Preliminary on the universe as an analog computer: even our psyches, I hint, part of that control system.

They were saying "unsex me with your magic crayon", and there were surgical strikes in Tierra del Bonita, guerillas in the north; I said, what is this modern entropy but a reflection of the dispersion that we walk around with inside of us everyday?  What else could it be, to the fair minded?

It's such that one affixes his to the sticking place, and walks with a certainty, rightly or wrongly, boldly so, into the future.

I plop-on and take to a manuscript that combines Jung with some contemporaries, something of the universe being an analog computer such that it mimics the brain--continual processing at low power, an entire network of flesh bag filaments.

I was listening to Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger", and digging it pretty good, in between sessions with the magic crayon, in between utterly destroying the chances of the coming generations to make good, in betwixt and between the bleatings, gleetings and general unimportant, insubstant dissipations of warm afternoons, and all the while, I had a niggle, a little niggle tugging at me.

Nested infinities.

 

I said, suspecting, a potential seed for my own downfall if I didn't meet it head-on.  Its just like when Darnell and Chris had made a bootleg tape of one of my concerts; they later tried to blackmail me.  I had a moment: do I destroy the evidences that I had thought so carefully hidden, or do I shank Darnell in the hallway?  It would have been prudent to do both, and not make it either/or, to have my vanilla, strawberry and chocolate together in the same package.

It is like magic, is nature, such that I told on of my spiritual leaders to take heart, chin-up, that he already knew the truth of the matter, and he had his own keys to the kingdom within himself already: he gets to decide who he wants to be.  A tyrant? A benefactor? A coxcomb? A ruffian?  Spurilous, scandalous or upright or some magic gumbo of all those.  Endeavor.