Repurposed corporate packaging.
Invisible entity cleanup routine failure.
A lot of people navigate life based on their feelings.
All there is, and nothing more.
A discrete step function that inevitably results in global thermonuclear war.
The purifying absolution of symmetry.
Ancient etchings of cultural significance are host to intricate geometries, a testament to human effort. The call to those patterns, those patterns quiet reverberations in our primate psyches, that is a desire echoing deep into evolutionary heritage.
This era of infinite digital precision, impossibly timed rhythm available effortlessly, a perfect shape changed from divine to utterly mundane. The distortion, deviation from geometric perfection, becomes the mark of effort rather than the closest adherence fleshly limitation allows.
We can now create those patterns our ancestors toiled and by definition failed to render in their infinitely iterating intricacies, and we can know the hypothetical future fruits of those civilizations possible eternities. Style iterates so quickly as novelty rather than the refined quality
of a craft passed down through generations, but that style circles back on each possible shape, color, texture, noise, composition, material, cadence, dimensions, instrument, quantity, duration, and format, those permutations since refined in the dim illumination of cult fandom and passionate
adulation hoping to bring the latest rendition its cherished golden calf back into the favor of the masses. Have we since surpassed the ability of what our forefathers sought to render of their experiences with Amanita Muscaria rituals, Ergot Fungus infested rye grain, accidental encounters trying to
eat Panaeolus for sustenance, the resonating pulsing aura that consumed the quiet earth around them for a day. Have we clinically documented the symmetric rainbow room authors of ancient religious text sat in while they probed their many faced deity for guidance on how to inhabit their earthly flesh,
how to condition their offspring to further propagate over the landscape. To inspire the oneness with the universe with base text, mortal pattern and earthly materials. Truly it must have followed them from that day forth, the earthly imprecision of their hand tools, the limitations of the earth
to produce a more gilded version from itself. To be unable to recreate the halls they had tread but to lead someone to the gate and let them enter unto themselves. The experience, so deeply in tune with the human psyche, is further still reflective of the explorer in its shifting halls. A house
that folds away as you leave each room, pathways stretching out and multiplying, growing deeper in tune with careful consideration, allowing only a gut press forwards or the risk of an eternity of pondering. A staircase downwards, the bottom seemingly an eternity away, its final form left to
the explorer's imagination as they are inevitably sucked back through the fungal doorway and left very much where they entered, near the surface of a quiet lonely planet rushing through the cold of space eternally at a rate of one second per second. We now have that precision, we can render
unto earthly materials on a level of precision beyond the human eye, as well as on a fundamental molecular layer, rebuilding this world as any world this material realm may bear host to under some imagined starting condition. What little we may be able to not recreate, the motion of that house,
the pulsing, changing landscape, the fleeting movement that doggedly cowers in the corner of your vision no matter how quickly you turn, we are manifesting in a digital landscape, first emulating sound and vision, soon direct tactile feedback. Further still we can now easily imagine full emulation
of the human experience, eschewing physical peripheral for a direct digital, neural, experience. Returning to the real, the here and the now, this world in this moment in the past from when you are reading this, we have digital emulation with a pixel density well beyond the human eye, even in an altered
state of mind. Will be finally be able to realize the dream of bringing someone else into your personal mindscape, to render unto real, tangible, reality an experience of your mindstate, to impart your personal experience interacting with the material world.
Water tastes like sweet rice pudding.
Would you rather be forgiven or forgotten?
Associative radial reduction
A cold wind, a silent scream. The kill was the least of the fanfare.
How big is a millimeter
We were military even in that civilian space. The sloped ceiling, the small windows notched into narrow perches didn't help the feeling, but the sound reinforced this feeling most. The echoing of birds and life trying to continue to live in an occupied warzone, land so fundamentally transformed to the needs of its foreign primate invaders. The bunker we occupied was equipped with pipes to fuel the units that dwelled in it, to supply them with water and to remove waste, and supply sites of nutrients and other equipment were nearby and fortified transit existed immediately outside to move them there for easy acquisition. The former apex predators of this North American temperate deciduous forest were reduced to wearily hovering over and in the shadows this well fortified network of bunkers and factories, constantly manned by human troops, with no means of assaulting these complexes. The smaller beings, rats, insects, and other vermin, infiltrated and lived in the heated wake of these bases, but the truly beneficial spaces within them were laden with un-living perils, soulless machinations of death that existed only to make the space uninhabitable except to its creators. Fundamentally the space we dwell in is a space of death for everything except us chosen, the higher order of life. By breaking away from the natural order of reproduction, the laws of evolution and the limiting factors of this earth, are we truly life in the same order as the other species, or something new? Are we really alive if it takes nothing to live?
Equilateral triangles know something you don’t. Isosceles triangles think they do too but they’re just too high. Right triangles know something and they want to tell you, but you don’t care.
Scalene triangles are not sentient.
I was born on this day. The president's birthday was being broadcast on television. I'm sure it was hot, as every August day in Texas is, but it was after 11pm. What is the function over time that maps the cost of having a baby in the United States of America.