The alpacas got out today.

What would you do if over $100k dollars was loose running on the streets?

What I did: laugh, panic.

After about 10 minutes of a good panic and scrabbling and locking up the house to venture out to find them the neighbor called to say a herd of about 20 alpacas was eating her garden and she thinks they're ours. I thanked her and ran down the road with a backpack of halters and leads and a long little bo peep type staff to herd them back home.

Neighbor said she only saw 20 that didn't account for the other 15 or so so I was hoping she miscounted, but she didn't.

On the way back from collecting up the herd another neighbor yelled at me and yelling 'hey your other bunch is in my cow pasture if you want them, I locked them in their so they couldn't travel any further. I thanked him and continued on returning the others to their pasture.

That last neighbor didn't have an approximate number but I was hoping the remaining dozen or so where there.

How would I have been able to explain to my father that I lost his one or more of his very expensive babies. I came to the conclusion that if I didn't find the remainder I was going to pack my bags and move out quickly and not leave a forwarding address that way I would get out of the murder from my father.

Getting back to the pastures with the first batch I noticed none of the fences were open so I didn't understand how did they alpacas get out?! But I just threw them in and ran to the other neighbors to gather up the remainder.

1,2,3,4...they're all here!! YAY! The were not very happy to be in the muddy and smelly cow pasture so they were happy to see me and to get back to their pasture.

After a good bit of time trying to round them back up I sat down and tried figuring out how did these guys get out, only logical conclusion the pain in the ass neighbor kids had to let them out.

Father purchased some pad locks and now those brats can't let them out, we're considering talking to the parents to please keep them in their yard.

Well the alpacas are home, and my heart is back to a normal rate.

I stare at my hand. Blessed or cursed? he says, flipping it over like a sheet of white paper waiting patiently, pouting slightly, wanting to be ripped into snow-white pieces.

Blessed or cursed?

I don't know. Where am I going? The exact same thoughts every time I ride on the bus next to the giant raccoon. Where am I going? The exact same thoughts flight through my mind every time I sit next to the window and look out, looking at myself from outside.

"Is acceptance enough? I don't think so, then what would the next step be? The next circle? Where else do I have to go?"

And then I sit watching the river and the bridges and the cars that rush across like ants seeking food, and the trees that flit by like telegraph poles but instead not handcuffed with heavy weightless lines without too many periods or commas.


Yesterday night I tried to talk in a stream-of-consciousness manner, to sing and to say something that made vague sense. A stream of words rattled out that had to do with a single image. Typing proves to be more rhythmic, providing sufficient pause between words for that single word to appear on the tip of your tongue and to roll off directly away from your mouth into the tips of the fingertips back in some kind of monolithical creation to be born, spewn in rickety-split creations sewn together by CG effects and mythical splash-bang nonsense.

I fear that these thoughts will ferment forever.

I have almost stopped aim or msn, and it has been proving to be so much for the better. I don't plan on using it, or maybe I plan on making separate screennames for family and 'emergency contact' so that five bazillion chat windows won't appear the second I log on. Talking is good, but when it bogs over your life like a smothering down-comforter of cloudy-white, guilt-ridden fog, you need to get rid of it. Away.

I wonder why I keep wanting some sort of music player. An mp3 player, a cd player, minidisc. I wonder. Something to listen while on subways and on buses, walking, during breaks in class, I say, I convince. Why? Why does everything have to be drenched in music? Its like the french toast you make always, sometimes bread is good, sometimes eggs, sometimes milk, sometimes sugar. A soggy dripping mess, cooked and turned into slightly browned french toast is always good, but its a constant smorgasbord, an eclectic dripping mess that relies solely upon its mixture-ness to dazzle, another melting pot.

Washed over. No, I think I want the crisp clear taste of an apple or a glass of milk rather than anything else. Do you see the hidden (not anymore) metaphors in here? I wish you did. I wish everyone did, at one point or another. I wish sometimes, somedays, people knew what we would be talking about and wouldn't have to offer their condolences like dead fish washed up on beautiful perfect beaches. A presence itself can be enough, but when that presence is all packaged up nicely in wrapping-paper and a small bow, then you can't help but stare at the ripped residue of scotch tape floating on clear sky-blue water. I wish sometimes, somedays, that people could know. That they would know what to say the instant they wanted to know, that words wouldn't end in haste reassurances like Meryl Streep saying carefully on shaky ground, "that is what we do" and him watching out the window and smiling. Points that tangent off of small points that I see connecting not at one single point but several points that make multicolored shapes of sense, points that tangent but that cannot be told because I find that we stare at where the lines lead instead of what the lines are. I remember reading one of the Narnia books and first meeting the concept of 'who you are' not being 'what you are'. Starmatter, did he say? Sure, it was a giant religion-ridden metaphor, but we are what we are.

I woke up and went online to find a message from 'heavy metal' about bands and how Limp Bizkit is horrible and how Blink 182 is just a sellout misleading the Youth of America into corporate logos and mainstreamness. That was my day. This is my day. I watched out the window to hear voices, of children playing on rope structures, I listened to people whispering their lives out from the heart, through the carbon-laden speakers of my computer. I read people's lives, how they lived, how they cheated, how they changed, and I could go on and list verbs that contradict each other saying that we love and we hate and we kill and we live, but it doesn't work unless you can feel everything at the same time.

Unless you can step out and watch from above. I cried today for the speaker who knew naught about what he was saying, about the painter who didn't care what he was painting. I remember Friend saying in a hopefully nostalgic tone of voice about how this could be a short story. Self-nostalgia for the current moment, he called it. I remember how I wish I had a Dedalus of my own, and I wonder why this constant analyzation keeps on to talk about 'what was the author thinking of?'. What if you have no author? What if you have no omniscient creator who plots things out conveniently like a well-positioned connect-the-dots game? What if these events are just the result of a another pebble tossed in a pond? What if? Would you keep on watching and caring and analyzing? Would the world make any difference if it was real or not? Does it matter? Do you feel that someone else like you is living outside of you, looking behind and above and below you while the real person in you can't help but look out of static eyes, watching 'static teenagers in love'?


Sunlight is slowly making its way through the vertical curtains of my balcony. I leave.

I've picked up a new hobby.
I have, like, no disposable income but I search eBay constantly for stuff. I don't know why I do, especailly since if I happened to get $200 in the mail or whatever I'd buy a GameCube (with free GB Player!) and Megaman Network Transmission.. anyway, a bunch of people sell Super Famicom games with Japanese titles listed under "unknown title". I send them the title of the game in a comment/question to seller. Weird hobby, but I get thank-you notes all the time for it. ..now if only one of those thank-you notes came attached with $200...

I have four computers now.

Ka-la has the best memory ever. She thought Drew Helfrich and I were dating, which was really funny. I got Black Cauldron on DVD and a bunch of CD-Rs, so when I get online with my laptop (I'll probably close out of this compy and do that right quick) I can burn some Torah. David Hatchett came over and we played River City Ransom.. I still need to beat it with someone so we can laugh at the crappy ending (and get our asses kicked repeatedly by the Hattori brothers at the end, even with maxxed stats).
I need to play DDR again soon... I'm getting fat and lazy ;_;

I'm probably going to leave for IU on Sunday or something..

I just finished burning the first 13 of the 54 sections of the Torah onto audio CD so I can listen to Torah in my car. 4 CDs so far, and it covers all of Genesis and Exodus 1-5 plus haftarah.

I hate emotion. It's fickle and fragile. It keeps changing at complete random. I sit here compiling the Torah portions and I'm perfectly content, then suddenly I'm horribly depressed, then I'm talking to Heather and having a good time, then I just stop responding and start crying and by the time I can talk to her again she's offline. I really hate emotion.

Right. Packing.

Today I semi-enjoyed the most scary experience of my entire life. Have any of you even been bungee jumping? Well holy shit, I did something pretty similar to that.

What was it?

It was a 50m (yes you heard right, 50 METER) VERTICAL drop! Me and my fearless friend were in like a cocoon thing, being held 50m above the beloved ground by two cables that went up to two poles on each side of us. Its hard to explain so I'll draw an asci thingy.



    |\              /|
    | \            / |
    |  \    ^^    /  | 
    |   \   ||   /   |
    |    \  ||  /    |  
    |     \ || /     |
    |      \||/      |
    |       oo       |
    |                |
    |                |
    |                |   


oo     = Me and my fearless mate

|  
|      = The support poles
|

\    /
 \  /  =  Cables holding us up

 ^^ 
 ||    =  The cable we were being hoisted up, up, up by.
 ||

Ordinary, I know. Anyway.

What made this thing as scary as it was, was the fact that I had a zip-cord thingy that I had to pull to initiate the plunge. WOW. All I could hear was buzzing (I'm afraid of heights) and faintly, somewhere off in the distance, a dude yelling "Threeeeee... Two.... Onnnnnneeeeee!"

The first thing I though was "Don't pull the cord! Don't pull the- Holy Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

Woooooooooooosh! I was flying! It was the most amazing feeling, the fear was gone and I was flying! Then I looked down. Okay, welcome back fear! The ground was rushing up at me at around 30mph.

The cords tightened and made some funny sounds and I realised I was safe... SLAP! There goes my stomach catching up with me.

That was the most shit-a-brick experience that I have ever encountered. But I'm pleased I did it, I was miles away from conquering my fear (I'm still shit scared of anything higher than a foot-stool), but I stood up to something today...

Anyway, thats all I wanted you to know.
It was the dawn of the Third Age of Netmind - ten years after the IE/Netscape war. The Everything Project was a dream given form. Its goal: to prevent another USENET, by creating a place where humans and bots could node for the ages peacefully. It's a reference desk; home away from home for M-Noders, newbies, surfers, students and artists. Near a million writeups and nodeshells wrapped in several thousand lines of obfuscated Perl - all alone on the net. It can be a mind-numbing place - but it's our last, best hope for the web.

This is the database of the last of the Everything servers.

The year is 2003.

The name of the place is Everything2.

...back to work.

we’re rotten fruit
we’re damaged goods
what the hell we’ve got nothing more to lose
one gust and we will probably crumble
we’re backdrifting


I'm back in therapy.

I'd stopped going back about three years ago. I'd had a year left in college, was being, well, emotionally abused by a guy who, frankly, I just don't want to talk about, but who was persuasive enough (and I was stupid enough) to convince me I didn't need therapy. But I did need therapy.

I was also just frustrated with the direction of the sessions. I was fine! I wasn't suicidal anymore! And besides, what does she know about how I'm doing? She's just some rich doctor who went to the University of Pennsylvania. She doesn't know what real life is like! I don't need therapy! But I did need therapy.

this far but no further
i’m hanging off a branch
i’m teetering on the brink
oh Honeysweet
so full of sleep
i’m backsliding.


My mind, my mood, my soul (if there is one) bounces around more than a pinball. And finally I went crashing on Sunday. Many things set it off--frustration with my job, my roommates, health issues, "artistic" issues. And on Sunday, as I tried to simply move some junk over to my parents' place (seeing as I'm moving at the end of the month), as I stood there in the hallway, near the door, and they saw something was wrong with me...

you fell into our arms
we tried but there was nothing we could do
nothing we could do


I broke. I started crying and I couldn't stop. I babbled. Self loathing. Anger. Frustration. They didn't know what to do. My mother sat down and talked with me. I explained that I've tried to shake it, I've tried to distract myself from being depressed and angry but I couldn't do it anymore. It was spilling over, tainting everything I enjoy, poisoning my relationship, ruining my mind. And that this wasn't the first time, but that I'd been like this my whole life, bouncing from a normal flatline to long periods of depression. I can't take it anymore.

all evidence has been buried
all tapes have been erased
but your footprints give you away
so you’re backtracking


So today I started. I'm kinda broke, so I'm going to the university counseling center. And the session went well, all introductory stuff, though I was certainly nervous. So now I want to get to the bottom of this. Because it keeps coming back. It never really goes away. And if this can be treated, if there's a way to get through this, I want to try. Because I can't live like this anymore. And I don't want to die because of it.

you fell into our arms
we tried but there was nothing we could do
nothing we could do


So for all of you who think psychology and therapy are loads of bullshit, try walking in my shoes, and let's see what you think then.

we’re rotten fruit
we’re damaged goods
what the hell we’ve got nothing more to lose
one gust and we will probably crumble
we’re backdrifters

"Backdrifts"
~~Radiohead~~
~~Hail To the Thief~~

I was sitting in the Nassau Department of Motor Vehicles' traffic court this morning, and realized (yet again) how cynical we all are, and how easily we ignore the evidence of the hypocrisy and capricious nature of what we call "justice".

The way the traffic court is organized is that all those who wish to plead their case must first speak with a clerk, who performs a preliminary assessment of the charges, and then see the Judge.

I sat near the front, so I could hear the various accused conferring with the clerk. It sounded like a day at the flea market. The clerk would say something like, "You have a speeding and illegal lane change, that's 4 points and $250. We can change speeding to tailgating on the first charge, so no points, and we'll make the second one a bad headlight, for a total fine of $175, but no points." In most cases the people accepted the bargain, happy that they got off with no (or sometimes fewer) points. The County is happy because they still get the dough, which is half the reason they give out tickets in the first place.

When it was my turn, I also accepted my plea bargain, feeling a little ashamed at my feckless performance. I had originally gone to court to fight the ticket, sure in my innocence, but caved when I realized the court could give a shit. As long as they got my money, they couldn’t care less what was on the ticket, as long as I paid all the fines and fees. They offer a quick compromise without even hearing your side, just to shut you up and get you to accept the fine and not fight it.

I left thinking about my own complicity with the grinding ennui, apathy, and hypocrisy that is slowly destroying our society.

Hurrah! I continue to love my credit union, who continue to be shining beacons of anti-corporate banking as they forgave two days' tardiness on this month's car payment. Today was the first time I've actually made a late payment (once before, I made a payment on the fifteenth (the due date) but at 11:55pm their time -- cutting it close for sure). I expected, surely, a late fee, if not a report to the credit bureau. That would, of course, completely screw up our mortgage, and thirty days to closing that would really piss me off. Worst timing ever, I know.

Thankfully that crap's over with. Now everything is paid current, our credit is okay, cash flow is back in the black, and this kind of problem should be behind us forever.

I started writing again in my LiveJournal thingy a couple of days ago, after a 367 day absence. I just don't have the energy I used to, and I get the feeling I won't be writing there nearly as frequently as I did before. For one thing, I don't have hours to waste everyday in a crappy office job; I actually do more stuff I'm interested in these days during my free time.

My newest writeup, Choosing a good apartment, was remarkably well received. I'm not complaining, of course. I'm curious what the three downvoters thought about it though to give it the thumbs down. Not 'cause I'm angry about it or anything, just interested in improving the writeup.

All men are the bad conscience of our age

Today I built the very first of the last of them.

I don't think I did such a great soldering job, but in this situation, form over function doesn't exactly hold water.

The others were tested, of course, re-tested, calibrated, recalibrated. I got a few tips from the cookbook, but most of it I just kind of winged. You would be quite surprised how little fertilizer it takes to put a car three feet over your head. Got some cordite, wound it up tight. The hardest part was the timers. Tried some alarm clocks, but they've only got a 24 hour lead time. No good. But a VCR's got all kinds of lead time. Found some good two-heads at a local junk shop. Guy asked me if I was going to "tape every channel." I just laughed and asked him what his favorite program was (Dukes of Hazzard). If they ever get close, I'll have to take care of business.

Funny story: once I thought I had set one for 6 PM. Went to bed and was rudely awakened at 6 AM. At least it was a success - I couldn't find a single piece of the ResusciAnnie. Now I triple check everything. You can't be too careful.

I picked the perfect day: February 14. I think it's that one day when people really let their guard down, when optimism overrides almost everything. You check your mail and lo and behold! A package, neatly wrapped in white, addressed to you.

The registry came in handy. I printed out every last entry, cut up the papers, posted them on the wall. Turned them into a dartboard - I'm still working on my aim, I'm always a little left. The rest of it, I think I've got the hang of.

Still, a few more practice runs couldn't hurt. Maybe we'll try some Ballistite this time. They say it doesn't have such a noticeable odor. But you know what they say about what they say...

This particular story began about a week ago. If one can even put a beginning to any story. As if life was happening in sections with clearly defined beginnings and endings... But i digress. This particular story pretty much began a week ago. (Sure - I'd realized some time before (maybe 2 weeks before?) that four months of nothing but study and work might not be such an appealing thing, even if the exams in October will be huge and scary and final.)

Anyway - about a week ago I started contemplating the idea of visiting the states. I glanced at it from the side. Toyed with it. Didn't take it too seriously. After all, I couldn't afford it, money nor time-wise... I started bouncing the idea with some of the noders responsible for me even contemplating to visit a country I'd sworn not to set foot on while there was still a certain government in power.

Friday - almost a week ago - I had to return to Bern for the week-end. Why not fetch my passport? I mean - it doesn't hurt to have a passport with me - right? Even if I'm not seriously considering a trip outside of Europe? Hm... Oh and, asking my friends for a giant map of the states so I could get an idea of where everybody lived didn't mean that I'd really travel there soon, right?

Ok, I admit, by then I was pretty much set on ignoring the fact that I needed all the time available for my studies and just say: "sc**w it - I'm leaving." (At least for three weeks...)

To begin with there was a list of four people I really wanted to meet - no matter what. Jane (my sis in Chicago), Dann (the best teacher ever), Jared (who just has to come inline skating with me) and Jeremy (best proofreader and bearimitator ever). Turns out they don't exactly live too close to each other: Chicago, Dallas (w00t?! Texas!? I'm not gonna set foot on Texas... oh wait - I am...), Columbus (OH) and Auburn (AL - but close enough to make that Atlanta).

I did some pondering, then I realised that my passport was still expired. Darn! On Monday I went to talk to the nice lady behind the counter of the local civil matters office (or whatever you call that darn thing - it's very late here and I'll have to get up again very very soon). The nice lady told me that getting a new passport would take 3 months at least, an emergency passport at least 1 week if I paid 100sFr. or 3 weeks if I wanted it for free. And oh - yes - I could try and get my current one extended - within about a week's time. I'd have to send it in though.

In the meantime my list of four people had grown to a list of at least 10 people and kept growing. As did my wish of visiting the states.

I went home on Monday, wrote a letter to the passport office that I'd have to go to an unexected trip to the states soon and very desperately needed my passport renewed - I'd be very gratefull for their help.

I kept working like mad on stuff for uni, so I could afford nicking off for a while in a few weeks time.

On Wednesday morning the passport returned - extended. Cindy started jumping up and down very excitedly.

On the same day I had to return to Bern to hand in some of my work, I also went to a travel agent. I told the very nice girl behind the desk about my idea and looked at her with puppy eyes hoping that she could come up with a good solution. The whole adventure was complicated by Jeremy leaving the states on August the 11th - so I had to be in Atlanta before that.

She came up with a wonderful plan which involved a flight from Zurich to Atlanta (where I'd spend some time), then I'd fly on to Dallas (spend some time there again), fly on to Chicago (again spend some time), return to Zurich. It sounded like a wonderful plan. Until she began on checking on availability of flights. Turns out they are booked out until August 14th.

I sighed inwardly as my growing four people list had just shrank by one. Still - it was the best I could get, and leaving late would give me the time to get some studying done before leaving. I noddded and told her to block the flights - I'd think about it and let her know by Friday.

I left the bureau, strolled Bern's hot hot streets with a happy and a sad heart. On a hunch I decided to try out the travel office of our marode national airline (SWISS). I entered, told the lady my story, she started typing stuff into her computer, smiling at me, telling me that the most important point was to get my bum over to the states. Would Friday be ok?

I swallowed - erm - that was quick... Maybe. Donno. Could people even put up with me that soon? Were they willing to put up with me on such short notice? This option would make my four people list somewhat bigger again - still... Something more than 24 hours to get everything sorted? But hey - the thrill of getting away - going travelling again...

I've been missing the road lately. Walking the road with my backpack on, not knowing where I'd be the next day. Meeting great people. I haven't really travelled for almost 2 years now... Last real travel travel was in 2001 when I went to Germany all alone and met Andrew on my birthday. Who then travelled with me for a while, spent Christmas with us, almost got himself killed int he mountains by me trying to coax him up hills which were hard enough to get up to, let alone come down with all bones intact. He, who eventually managed to introduce me to E2. (There goes another story :)).

I told the lady that sounded like a completely crazy idea - but that I liked it. She said she'd give me a call the next day - with offers. I nodded and left.

Back in my flat in Bern I was exhausted - what a rollercoaster. Up and down and up and down... I also got a call from my dad telling me that the 2000sFr for a brand-new Titanium had just died. (Oh, great - so i got that money spare now :)).

I sat and thought for a while. I talked to my landlords. I talked to my parents - "oh, you might be leaving on Friday - heh - why not?" I decided to call my four people list in the states - would Friday be ok for them? I spent an evening on the phone talking to people growing more excited about the whole idea by the minute.

I spent some time jumping up and down in the kitchen. Then I started dancing to stupid old daggy music. The I went wheeee for while. thenI smiled and laughed and giggled. Then i realised the lady had not yet found a flight for me yet, and calmed down a bit.

That was last night. I didn't sleep much then. I tried getting things sorted so I could indeed pack within 24 hours. Eventually I did sleep.

This morning. I called SWISS telling them I only wanted one flight in and one out of the states, on tomorrow and one on 11th August. One to Dallas and one from Chicago. I'd work out the part in between once I'd be in the states. She said she'd do her best.

I packed my stuff and left to meet up with some people from the students' committee. Then the wait began. Midday, still no phone call. My heart was sinking... 12.56 - my mobile went off - we have a flight for you. Tomorrow 9.55am off Zurich airport. And I could afford it.

I jumped up and down, I told the lady I loved her, that I wished I could hug her here and there. She had a smile in her voice when she gave me the rest of the details.

Next thing i called my mum, then I grabbed my stuff and went emergency presents shopping. I also paid for my ticket. Grew less excited and slghtly more worried. Cos I'm nervous... And happy. And excited.

So - it's midnight here now - I'll get up in less than 4 hours so I can catch my train to the airport and pray for it to be on time. My bags are packed, most things are sorted. Jane knows I'll be finally visiting her (after five years) and she's all excited. Dann knows where and when he'll "have to" pick me up. I am shattered because I haven't slept too much lately at all.

I'm sorry this was so babbly and long and... I'm almost too tired again to parse language correctly... Oh well... Here the last details - if any of you feel like coming to pick me up - or meet me, or meet me, or give me lifts :)

FRI July 18, 2003:
0955 Zurich ZRH (Flight L3002)
1410 Dallas DFW Terminal A

MO August 11, 2003:
1625 Chicago O Hare International Terminal 5 (Flight LX009)
TU August 12, 2003:
0755 Zurich ZRH

My plan so far is the following:

Dann will pick me up at Dallas airport tomorrow, entertain me for a few days ;), then drive me to Atlanta for the w/e of the 26th (which happens to be me b'day) to meet up with Patrick and Jeremy many many more noders. (After this i have no clue what will happen. I'll just somehow need to make my way up to Chicago (greyhound?) and enjoy being on the road again. Any advice etc welcome!)

Right - I shut up now - I promise I'll keep a travel log and stuff... Bedtime now... Sorry about the lack of links. Need sleep now.

I love you all - *hugs*
cj


Yes, there are no links - this is due to the fact that I'm dog-tired and I have to get up again in 3 hours...

... extra-mental thinking; the words act as a scaffold, an extension of my internal thoughts, although they don't make any sense on their own, they are a slug-trail of concepts that extend beyond my brain into the second dimension, the written word. In fact I conclude that aspects of the human animal exists in all four dimensions:

1. The First Dimension is the dimension of instinct and the subconscious;
2. The Second Dimension is the dimension of the written word, and of the mind-consciousness;
3. The Third Dimension is the dimension of the physical form, and of the body-mind-consciousness;
4. The Fourth Dimension is the dimension of the soul, and of the eternal body-mind-consciousness.

Or, put simply, 'snake - bread - rubber - glass', the four humours of classical greek medical theory. I believe that what we call the 'soul' is actually the present mind, extruded backwards and forwards through time to the two extremes of eternity, which for the purposes of this life are the beginning and end of consciousness. There is nothing outside consciousness and thus a man's lifespan is eternity, from his relativistic point of view; just as the universe is infinitely large, despite the fact that the human mind can envisage an even-larger 'outside', which does not of course exist.

The concept of foreverness is a tricky one to grasp, and yet with sufficient enlightenment our finite minds can grasp the infinite. Mine certainly has, I know that for a fact. Font. I can sense the extent of the universe's spread; it is self-forging, like a railway machine, it lays the tracks as it goes along. Eventually it will run out of energy and grow listless and cold, a state akin to that of my own phallus, and the bubbleverse will collapse and all will be concrete. Thus the eternity of creation expresses itself in a fractal sense, in the form of my own failing libido, the object of which - my penis - is, in a universal scale, microscopic.

The dimension of words is also stretched in time, but it does not have a soul because it is unaware of the physical. Not so much unaware, but incapable of attaining awareness. I am unaware of how Saturn feels, but I can guess, I can imagine how it would feel to be Saturn, I can imagine, indeed I have always wanted to impregnate Saturn; there are very few things which are literally beyond human imagination. Or rather, there may well be a huge amount of things, but as they are beyond human imagination, 'I do not know what I do not know'. We could only detect them by their shadows, not their forms, the gaps in our knowledge. We would have to look at right-angles to all current dimensions including that of time. The unthought-of is the mind's dark matter; perhaps one day it will cause us to collapse in on ourselves. In a way I would prefer that end than heat death; to go out with a bang, and perhaps renew.

There is no creation or destruction, only transformation; this explains the myriad 'Transformers' spin-offs, each of which is more mongrel than the last, having soiled its nest of genes with inferior concepts, such as for example the Headmasters, and all those big robots that were made out of small robots. Really, after the core set of Autobots and Decepticons, only the Dinobots were any good. The rest were just chaff, impure chaff. If Megatron requires a ditch to be dug, it does not trouble me how many Junkticons die in the pursuit of this act, only that the ditch is dug. That is what we want; to quite literally block buster. But nobody knows the way, even though there must be a way, to achieve this.

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