... 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.