Child

Child,

It's All

Relative.
But,
Even Futility
Has
Utility.


------------
if i should ever have to teach my child just one lesson
this should be it.

KRS-ONE

Knowledge Reigns Supreme
Over Nearly Everyone
~

GOD

Cosmic Remedy!

I've not heard the punchline yet
So I move forward, in circles nevertheless
Persisting in my conviction of a purpose
Which might slip past our unfeeling deity,
Who it's said is ever at rest!

Purpose by Instinct

Everything within and without you, exists because you relate to it, you observe it.

Stop relating, stop observing it, deny it attention and it'll cease to be - 

But only relatively, because you are relative too.

When am gone, when every last observer is gone, the universe must cease to be.

But who would that last observer be but the First Observer?

Because, despite our relative nature and finiteness, there must necessarily be a First Observer, relative to whom everything else is the observed - even if that relative other is a part of itself.

When something ceases to be relative to the First Observer - meaning, the First Observer ceases to observe that thing, it necessarily ceases to exist - absolutely that is.

Will causes purpose

Purpose causes meaning

The highest will is the will to be

Being necessitates existence

Life is the realization of being

And thus demands the perpetuation of existence for as long as there is will to be.

The First Observe necessarily is - and thus requires no will, no purpose, no meaning to be.

But everything else does require will in order to be.

The highest will, which begets the highest purpose, which begets the highest meaning for the life of the finite being then, is the will to persist their relation to the First Observer for as long as is possible.

The longer that persistence, the closer to immortality and absoluteness a finite, relative being is.

In persisting their existence, a finite being approaches the nature of the Absolute, First Observer.

The purpose of life is to live (long), and if possible, beyond life.

This purpose is fundamental, instinctive, and likely to animate humanity and all relative beings for all eternity.
Its pursuit and actualization is definitely a fundamental right.

===========================

This is a work in progress - possibly not to complete it, but to make it palatable for others too.

Upon a Creaking Bridge

Separation with matter, a fracturing of order and attachment

Tears or a moment of gushing, warm urine leaving us behind

The sound of soil raining on a dead casket or 

The fortunate spill of an ice-cold soda onto that blazing concrete floor.

Such a moment of mystical significance and awe

When bursting with emotion, the spirit glimpses into the potency of its own fate

A likelihood lurking behind dense uncertainty,

Of a singularity beyond which the illusion of matter gives way to pure essence-

A sense of self or the cold embrace of absolute truth.

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The story in that photograph is courtesy of the gifted eye of artist neon-sunrise

4 Different Spaces!

I had the most disturbing dreams the other night.
I visited 4 different planets-
Each varying in its configuration and species,
And each next one left the other wanting something...


First I went to this strangest of places
It was like spending all one's life trapped on an infinitely straight enclosed Wall of China
No corners, no roofs and surprisingly no pits!
If you had to move past someone, you'd walk right through them!
The strange citizens of this tube planet could only discern by count and extension
At the bar every night, I'd seek directions from this bad stream
And it would always be the same - like in every bad dream-
Take three feet backwards, two feet in your face, one foot front or back
And never dare make one turn!


Then I got splattered on a flat place- such a complex grid planet
For no matter how real it seemed, everything just seemed real
Everyone born in halves - the part boy the other girl!
And even when they did get married - the part men the other wives!
Some folks did seem real, walking about with phantom partners
But no matter where they walked, everyone knew their turns back home!
The last cross on that face, I was gasping for breath
When I left that draughts and naughts place to navigate some other space...



The third dream was damn real!
With three sides for each scheme and even time for coffee cream!
There were curved embraces from strange flat faces
There were fast spinning dancers and flying cube cancer
I recall meeting that conjurer at the Zero Scale Hotel
Who could multiply one's cake by changing its shape!
It was one delightful but strange curved place,
With different people aging in varying directions!
And before I'd seen my curious Button case, I awoke onto the final space...

There was no one in sight, everything racing fast as light!
It was one immense endless form-
Streets in infinite directions, some emerging where others had just vanished!
It felt like a sojourn of a one Hawking or some other Hilbert shape-shifter!
Then I felt all my limbs vanish as a blanketing uncertainty engulfed all my senses!
In a flash of one moment, I thought I had a glimpse of the one god
And then it became clear - this was the ultimate One Space!
It was a rewarding nightmare, that hypercomplex quantum race!

----------------

This poem is inspired by chapter 3 of Dr. Noel Curran's The philosophy of mathematics and natural laws: another Copernican revolution. I wrote this poem partly to celebrate Noel Curran (1915-2010), whose less celebrated work probably "opens the way to the final unification of physics" - maybe his legacy shall be noticed sometime in the future.

Awesome Art from GraceLungArtPallete

Slaves of a System

You are dependent, You have sacrificed

Your freedom

Money money money money

Money being the diamond-strong yoke of our day

By money we are born, by money we die

Such blindness that's made us volunteer our souls into the arms of the beast.

But a day of sunshine there is for those

Who realizing their ominous day, exercise their will and bile to finally let go-

Freedom awaits those few souls that shall live life for its own sake

The strength of the yoke overcome by the omnipotence of simply letting go.

All your gospels having been transformed to sell you into slavery! But here's your secret-

Do what thou will - that shall be the whole of the law

And alone shall it bring you ultimate freedom

Focus on that which you truly love, and pursue it to its utmost perfection

The paper out of the way, purse everything as if it was its own reward

Die if you must die, live if life it should be!

That alone shall be the way of the omnipotent adept - the one that shall steer free of

Invented chains, and having beaten the system, become its controller - not wanted but wanted

Welcome to the doors of ultimate occult truth, enter legions of the one true will.

Progress, is Dead

And so, I rode my bicycle to this same exact spot,
Inhaling the wind and starring at the ebbs hit and miss from a distance,
A place I go to rest and be; a place I guard furtively, like the pastor guards his greed.

Lost in the unmolested quietness away from our arachnid spirits,
I saw that strange gray fish, swimming by itself, in waters filled with legions of strange kin,
By itself, as the others were preoccupied with avian pursuits!
There was anxiety, there was desperation, there was weariness
There was many of them, facing the illusion, attempting to fly no more, as they drowned and died
I was still astonished by the lone gray fish - swimming by itself, as fish drowned all around it!
Trying to recover from the daymare, I was determined to dream with care.

I was walking back home that day
Limbs weak from all the fray, and it occurred to me, there must be another way.
Of animals, plants and rocks, there was one to whom the symbol spake
Breaking that moment of trance, I recalled the archaic Prussian rant-
"It is dead. It remains dead. And we have killed it."
To make yet break, to speak yet quiet, I was coming to the hurricane with a walking cane!

Wanting no more redemption, progress I sought no more
And big bang! At once I found myself at peace again
Looking on, at the myriad advancing fangs,
And men falling to the ground like lead-heavy rain
Because Progress, their God, was dead.

========
Genius art stolen from limnides
Poem inspired by the philosophy of John Gray

Giving Birth to the Übermensch

First I shall strip myself of the fear
Outgrow memories of a dark and empty christian past
And take me and the mother to a serene Savannah,

Occasionally facing our pride on this delightful voyage chosen thus.

It shall be a 9 months of perspiration and revelation
As I shake my own apriori foundations
Ensuring we both survive the stormy dialectic
A requirement for all with the übermensch potentiality


Am not sure it will cry or just die
But I shall smile on the minute it is born
For a novel and rewarding problem shall have been born
Not for a God uncaring below nor above
But for a man and woman with vision and immaculate love for their new born


Survive it must if indeed it is
For even the frail can not be saved from their own will to death
I shall probably become that parent I've dreamt-
Even though dreams are not to be trusted, the symbols therein I give respect thus

The übermensch must not be slave to our dead fantasies
And it shall at once have the freedom to play, dream and create

Hunting down gnomes and salamanders in the ruins of Atlantis

Constructing legos in the hope of warping space-time

Or merry-making with princes in the gardens of Oz.
I shall nevertheless sneak in Zermelo-Fraenkel and the other 39 axioms beside the cot

As the übermensch must awaken to a certain path 

As long as they haven't become yet

In that regard, I shall be limiting.


Oh hell no! There shall be no nose in its will to become
And if I should see that social beast lurk in the shadows-
Plotting the means to cast its spell of the herd,
I shall personally arise from my casket unlike my Transylvanian brethren
And whether be it noon or the hour of the crying banshee
Drive the stake through them so as to severe the passion between their soul and demon!


I shall impart my teaching be I dead or living:
That truth is relative for the finite, and only absolute for the infinite
Utility lies in the approximate, masters own their formula
Consistency drinks it's curse,
As being consistent and complete is inherently void

Behind, with, ahead and eventually over!

To fly is to grok reason and emotion my child.
Avoid rhetoric, and don't stupidly abstain against nature's laws

God is Dead, but the useful symbol remains
Create your own Gods or men will choke you with theirs

The immortal you seek are those who've embraced death
If your father and mother were humans
Be proud at last.