Tales from the other side
On my detours and detours, my interaction with the biosphere and its inhabitants is at times a little strange and rare, which seems to lead to the problem of not being able to communicate even remotely enough of the opportunities provided, experiences, ideas and visions.
It is a self-replicating
Evolution Space
, a kind of breakthrough to the other side, from which time and again scientists, artists, magicians, inventors, engineers, grandmothers and grandfathers, yes. all those who dared to dance with their eyes open, brought back a part, a section, but some of them succeed more, they connect the worlds, they live sometimes here, sometimes there, they blab about internal matters, they set about interacting and managing, materializing the incomprehensible, and bringing the material into the incomprehensible.
So I see my current ambitions and escapades as a continuation of these tries, however uncomfortable it may be at times, I certainly wouldn't like to be special, just because grounding is becoming important to me when so many people fly around my ears who miss the point at which the jugs in the well slosh and break.
To respect Huxley's Doors of Perception, to experience and shape what lies behind it, what a necessary twist, a life decision and necessity.
And if the wonderland where everything began somewhere else is a kind of entrance gate with more or less open doors and keyholes and a travelogue of some of the experiences behind it, then Beyond goes far beyond that. Megaverse also captures it, at least as a word, only with limited joy.
I wrote recently about Gliese and my search for a developed and accepted world in which my stories and reflections can take place and be understood, and I am groping around to create such an epic, a mythology of mythology, something multi-volume, something based on ALL wonderlands.
All the other imagined and/or real worlds, something that makes the connections visible, and yet tastes unique, not just another new discovery, variation, the amazing thing in the goldfish bowl that may be ourselves, who knows if you are the observed or the observer or both and/or neither.
I can already feel the proximity of this adventure, there is a strange excitement in it, a hunting fever, a
Wish fulfillment tingling
a masterpiece-breathlessness and of course I don't want to burden anyone with my arrogance and I know all too well about the transience and subjectivity of what my perception DOES NOT teach me.
I switch through the fog of the muses, I paralyze the dose of doubt, I enjoy coming across different flowers of eternity just around the corner, drinking from some, picking some, simply paying admiration to some that arises from the honesty and understanding of that which has made its way beyond the line, beyond the boundaries of our upbringing, walking over the rainbow bridge into gentle splendor.
Initial approaches can be found in recent fantasy and fiction, initial permeabilities in literature and multimedia gaming society itself, but it is usually labelled as something that does not do it justice, because we could become what we think up and what invents us.
No longer limited to the keyhole format, we are entering the age of interaction, of true design.
From report to poem. From fact to galactic.
For me, the puzzle that is slowly coming together in and around me is a constant intensity of heartfelt rejoicing. I don't run through everyday life happily framed, but I am amazed by the eternal, which is being poured into me drop by drop, simply because I perceive it instead of allowing the banal to control me.
I am so down to earth that it would no longer be possible, because I am connected to life itself, to the felt part of the whole, to be a mindful, conscious part, a feeler, a sensible individual of a breathing, multi-form superorganism mostly perceived as a god/goddess.
Made this sense to you?
Have you ever listened to the sounds of the Earth as perceived from space?
As she is described in her Overview Motions as breathing, I have yet to and it will come as no surprise that this is one of my big centenary goals to have been out.
And none of this is or requires vehicles like drugs or meditation, at some point you simply vibrate differently, assuming you made an effort beforehand, and since that zooms out through the layer of dirt, shakes and rattles and basks in the sun with a smile, things fall like care packages of reality into places you didn't know how beautiful they were or that they even existed.
And yet I am allowed to flirt narcissistically, to lay it on a little thicker than necessary, to want to do something cool,
Contemporary magic arson
Beyond is my Discworld, and when in Last Haven I describe a last refuge for all remaining but long-confused or self-forgotten species of a universe like ours, on a moon slowly falling towards decay, a refuge successfully fought against the laws of gravity by gigantic machines of long-nameless builders, floating in a nothingness before the nothingness of a black hole, when on the other hand I delve into our own prehistory and try to bring in so many different times, real and invented personalities:
Because I strive to implement nonreality, but in a way that is beautiful for us, that doesn't feel desperate, that it shouldn't be an escape to love, to dance, to dream and to speak to and force a better community of creators and sustainers.
In my future planning rather than consulting, in my research, I am very interested in tomorrow, but I have noticed how little trust there is in this tomorrow because the wrong questions are being asked, because everything is only oriented towards the here and now in the often too unimaginative answers and because fear distorts the perception of those who allow themselves to be controlled by it, even if often only unconsciously.
But let go of your reins, inventors, artists, creators of knowledge, yes, even you politicians, you citizens, you families, you kindergarten children, do not let them put on you, shod you, hooves and harness, a saddle for the little one.
His business card read “Future designer, phantasmagorist, informant, shape-shifter and world leader”
And even if the tea party is a somewhat old-fashioned term, it is still a good metaphor, like Wonderland. The cockroach from Naked Lunch sat peacefully on a Miro-inspired carpet with the very first Carroll Rabbit. Long before the Bunnygod, you know.
They drank Ayahuasca and played Creatures Tribe on a very extravagant console that was vaguely reminiscent of Lord of the Rings design, whose logo she unfortunately couldn't identify at first glance, on the largest and sharpest UltraHD she had ever seen.
All of this in the middle of this carefully designed rainforest greenhouse, which reminded Alice a little of the Eden Project in Cornwall, which she always wanted to visit when she was younger.
She caught herself worriedly expressing a similar way of thinking to that eccentric forty-something behind the mirrored glasses. But day by day he made her wetter. And she knew that at some point all the dams would break. Game consoles are no substitute for bananas. Another absurd thought.
The little computer creatures were bustling around and had been thrown into a number of conflicts of loyalty by the disagreement between their two teachers. The resourceful and witty new programmer had of course expected such confusing situations and incorporated some elements from the everyday life of child psychologists, including mediation. But he was strict in his bold reinterpretation and so no more slaps are allowed in this Creatures.
If this rule is broken too often, the youth welfare office can come by. And believe me, you don't want to see how the creatures start to become after a certain age and without any guidance. The Grendels are the best thing to counter that.
“Is this actually similar to Sims?” asked Alice, after she had watched for a while and slowly began to understand the processes, like in a full-day kindergarten or orphanage, and simply by learning nouns and verbs and later in the game adjectives, you can create simple language with which you can interact with the little ones - she had rarely seen anything cuter on a screen.
“Can I have a go too?”
she asked
“Do you mean the DMT or the game?”
answer the cockroach.
How should Alice decide?
Continue reading at option A or B or C or D.
But back from the Madhatter Homes, to a less exaggerated thought touch. My inner myths have long since been refined and more relaxed. The loving has played a trick on the intoxicated. And the pragmatist is aware of how important the connection and timing is with those who could multiply you. The constant failure of the last few years has led to endless refinement, and now lets me create dreams that I would and will dare to present.
Names, fire, we are in the sound and smoke, I think of the unforeseeable, my longing for expression beyond narcissistic foreplay. I remain true to myself and betray myself every day.
But the soapy half-truth that I successfully hijack, I love the way it slowly becomes real like an echo. We live in an age of fading reality. No psychologist can save us anymore. Colorful pills, perhaps. And one or two narrators of what remains.
