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| october 2015 |
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| ahead | 6:32am thursday, 29th october |
i live in the future
in the horizon where earth meets sky
where heaven and hell mix as steam
driving the engines of creation
and exhausting all magic
the wildness of fire: we danced
the exterior world a rushing wind
there is nothing but starstuff
naught but the dust of light
a slow parade of memories
accelerating to the moment where i am
and time is invincible
i a placeholder in a vicious equation
the math exploding in its calculus
i have emerged backward from the possible
i am the imagination of light
i have inhaled the void
i breathe out breezes that become lost
i have come from judgment day
to tell you there is a day after that
the future is perfect
as all things are that do not exist
is it all a dream, the things to be?
or are even dreams of the past?
what you seek, you will find
you need only to discover your search
you live in the future
and then you act upon the notion
to cross the threshold into existence
there is no time, only change
there is no darkness light cannot solve
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| The Library of Babel, Revisited | 5:27am monday, 19th october |
The angel Metatron was charged with cataloging the Library of Babel. He took a look, climbing out into a 4th spatial dimension to get his bearings. In eternity there were still remnants of the great War (that having been in eternity somewhere it still goes on), and a smoky residue whisper drifted by saying, “Set it all under ‘fire’.” It was not helpful. Metatron did wonder for a moment how Lucifer might have done it. No matter. He thought of how fast he could flip through all the pages if he made his hand androidfunction and spin off a minor eternity in that process. Which really didn’t help either. What does one do with infinite sets? Did the Architect lecture about this once? Perhaps he had thought that that subject was so obscure as to be only useful in the most corner of cases. Which of course now would be that. He searched his memory, and there he remembered with perfect angel knowledge that the topic had been infinite sets of metaphors. Was he looking at the problem wrong?
Was it really dividing information into subsets that have some meaning in common? Except that to statically divide and conquer will be at some point, reducio ad arbitrarium. It would need to be dynamic, if it could not be absolutely objective. Then, he had it: make the Library self-aware, so the texts could read each other. Then you would have all the books in two main varieties: one with all words and grammar spelling out sensible things, and then the other would be in different degrees of derangement. There would be exceptions to that division, of course, but if the awareness were a natural one, the exceptions (the mad genius ones)—they should translate just fine. So, imagine a symphony in n dimensions, where organization is the music: they arranged themselves under books that categorized them, for these must exist, then recoalesce in other categorizations based on commmon affinities that they shared, and networks of all possible organization schemes begin to form, to spin that process out into infinity. There. And so the job was done. In one eternal hour, not bad for a day’s work.
One might imagine that even the deranged books worked something out of that kind of arrangement, though one might think only Cthulhu or his minions would benefit from their organization.
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| the search | 4:47pm monday, 12th october |
beauty i have searched for thee
upon starry mountaintops that chill the bones
the hours now thoughtless vanished
i will not despair in their incidental slips
what is this fluttering light?
have i touched the feet of death in dreaming?
for in desire is hollowness
that draws from the inner darkness, given season
those, who in desperate reaches
cast out the most precious of light at random
is there a coin that one saves?
a way back from the far shores of the styx?
rapt in the sound of wings
i rise from the dirt like sudden treetops
back into the sky and spinning
the rhythm of my blood like red, red rain
to alight in breezeless fields
where i remember in a rush how the story ends
and time skipped over a moment
where i stood forever, still, like love does
i could not keep myself secret
not there and forgotten, though a solitary king
those fingertips on my ear
as the whisper told me i was yes, and awake
the world turned incrementally
the despair i stole from hell when you loved me
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| Heaven | 5:15am wednesday, 7th october |
There was a man who had a dream that God took him to Heaven. It was not a near death experience, and there was no light to go into, no tunnel. It was a dream. In a short space, he was taught that there was an infinite possibility in all things, of which there was only one that we could see in what was known in the real world. Also there was a short lesson why you do not take the name of the Lord in vain, for that name was weightier than all the world. And what was God like? Actually, He looked like Jesus. Which made sense to the traveler, because that was the best way to understand Him, as the man on the cross. God was quite gentle. Truly, as God is love. It was not as dazzling as you might imagine, this trip to the Good Place. It was mostly to inform the man of the possibilities, as that which could have the most effect as information carried back down into the world. He only had this to say, the next day: “I have been to Heaven, which is more wonderful than anyone can imagine. Have hope. That is what I learned. Though the beauty in this world is given more sparingly than that above, the great potential of earth, our home, to understand how things can be gives me joy in my bones. Don’t give up. We can change the world, indeed, we are changing the world. For the better. Hope!”
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