. Be still in it.

From this stillness, something happens like what happened today near the window. The Other stands and allows me to be in-between former despair and future unknowing. And, in that moment, glimpses of Great Love.

It is the body where the weight of my crying rested. My body that understood something the mind was rejecting. So, when we are crying out, wanting relief, not accepting the gift, how can a duality happen? How can we have a feeling of beginning-to-know something we have yet to know?

A single electron can take two different paths within our circuits. It can, in essence, interfere with itself while trying to get from place to place, split between two places at once. And so, too, ions, which carry all our potential actions and thoughts across the brain—it is through ions that our neurons communicate.

So, as with Schrödinger’s wave equation that computes all the possibilities of one particle’s behavior, left alone, the particle has no specific location. Two places at once, five? In a wave or still? To observe is to un-know.

Just as I was walking down the stairs for a cup of tea, a person downstairs began playing Brahms. Though they had been playing for some time, I was only just aware. A thought scurried across just as I felt sadness. So this is the language of the moment. So this is two places at once. My listening and Brahms’ calling into the world, the darkness that once housed his despair. And, possibly, the person playing Brahms began in order to relieve their own sort of sadness and weight. Lifted, we are all together singing!

I remember a friend who called to me as I was running into the West Texas sunset. He was a sort of perceived knowing that the Other danced into me today. I had the feeling of beginning-to-know something. And sure enough, my despair back then led me to write about water, and in that water surfaced a stranger who saw his own face in it. Hannah! He cried, and so I was then named Hannah in his mind. And perhaps the particles in my brain split open to be that for him. Communion, between our sadness and joy, is possible, even with those we have never known.

And when I succumbed to the weighted, full crying, I sang into my arm and began to unwrap the gift. What makes me hold, I thought, to one branch any longer than another? And so each experience is its own unwrapping.

If electrons are subject to the counter-intuitiveness of quantum mechanics, perhaps so are our states-of-mind, our emotions. And how, in brief seconds, we may lift up, out of despair or unknowing, and glimpse Great Love.
See below Bernstein and Glenn Gould together perform Brahms. How can a joy-canary not be hidden in this? Even on the saddest days?

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Algorithms & Superpositions, Hidden in Skirts of Despair

IMG_0482

Enter a collection of sighs; enter the last time there was enough weight to press your eyelids down like the window to a grain silo.

Underneath minutes there hide skirts of things: a lost-friend’s letter, trunks of algorithms memorized and shelved in the brain under: useless.

I never thought I’d dream about math or numbers or algorithms. Wading though the necessary math classes with clenched teeth, I resisted the things that love me. But resisted knots swirl back into patterns from day to day, if there is attention to the strange attractors. The mystery remains in their corner, hidden, as I am to them, in deeper symbols.

So, crying in a car under the blankets of worry, hands gripped on a wheel, the thought of radius enters.

Enter into the mind a conversation with a friend.

And, rocking in the car, hands tight on the wheel, a rope thrown into the mind…in a different language than what it’s used to. A split mind sorting the world in new ways, ways that love to wrap their bodies in what is unknown, dancing in front of us each second, like grace.

Me: how does a computer communicate with itself?
For example, take this sentence and tell me if it can be applied to a computer
“The exchange is deemed “an explanation” when foreign symbols are converted into familiar ones. Upon this transfer, curiosity rests.”

Friend: well there are a lot of factors, like which operating system, hardware, etc
but let me try and say it in computer logic: what I am about to type is not any sort of actual language

Me: I like the “not any sort of actual language.”

Friend: it’s such an abstract concept that this wouldn’t mean anything to any computer:
VALUE “Exchange” = VAR “Explanation” IF (UNKNOWNVALUE) FUNCCONVERT KNOWN VALUE

Me:  if/then function? is that what that is?

Friend: well there is no “then” here

Me: is that your translation for the sentence I gave you

Friend: computers do not do undefined concepts
Me: wow

Friend: yeah you’d need some actual values
I mean the amount of code to define the indefinable,
only a human brain can even grasp that concept
it’s not too long ago that computers had trouble grasping the concept of zero
they really only know what you tell them

Me: zero

Friend: yeah

Me: that’s a good one

Friend: they didn’t get the idea of nothing.
now they sort of arbitrarily get it.

Me: how did “we” “make” “them” get zero?
do we even “get” zero?

Friend: if 1<2<3…etc then 0<1
We get it more so than any machine

Me: but don’t we “get” zero in the same way?

Friend: the computer only knows that zero is less than 1
we know it’s nothingness

Me: what is nothingness?

Friend: the absence of anything

Me: but we can’t know nothingness

Friend: we can conceptualize it

Me: isn’t nothing, by classification, something?

Carmon: we know it imperfectly
it’s conceivable

Me: I was reading Heidegger last night and that’s what he loves to talk about
Nothing

Friend: I think the biggest difference is that a computer, currently, cannot partially know something
either it knows a value or it does not
it can’t understand something, in any real sense
they just store data, and that data interacts.

Friend: and this goes back to what we were saying about partially knowing the mind of some sort of “god”
that we can only know it imperfectly.
Back to how computers “think.”
I have another sentence.

“Curiosity rests in this technique upon our ability to find a familiar verbal coin of the same or similar value as the word to be defined. The synonym may or may not bring us “closer to reality.” It tells us how terms are being used by placing the definiendum, the symbol to be defined, in a context of familiar words.”

you don’t have to translate the actual sentence, but its concept within, into computer terms. How it applies to computer programs, how they “think.”
it is very computer-like anyway
don’t you think?
symbols and such
value, translation, transfer of symbol into action / thought / idea

Friend: well
curiosity is not computer-like

Me: ok, take curiosity to mean
an unknown command
which it’s trying to figure out

Friend: well you would find an unknown value
there are no unknown commands.

//This section defines the variables to be called

FUNCTIONNAME: CLOSERTOREALITY
X = lim(*) //where “*” = Word to be defined
-X = lim(*)
Y = lim(*)
-Y = lim(0)

//This section declares global functions

FUNCTIONNAME: FAMILIARWORDS
(W = “?”) //where “S” is the synonym of “*” and “?” represents any present value in the dictionary of familiar words

//This section declares the values
CURIOSITY||{W = [S(FAMILIARWORDS)+(CLOSERTOREALITY)]}
oops
correction
//This section defines the variables to be called

FUNCTIONNAME: CLOSERTOREALITY
X = lim(*) //where “*” = Word to be defined
-X = lim(*)
Y = lim(*)
-Y = lim(*)

//This section declares global functions

FUNCTIONNAME: FAMILIARWORDS
(W = “?”) //where “S” is the synonym of “*” and “?” represents any present value in the dictionary of familiar words

//This section declares the values
CURIOSITY||{W = [S(FAMILIARWORDS)+(CLOSERTOREALITY)]}

21_my_findings-tsp-1

End Conversation.

End into the steering wheel. What the knots know is that the love of the strange-attractors don’t change their shape when we ignore them.

And tumbling into the day, something I thought I’d never adore, moves closer to me, knowing the mystery is deep and hides as many luminous things as a universe can stand without becoming the underbelly of another universe. When two galaxies collide, a sway into the other, and thus a leaning into mathematics when the questions lie under my closing eyes, when the steering wheel is all it feels I can hold onto until a further collapse.

Repeat:

(CLOSERTOREALITY)
((CLOSERTOREALITY))
(((CLOSERTOREALITY)))

273857131_d40e288e56

Do not understand zero, or the knots as they stand 23023 feet tall today. Gathering this as one gathers functions or bits of conversations to repeat to the self, in the mirror, in the bath, in the car while gripping the steering wheel, wondering where the loves of things hide.

Move closer to the hiddenness of what loves you, what gets stuck in your mind.

Sing 3333333333 times when someone notices 33.33 buying ribbons, texts you to tell you they noticed 33.33 at the cash register because the other day, 33 followed you into despair and then, opened a box of joy. Numerically, emotions have various ways of sticking to your side, if you let them develop into chain-reactions.

So, despair follows me into the bath while I read books on things going on before my eyes that I cannot see, such as faith or atomic changes:

“Consider an atom that has absorbed a photon of energy. That energy has kicked one of the atom’s electrons into what’s called a higher orbital, and the atom is said to be “excited.” But the electron wants to go back to where it came from, to its original orbital, as it can do if the atom releases a photon. When the atom does so is one of those chance phenomena, the atom has some chance of releasing a photon and going back it it’s original state, within a given period. Thus the excited atom exists as a superposition of itself and the unexcited state will fall into after it has released a photon.”

Superposition, in which branches of outcomes grope for the mind’s attention. Watch. Listen. Mystery sweeps by in silence. Higher into a state of excitement, the mind has understood something-above, which is not dread. But dread is the kicking-out of inertia.

So the steering wheel holds steady my dread, gripped against the dark and recalling the math that loves to wrap the unknown in back coordidoors of my mind, as the knots glow into an-already-knowing-laughter. So many times, my despair is dressed in a skirt much like joy’s underbelly. Look at things differently; stare into what frightens the knots into finally, finally speaking. Singing. Singing. Singing.

What can account for zero? For unknowing, un-likely and strange attractors?

An atom in a superposition, waiting to exist in excitement and joy for a bit longer, or to fall, fall into the natural state which pulls, is like how it feels to sing out exactly when there’s nothing to sing about.

Look, the mirror and the steering wheel hold my despair in strings that can be let go, breathed into, let loose in the face of un-likely loves that tap on the back, courting with them, mysteries unknowable-kindness.

Up through my stomach, with the iPod in my ears, I stare at the mirror and sing. Loud. Loud because I am alone. I imagine the brain tries to process the feeling of singing through different pleasure algorithms. The mystery hidden in singing brings with it the underskirts of despair, but the color of each number the neurons assign is a flushed joy.

Breaking out of the pattern, letting the superposition hold as I sing things, vibrate song, though tired, though worries, though dread-of-unknown permeates things around, though earlier in the day, I gripped a steering wheel and cried, sounds, notes, outpour into the tea sitting by my bed. I can almost see the knots swirl, tiny galaxies themselves, crashing into each other in a dance of grace. And algorithms enter into the room. Things that I never thought loved me, in fact, do, and watch as I break out of my natural state into my superposition.

Hold me here, I say to the knots.

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Entanglement on the www, Knots & I Converse with a Friend

To record. To record a thing. A thing that loses weight when you look at it, when you try and ponder its measurement, it shrinks. Something as elusive as dust on a chapel bell, as scripted as a North wind off a lighthouse that only pours light, not mystery.

To record. I try to speak a language of knots and nothing ends up happening but confusion. Nothing happens but an ache. And this ache keeps me anchored to the cause, keeps me in touch with carpet bugs, on my knees, searching for the equation between two sentences that were spoken before I was born.

I breathe forward into inches. There’s a light in the doorway. To record this light, photons or the electricity between a bulb and its current.

Today, for instance, I had a conversation with a friend of mine. How my brain needs shine! And so we set aside the computer screen’s work for each other’s thoughts. How, I asked, do we represent each other? My friend types answers and his voice, the memory and representation of his voice, gathers into neuronal circuits and fires. I read his text as though in his voice. Can we break through the walls of representation and actually know anyone?

The knots have been on my thoughts lately. I tell him so. Look at these equations, I say. He says, look at these wallabies in Australia, he says—they get high on poppies and make crop circles.

Somehow, this ties into the philosophical conversation. And the knots sit in the back behind me at the desk, waiting for a leap into my thoughts.

But I tell the knots, look! There’s a theory inside us all and I’m trying to uncover the dots, to gather the thought-geraniums so as to understand the grasses between one another, our thoughts, our desires, and our other-worldly-being-ness.

The knots are dragging today. I woke up in a mood. Worries down my back again, and will I have enough money for the autumn season? Plastic as it sounds, the worry of living is constant. But from my desk at work, I see an ocean. And my friend types words to me. We communicate from one desk to another 10,000 miles apart. Isn’t this amazing? My mood lifts when I type. I type of wonders. And wait for the answer.

I’d rather be outside, I think. I’d rather enjoy the sunshine. I’d rather unravel mysteries by walking in Union Square, searching strangers for their knots. But in front of us, a whole wonder waiting to be discovered. And my wonder is my friend, who talks to me of mysteries while we are at work.

Wonder at conversation! And conversation on the internet! The net that casts over all our lives. A net what leaves us connected or so estranged from another that the wandering in the world wide web can leave us hunting touch.

The knots are restless today. The tower today stands 2792 knots tall. Bundles, even. And some sit in the back corner, reflected in the computer screen as I type my longings into streams 10,000 miles away. The best thing about online communication is instant replies.

Me: it hit me the other day
mathematics (which I always hated) is like creativity and philosophy, it’s working with abstractions
to try and explain things

Friend: yeah, when you get high enough in anything, it becomes abstract

Me: and when I look at it that way, I no longer hate math
I like theoretical anything
but I like to pull it back down somehow
like with a magical string
like theories are kites
and I’m trying to pull them closer to my body

Friend: and you have to ground them to dissect them

Me: yes
so they are like butterflies then, and you have to net them to put them behind glass
and when you look close enough at a butterfly, their patterns are way beyond what you expected.
one color leads into another color, but in zigzag
and how to define that line, you can’t
like chaos theory

Friend: you have to break it down into small pieces, and that won’t give you the whole picture

Me: exactly

Friend: crazy
this is awesome

Me: like those high kangaroos or whatever they were
the lines they made

Friend: I know!

Me: crazy

Friend: no one could have predicted that
but the anchor for all this is logic
it’s pretty clear crop circles aren’t created by aliens
therefore, it must be something else
but more complex than that
it’s MANY things
and that’s where chaos comes in

Me: yes

Friend: some are pranks; some might be weird wind patterns
in this case, high wallabies

Me: the weed

Friend: lol
the opium

Friend: poppies

Me: oh
opium
oh yeah
poppies
like in Wizard of Oz

Friend: hehe
yes
man, the book of that is about a billion times better than the movie
I did not expect to have this conversation today
chaos theory!

Me: I know, right?
amazing
chaos theory is insanely interesting
it is overwhelming
I feel like I’m flying just reading about it
did you see the pictures of the knots?
love those

Friend: yes
I love the III kind
that’s such a cool pattern

Me: you know, perhaps we make our very own patterns each day and we don’t even know it
like actual patterns in some sort of air
when you type
maybe
or walk each day

Friend: hmmm

Me: and it affects the things around
around
like we’re always painting something into being and we don’t know it

Friend: well I know we affect air currents when we walk past them, or they have to blow
that’s an idea I’ve long had
the things we do create… something

Me: expand on that
your idea
that you had
creating things
what did you think?

Friend: well
I went beyond just movement
the physical world and the mental world combined
let’s say I say something mean to someone
and it puts them in a bad mood
and they take it out by slamming the front door
which knocks over their vase
which they throw away

Me: interconnectivity

Friend: you create these things
I call them demons for lack of a better term

Me: what physicists (the more metaphysical ones) are calling “The Field”
the idea of locality versus entanglement
Einstein didn’t believe theory of entanglement was true
but we’ve proved it
we’ve been able to view the burning out of electrons, a proton and electron separated and the daughter protons are effected by the “mother,” no matter at what distance
BUT
it’s only after WE observe
that anything comes into being

Friend: before that it’s Schrödinger’s electron

Me: Schrödinger’s Cat.
someone said to me the other day on gchat
“sorry I was invisible”
and I thought about that time you said it
and how I wrote that note about status updates and the new lingo and how we all sound like science fiction novels and we don’t even know it
in our minds, we’re invisible, sometimes
because we “are”
and we say we “are”
even if it’s only on gchat
like your half man-half fish superhero
reflection
if we reflect “nothing”

Friend: no, the lack of reflection
yes!

Me: then where is that “nothing”
is the nothing something only when we “reflect” it?
like Schrödinger’s cat!

Friend: it is
for that moment, you did not know if I existed or not
wow
applied to everyday life

Me: and your voice when you type as it’s represented in my head when I read your font
I hear your font in your voice in my brain. how my brain recollects your voice

Friend: Electronic data and it’s philosophical implications…
I hadn’t given your opinion on AI the consideration it deserved, because instead of basing the amount of consideration on your perceived intelligence (or creativity, or capacity) like I should have done, I based it on your technical knowledge

Me: that’s understandable

Friend: I guess when you spend 7 years telling people how to work a computer, you assume no one knows anything about them.
and that’s just wrong
it’s a scale
it causes problems
drives wedges into conversation
creates demons

Me: creates breakdowns. Our representations of people need to be broken down before we can really communicate
It’s interesting that we create someone before we know them

Friend: yes
it’s a tricky thing
knowing someone
you walk a balance of open-mindedness and … something else.

End conversation. To record. End. And the knots are sparkling. Inside their bodies: the known. The unknown casts things down occasionally, but in dots. Later in the day, the conversation from the afternoon on the computer, the conversation that happened over text, will be imprinted in my mind and replayed via representation when I read Heschel’s words….

“When the ultimate awareness comes, it is like a flash, arriving all at once. To meditative minds the ineffable is cryptic, inarticulate: dots, marks of secret meaning, scattered hints, to be gathered, deciphered and formed into evidence.”

And, earlier that day, on the computer screen, my friend said:

“you have to break it down into small pieces, and that won’t give you the whole picture.”

Which I remember, as I read further into Heschel’s words:

It comes when, drifting in the wilderness, having gone astray, we suddenly behold the immutable polar star. Out of endless anxiety, out of denial and despair, the soul bursts out in speechless crying.”

To record. I read these lines, interconnected with earlier recollections of a conversation on computer screens, and while I read, in my bed, the knots nestled by the lamp, wriggling into a sway, I listen to my iPod. The iPod lands on Laura Marling. The song bleeds into the web. And exactly as I read about speechless crying into the heart of the wilderness to find that God between the breastplate and dreaming, the song sings the words:

“You sat alone under billowing sky. If I feel God….but I fell into the water and now I’m free.”

Pressed into the sides are the knots, now weighing 4920 worth, sat on my chest, which breaks, as I cry. Something about this. About alignment and chaos. To record this. And the known in the belly of knots have a brief communication with the unknown. Three words, and a black out. Joy! Joy! Joy!02041510knottable

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R-matrix theory, n=8, or: what keeps me from sleep

How do I expect to settle into stillness when the vibrations tumble out of my drier each morning? When I stumble over the peaks of things like jetting rocks down the stairs?

When I wake, there’s a melody waiting for me in a hidden place. I haven’t called on her yet. The known is speaking to the unknown in another language in my dreams. Until I smooth the length of worries down my back, I’ll keep buzzing around, disturbing any chance that stillness will nest next to me.

The known are in knots and my body contains many of them. Like a tower, I stand 29740 knots tall, give or take a few. Sometimes, when I hike a hill, one will topple into the soil. And if I crawled against a carpet, a couple might try taking root there, bedding up with the carpet bugs.

The known hangs on inside the belly of the knots, which sometimes circle my head. When one knot passes or beds up in the carpet or hops down the street while I walk in a crowd, another one will wait by the lamp to talk to me. The unknown are like stars and stare down into the belly of the knots, trying to converse with them.

The language is strange. Catch one or two words, sometimes, yes. But this is rare.

Stay in a corner. Listen for a movement inside like a melody.

The drier tumbles the known into the unknown. A melody stills into twists, vibrates then quiets, waits for 29740 knots, give or take, to listen from within me.071002-string-knots-02reid

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2:00 am on 6/23

I wanted to read something to comfort me before sleep. Something about circling around again and finding the self in a tree branch.

How even in a dark room there’s a memory of reaching for a hand.

Searching, it was late. My eyes hurt from reading.

The knots said, come nearer.

I always knew they were vibrating orbs in numerical bodies, but I refused to look so many nights. Come closer, they said.

Look, and I create their lives. Look away, and they pass, almost as though lightning bugs were their other shells.

Entanglement, I thought, weighs more than a spirit, much more. And so I turned out the light.

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from: M-theory and Other Such Tales

10. Knots:

tie one sailor to another–
see this field? all points merge
without ever touching, he said.
I think: so if my heart
is comprised of five orgasms
that never happened, the thought
of it happening, once, could
create quakes separate
from itself? a whole
universe of pigeons in flight,
carrying messages between
the trenches, in this field,
however small, there is no count
for size– what is there but
one moment, then the next,
and besides, perhaps we
already loved one another
long before continental drifts,
time’s hallows sunk your eyes, or
we sat down to breakfast.

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