FLM RVW

AS THE BROKEN PIECES WERE HELD TOGETHER IN BETWEEN BY MELATONIN 

by AE PAULINO

Sleeping Beauty (2011) - Written & Directed by Julia Leigh. Starring: Emily Browning, Rachel Blake, and Ewen Leslie

In cognitive science, I am aware of the so-far human phenomenon which allows our brains to collect partial impressions from the external world and internally compile them into one complete picture. We fill in the blanks, connect the dots, continue patterns, draw conclusions, and all from, at times, so limited a quantity or quality of information. Highly useful for brains wired, through survival adaptations, for rational thought and problem solving. No doubt, it paid off, both to our ancestors and eventually us, to daw inferences from clues; say a lion's paw print in mud, a nearby, newly killed antelope, a growl, and then a moving bush, where would we be today if these things remained separate in the brain, never cross-referenced by memory or experience? 

However great this organization of thought and ability to perceive whole forms, whether shapes, ideas, or compositions, from segmented parts, I feel it is exactly this cognitive tendency, that director Julia Leigh takes certain liberties with which to express her story in her 2011 directorial debut, Sleeping Beauty.

The film follows university student, Lucy who struggles with money and works serving tables at some cafe/restaurant, as a receptionist of some sort at an office, and occasionally picks up random men for what I believe would be paid sex. She comes across an ad in the student paper and discovers a highly discreet, upscale erotic gig, that pays well albeit clients not requiring her services as frequent to allow her to quit her other jobs. Lucy is eventually used in an erotic sleep fetish, where she is drugged into somnolent absence and a client may do as he or she pleased with her so long as there is no penetration or marks left on her slumbering body. 

The film was eerie, with a dull, classic-furniture look that is too expensive to touch but really not comfortable or inviting in the first place. To its defense however, any stylistic visuals or change in tone or color would have subtracted from this film, a complimentary atmosphere between the language of image and story. This being said, the scenes never fully informed us, only hinted and assured us time was passing by. Lucy neither grew nor shrunk, even with her slight breakdown at the end, I had no more idea of who she was in the conclusion than I had at the film's commencement. 

It was like being told a story by a secretive person who didn't want to reveal anything. The result, I wouldn't say was a bad one--Just, plenty of questions remained. The main, for me, was that of the main character Lucy--Who was she? What was she really doing? Events happened but what did they do to her, how did they effect her? She carried on, just as the 30 year old referenced in the anecdotal short story  recounted by one of sleep clients. It was as if she was herself was asleep throughout the entire film. Perhaps, this was the point. Its a reminder of how we at times sleep through our lives, omitting the full details when in retrospect we can always reform the full picture from the partial impressions, however altered they may then become. At the risk of not respecting the weight of our many choices and reactions that gather up into the direction we take in life. Or maybe the film is just saying I need to sleep more.  

Concluded Space

EVERYTHING THAT WASN'T FOR ME I HAD TO CHASE

by AE Paulino

She was older and smelled really good. I was still asleep when she woke and brushed up her hair and got half-dressed. My roommate was still away so she used his towel, she made herself coffee and answered a few texts by the living room window. When I woke up I assumed she had left but that's where I found her, on the window sill, she smiled up with her wide mouth and dark lips. I pretended I wasn't just talking to myself, maybe she heard me. I said hello, so did she. Her chin indicated a cup of coffee she made me; it sat on the stove, heat, like an apparition, hovered out from it like an exorcism. I nodded and expected her to understand it meant thanks. I brushed my teeth and she was fully dressed when by the time I was finished, she was ready to go. This was disappointing because I was hoping to join her at the window sill and talk a little more. 

"I'll call you later if I can." She said, her hand petting my abdomen and her words, tracing my ears. 

I wanted to kiss her but she had already began to walk away and I felt silly holding her or calling her back for something as little as a kiss. I went out to the fire escape to smoke a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the breezy Sunday afternoon. I wish my window was to the front of the building so I could watch her walk away. I'm sure my pillow still smells like her scent. A mixture of shampoo, cigarettes, sweat, and I swear there is something else--something only detected by the nose when attracted to someone, when stimulated by them in such a way that an awareness opens the nerves and vacuums in all sorts of information usually kept from entering by both parties. if estrogen had a scent, maybe it was that but I think its something else. Maybe her soul, aura or her DNA. 

Who Are You?

MADE IN OUR IMAGE
How important is self-image? Say if, everyone thinks you're a joke and you're the only one who doesn't know--Are you what you think you are or what others see of you? Is it like that bothersome tree in the woods that doesn't fall because no one is there to hear it? Is the Self limited to this sort of participation, available only as reflection or echo, never there unless bounced off a surface; and certainly not a thing indigenous to and sustained of its own accord--Is a person defined by their own perception or by that of those who come in contact with them, or is it how much these two are at odds that profoundly illustrates the character of an individual? 

On Jobs in an Industrial Society and its Presupposed Value

Work pays you, not for the time or life it steals from you but only to recognize the fact that it steals these things from you. If your job were to pay you based on the value of that which it stole from you, it wouldn't be able to afford you for more than a few handful of hours a month--maybe two or three weeks a year, these are unestimated, dramatically concluded guesses, the real amount is possibly even less. But in any case, your job cannot afford all the time and life you give to it, not really. So never feel bad about giving your job the very absolute minimum of your attention, effort, and lifetime. Insofar, as you preserve your position enough to survive in an industrial society that feeds and cares for you only in exchange for manual labor, do as little as possible. And the truth about an industrial society, especially one that exploits manual labor, is that it needs it workers as much or even more than its workers need the industrial society. It isn't necessary to work as so many of us do, however it is necessary for us to work as we do in order to maintain the structure of the industrial society, which conveniently enough, acts as if without it, we'll be worse off. If someone is addicted to heroin and then they just stop, lock themselves in a room for a few days, the withdrawal is scary, dangerous even, but they can survive through it and the result is usually for the better, or the first step towards it. Withdrawal from an industrial society would be similar.

On Greenberg and the Catharsis of Human Memory

MEMORY IS WASTED ON MEMORIES

The last time I saw Noah Baumbach's film Greenberg, was when it was in theatres back in 2010. Watching it again tonight was weird because I remembered the film much differently. Having seen it only once doesn't help but I could've sworn that certain parts of the story have changed since the last viewing; or certain themes have altered in relevance. Maybe I watched a director's cut unknowingly or maybe its something else entirely.

Recently, I came across a blog about 9/11 and human memory. The author stated that neuroscience has concluded through studies, that human memory is not kept in one permanent state that is conjured up continually in the same form it was originally stored. Meaning when we think of a memory it all depends on our current mood and state of mind, the same memory today could have made you feel an entirely different way two months ago, and will most likely be an altogether different experience two months from now, depending on what happens in your life between then and now. But thats not all, not only does your memory change in context but also in content. The things that shape your life and its experiences also shape your memories, information and details shift depending on emotions and these are then stored as your memories which will later evolve even more when recollected at a future time.

What I remembered from Greenberg was perhaps relevant to what was happening to me in 2009. I wrapped the memory of that film in old newspaper which no doubt left the scent of what were the current events of that time. Thats why certain elements of the plot and theme aren't as prevalent to impress on my memory as they were when I first viewed the film. Its a very well written story though, both today and yesterday. The main part that sticks to me now is Ivan's line about how difficult it is to finally accept the life you never planned on living. That echoed for a few minutes after the scene. Regret is a very fucked up emotion, its the one I hate the most. But regarding how we store memories, its no doubt that with age, you start to regret things you never regretted before because the emotions attached to these memories have changed. On the positive side of this logic however, it should hold true that we, with age, also accept things we never thought we'd accept before because of where we currently are mentally. But how do we feel content without feeling as if we're compromising? How do we feel as if we're not simply settling for less?

I don't know. I just have the question, nothing of an answer seems to participate. I do know that at some point what a person wants, what a person strives for and attempts to create for their self, this becomes less important and the effort seems like a harrowing chore rather than a natural part of your day when its based on desperate nostalgia. Its as if the body recognizes a visitor that has overstayed their welcome and slowly stops accommodating this imposing guest.

Like Ivan, this is not the life I thought I'd be living but from where I stand, living the life I imagined doesn't seem as important as the one I want to maintain and make the most of in the present. Its sorta like saying:

Okay I wanted to live this way but didn't and thats okay because it doesn't matter now; but I am disappointed that at one point it did matter and I didn't respect that enough to make it happen--so now let me make sure I respect how I want to live and make it happen.

And that, I believe is the best any of us can do, until our memory tells us otherwise.

Waste of Insomnia

I SHOULD BE ASLEEP

Not writing. Not cleaning. Not thinking. Not awake. I should be asleep. Very little times do I respect that biological stamp of necessity, very seldom do I admit that there is nothing better to be done with my present time than shut everything down and sleep. Its been a long day. Full and perhaps confusing at a few turns but it was, no doubt, a good, long day where the present was heavy with new places and ideas. Yes friends, today I earned my sleep.

But if awake, I shouldn't be awake for what I'm awake for. I shouldn't be writing what I writing. There were so many ideas today on what a city is, what social classes were and the interactions of either two on college towns. Thoughts on films, thoughts on music, thoughts on food and technology and yet none of these occupies the attention of my forced insomnia. None of these hold enough weight right this instant. I should just go to sleep. But I just don't get why I get included in things that have nothing to do with me. I just can't piece together why a situation is made into THEATRE when it just could have been w a t e r , something fluid which moves and adapts to any shape. My eyes are starting to itch.

Perspective of Singular Expansion v. Accelerative Constriction

The Days are Literally Getting Longer

There is a phenomenon called Tidal Acceleration, its the accumulative result of the Moon's tidal force acting on our oceans. The Moon presses down on Earth like a comfortable lover and this impression pushes the oceans down to the ocean floor when under the Moon. The oceanic movement (waves) produced by this effect actually slows down the Earth's rotation at a rate of roughly 1 second every one hundred thousand years. 400 million years ago our daily rotation was 22 hours long, with shorter days comes longer years unless the revolution around the sun has also decreased, we most likely had 13 months in a year. In short, the years are getting shorter and the days are getting longer.

In purely hypothetical projection, this means that a time will come when one earth day will be as long as one earth year. Of course, scientist believe the Sun will become a Red Giant and Earth's oceans will be a dream before we even reach a 30 hour day. Still hypothetically, if left to continue perpetually, the Earth will also reach a time when the year is shorter than the day; so we spin around the sun faster than we make a daily rotation.

Even though none of these hypothesizations will ever come to be, one thing to note is how much our time is a product of our planet's behaviour. We count time by how fast the planet spins a full rotation and by how fast we revolve around the sun, neither of these have any significant effect on universal time which passes with all its disregard for what's happening on Earth. We're continually disconnecting ourselves from the universe and shutting ourselves into the nature of our planet. And there's nothing wrong with making Earth your priority, especially if its your home but your mind is universal and its home continues to expand while the Earth's constricts. Something to keep in mind since the Earth and our Solar System are both made up of Universe.

Would Darwin Rock with Us Today?

"I look at the natural geological record, as a history of the world imperfectly kept, and written in a changing dialect; of this history we possess the last volume alone, relating only to two or three countries. Of this volume, only here and there a short chapter has been preserved; and of each page, only here and there a few lines. Each word of the slowly-changing language, in which the history is supposed to be written, being more or less different in the interrupted succession of chapters, may represent the abruptly changed forms of life, entombed in our consecutive, but widely separate, formations."

-Charles Darwin On the Origin of Species

This was 1859, that gives us 153 years of advancement in the fields of geology and paleontology to literally unearth a more up-to-date view of the natural geological record with regards to Darwin's theory of evolution and the preservation via fossilization, of organic forms. I wonder if Darwin would maintain the same feelings about the geological record were he alive today? That is to say, how much more do we know today about this history of the world and how further from "imperfectly kept" has it become?

Let's All Look Up and Not See What's Right Infront of Us

This is a facebook status that states a positive self-prescribed outlook about events without necessary stressing whether or not I'll pursue the integral time-consuming, social-space-inhibiting steps essentially required to achieve my hallucinated dream, for which the optimistic outlook is referencing. Many will like this status while others will add their own positive truisms that are more or less re-worded versions of my own; which I'll in turn like even though they have nothing really to add or respond to what I wrote.

On Habit

To break a habit you must first respect your nature. You must see who or what you are and what surrounds you. What is your habit's ecosystem? What's its prey? Who's its predator? They are linked so essentially to one another that they at times define one another. Their features adapted to the relationships they've adopted under a shared environment. Respecting your nature isn't simply accomplished by removing your habit. You need to shift balances and accommodate both the forces that act upon your habit and those which your habit acts upon.

The Only You Right Now Ever in Infinity

You're a remix. Material, small pieces of suns and planets, particle waves and radiation, dust from every possible origin of universe alive within the parenthesis which is you. For no other reason than you needed to exist, to fulfill logic and the consistency of sequence and con-sequence, this material became available. Became a different version of you as you time traveled forward, emigrated from the continents of second to second. You, as you are this very moment as you read these words with your eyes scanning left to right or hearing the words read and translating the sound of voice to the memory-carrying nets that signal various interpretations that compete for your understanding--You, who is right this instant the most exclusive, marvelous, original version of your own indigenous action. You are unique. So small, as if you were, in size, to one of your atoms what that atom was to you. So insignificant when the whole picture is viewed and one looks for activity. And yet, if you even blink for a quarter of a second you've changed the physical lexicon of the entire universe, for in that quarter of a second you've created a difference between a universe in which your eyes are open and another in which they are closed.

The Compromised Purging Flame of Consciousness

I had a dream. it was a collective exhibition, that took unedited grazings of events and from the shadows of their memories built a carousel of mirrors that mocked my reflection as it spun, and made the riders nauseous. A singing rogue with his ears perched on deaf musings seemed ignited alight by the velocity--he in fact, controlled the dials. I watched as down fell the motions of night's alumni, returning yet again to be seated amongst themselves as the valid audience of murder. I could do falsehood no greater disservice than by right this moment admitting to you that I believed myself a man, wrapped heavily in the permanent hands of Death. My lungs, once diving freely into the silken tapestries of air, now burrowed in the sketch of frantic; as they debated with retired reserve for the nerve to crawl the sharpness of chalky smoke. It burned the ions of sight, it froze the neon neurons of voice. A gasp funneled into my throat and there a knot of pain curled into a fetus before trembling into stone. It was in this nature that I withdrew from consciousness, omitted myself, sensibly, from the portions of space and time. Gently was I greeted by the crumbling void. Finally was it so that I washed away from the waking senses and found myself bound to the heat of the groaning dirt. Ablaze, became the dry cracks that drew thickening branches on the pavement. And as the fire stretched high, vividly and overzealously to the sky, with it went my flesh easily removed like wet posters. I awoke here and passing my hands over my skin, quickly confirmed the encasing flesh that dressed my naked soul had not been stripped. Disappointedly confirmed.

Ladders

Before reading Jeremy Narby's book, The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge--I watched Lars Von Trier's latest film, Melancholy. I dreamt that same night, after being exposed to the reoccurring, almost base image I found in Melancholy. The front lawn.

The characters are set in a manor, and the lovely house has a beautifully simple lawn in which, with a Magritte sense of surrealism, we see a sky with both a moon and a smaller earth-like planet--both casting two shadows onto earth. Much of the character's observations of the planet, Melancholia, occur under this perspective. We, the viewers, are placed with our backs to the front of the house, facing out into the sky, cup-framed by the u-shape green of the lawn and trees. Its this exact view that I saw in my dream that night. In the dream, I can't recall if it was day or night, it probably doesn't matter. In the middle of the lawn, however, I see a ladder. Erect, without any support, the ladder reaches upward. I don't climb it, nor does anyone else. There isn't anyone to climb it, at least I don't remember anyone being present. The ladder is perfectly centered and just stands there, being. This is the only part I remember from the dream.

The following day, a Friday, at work I briefly join a conversation about Time and after my shift has ended I end up in Shakespeare & Co. Booksellers. I am looking for anything on Time and practically have an anxiety attack upon picking up Einstein's work on relativity. The Cosmic Serpent caught my eye. If nothing else, the cover was a whole lot better than some of the other books. Somewhere along my debate on whether or not to purchase the copy, I opened up some pages and immediately found the word LADDERS, actually it was THE LADDERS! (all caps). I had watched a set of youtube videos by Freedom of the Soul, entitled DNA & the Serpent's Lie. These should've been the first to come forward along the forefront of my memory but all that came was the ladder from my dream. This, along with my interest in genes started by Richard Dawkins, lead me to read Narby's work.

I'm not here to review The Cosmic Serpent, which I did in fact enjoy. I'm not here to review Melancholia, which you've by now guessed and which I also did enjoy. I am not going to rant on about coincidences either but the one thing I got from Narby's work, is the idea about flexibility. Be flexible, keep an open mind--don't be afraid to connect things around you. In an Alan Watts jovially british voice, I hear someone say "play with the universe because it certainly wants to play with you."

Half-remembered Dreams

Two Amnesiacs are Beating Together

Where does the memory of me go? From second to following second, how do you place and then later, misplace it? How thin a thing these translucid accumulations of impression--so fleeting like a brief scent or a half-remembered dream. That you could not recall my name as you hours earlier pronounced it syllable by syllable, attached to the equivalent of a smile in your produced inner-voice. The features of my face become collected ghosts at the haunted house, hollowed by your howling thoughts. You follow my shadow and forget its generator, its a marionette with enough illusions as you've got imagination. You're distracted your space with forms on walls and sidewalks, over ceilings and wherever else light pushes my obscure doppelganger. Why is it so difficult to hold fast to that which I am, within you, momentarily?

What traces of me do you spare, if any? You can't see that I am still there--that, neither enough time has passed, nor enough experience to change me so suddenly. Drastically, do you dispel me--Brash and abrupt, you run and steady yourself balanced at perspectives so darkly transfigured, you'd not recognize your own face through that fog. I can't fight the thought of me--inside your head, its battery is governed by the venom you request it to produce. I am lost in your mind and can make no difference of height, distance, and width--I am without dimension there.

And you won't speak it. Its all nothing to you. Its gathered in ambience. You're weak against it and when you try, its all but fracturing to your nature. You won't tell me the specifics of what brings you there--you won't share with me anything but the parthenogenetic disdain and contempt hosted by the imaginary shades of conviction you so worship, thus concluding it a sin, to break that reverence. And if spoken, then I haven't heard it and I apologize for my deaf consciousness. I am no further free of blemish than you are. I listen to the words that probe you and instantly, supplant myself at their reception and mark the apprehension and defense necessary to endure such irritating sounds. I sound ridiculous against your silence.

As the universe expands, all matter within it, follows suit; and in expanding, all things grow further and further apart. Divergence leads to variety, and as the more variable we become, the more we break away. A separate species, later a separate genus, family, order, class, kingdom, etc. And at some point, like an insect to a plant, we'll stand similar. But remind yourself of me, of my not so deceased impression, take from it enough to rightfully evaluate who I am in the present and chance me the love you felt and somewhere still feel--We can evolve as one.

It makes me angry, but you're never around to see it--It brings me so down that I jump to the first chance to start fresh when you return with all your memory as you normally habit. I am as quick to forget you, as you are to forget me. So, I repeat, I am no further free of blemish. I forget about your ghost moods, and then in such a horrible pattern, shake into fragments when they return--One would think I had as much amnesia as you. This is why we must chase catharsis, if the attempt seems of interest. If we continually feel life within ourselves for one another, we must then continually remember who we are? If anything happens, it should happen in truth. Thus, if we're meant the future as our present, then we'll adapt, or perish in our failure.

You're Most Beautiful When You're Free

I wish her prosperity, I wish her dimension, in which she can see beyond depth--distance, height and width. I wish her smiles and the accumulations of joy. I wish her hands that never forget to reach, that never hesitate to let go when its time. I wish strength to her bones and extra connections to her thoughts. I wish her balance and the means to utilize the information the universe whispers at her ear. Forwardness, not necessarily judged by success but by flexibility. I wish her the play and the dance, the toy of dreams and the blurring of the future--the inviting presence of a never-ending Now, that wants to say hello, kiss her back in the morning and say to her "you exist and there is nothing else in the infinite universe who is you right this minute."

Notes on Darwin's On the Origin of Species

Natural Selection: Cain & Ability

Before starting on what is probably the most important chapter in Darwin's On the Origin of Species, let me just take back some of the things I initially wrote about Charles Darwin as an author. It just took about a chapter and a half to get myself orientated and discover ground on which to stand and receive Darwin's language. Incipient species, genera, variability, all these ideas sort of jump out of the first chapter and somewhat overwhelmed me. But they have all been stretched and expanded on by Darwin, he illustrates good and coherent examples of his notions. And by the beginning and throughout the 4th chapter titled, Natural Selection--the hardest thing to do is lose interest. The closing summary where Darwin brings forth the cliche example of a tree to explain the branching of life was beautifully delivered and it almost seemed thrilling, as if I could feel his excitement through his words and punctuation.

The purpose of these notes were suppose to help me understand the text as I read it but now that I feel confident, I probably won't write a chapter by chapter entry for On the Origin of Species (OOS). This might be the last for a while unless something remarkable should pop up in the book.

In reading this work on evolution and the theoretical evolutionary mechanism known as Natural Selection, I feel like I'm just reading the details to what I already knew. I guess you can say if it were a movie, I read the plot synopsis on the back of the DVD and am now watching the film. I knew what I was in-store for but the actual details are worth the extended experience.

Time acts on earth, bringing about change to the physical planet and the living things that live there. If these living things evolve forward in time to meet these changes then it could be through an concept called Natural Selection. Natural selection says that all these individual living things are varieties of one another and in the way they vary, if any new difference is to their individual advantage then ever-changing nature selects that variation. It selects it because as nature changes, obviously those that remain relevant with the included changes can make the most out of life in nature or earth. And if the variation continues to benefit the individual, it might gradually form a variety of its species and then that species of its genus and so on and so on.

After reading Darwin's full explanation I closed the book and thought about change. Thought about versatility and how its always the ability to adapt to circumstances that allows things to move forward. Successful Life is flexible. Not Life as in human social status but Life as in biology, as in everything alive on earth. All flexible cells and DNA that altered this way and that depending on what they had to deal with. Some went extinct and took with them the dead-end ideas while others took advantage of their own variations that found a way to be supported by the simultaneous variations of their surroundings.

Its as if Nature, like the Judeo-Christian God, gives favor to one offering over the next, as in the story of Cain and Abel. Only that the extinct species doesn't murder its sibling species, unless one states extinction to be the murder of the shared common genes that went wasted into creating these non-adaptable fallen branches. But even in such a tactless thought, the common genes remain favorable through the surviving species--modified into collaboration with new genes that ultimately make the difference.

Don't Stop Now; Play the Whole Thing

I was listening to Genesis while Mini was getting dressed and packing things in the other room. I didn't stop her. She left quietly and without saying anything. I thought she would take more things but it seems its just her laptop and a bag or two of clothes. There's nothing one can do. I'm in her head just floating around like a helpless virus, walking from room to room, some chambers are random zones of anxiety and paranoia, they have their own realms and by walking in, the thought which is me, instantly is adopted and becomes part of that anxiety and paranoia that is after all just a theory not a fact. But fed back to the mainframe, its felt and so its real. And the real me, outside of her head becomes a testament of the thought of me--We become one and the same. And so for no other reason than that the thought of me is at the wrong place at the wrong time, the real me bothers her.

As much as I care, I'm not going to hold on or hold her back from whichever which way she chooses to go. With me, she may come and go as she pleases. While listening to Selling England by the Pound for the first time, I heard a few moments that I wanted to replay and hear it again because they were really good. But I didn't, I'm letting the album play out completely; so that I may experience it in its fullness and not attach myself to one specific point. I loved those points of Selling England by the Pound the same way that I love Mini but love isn't to be influenced by fear. I can't fear that I won't love Mini if she isn't with me or that I won't be who I know myself and love myself to be without her. If she doesn't feel the same, then maybe she should leave and discover for herself what can cause the removal of such a distracting fear.

Everything Mini makes me feel is a song in a full length masterpiece album that began when we met and will end when we play out the full extend of our social interaction or relationship. I don't want to stop the record and repeat any of the songs or song segments, I want them to pass through me and in doing so, a unified, uninterrupted experience will mark the evidence of quality, the reflection of all the emotions and stimulations that emerged from our album, can be measured as a whole. Rather than focusing on specific parts and attributing to them weight that can never fully match the album as a whole.

Count on Me to Never End

Infinity and Possibility

Before going in on this nap, I'm going to take a few moments to write the following. During the overdue but understatedly refreshing shower I just experience I parked my mind on the idea of numbers. Numbers are amazing, the infinite alphabet of math and logic (if any difference between the two need be observed). Time, distance, weight, mass, velocity, proportion, volume, all these are measured in numbers, addition, subtraction, division and multiplication. The entire universe is information and most of this information can be translated into numbers.

Now, I'm no numerologist and I admit, while all these conjured reverences on numbers were not present in my shower it was only because it took just one to keep my brain in awe. Possibility. Infinite possibility. Just by adding, just by knowing that numbers have no end--you can be fully aware that logically there is such a thing as "no end" as "infinity". Have you ever heard two kids competing in terms of numbers, they'll say things like "Oh yeah? Well Superman can fly a million of a million miles away from earth" while the other counters, "yea but Green Lantern can fly a million millions of a million..." and so forth. The sentences will just get longer and longer until one of them tires, thus loses the argument. By simply adding the number one to the proposed number, they could more effectively, to their energy, exhibit the example of infinity.

By knowing that any number plus one is not only one number higher than the previous but also a simultaneously unique and never repeating unit of an un-ending string of generative theoretical fact, we can know or understand that there are examples in reality of infinity. The possibility of any number is endless; any and every combination of Number is possible. You could invent any number and it will turn out to be a number. I wrote theoretical fact and it sounds like an oxymoron but its true that addition by definition, grows endlessly but its only theory to say it never ends. There can exist, by a very irrational principle that none of us can imagine, for which numbers can end--that a last number does exist. For now, such a principle is unknown to the point where it seems unlikely to exist, so therefore, as the information reveals itself, numbers are infinite.

If numbers never end then great and small numbers are just a matter of relativity. One second is 1000 milliseconds, a microsecond fits 1000 times into one millisecond, so in one second we find simultaneously 1,000,000 microseconds. Thats a great and small number happening at the same time. If you're a human, seconds are perhaps the smallest units of time worth noting, anything smaller happens too fast, its irrelevant to us. Likewise, a millennium is far too large a collection of centuries, decades, years, hours, minutes, and seconds--it exceeds that average human lifespan, therefore it would be silly or irrational for us to project our individual selves into, and plan for a thousand years from now. But if our lifespan were longer, say millions of years, then perhaps seconds would be like pennies to a multi-billionaire. Imagine what this relativity of time means for Possibility. If the chances of a rock turning into a bird by being struck by lightning are 1 in 10 to the 100 billionth power then in an infinite numerical universe where measurements such as time are agents of relativity, those chances are as good as gold. Think about it, if any large number such as 10 to the billionth power can be multiplied infinitely then how large is that number really?

Under infinite terms, if anything has at least one chance of happening then it will happen. And since it will happen, then it has happened and is also happening right now all at the same time. Think of each number as a note standing in for anything that happens in the universe, say that numbers 6,789 - 134,254,439,879,961 stand in for the event in which a rock gets transformed into a bird by being struck by lightning. It seems like a big number in the way that 134,254,439,879,961 microseconds is a big number but at the perspective of one day, 24 hours, its just a few seconds. The event happened in those microseconds and in that day at the same time. If 24 hours can be made as relatively small as a nano-second then everything that happened in that one day, will appear to have happened all at once.

I forgot how this started or where it was meant to end, I guess this is my version of a rock turning to a bird by being struck by lightning.

Notes on Darwin's On the Origin of Species

Struggle for Existence - In this, chapter 3, Darwin first uses Natural Selection in capital letters. Shit just got serious! This chapter stresses the checks and balances of nature and how a somewhat biospheric homeostasis exists for life on earth. Darwin gives examples of species and how they can be said to struggle against oppositions in nature that prevent them from pandemic monopoly. Under that same prevention, the natural "preventor" is then similarly prevented from over-success by another opposition in nature, creating a cycle of what seems like multiple participants in a governing body all ensuring no one department becomes too powerful and abuses the resources. Also outlining competition between different species, Darwin briefly notes, individuals within a species and confound to the same area, will be in competition with one another as they share similar needs to the same resources. This reminds me, shoots me fast forward to the world of Richard Dawkins and The Selfish Gene, where Dawkins touches on aggression and evolutionary stable strategies in the chapter titled, Aggression: stability and the selfish machine. He ends the second paragraph thus:

Natural selection favors genes that control their survival machines in such a way that they make the best use of their environment. This includes making the best use of other survival machines, both of the same and of different species.

Included in the struggle for existence are obvious instances in which a species or individuals of species are caused to compete and sometimes even battle for resources. Whether it be inter-special, in the case of Dawkins exampled lion and antelope "competing" for the meat of the antelope's body or between two lions fighting over territory. The chapter in The Selfish Gene introduces Evolutionary Stable Strategies (ESS). Not easily explained in so few words but in a nutshell, "a strategy which, if most members of the population adopt it, cannot be bettered by an alternative strategy." Using ESS models in regards to aggression between same species, we can see that natures eventually produces order in stabilize competition between these individuals. ESS also apply to inter-special competition just under different models--meaning what works between lion and lion will differ between lion and antelope. If all of these aggressive interactions between individuals, regardless of species, living relatively together in the same ecosystem, are regulated by ESS then it follows that natural selection favors individuals who do not deviate from models which ESS have ruled as dominant among species.

Do Androids Wet Dream of Becoming Dating Electric Sheep?

ON THE POSSIBLE EXPANSION OF INDEFINITE EMOTIONAL PARTICIPATIVE NETWORKS

I am amidst a social interaction with a member of the opposite sex. The interaction is somewhat exclusive in that it is unique among all my other social interactions with members of the opposite sex. The exclusivity is the product of a full year of communication, interpretation, and physical experience. Through this exclusivity, this member of the opposite sex and I have created an environment of both language and emotional participation. Episodes of events, as experienced by our shared perception, isolate us from others. Our constantly evolving interests, which dictate our activities, remain relevant to us and in relation to one another, we continually remain curious.

The emotional participation between this individual and I records or documents, in us both, a network of definitions and various maps of connections between these definitions that should in theory, perpetually expand. It is often enough the case that individual episodes of events, contain elements that reference these definitions or connections to definitions. In other words, memory creates new meanings for subjects seemingly unrelated to the social interaction between this individual and I. Nonetheless these meanings expand the emotional participation between the participants of exclusive social interactions.

Given that examples of similar social interactions between other individuals seem to be uniform and somewhat characterized by time, comfort, and stability; ours is no different except we substitute stability with consistency. Consistency is a form of stability, true. But in my understanding of consistency in regards to exclusive social interactions, stability is a state that may result due to consistency but consistency is not so much, under such terms, a product of stability. The current social interaction between this member of the opposite sex and I is not stable. Yet, even void of this stability found in other relationships, this individual and I, are consistently engaging one another through ever-changing, unstable channels of attention.

Our language and emotional participation is self-stimulating to the organism of exclusive social interaction. Empathic and at times even telepathic insight becomes present. Consistency appears to keep us relevant in relation to one another. We are theory in the experiment to which no result emerges to prove or disprove its practicality.

I am amidst an exclusive social interaction with a complimentary individual, which stimulates and identifies in me, a consistent curiosity and thus a significant emotional participation. I am exclusively available to define through multiple episodes of events, generative examples of intimate networks subjectively shared between this individual and I. Interlaced and infinitely receptive, there is no reason why these networks cannot expand indefinitely.