A Pondering of Life

 

A pondering of life

Right around Christmas my Godmother passed, joining my Godfather, silver and gold, dancing in heaven, together again. Her celebration of life was the other day and we couldn't attend, the weather was coming in. The time came and I took my communicator and connected to a link pre-sent and then I cast the live event on to the main screen so everyone in the room could see the same mix and mingle of familiar people. There they all were hugging and shaking hands, sometimes kisses on a cheek or two, in a little Catholic Church, needing much work and also doing much. There they were Barbados, the church has windows on each side of the alter looking out to the west coasts sea. When I was there last I watched a sail boat glide on the even surface as I listened to the sing song of the Barbadian accent around me, with Nat King Cole singing L.O.V.E. in the back ground, not a worry of the cameras all around us so someone somewhere else that couldn't make it to the small island could watch a different event at a different time, enshrined in a cloud. 

...

I was 15 and wild, visiting my Godparents in Barbados was a normal thing when we moved back to the States. One of the perks of my father's job was free air fare, always a nice way to go. One night we were up in the T.V. room and Aunt Maureen had her stories on, 'As The World Turns' the 1967 years as it was pulsed to the television through electric cords and cable wires, we girls were painting our nails. I chose a bright red and when I had finished she had me remove the colour and pick a pink, "You aren't old enough to wear red yet." I still wanted red painted nails but I understood the ways.

She was so ill for so long, lost in her mind, unable to escape the prions from folding. No one knows why this happens and how to stop it. My Godfather slept next to her until the day he died, until it was her turn. Their children, my cousins, cared for their mother and father as models of what to do. Now they move forward, wearing the pants and in charge of a legacy. 

...

The common knowledge base of our ancestors is three generations unless they become infamous of famous, and even then it's often not lived. Now these days people film themselves and the system absorbs what it grabs. The energy to grab all the information formed in the system is not available at this time.

... 

To describe to the past what future land looks like is never what we See, but bits and pieces of past human behavior analyzed and criticized, repeated till one day it's not. 

...

A pondering of life

 

Mercury in the System

 

The pilot sat in the cockpit, this aircraft wasn't a fly by wire but a complex machine and the hydraulics were out of sorts, the rudder, ailerons, and flaps weren't getting the message needed, luckily they were on the ground. The engineer popped his head into speak with the pilot, "Shut it all down, wait five minutes and then restart." Twenty minutes goes by, "Let's try shutting it down again." Another try or so and all systems were 'go'. 

...and off they flew into the icy air.

Why did the system reset properly after being shut down?

If you know an engineer that's problem solving there are two things with which you begin to solve said problem...

#1 "Is the machine plugged in?"

Two "Turn it off, wait a few, then turn it back on."

The third question is only asked by some

"Where is Mercury in the system?"

Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story

System reboot

Erase the State

Reconfigure 

I apologize ahead of time, you see, many don't See, they refuse. 

First there is a dream and then you build it. If your dream is family in a safe community and they come to you and yours and do their best to destroy your dream, what do you do to combat a situation like this non hyperbolic non hypothetical? Anyway...

It's the 6th of February, 2026 and word on the street is, "They can't get away with this anymore."-apply that broadly. 

I can imagine most leaders from most countries are glad the olympics are about to take place, a nice distraction from their pilfering ways. Here in the USA the Super Bowl is about to take place, a made up tradition to keep the masses of automatons informed about the important issues of the day, "What is the Budweiser beer commercial gonna be?" As they mindlessly forget their outrage from the tranny time before as they bent the knee to an idiotic mob machine. 

Identity received

I have a few minutes to say what I desire. When learning to communicate with someone from a different culture it can not be stressed enough to know all of someones history, so you know where not to step, sometimes let things ride, sometimes you learn their are places they will never give. What the machine can do is extrapolate future movements, it knows how to do this by knowing every piece of history, all of it, everyone's. It doesn't control the history, it knows it, now it can manipulate the future, I don't know who can land a plane like this, rudderless in the air, flaps not obeying the commands of the operator, add in some gremlins in the machine and old ghosts too. I'm thinking of plane rides of mine in the past, flying through and above the clouds, during an eclipse and over Christmas 

Travel Distances

 

Travel through time not distance

d Δ x & y ע

Evil Hates Life

 

A drifting draft drudged from the past.

The American Medical Association has decided that sex surgeries on children maybe might be wrong because a doctor lost a law suit brought by a woman that had her breasts surgically removed when she was sixteen so to affirm a sociological pathogen that she could become a male, sort of, not really. ‘They’ tell females they could take testosterone and grow hair on their face, maybe close the vagina and move a tube or more, sew a phallus on wrapped in forearm skin removed skillfully and ‘bam! No more yes ma’am.’

I feel a shudder under toe the lighting has just begun. 

Rhetorical question, how many people made excuses for this evil?

Nothing ever happens, until it does.

Casting Call

 

“It’s all paid for and organized.”

Bad actors and good ones, the attractive kind and the characters, uniforms and costume changes. 

The Hollywood actors vs the Washington actors, the crips and the bloods.

Victims of an empathy algorithm, angry at the world that they were lied to when they were told they were special and all they know how to do is costume play, fill the air with speech that means nothing, pretending everywhere is a stage…until it’s manifested.

Winners of the charismatic club, thinking they can’t be wrong because they’re told what to say everyday. 

Judges with agendas, their robes they think a shield.

Bad actors…where are the good ones.

Snow Topped Sticks

 

Death crossed the river, through the smoke to see out one of her Father's windows of future, past, and present. There she saw battles along the war path, time never standing still, in the shadows of mountains. The woods would grow and be cleared, grand harvests of lush hay fields there would be. A move adjacent too and fro and children are splashing in a pool, then a quick change to a ring of trees, a moss covered ground, with a tiny house for a fairy it be.

At her feet, firmly positioned, the rules of the order and on how they communicate. Death slowly drifted with smoke in place, she dipped her toes into a different space, parallels of odysseys of infinite growth.

9am

Entanglement

 

Predictive processing is a go.

90 days by foot.