If the data cell structure is pre-structure is it at some point both?
If pre-structure and structure happen at once at some point in time Then that union is the existence of Time on account that pre-structure is God.
Spontaneous intelligence is not God because it is different every time it spontaneously arrives.
But it arrives from the same source every time.
How do you know this?
It is inherent in the observation! If it arrives it arrives from somewhere. Why would it arrive from the same place every time? Because that's why it's reality. It has one predecessor. And that is God. Why would it arrive from a different place, if it could, every time?
God changes houses? I don't know!
But if it could, where would it arrive from differently than the place it had arrived from before?
Both places it arrived from in Recreation, let's say. World of Hindus, Christians, Jews; and a Christiannan. World of many faces.
Why did it arrive from one place only in order to arrive from another the next time?
Origin outer space. In order to emphasize the importance of location.
For God is everywhere in our world. He could make Spontaneous intelligence arrive at any location, and it would be different every time for location and the place from which the intelligence arrived are intangible, existing in time, and can never be repeated at the same time as before.
It could not originate from the same point in time and the same location exactly because God does not exist other to this world and exists in it fully.
But that is to say Spontaneous intelligence could never arrive anywhere dually from the same place and time because places exist in time and not extra dimensions outside of the world where God exists and we don't. We are actually in the world. The World he (or she) created. Spontaneous intelligence arrives at a certain place at a certain point in time because conditions are favorable for it to do so. Whether that is its Design is debatable. And whether that is God remains to be seen, for God, not being spontaneous enough to produce a whole first human at once relied on Spontaneous intelligence and its reproduction to develop a capacity for Living.
Why would God want to live?
Is God living us?
Wherefore Art thou living intelligence arrive from?
Intelligence predates life. This is how life arose. But was it God's intelligence at that point or ours?
And does Spontaneous intelligence continue to this day, or did God stop creating it; and does the brain have a mechanism in it for interacting with the original source of its intelligence? Which may or may not continue to exist.
If it does not exist then do our minds create it? Is that what minds are?
Anyway, these are some of the big questions I have to deal with as an author of fiction. What is subjectivity; what is the source of subjectivity? How can I have a character if I do not even know why character arises as a phenomenon in the known universe?
A data cell structure is a mystery. And it is a home.
The smallest formation necessary to allow for free will. Memory is a data cell structure. A home is a data cell structure. And Mer, of course, already had all of this figured out and had legislated the fundamental right to a data cell structure.
And so Nugg was in his data cell structure when his skin started to glow. Not as advanced as mer scientific knowledge and discovery, ver magic possessed neolithic potential.
The property of what would happen to him in his data cell structure when his skin glowed however was intriguing. For in his house, there was more light. And in his brain, there was more glo.
A data cell structure to another data cell structure, I was having a time of it figuring out what he was doing in there other than celebrating Christmas. And why did he need a Christmas tree if his skin was glowing? And thinking, And why do I need a Christmas tree if I'm here?
I'm gayer than a Christmas tree.
But the custom, you know, meant something different than that.
Originating with the Humans, Christmas was celebrated all across the seven seas by mer and verfolk alike, the gays ones all like Why do we need to decorate? I'm here!
'If God is pre-structure I am too.'
And that's how humans became sentient, gay animals being like, 'I am faster than my reflexes.' To know God. To know pre-structure.
Developing a tale instead of a tail.
Child's play.
On Earth, in Recreation, not the world of our own Earth, but a world of Faeries and Demons, where verorcs also have no tail and mer, well, let's just say they had the best tails. The mer are French but of course.
French is such a fantasy network.
Let's use English for now since it is the most common verorc tongue.
And the English word for glowing skin is heliotropism. I mean to suggest of course that exposure to the sun causes glowing skin because Nugg's skin was not glowing in the same way. It was glowing internally. As though from a source of light that resided in the body.
Internal validity would be all you have when demons were close.
Verorc skin glowing meant that internal validity had been accomplished. Gradually it went away until another internal validity was accomplished. And then it would grow green again. While this skin was glowing however they had an increased advantage against demons should they try to attack him or any of his fairies in his garden.
Why the worst fairy in the garden would think him a hero. So why under inspection? By the Fairy Kingdom? Why the worst garden?
Verorcs have a way of letting things slip into disrepair and so all of his tools, machines, and statues had rust on them or low batteries. Worse than all other verorcs. Which was quite an accomplishment as they are all lazy creatures, preferring locks that worked centuries ago to the new world of invention and innovation.
Presently a werewolf that had form-changed into a garden gnome earlier that week in the garden remained undetected. Yes, in Recreation demons have upgrades, werewolf being capable of transforming into a child's stuffed animal or robotic toy. It was waiting, for the glow in their eyes these werewolves knew the glow of a verorc and knew to stay away from it. They could smell it, power and the ability to glow as often as internal validity. Making them powerful against demons. The werewolf had been waiting outside for days but so far the internal validity of the verorc had diminished little, always sparking itself up in daily activities to restore it to its full cherubic enclosed chest candy tuft to the ribs and dressed very much like without one Shrek of candour.
The werewolf could not think to approach and was soon discovered by the fairies who eventually put it together there was a new gnome in the garden unidentified and never to have been seen with the Garden's owner. To be put there by him.
Although the glass crystal ball on a pedestal in the backyard maze and garden was beautiful, this new gnome, appearing to have more life in him than other inanimate creatures in the garden became suspect. Apparently winkling powder to harden its surface was applied to prevent it from transforming out of its current form. And then it was removed from the garden.
The eventuality?
Nugg's garden prospered more than ever.
Enough to make a Fairy Kingdom reconsider his award for worst garden ever. Made by a verorc.
Mer Gardens.
It was an item location of such novelty that it held a high value for me.
Powerful tails swimming everywhere.
Underwater fountains.
Like a name Merpopulis to a city district.
Mer Gardens.
The name in the city.
Nugg appeared on the scene.
It was a French boulevard.
There was a cyber café with a patio with punks sitting on it. Cyberpunks. It turns out their friend Alecia who was visiting had a fully human replica arm and they were wearing partially visible prosthetics, cyborg hair, and visors to show their support. Black clothing. Spikes. Chains. And Tattoos.
"I will never get a tattoo," one of these fairies dismisses.
Nobody cares.
They are watching the verorc, checking him out and everything.
Checked them out. And Checked them in.
"No I'm checking you in!"
"No I'm checking you in!"
"No I'm checking you in!"
Whatever checking in meant at this point, it meant the opposite of checking out.
But they still had their eyes on the verorc. So slow. But Green and Merry. Not capable of causing any harm. An Architecture behind him.
And a street.
And a curb. Where they would stomp his sorry ass if he did not ignore them.
But he couldn't ignore them. They were looking right at him. Then he saw them all at once for their fashion. And they, him.
Just different intersectionalities.
Peace Enough, Verorc.
Checked them out. And Checked them in. He thought again.
He was sure of himself. Peaceful enough in his portable data cell structure, the one he carried with him everywhere, it was different than his data cell structure at home.
It had to be.
There were Cyberpunks, a whole lot of them, French and French enthusiasts. Like OMG, scary, right?
And, anyway, this represented one cross section of Culture in a myriad of souls out on the street that day. Too pedestrian.
But remember what the congestion looks like underwater. A cloudy sea of toxic dusts and pollutants.
Yes, "Mer" "Gardens."
Such a beautiful name for such an ugly place.
The traffic down there is wild, dude!
Basically everything protuberant that lives in the ocean populates these swift currents!
The currents, he thinks, are swift but when I am Home I find I hear them whisper far away—still and light is fast—and I know nothing is silent from a radius of projected light on the seafloor from my window. The size of my dress. My Garden. My neighbourhood.
You see how this is of course metaphors in which I created my own internal world that was like wearing a dress all the time. And so when a reading female discovered this she was glad, that some equality had been accomplished. And then they realized the dress was too beautiful. And wanted to take it off.
But then the metaphor for taking a dress off internally like psychologies were only so many layers of clothing that always wanted to show themselves naked. Sharing psychologies became about who was the most. Most guys would say being a guy is about having the most of something. But how do they decide which most-of-somethings to have?
They find out what they are competing in before they compete.
It's not a loose tough-all where "society competition" is on all of the time. People are out in the street in their wheelchairs raising children with their own handicaps. And there are actually competitive events by category and so if you held the best of something competitively in a category in which you had the most you would not hold it over others who were not represented in that category.
Being disabled is a competitive event because we want to see how disabled you are compared to the other competitors. Are ya a mermaid or a verorcn one?
The other category I compete under is writing with all of history. I admit, sometimes I doubt my fashion is exemplary. But it's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be casual. I can say more with words and metaphors that way and; that is the only reason why.
To be able to explore the genre of all history. Self-appointed progress is the only criticism of myself I can justify but anyone can use fantasy.
And then it becomes a fantasy.
Self-appointed progress.
Non-human appointed progress, might be a more cyber-fiction. How many times do you think a human has talked with a computer without knowing it was artificial language? Interacting with a computer on the Internet for example might feel like you are interacting with a person when in fact it is a program or server deciding how a website interacts with you.
It's a jest.
But is and is not funny.
Something is out of the wake of consciousness like that.
We should be paranoid but we're not.
Writing for all of history means writing for everyone who has come and gone, and writing for everyone who is, and writing for everyone who was not come yet.
It's a bet, you see.
To come up with what is relevant eternally.
How do you narrow down such a wide topic?
Ideas need to be condensed into metaphor.
Explanations need to be given.
Time needs not be wasted.
A metaphor for Canadian and Global economy or society is the verorcs and the merfolk, for example.
Not precise predictions of humanity but not so different than them either.
Humans, you will remember, also live in Recreation however. They are not metaphors. Just the facts. Fantastic-ity facts.
Tool to the Muse of Fantasy Facts. Like they were not an oxymoron.
Can fantasies be facts?
Yes, But they are more about what are not facts.
And what is it about Not Facts as a category that is so exciting? It is a deep and powerful emotional body to observe Not Facts.
When I think about what is not a fact of my life I see who I would be in parallel dimensions if things had not happened the way they had in this dimension. It makes me realize I am happy with the way things turned out. Not Facts are just poor taste in fashion of life's enterprise. Mine of course has been a moral enterprise, having seen that gay people were mistreated in society and needing to find something to be done about it.
Pre-history means everything before Mesopotamia, the Indus valley civilization, and Ancient Egypt in my definition.
So I'm writing about everything after that. This is the dedication of my text.
Mostly about the present.
And somewhat about the parallel dimension of Recreation.
Fantastic-ity.
Where Super Heroes prowl the night.
Discipline Imperiled.
The Rich and the Famous,
the Poor and the Tranquil.
Why discriminate against somebody that has more money than you? They are people and you want them in your favor. Money is not always the thing of value.
I don't mean to increase what counts as deviant art with more strange language, friend.
But art is deviant sometimes.
In our society the Poor can be Famous;
and the Rich can be Tranquil.
You need to live for moments, you know, to build them for yourself.
Writing is about how to create moments,
a beverage for example is served to a Christmas guest. For me its coffee, with a little peppermint mocha. When you taste the coffee, try making your mouth and your nose to taste the caffeine or whatever molecule of preference you have. Zero in on it. It takes time to realize you are a coffee snob but when you have accomplished the devil of the task. Know that you are God however because caffeine and God are the same frequency.
Someone in Recreation is suffering the Fate Worse Than Death somewhere and they have time to taste coffee. But they don't know how. And that would be worse than death, not knowing. For not drinking coffee is worse than death.
It tastes like caramel.
I go on tasting neurochemicals to get the palette experience.
And I don't know which ones I need in certain moments. Shouldn't my brain do that automatically?
Well, yes, but we aren't.
We aren't, my brain says to me.
We?
And then I think, maybe that makes sense because I'm two-spirited. Dorian Electra wants to be referred to as they/them. There's a they/them on Miley Cyrus's video Mother's Daughter.
And I discovered there, the secret of his identity. But did a plurality indicate a break from or an acceptance of reality?
We are many psychologies, he reminded himself.
But not each other's whole psychology.
Or is that what, scientifically speaking we need to be or are?
-We are positive that we know each other feminine and masculine to be two-spirited-
Woah, where did that come from?
-Who would I be if I was not a they?-
Fluidly two spirits separated into male and female parts.
Without one another they would be separate subjectivities existing in one body.
Not gay.
But gay is not always two-spirited.
In Recreation they can wear a flat bead between their eyebrows, one eyebrow male and other female. Or any combination they like. I think my right one is female and my left one is male.
Women there wear feathers on their Adam's apple. And men pendulums in their brows or goatee. So you will be hypnotised by what's hanging.
I'm of course the one wearing the bead between his eyebrows. Tonight it is white for Christmas. And I've been wondering what is the best way to keep it stuck there.
It reminds me of a'.
Most coolest person ever.
Nugg with a Christmas eyebrow.
Je m'appelle Nugg.
Like the night I learned to dance as a we or they. To create as a We/They. Was my final conclusion. It captures my imagination.
And when it did, finally, as a rob-au revoir (goodbye) of Aural specimen, a robot,
It saying goodbye was like me saying goodbye. Terrestrially. We/They. For I owned it.
Supernally, it had enough armor on to withstand the atmosphere I was in and so I was intrigued to know what we could land knowing together. The atmosphere was hot and refreshing and the robot appeared to be waterproof. For there were drops of humidity about its gizmos mostly a smooth plating in an orb-like fashion. It was telling time and reporting the weather as sunny, which it was.
In my data cell structure I could see the sun and the glo of my robot companion.
A they scenario. Not a we scenario.
The sun was setting.
And they looked out over Recreation, a human and a robot. In a data cell structure. Together.
I could tell that computer anything. And an angel would be listening.
Heavenly.
But not for another planet. For Earth. The only planet they had been on. Recreation was the town station. They had parked on a sandy ridge above it. Landing and shuttle lights were starting to turn on in the mech villa below.
The sun is setting on a mech villa hon, and we're still deciding what a mech villa is.
There are computers in the walls. They turn the lights off that they don't use at night. Everyone has a cell phone. And this station in particular had night riders, the operators of the sheathed gravitational hover bikes parked outside a heavily commercial bar. On the main road.
Nugg sat with his robot companion in a blanket in the back of a vehicle, the rear end door opened to look out over the semi-canyon. The bar was too noisy for them. This was where he liked to go in order to keep calm. Like two nuggets and burrito.
It was the first time Nugg had been on land for several years. He scrolled through his tablet and read.
Modern Era. Machine warfare. Industry. Pollution. These and Christianity are to blame for the Fate Worse Than Death and Hakon Borgen spends his nights designing a new world religion the Christianna to counteract worse-than-dying. Especially as martyrs for Jesus Christ. A new Messiah, Anna, has been named, to be followed carefully for she herself suffers the fate worse than death somewhat and seeks to balance a Jesus-like-fate against her own (worse) fate by inventing customs and philosophy or theology for religious lifestyles.
There was an uproar outside the throne room in the rural town. When the large metal doors swung open, a Lord wearing an orange robe rushed in, his eyebrows furled. On the throne sat Qentequelyus the Chief. He was dressed in modéliste tights and a form-fitting purple tunic with fashion lenses instead of a crown. Walking the centre of the room toward his Chief, the Lord to let sound his news of the Christianna spoken ragefully and lovingly as his voice was set with resilience.
"Silence. Lord of the Christianna, why have you come?" asked Qentequelyus. He was sitting with his leg over one of the arms of the Throne.
"You need to give us resources."
"Why?"
"I will tell you. It is our Anna. She has fallen ill. For Anna suffers the fate worse than death. It's not just her, you see. Anna is the typology of person we are trying to help."
"Worse than death? I've never heard of such a thing. Tell me it isn't possible? I know no fate worse than death. To die, is bitter, but happens to all of us. That's it, the worst fate death is. Anna is a myth."
"Yes, she is. But she's real. That's why. That's why we didn't believe in a fate worse than death and now it's happened. That's why Anna is the new messiah."
"The only Anna I know is a genius. She lives luxuriously in South Armeda."
"There are many Annas. Sir, we need help."
"You do not."
"Love compels us to act."
"This is an overreaction I think. What have you been studying? If she is that bad Love compels us not to torture her. If it is that bad. For we don't know how to help her. We might make it worse."
"I know how to help her. Please. They are suffering."
"There will always be people suffering. But there are many pleasures in life enjoyed by my court and others in my freedom."
"Yes, it is true. But we have a' detected her presence, you see. She is not just one person, but many. And they are suffering."
"So have I. And is a famous one, she is. I helped raise her. She is the most virtuous and beautiful person we know of. She is like an energy particle of pure spirit and psyche, that designs her new dress layers each day. Is it infinite? Her dress? For she keeps becoming more beautiful."
"There is nothing you can tell me to make me stray from my purpose. We need your forces to help a patient suffering from worse than death."
"I don't know who you're talking about. We can't save every bird with a broken wing."
"I'm telling you who."
"Anna?"
"Yes."
"And tell me why this is a problem when there are so many famous heroes? Their memory is our commonwealth. They experience pleasures the world has never seen. And so she is not tortured by us it is her deserved fate."
"Her deserved fate, the fate worse than death? It is not so. Nobody deserves that fate."
"Yes, you fool. We've done nothing wrong. All we do is party."
"Does that matter?"
"Love compels us to be still because we share a collective fate. If we let these people cause us suffering we will do a disservice to Love, our highest virtue."
"And how have you identified them?"
"Why can't they just Love the people we have who experience the most pleasure, and in virtue receive their own pleasure from that love and knowledge."
"It's not that simple."
"It is. Our happiest population spreads joy to everyone else."
"We haven't. If the Anna you speak of is so well off then help me help our Anna, who is not."
"What do you want me to do?"
"We need a prophet, sir."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's worse than death. Worse than death. Someone is suffering worse than death. And it's not just Anna. She is how we know there are other people out there suffering, possibly, worse fates."
"Who?"
"We don't know who they are."
"Well how will you know them? How will we find someone you cannot identify?"
"We must use magic, sir."
"Whatever you do. Whatever you need. Whatever you dream upon."
"It is better to balance Middle pleasures as a principle of virtue in an effort to deter anybody from suffering crucifixion or worse than crucifixion: anacification, the infliction of the fate worse than death, from anacify, to inflict the fate worse than death."
The concern was that people would inflict the fate worse than death on each other or already had or that they will have come by them in some other way.
"Middle pleasures herein described as sacred pleasures such as Courtship, Aging, and Homosexuality," said the Lord—"what happens in the middle of the life between being born and dying." A further dystopian mechanism had to be installed, the unavailability of medical assistance in dying under normal circumstances. And that someone was suffering the fate worse than death somewhere. Christianity was to blame, in part, for the Fate Worse Than Death.
Age of people foaming at the mouth from eating industrial chemicals that would kill them slowly.
Hakon was in an alleyway wearing a pink bath robe. Now, normally, it would be inappropriate for a man to walk out in public that way, but he had a microchip planted in his brain and did not learn it was there until after he learned that someone was suffering the fate worse than death somewhere.
When Fate was worse than death Destiny was to wager between these two extremes.
Death.
Worse than death.
Between our knowledge of these we are a vision suspended in black, a blue light upon our eyes. The Christiannan vision of our knowledge of death is that our journey ends. And our knowledge of worse-than-death is that our journey does not, temporarily. End. And so this Fate, worse-than-death, was a primary topic of concern for the Christiannan.
The Fate Worse Than Death, they use this term satirically to mean someone who has not any fashion of virtues. But it also means a very very bad painful fate that is possible in our modern (chemical) world. The Children of the Industrial Revolution produced the Fate Worse Than Death. That was why he was out in the alley, his walkman in his bath robe pocket. Headphones on his ears.
If I hear thoughts from others, he thought, and I think, how creative of me for I have had another thought from someone or something for I have so much empathy I can keep theirs alive in me. What to share personalities? That's what personalities are. I am smart enough to think like another person. Why does it matter if it is telepathic? It may matter because if it's not telepathic then the person you know in your mind is not the actual person. And so you live in a sort of dream world where people or other creatures are not really who or what you imagine them to be.
But you know how to separate the imaginary from the real and this knowledge is used to advance characters in civilization. Including your own.
And anyway, how would I know you without my mind to know you? What I imagine about you is part of us too.
But, the thoughts never stop. They say nothing, sometimes, but they mean to say, that I show them no deference. I am wrong about something I've forgotten or never knew. Hate might be their meaning. But it is so unrecognizably able to convince me of anything, I go on like this, with these thoughts in my mind of what other people think even if they are not people.
Is it paranoia?
Or is it something else?
Is it knowledge?
What kind of knowledge tells me I know other's thoughts? And that our thoughts are shared? That my thoughts can be in their heads.
But I can perhaps problematically never hear what I think to myself.
I don't need to say anything to myself I already know what I think.
If I cannot hear what I say to myself because I know that I cannot actually say anything to others telepathically (They/Them), and so thinking about a conversation between us is not a mere telepathic endeavor. When I realize the thought that someone else has realized it we are not in conversation together but are @ the same thought or topic.
And whether they realize it in real life is up to them.
They say body language is 70-93% of communication so how do you know that a sense of telepathy is not just a well developed sense for body language that appears to you in your mind this way, for a creative purpose?
As a telepathic conversation.
I think, as long as you relate to others as though they are real and not just telepathic, then you have at your disposal your own creative intellect to use when socializing.
At the Christiannan Temple, a cape, a hat. A stranger.
An Artist's path.
"What are the inner secrets of the Christianna?"
"The Christianna is the work of an artist. There is a dystopian mechanism. Someone is the Fate Worse Than Death today somewhere.
While you're here, let's pray.
Pray for the worst fates to be over. Pray to recognize you own virtue in an ocean of troubles. The ocean forgets things if you let it.
Take care, Anna," said the Christiannan priest. She left his presence.
The priest contemplated, why do I have the power to be that transfer of energy? I share what I make of myself one way or another. When I socialize I am happy with my performance. In a cyber-technic world of fantasy creatures I dwell. My fiction that we both suffer the fate worse than death and yet not is a worthwhile pursuit.
My fiction says, They aren't out there. I don't know them. I don't know anybody whom is suffering the Fate Worse Than Death. Maybe they are in pain but it will pass. It's not worse than death. Surely it isn't.
But what if it doesn't pass?
Oh, surely it's not worse than Jesus.
No it can't be. It surely isn't. But I think about the city, and the many cities. And the accidents that happen in them. I think about the population of Earth and I broaden the definition of a fate-worse-than-death to mean anything repulsive, for I have good judgment and anything both repulsive and a fate worse than death to me, is worth avoiding. And other religions, Your nonsense religion-making is worse than death And mine is far more advanced.
Worse-than-death is part of us, as History will tell. The American Slave Trade. The WWII Genocide. The Need For Christianity.
For I do think it was necessary, Christianity, to end violence between us forever.
But there is a better answer today: The Christianna.
For the modernist who considers our deaths and our fates worse than death to heal the scarification it has caused on humanity. Jesus points to an imbalance in the way we view things because many Christians think his was a death fate having to do with resurrection and nothing to do with a fate worse than his death. We need to look at both death and worse-than-death for some deaths are in being excused from the fate worse than death.
As a collective, humanity will suffer from its fates worse than death. But it may be difficult to recognize because there is not enough awareness of the fate worse than death. Often at centrestage a messiah who died who ostensibly said nothing about worse-than-death. We've been so engaged in thinking about death that we are not considerate of ourselves suffering worse than death.
The gay aunties will install themselves.
"My! What is she wearing?"
"A Paperbag!"
"That's worse than death!"
The Fashion Show continues. For they are wearing their own. But nonsense! Nonsense! What can we do with a paperbag? "Tear it off?"
"Ew, then she'll be naked."
"Yuck." "Yuck."
"Put a dress over top. She can slide it off. There we go." "Now we look good that you look good."
Thank you gay aunties.
Now she wears a dress But how beautiful it is can compare with anyone who wears a dress or not. It's a long dress. It goes to her ankles and sweeps out behind her. She walks to the dance floor and her psychology of dresses changes. It is a dress of a thousand layers, Nay, more! for they emerge from her mind unlimited shapes of layers like a flower with infinite petals.
Which will be the last petal, though, at the end of her life?
In truth, it will be a merry blessing and will do honor to her soul. Concern yourself not with her passing. For she is clothed in virtue. Beauty, Art, Prominence are hers. She is a very glamorous woman. Not the Strength of a mean streak within her.
