A notebook bulletin board
tacked on when randomly bored
applied thoughts in a scribblebook
open for the world to look who passes by
so fast to see like a needle in a haystack we
safely stash those innermost secrets thought to be
at least you see languishing up and into pristine
blossoms for you to pick and sniff and hope
they don't make you sick.

5/10/19

Venus Fetus Earth Birth



The history of space travel is encapsulated 
in our voyage from Venus to Earth

astride our cosmic planetary steed
after our Sun had spat out its seeds

from the intersection of a nuclear furnace 
and the absolute nexus of a black hole  

we came to step out, searching for who brought us here.
We look all about, seeing nothing but land and blue sky.

All of our heads filled with the need to explain why. 




4/20/19

Darker Than Charcoal




Scientists working with the European Space Agency's Rosetta mission have found that Comet 67P/Churyumov–Gerasimenko is darker than charcoal. It is compared to Earth and the moon in this image released on Jan. 22, 2015. 



(Image: © ESA/Rosetta/MPS for OSIRIS Team MPS/UPD/LAM/IAA/RSSD/INTA/ UPM/DASP/IDA and Gordan Ugarkovich (Ear
th); Robert Vanderbei, Princeton University (Moon); ESA/Rosetta/NAVCAM (67P/C-G))


Mr. Churyumov-Gerasimenko's skin tone is darker than charcoal. A stealth diver swimming towards us through the inky darkness of space.  He's long been accustomed to his precise orbital trajectory about our Sun. He's been making the rounds ever since his promethean race of Phaetonites launched the First Exodus Campaign that led to our ancestor's migration to Mars. The moon was involved in that cosmic spectacle as well, only it was placed deliberately about Earth's orbit, back then. They called it the Guardener, in the sense that it tended the field of our planet's atmosphere as well as stood as solitary sentinel about our otherwise vulnerable world. It could be said today that Mr. Churyumov-Gerasimenko has a date with an old counterpart, the moon.  Exactly how that all manages to go down remains to be seen. That is the stuff of prophecy. Pieces of the game set in motion long ago are getting ready to become assembled as players. The tantric holography of the endless system weaves about itself into nesting cages of hearts. The second law of thermodynamics becomes the mobius link which drives this eternal engine. Stay tuned for more details as they come in the form of compressed digital missives sent by the BloodHost in the form of the "nanohorde," having arrived embedded within neutrinos as messages received beginning ten years ago, via a far-away black hole [cosmic postal service], and still ongoing today during intermittent intervals.    




Mr. Churyumov-Gerasimenko

image courtesy of ESA/Rosetta/NAVCAM. It is not a Promethean hunchback glancing at the camera.


My favorite comet, the Jupiter-family member Churyumov-Gerasimenko (67P) from the Kuiper belt, can be seen revealed here in this greyscale photograph as yet another altogether grotesque parody of the original series of uncanny pareidolia examples which have led me on a veritable roller coaster of viewpoints and angles showcasing the comet as a promethean bust and now their imprints have fossilized into the phosphenes of my squeezed shut eyes until I cannot escape their haunting evocation any longer, don't tell me that isn't an old hunch-backed mummified humanoid with its head turned slightly to the left toward the camera lens. Nevermind the two white pixels representing the burning cores drilling from the pinpoint pupils of its eyes. Forget about the cheekbone and nose and mouth, the hunched over head, all the rudimentary nodules weathered off the sectioned torso, just forget that you ever even thought about imagining such a thing. This pareidolia phenomenon is nothing to look at. It's not the mummified carcass of an ancient progenitor. Get out of here. We've got philosophizing to do. Why is this comet so damn freakish.  

Why do I keep thinking about Ceres and all the fresh water on it--far more than all the water on our planet's oceans combined. Couldn't Ceres be the largest remaining chunk of the legendary planet Phaeton? Could the yawning chasm of the asteroid belt hold the answers to our species' long buried origins? Has a faction of humanity in the far future actually sent back nanocomputers in time shrunken down to fit inside neutrinos and beamed them back through the center of a black hole to the year 2009 where a hospital transporter working in radiology got the nanoswarm embedded in him and that's how he was programmed to put out the Freezine of Fantasy and Science Fiction on blogger, because the BloodHost downloaded the executable file in him at the behest of the human crew on Ceres/Mars/Ganymede (or whatever the case may be)?  Ever since I received the messages I've also been directed to images of the Churyumov-Gerasimenko comet, and coincidentally enough, it does belong to the Jupiter family of TNOs, from what I've been led to understand. In another recent missive, I found suggestions that a colony of human astronauts may have survived in (our future) one or more various nodal points throughout this solar system; Mars, Ceres, and Ganymede being the likeliest among them.  I've been led to suspect that the group who sent the freezine missive may be one of these stranded colonies. The interceding bits of the directive get stitched together in time. Eventually the meaning will get carried across and get through to us all. In the meantime we can only wait in thrall.  We've got our eyes on you, Mr. Churyumov-Gerasimenko. In the coiled poise of an adder's head (a sigil for cell division) the human fetus lies within a series of nesting doll's wombs blossoming in the stellar nexus. Just another death's head moth chrysalis preserved for the transmutation of dragon like extremophiles. 


No, this final perspective of Churyumov-Gerasimenko does not resemble an iconic curled up petrified human foetus, so get that thought out of your head right this minute. It has nothing to do with what this comet of the Outer Dark that comes from Jupiter's family of Trans-Neptunian-Objects was sent to accomplish, of course not, the uncanny resemblances to various hominid postures and evolutionary stages are completely happenstance, there's nothing to see here or think about folks, just scroll on to the next blog; nothing's on its way.   




3/11/19

quantum transmon

A transmon is a custom-designed electrical circuit devised to control quantum phenomena in scientific experiments.  (To enter the quantum world, one must be necessarily chilled to within one-thousandth of a degree above absolute zero.)  These are the tiniest details here at the bottom of experience, on the smaller end of the spectrum.  At 37 degrees Celsius, how much closer to absolute zero are we than to the mean temperature of the Sun?


The center of the sun is 15,000,000° Celsius. 
That's 27 million degrees if you're in America.
The surface of the sun is 5,600° Celsius.  
That's ten thousand degrees over here. 
We are 37° Celsius.  That's about ninety-nine degrees in the USA.  
Absolute zero is -275.15° Celsius.  We're talking almost six hundred degrees below zero, here. 




We are by several thousands of orders of magnitude that much closer to absolute zero than we are anywhere near the temperatures of the sun.  Not much of a difference in the weather in other words (by contrast to the scorching fires of hell). We are veritably simmering out here on a just thawed out surface; a-broil along the scintillating edge of time's razor sharp blade.

Absolute zero by definition means a cessation of the movement of atoms. A total reality freeze. You mean to tell me that we exist just three hundred and twelve degrees Celsius above absolute zero?   That's a difference of 594 degrees Fahrenheit. (As opposed to the 15 million degrees Celsius at the center of the Sun.)

Say the mean temperature of Hell is fifteen million degrees Celsius.  Does that make the temperature of heaven two-hundred-and-seventy-five degrees below zero? (Of course not. It only goes to show how figuring goes. If we cared to, it could be proven the temperature of paradise lies somewhere in between; say, about thirty-seven degrees Celsius (from what I've seen).

So the claim goes that what lies after in our imagined paradise could be necessarily very different than our conditional environment we're accustomed to here in the flesh, and that's understandable, all things considered. But for the sake of an argument that stands to be gained here and now, I'm fine with an even thirty seven degrees Celsius in Eden.  The more I think about it, the more oppressively hot it seems, to me.  Six hundred degrees above absolute zero....

This contention proves we're in a sort of living hell already.