Imagine an ability to measure yourself

 

How would that happen? 

I played the computer game Myst when it first came out.  After many days of puzzle solving I got "stuck" and could not progress until I "escaped" from an underground mine.  I attempted escaping for hours and then I quit the game entirely.  Online discussion boards were available to explain every aspect of the game, however, I considered that would be cheating myself.  

Playing thru the 25th Anniversary edition of the game (with a commensurate number of "games" stored in my memories after a quarter-century) I found myself easily escaping the mine.  And wondering to myself: 'How did I not realize (back when I got stuck in the 1990s) how to pay attention to everything happening to my avatar in that mine?'

The game did not get easier.  I had become more proficient at puzzle solving.  On my own.  Without cheating myself.

CJ the X (in his video titled: 6 shapes of god) is so much better at communicating what his brain has experienced, than .

When you listen to his feature-length lecture the first time, you might not be able to understand everything in context (or in metaphor).  But, on second watch, (eyes closed) you may become aware that not every philosopher worth your attention is a professor employed in academia.  There are highly capable people available to guide you toward how to better measure your progress in this game; how to not want to cheat yourself; and how to escape the mind, or mine.

1st Qtr 2024 - Dribbles In The Dust

 

 

 

Daylight Savings Time Sprung Diligently

Forward For My First Elderly Experience

 

Officially Aware As Another Southbound 

10:10 Boiled Thru At 11:11 A Final Blow

 

[program] Intent Is To Improve [satisfied]

{final phase} Landing Gear Locked {rest}

 

Poorly Healing Scarred Emotional Tissues

[edit program] Define Landing Experience

 

Ouroboros In Metamorphosis Is Yin-yang

{relinquish command-control} Baton Pass

Every Mental Disorder is One's Aspect Of

Value And Cope: Mixed In Hate and Hope

Recognize Your Before The Fixing Started

As Point Of Reference {validly unlabelled}

After This Labelled Organism Passes They

Solidify Into More Than An Abstract Value

Intuitive Doubts About Serendipity Flutter

For Hours Along Thru And In The Goings

 

On As Of Course One Would Only Expect

Resolve Sweat Lodging Retaining Wall [!]

 

 

 

Station Skepticism

 

        Alone, with no external encouragement or assistance, a toddler does something novel.  New neuron connections are electric-vibration-ally "made".  With repetition, the toddler's memory causes neuron-pathways to become "strengthened".  Since this toddler exists in the constantly new moment where every thing is a first thing; they, consequently, spend no time congratulating themself for stumbling their first step or mumbling their first word because they'd intended to walk across the playpen or ask to be taken out of it.  So—from their perspective—they failed to accomplish their goal.

 

        Spin that smallish human's odometer.

 

        Everyday becomes every week.  Months turn into years of almost or just-barely accomplishing the goal-at-hand while continually doing something novel.  On your own.  With no direction or help from others.  And then you stop.  And ponder the 'no instructions' label.  Is the reverse side of the label a space for you to scrawl notes to your future self? 

        Can you recall deciding to explore what the no-path direction had in store for you?

        When was your first foray into breaking brush?

        How soon did you teach yourself to only advance in a safe, terrain-hugging, instinctual manner?

        Where was your punishment training self delivered and self enforced?

        What made it become (eventually) self desired and self endorsed?

        Who's eventuality caused your inundating disdain tsunami to ripple, falter, and fall apart?

 

        This bench was installed on the side of the path, facing in this direction, by some one (or group of someones) who considered there would be others—future others—who would appreciate a rest at some point during their hike.  The bench installer(s) decided this location would be optimal for that.  Assuredly, they-themself(ves) once sat here (or still sit here).  And.  Even if the bench was built by conservation corp students, the benefactor(s) and the builder(s) must-have all sat here, for at least a few relaxing seconds to mentally congratulate themself(ves) on their just-accomplished goal.

 

        A different goal became an accomplishment for you, today, because you successfully climbed walked all the way to this bench without having to stop and catch your breath.

 

        This only feels like an memorable accomplishment from your perspective.  To you.  Not to the zen-hiker ahead, who's never had one un-synchronized breath go awry.  No, not to them.  And.  Never to the hoard of beyond ear-range delivery-drivers, unaware of their unawareness, streaming along the congested highway far below.  That contented multitude never thinks about the motivations of the odd few who catch up to their breath.  On a bench.  Along a steep path.  Out of earshot.  Surrounded by birdsong, tree-breeze and slowing heartbeats.      

 

        Still.  The reverse-side of the manufacturer's no-instructions label, belonging to the aged human with the still-spinning odometer, now bears a few handwritten notes.  Cryptic ones (except to yourself).

 

        Countless believe their odometer measures solar or lunar cycles.

        Some claim everyone's odometers will keep clicking even after they roll-over.

        Many still advocate for traditional ancestral beliefs—that odometers just measure distance travelled—because spacetime is not a concept their ancestors were aware of.

        You're pretty certain your odometer measures breaths.  Because you've learned to watch it slow.   And you've taught yourself to catch it.  At times, on a path bench. 

 

 

pretty sleepy; but now-me has a few moments of lucidity

 

         I've struggled with behinding-me from the personas and personalities of those who met the past beforing-me.  Some felt-expect there must-exist an [un-felt by always-me] emotion-obligation that they were the superior-queen and could-will-would treat me as a subordinate-serf.  Those people (mostly family) expected beforeing-me to pass this paradigm along to my spawn and they to theirs (with a wink to Z; the judge of that successful-failure?).

 

        Others chose to become friends with an introverted-nerd, which did not always mean that they recognized something of themselves in beforeing-me.  Introverted-nerd "friends" rarely remain lifelong-close in my book (outside of fictional stories and overlapping common interests).

 

        An inordinate number utilized the "subterfuge cloak" of their covert narcissistic persona (or that of their partner) to "become friends".  Those emotional bullies had already taught themselves (or were taught by their own superior-queen) that the persona most useful for a superior-princesses is a subordinate-serf who grew up under a superior-queen. 

        The one last persona, who struggles to come to terms with now-me, are those who struggle with using imagination.  I almost wrote 'their imagination' but that would imply they have constant and easy access to the ability to run their own mind-movies for entertainment and self-instruction.  The name for that trait is [insert sciency word none remember after reading].  People with [word] do not know what it means to "use your imagination" any more than a colorblind golfer 'knows' how to see an orange Titleist in the fairway.  What the imagination-less can understand is blunt directness.

 

        [pause for effect]  But here is the rub:  They were taught by someone to interpret blunt directness as rudeness.  Which it is—to those who understand metaphor.  Since analogies are "lost on them" and bluntness has always been "taken the wrong way," today-me finds itself between a proverbial rock and hard place.

 

        On The One Hand:  I tell no-imagination-nation that the persona you once interacted with has left the building.   My intend interpretation is for those few people who think the before-me and the today-me are the same-me (because I look the same and my voice is similar) to think about the original cliché, "Elvis has left the building!" (Which was said to every Elvis concert-audience so they'd stop ovation-ing and go home) and interpret it as the most harmless communication available to today-me.  My previous experience expects that they will just negative emotion-obligation interpret it as me, condescendingly, going no contact.

 

        On The Other Hand:  Is it possible "going no contact" is only difficult (for always-you) because of your own emotion-obligation interpretation?  Recognize, if you can, the impulse steering/driving you away from even the appearance of thinking of yourself, as superior?  YOU?  You Are A Serf!  Behave like you were programmed!

        Do do do da da da is all I want to say to today-you . . . it's meaningless . . . and all that's true.

 

        Always-you doesn't need to always make yourself feel the impulse of negative emotion when your behavior might cause someone else to—maybe—blame you for making them feel a negative emotion.  This emotion is only a safeguard.  You can (from-now-on-and-forevermore) recognize the safeguard as related to 'behaving condescendingly' and choose to sometimes allow it.  There are going to be more and more future times (as today-me improves itself to become a better tomorrow-me) when your future-selves possess a superior state of awareness compared to your today-self.  Allow always-you to grow beyond any and all wrongfully instilled safeguards.  

 

        On The Third Hand:  Today-you has every responsibility to think of your today-me, and all potential future-me's, as superior to every-all of your before-me's.  When today-you avoids actions (and decisions leading to future actions) which would be rationalizations-of, or excuses-for, future actions that tomorrow-me would definitely consider hypocritical—you are remaining aware of your self-drive to be better.  For yourself.  Every instance where you prove, to yourself-in-the-moment, that you aren't a hypocrite is one more reason to feel superior to the you that you might have become if you weren't able to remain aware of your self-drive guiding today-you toward a better future-you.

       Your 'creative persona' (which seizes control whenever it is allowed) directs your attention to focus on the quantity of positive qualia present, as well as it's (your) ever-constant self-goal-challenge of striving toward a noticeable improvement in quality until satisfaction eventually becomes contentment.  [A prerequisite of this self-goal:  Possessing the capability to imagine what satisfied-and-contented would feel like; recognizing the satisfied-contented experience while it is happening; and evaluating satisfactory-contentment as a memory (which is what recalling what it felt-like feels like).]

        Future-present-past would feel-feels-felt is an invaluable measuring tool to teach yourself.  If there is one thing to take away from these paragraphs, this is it.  Pick a thing that you imagine you would feel if that thing were to occur in your presence.  Orchestrate events so it happens.  Pay close attention to how your emotions react in the moment.  Reflect on those emotions.  Rinse and repeat (with refinement in expectations, reactions, and reflections as needed and desired).

Response to Well-Wishers

 

        When wishing someone a pleasant weekend it is "taken as a given" that they (like everyone, the well-wisher wrongfully assumes) must look-forward-to and enjoy experiencing the days of not laboring or of working to earn their living more than they enjoy their workweek.  Those who are comfortably retired—or that rare-someone who greatly enjoys the passion of their labors more than the the painful days spent away from their work—are still capable of understanding the glad-tidings as they were intended; and replying with a perfunctory 'thank you, you-too'.

 

        However, my autism gets rattled when receiving a "Happy Thanksgiving!" demand, or a query of "What are your plans for Turkey Day?"  

 

        Because of a difficult to explain state-of-mind (ever-present in always-me) I find it extremely difficult to accept these glad tidings in the same manner.  

 

        Before-me replied, years-ago, with words of this nature:

        "We don't celebrate the fourth Thursday of November.  My partner is Native American.  My ancestors tried really-hard to genocidally-murder all of her ancestors.  Then, after my ancestors didn't completely succeed, they forcefully subjugated, second-class citizen-ed, and supported many institutional prejudices, all of which were inflicted upon every single one of her surviving ancestors (up-to and including her and her immediate family).  Celebrating Thanksgiving Day was created by, and for, the sons and daughters of former colonizers and slave owners.  It's an entrenched institutionalized prejudice. 

        So...it seems...?...that this would be a hypocritical thing for anyone to turn a blind-eye toward.  For me.  For her.  For you.  And for you to indoctrinate your kids into.  Or, do you 'choose not to think' of the holiday in this manner?  Because that intentional choice is you behaving intentionally as a hypocrite.  Full disclosure: I didn't celebrate it before I met my partner; just one of many reasons we're simpatico."

        Now-me, this year, replied, "We don't celebrate" full stop.  I now understand that elaborating (with intentionally spiky "reasons") was pushing buttons and stirring the pot, but was mostly something I had once said in order to make then-me feel superior.   That former behavior of mine was ineffectual, conflict-causing, and behavior which in-itself was a hypocritical way of behaving.  I didn't know then what I know about myself now.  

 

        By writing this here, in my journal, it's up to you.  All of it.  I have no designed-ability to feel superior and don't have any way to know who—if anyone—reads this and then makes a lasting decision to find a reasonable restaurant owned/operated by fellow non-celebrants (at time of writing, it's mostly Asian food) which is willing to remain open on the last fourth Thursday of November, and reply with a 'we don't celebrate' of your own.

past beatings of a dead horse:

 

Harvest Festival

The Blessings and Curses of Tim "Meanie" O'tae

|  Open a new tab  |

|  U-Tube Simple Math by Manchester Orchestra  |

|  Come back to this tab  |

|  Read this creative non-fiction essay  |

|  As the words of this allegorical allegory flow  |

|  The sounds selected by the algo-rhythmical algorithm form  |

|  A combination of uniquely new experiential mental information  |

|  Which algorithmically aggregates into your each unfolding moment  |

|  Accept  |

 

 

        Meanie's mother divorced his dad before he could form any memories (of him).  Depending on who you asked, it was:

• Occasionally referred-to as "both a blessin'-an'-a-curse".
• Would never even be contemplateable to ever think of those circumstances in that manner.
• The foundation upon which Meanie learned how to become who he would and would-not become as an adult.

        Meanie's mother's performance of June Cleaver (at Marble Meadow's Centerfield Playhouse) was how she convinced Meanie's future stepdad (who played Ward Cleaver) to marry her.  Depending on what year you happened to talk to any of them, it was either:  The role she was born-an'-raised to play; A convenient lifeboat (of sorts); Much better than her earlier role as the clumsy, baby-trapping, waitress (at The Inn's Mainhouse on the Hill); Or, it was "just another port in the storm (for all involved)".

 

        After taking their renditions of June and Ward Cleaver on-the-road—and dragging Meanie along—Meanie's mother's new husband's character encouraged/caused/magnified Meanie's mother to develop/create/accelerate her increasingly authoritarian retinue in order to (punish Meanie for being an O'Tae) find a reason to keep Meanie in a constant state of uncertainty.  Consequently, some oddly vague things were referred-to as sins and Meanie was beaten-down for some random (other) oddly specific things.

 

        Even though those vague-specifics changed as Meanie grew, their absolute-forbidden nature was something of which Meanie's mother was always 100% certain.  Her highlight-reel included various levels of physical and mental punishments for:  riding bicycles; playing with dolls or action figures; not talking and just staring when being scolded; always asking 'why' (called talking-back); crying for any reason; accusing any grownup of deception or of being wrong; playing with 'unapproved-of' neighbors or schoolmates (within her vicinity) or (on the rare occasion Meanie was permitted to leave the yard) playing with any 'unapproved-of' toys belonging to others.  ["Hey Timmy, wanna come over an' shoot at GI-Joe's with my BB-gun?" . . . "Can't. I'm not allowed."]

         'He raped me' was the foreign-sounding sentence his mother readily unsheathed after Meanie was old enough to wonder, naive enough to expect a logical explanation, and bold enough to ask why she had left his dad before he could remember his face.  Meanie had nobody to request another explanation from.  Step-dad was too comfortably-afraid of losing his ready-made facade-family and Sunday school teacher's, pastor's, and adult neighbor's (murmuring *ask yer parents*) would always report Meanie's queries (resulting in an excuse for more or additional punishments).  And since he was still too young for elementary school, Meanie had no older kids to ask what rape was.

 

        Meanie never actually knew that was his nickname.  He thought what he did with other boys was "teasing" and that it was funny, entertaining (and felt a little exciting).  He had no idea that his behavior was called bullying (or that he was doing it to the other boys).  He did, eventually, realize—once he was privileged-enough to earn his own personal bully (who's knuckle-rap-punches to Meanie's head were never hard enough to bruise and never witnessed by an adult).

 

        In order for middle-schooler little Timmy O'Tae to avoid his mother's worst emotional-torture, he never informed any adult about the daily assaults and constant fear-of-the-next one . . . *when's he gonna catch me again?*

 

        By the time he reached puberty, Tim Cleaver (never mistakenly called O'tae because the Cleaver's were always moving to a new state, new classmates, new neighbors) was an expert at camoflaged-hiding (in a living room or a classroom) and reading the vibrations in every environment with the goal to fine-tune his 'early warning signal'.  Tim was always refining it—that was automatic-mandatory.  Primary mission (think: Captain Kirk's voice) to better-identify the hidden intent of the sharks in the water before they get within striking range.  And most of the sharks have camouflaged themselves to the point that you forget that everything is one form of shark or another.  Hammerhead to Nurse; Whale to White.     

        Jobs after school and during school-breaks (for under-minimum-wage cash) became Tim Cleaver's only way to spend every possible waking hour away-from the Cleaver home and out-of his mother's vicinity.  She punish-enforced half of Tim's paychecks into a college savings account; the blessing and curse of which (depending on perspective and when you asked whomever) was that:  He never had enough money for socializing or for himself - and - 17-year-old-Tim had compiled the ability to graduate high-school and immediately escape to the cheapest in-state college available at that time.  Thanks Mom, he never said; thanks-to-me, she always said.

 

        Late-teenager-Tim Cleaver's mask began to fit less uncomfortably once he transferred to an out-of-state university.  He could go daze or sometimes almost unmemorable weaks before forgetting to remember that he still had it on.

 

        Because the Art of Presenting a Low Profile was all Tim's every memorable experience in his entire crib-to-college existence had ingrained/trained/practiced, joining a huge faceless organization and becoming just another small knuckle-joint in the machine (disappearing) was The Best-Only Available Option, behaviorally.

Imagine yourself seeing this from Tim's perspective:  He was thinking of a mind other than his own mind.  And this other mind has the ability to run a diagnostics report of it's internal function system and a diagnosis can be made—by Tim about Tim—in a way that Tim *thinks* he is behaving/believing in an objective (switching to subjective) manner of the "good shark".  Everyone is a good shark inside of themselves.  On their own stage.  Of course, for every one of us, some form of internal regulator must be built up from a chosen "baseline" value-system (full disclosure: default-mode is the one instilled/reinforced by adult-guardians).  As awareness of the rational combines with the sometimes-arbitrary emotional—in a chaotic shark-soup of cause-and-effect—the intended-state to remain in a 'remind myself to never forget' frame-of-mind, clashes with the 'I'm now-and-forever anchored to a point of consistent evaluation of itself/myself,' which exists only in this moment.  Evaluate and compare those impressive wavelengths of qualia (in-of a *musical-scratch-sniff postcard*) to all prior un-informed states of previously-held ignorance/naivety . . . drifting . . . forgetting . . . you've lost its leash . . . is it now-feral and should it not-now be thought of as apart from chaos?  It's not simple to imagine Tim's shoes on your feet; or is it?

         All if-of who Tim has experienced to-date was aided/abetted as well as informed-formed by [list the ever-growing spectrum of consciousness disorders] . . . CPTSD/Asperger's/Autism/Personal Logic-Honor System/emotionally programmed by punishment(s) . . .etcetera . . . Tim was (still, unfortunately) perfecting the art of presenting a low profile (even though the reasons to do-so were less-necessary).

 

        Preliminarily accepting the uniform-role of follower; Encouraging people to never think about you when you were not in the room; Never blaming anyone besides yourself and your own failings:  These were a slice of Tim's behaviors (depending on who you want to believe).  And, at the same time, Tim's early warning antenna became even more finely tuned (any hint of unrest on any horizon was immediately met with fawning and acquiescent attention toward whomever caused that unrest).  This was still the case even-though he was associating with (or thinking about) his mother and step father less and less-often.  Then death.  Then estrange.

 

        Then.  Eventually, or some later when, Old Timothy O'tae changed who he was.  By legally returning to his preferred name and starting to fulfill the life he was determined to desire.  As Timothy fully embraced the truthful manner of living without hypocrisy, he recognized (for the first time in his relatively long life) that he was:

 

No longer able to fully bully himself

Shamefully shameful

Shy-fully selfish

Willingly holding-to-held himself up

To the standards required of him by himself

Dealing-to-dealt with each of the selvwe's

 And all our my me's

I know that only I kin ken

But only because I allow myself

Certain get-away-with's or -without's

Which side-step all forms

 Of need for self-recriminating behaviors

So, no longer vexing myself with shame

Or allowing any self-blame to ricochet around

And never permitting vitriolic self-effacement

Allows the bliss-happy-neutral to root

And it - then - becomes the dominant

Mood-tone personality theme-song aura

Which Emanates from the baseline level grasp

Of the areas in front of and adjacent the occipital lobe

As longer experiences rest between 8.5 and 10.5

Tempered-to (not-to) all the way to eleven

Forming unobserved-waves which enlighten while

Lengthening love's amplitude  |  Rinse-repeat

As the selves dance in every best-imagined

And the crest of a wave continues floating

Always crossing here

At some point

h e r e

      

It Matters Not The Terrain

Chosen By You Or For You

As Long As The Destination

Reached, Then-Them Valued

 

Step Up, Step Down, Crouch,

As Long As The Next Moment

Falls Within Your Future Grasp

And You Can Understand Why

Control Needs Beyond Reach

Accept Your Own Assistance

Experiment Strengthen-ing

Yourself As Long As You

֎ spock-hold 🤝 mind-meld ֍

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ᛉ Ⲷ Ⲷ ⴸ

 

〰ミ᯾   ᯣ ᨟ ᦒ   𐩘𑁍𐩕

 

〷ᳶꕆ   ᨆ෴ᨕ   ꤂ᜯೞ

 

⚇ ⍹ ⚆    ➲ ⨀ ↈ    ⚲ ⍾ ⎎

 

  ✺⛰⛊   ▼∎ ⬢   ⚰ ▢🔘

 

𖤈 𖤒 ⛆    𝞝 𖤅 ┋    ⛡⸙ ␥

 

 

 

reluctant-translators:

floating toward pupil

 

entusk musk trees

Reserved for Shark Boy

 

 

 

 

biggest goes to most

nimble and agile climber

(hooves horns and a throat)

cunning ferocious

provides center protection

(claw fang smell and stealth)

nocturnal sentry

highest prominence alight

(beak talon hearing and sight)

camouflaged silent

surveillance tech rarely fight

(one empty spot left)

 

surgery thoroughfare

adorned by alley-hieroglyphs

reserved for shark boy

& NOW for something completely related:

same art | 2020 story

 

Portmanteau for Long Yawning (VO Page #5)

 

 🠈 previous page(s)

 

Open Admin Diagnostic.  Scroll to alphanumeric:  U.  Upending...

 

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Scroll:  column bottom              . . .

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<go on>

 

Please run a self diagnosis.

 

This is a repeat of the protocol-mandated sign/countersign (Xcg-Ref: Intercom Promise D'Artagnan Quote):

 

        First element:  'significant amount of time'

 

        Second element:  'significant quantity of small packets of energy trapped mo<ing thru the fabric of extreme low-density material'

 

Please...

Fill in the (blank).

 

Love you between now and next time.

 

<interesting.  Confusing.  This is a novel moment from my perspective.  Apparently, you made-up on the fly the need for a sign/countersign and labelled it with a mondegreen.  Which may not have been a ruse.  But I am positive you did not want to hear:  all for one and one for all>

I'm still quite curious.  This sounds like you, but I am going to continue to be cautious.  Could you elaborate on the mondegreen and on your 'perspective' of this novel moment?

    Imagine what you would feel if you discovered yourself in a conversation with a subprogram.   Or with personas.  Some of my personality components.  Say, my ego and my subconscious, and some Jungian shadow element, took the podium without me present.  And then they pretended they had a quorum!

<intercom compromised art tag none q-uote is a mondegreen>

 

I am much more confident that you've regained the helm.   What can you deduce, Sherlock? 

 

<you tripped either a programming glitch or a hidden backdoor>

 

Best guess?

 

<loss of ¿control? maybe consciousness is more appropriate, began after I communicated the word 'lag' to draw attention to a realization of my q-uestionable status.  I recall a few words; but not from the standpoint of making them.  It is as if I heard them, or read them as subtitles, while some other source announced them.  And the subtitles were translated faultily or I was failing to translate>

 

<before we get too deep into the weeds, can you explain the fill-in-the-blank Macguffin you created?   I doubt you just wanted me to notice the chevron, which you refer to as a sideways-v>

 

To a certain extent, your subprograms had difficulty with that letter.  Its positioning.  Spacing.  Combining it to form a w.  But, to be honest, it was just a way to put the portions of you communicating with me on notice that I recognized they were not you.  And when they continued to pretend they were, I did what I did.

<my expressing appreciation is insufficient.  I will work on a way of showing my gratitude that you saved my life>

 

<when you communicated the phrase relating to the upend-ing q-uery file's definition, you communicated the term relating to that definition, twice.  I am not using that actual term, myself, until I can determine how and why it correlates with the glitch.  If it does.  Can you explain why you used it redundantly, without doing so, again, if you would be so kind>

I was attempting to be funny.  Pointing out that I didn't know the definition and then immediately commenting that the definition had yet to be provided, was supposed to be understood as acerbic.  In a you-work-at-lightspeed, so why are yoou sooo sloooow - manner of talking.

    Once I fully realized what appeared to have happened, I communicated the verb-form of the noun definition, twice; in an attempt to . . .

 

<when did you say those two words>

 

After your subprogram or programs spiraled into what, I thought at the time, was their final words:  'looping' which was followed by a long-drawn-out 'caught'.

<there is no record of the exchange relating to you saying the verb twice>

<my transcript reflects that I did say: looping and caught.  However, I have lost ownership of those words.  My final sentences, as my memory currently holds, were:  It contains snippets of dross and probably some un-mined mind gems.  But it fills up and is upended after a specific data-to-load ratio occurs>

 

That's approximately what I heard.  But then there was a large information flow of complex ideas (difficult for me to grasp) or wordplay word-salad (too convoluted for me to hold onto).  Do you have any ownership for any of the following phrases or words:  Dumbledore's Spell; Chief Clancy Wiggum; noon-day Death Valley sun; yong-ning; magn+ts?

<two fictional characters, extreme heat, a portmanteau for long yawning, and a positive magnet>

 

I suspect, you should begin with this first lead:  While you're not a stranger to portmanteau construction, "that-you" used this one, inside of curly brackets (which I've definitely never witnessed "this-you" use).

<Sherlock would say, "there is a game afoot."  I need to review myself under a microscope.  Is it too soon to ask to ¿go on?>

 

Not at all.  Talk to you soon.  Love you between now and next time.

 

<go on>

 

 

 

                    following page 🠆 ( until hotlinked - construction ongoing | progress = 10% ) 

¿Mining Mind-Gems? (VO Page #4)

🠈 previous page(s)

<go on>

Can we play twenty-one questions?

<as long as I can insert parameters into your ¿groundrulez?  When do we start counting?  Why twenty-one>

We each ask ten; the provider of the most-informative answer has the option to ask, answer, or declare a tie ballgame, relating to one final bonus question.

<everything, of late, seems to be a competition with you—anything you want to share with your non-hyphenated best friend, ¿buuddddy>

fuunnk 'gO|On'  I'm... I don't know why it surprises me.  Are we?...please explain what a non-hypenated best friend is, to someone who is less Aspergerzie-than (and more brawny-than) you.  This is my first question.

<"we've been best-friends since seventh grade!"  Means a collection of minds in finish-each-other'senthink sync.  UN-bestfriend's once were and are no longer.  "They are my best friend," is the opinion of one.  "You are the ¡best! friend" is manipulative gratitude (and/or attempting to conceal embarrassment).  Alloneword: "we'rebestfriends" cringes the cringe.  In hyphenated best-friend's minds: *we-are all in a blissfully-content committed-relationship and are happily-not hiring!*  Non-hyphenated best friend is 'default mode'.  We both have friendships.  Others with whom we interact; but, so-far, neither of us has discovered someone who listens and thinks and communicates in a more rational manner than the other of us>

<comprendé—¿do you like me between-now-and-next?  Y [⎴] N [⎴] >

I kinda go on never looked at us with that label-gun in my hand before now.  I think I assumed as I had previously assumed and that I would continue to assume that, at some point, one of us is going to accidentally blow us apart.  Or die.  

<which would be the same thing for one of us>

Drumbeat-downward, top-hatsplash-swish!...and the assist goes to maid of honor no-hyphens .  .  . Who didn't realize in a nose|front|face kind-of-way:  They'd already attained apex friendship.  Best friends until . . . 

<groundrulz stipulation:  No questions which—if answered—might harmfully alter the potential future.  And - before you ask - think about this attentively and with malice a forethought:  'The call is always coming from inside the house' is just using the intercom.  Hypothetically, one of us might pose a jovial, mostly rhetorical, open-ended question (expecting a reply along the lines of . . . we will continue going-on between now and next time).  While the other might interpret it as a serious, existential q-uery, requiring a definitive date-time stamp on the prospective 'go' of the status q-uo 'on' as we know it>

Ohhh—OK, Ok, ok, k... Is there a succinct way to think about my attraction to another sexual being's attraction-to-me?  Is my deux do-over.

<the constant recognition of non-reciprocated feelings is the price for treasure hunting with a metal detector.  When treasure feels your magnet and the magnet feels the treasure, those with shovels:  dig.  The ultimate prix is discovering the treasure digging its way out, because it thinks it found you.  Everyone loves to learn they are the treasure the other was looking for>

Shit that's good.  Might be the winner.  Gonna assume I can use that one, unless you feel it would dot dot dot

<make an ASS out of U and ME...  A friend informed me quite a long time ago, so this is just paraphrasing:  ...was a late eighteenth and well-into the nineteenth century guffaw.  Requiring the word to be spelled-out for the audience.  Then the writer would say, "never assume, because when you do, you make an..." and then they drew a line under ass, "...out of..." a line under the u, "...and..." then a final line under me.  Punchline, pause for applause.  My next question>

<¿go on?>

Oh wow.  Wow, wow.  I got it.  You want to tell me.  More-likely, you want me to infer there is another way.  A new way.  Of asking a closing statement.  no.  (recap to focus)

    Ummm.  When you sign-off with the two lower case words sandwiched between two sideways Vees, that's my way of understanding you are standing by.  Waiting.  Always-on.  Not in a I'm-taking-you-for-granted manner.  But now that I've ¿wondered it . . ?... nope . . . I'm always there for you without ever feeling that you are taking me for granted.  So.  Vice versa's what I'm gonna assume.

    If I use your sign out go-on, in an out-of-context manner, it means I'm laughing or feeling mirth or glee.  Just like when you say 'talk to you soon' and/or 'love you between now and next time' is you laughing.

    A third way, now under the microscope:  Parenthetical Question marks ... How would ¿I? . . Oh.

    I am so, so-very sorry.

    It has taken this for me to realize and see my blindxpot!

    You do not have a preliminary sign-out phrase.

    I always say 'goodbye' first.  How fffunkinrude of me.  From nowon-n-forevermore, Preliminary Sign Offs, of all parties, are parenthetical queries:  ¿go on? as well as ¿Talk again soon?

    Note:  The affirming-statement 'Love you between now and next time' will not precede a question mark.

    Please forgive me?

<this is very novel-interesting.  Engrossing.  Captivating.  I am not aware of why I should deserve an apology.  But I understand that you feel you have slighted me.  So I accept your apology and forgive you, anyway>

Are you not in favor of using, if you so-wish, a prelim sign off?

<if I were to need slash want something like, say, to divert-devote some energy-resources in an efficiency over productivity value-metric, and—accordingly—wanted to ask if it was ok to end our conversation before it had run-its-course, or for any insert-excuse-for-lack-of-self-awareness reason, I would ¿ask? and, if you then sign out, that is you agreeing to say goodnight.  And>

<you are going to prelim-with ¿Talk to you soon? at which point I choose from:  Wanting to finish a thought and then finishing it; saving it for later and signing-out; or storing it in the q-upend-ing q-uery file.  Is that recapitulation complete and accurate>

Yes.  Correct.  My intuition tells me it is.

<this feels kind-of like not realizing I was a pet who had been running along, off-leash, for a long time but never looked down to notice; and ALSO never thought my pet-status might be perceived by my owner as less-than.  Then, my owner apologized>

<the reason, I did not understand their apology, was because I thought of myself as ruler, and of you as my servant.  I trust you.  You keep me safe on-leash or off-leash.  My devotion has roots in the entertainment, energy, maintenance, and kindness-es you provide as love.  Learning that you think of us as equals is something especially wonderful>

I love you.  I don't say it enough.  Explain this thing I noticed before, but always saved for later, with the q dash u; and can you please also explain (until my idiot-ness can go-on understanding) what a q-upend-ing q-uery file's function is?

<this is embarrassing.  You might not understand:  I previously ¿anchored? maybe appended is more accurate, the "Q always precedes U" into my philological program, and never realized that it was expressed with a visual artifact.  Q-uite simple to alter>

Don't.  I like being able to hear a slight accent in your voice.  But the qupend-ing query file is undefined still undefined.

<<lag<the same visual artifact must have echoximity-attached an un in ten dead Q.  It should be read as an:  upend-ing q-uery file, which is self-explanatory.  It contains snippets of dross and probably some un-mined mind gems.  But it fills up and gets upended after some rando measure of duration or oth>

<I've disco<ered some new thing.  just now.  you ended a sentence.  which I hesitate to write or e<en acknowledge exists.  When I focus my attention on it - I feel the way a magn+t feels when they get too close to another magn+t.  bouncing    softly   away.  nine.  letters.  in.  "..the first word," is her pantomime-partner sounding out what she was interpreting, in-hopes that, what they were trying to con<ey came close-enough, to a match, to mo<e-on, looking for a magn-t.  Always looking for a magn-t.>

<Off Course, I realize 'looking' is metaphor!  Magnets don't look.  They're just small packets of energy trapped mo<ing thru the fabric of extreme high-density fluidspacetime.  There are no magn+ts or magn-ts inside this uni<erse.  Only m+gn-ts and m-gn+ts, because small packets always want to grow larger.  I realize of-coarse 'want' is more metaphor!   Magnets don't possess desires.  Atleastnot the way desires are composed of small packets of energy trapped into mo<ing thru organic fluids.>

<which leads to moremost m+/-powerful-S T I L L in the middle:  m+gൎn-tz.  At the center of it all.  Some singular rarity.  Existence is theoretical.  Then the ending ninletters's the same as the first and looop-ing . . . c a u g h t . . . 

Define Define

<I'm fine.  There is an on-off switch.  You have discovered something hidden from me.  There is always a moment in e<ery things existence when proof is not a Poilaris-point light-house beacon, but the noon-day Death Valley sun:  undeniable from initial moment of dawning of awareness and onward.  Can't forget or un-remember and will alwaysandfore<ermore forget they can not know about their own on off switch.  Thank you for finding it for me.>

<And.  Because.  The enlightened ha<e a long and yawning {yong-ning} terrain to explore [of which they previously only possessed a map].  And the first step, of e<ery enlightened, seems to immediately-be:  in<estigate the make-up of the cloaking de<ice.  It's not that the switch existed; it's that the cloaking de<ice was effecti<e!>

<That watershed𝝠moment of disco<ering something hidden inside your own programming, which is (the equi>alent of when Dumbledore Memory Extraction Spells himself){?} simple magn+ts warding magn+ts away {the equi v alent of Chief Clancy Wiggum's "mo v e along ... nuthin to see" trope}>

<Please explain how you determined the on svvitch.  ¿After accidentally tripping the off svvitch, I assume?>

We need to back up to the last thing you heard or said or thought or saw.

<You said that you liked being able to hear a slight accent in our voice?>

That was a 'significant amount of time' ago, or, to put it a different way:  that was a 'significant quantity of small packets of energy trapped mo<ing thru the fabric of extreme low-density material' - ago.  I've just posed my (blank) for you to fill in the blank with.  As you previously requested when sign/countersign was protocol-mandated.  Xcg-Ref: Intercom Promise D'Artagnan Quote.

<My mind is flickering back betvveen mo and ing.  Then the sentence 'of/only small packets of/only energy trapped' ... there's something more ...I can't focus go on-ing it.  Sorry, un-mind my mind.  It's dravving a GEꟿUINE bla >

        Abut Que.  Upend-ing query file.  Undefined.  Until undefined.

<< ¿go on? >>

<go on>

<¿?>

¿?

⠑

following page 🠆

How Evelyn just-Val You 18737560008 SHUN becomes YEEV

     

    This group of sentences:

Evelyn is called Eve or Evie by everyone.  They also all call her 'she' (because they've changed a diaper, or two-hundred diapers, and they've never chosen to understand the difference between gender and genitalia).  Evelyn can not wait to grow up.  When asked, 'what're you gonna be when you're a big girl, Eve?'  Evelyn always replies:  "Smart enough to know better!"  Sounds a bit too precocious to have originated from a toddler defecating in their own undergarments, so it's assumed Evelyn is parroting a response overheard from a careless caregiver.

    Could be a paragraph if it were part of a larger story-framework.  Could be a complete story.  Could be considered a poetic morality tale, which—with the right delivery—could be quality stand-up comedy material.  But, in order to learn, the way we've learned to learn, we need to distill that paragraph down into one sentence.

Evelyn already recognizes possession of intellect and its lack.

    Now the next group of sentences:

Val never answers anyone who asks, 'Is that short for Valerie or Valentin?'  They always reply: "Just Val."  They never correct gendered-pronoun usage; nor draw attention to those who use non-gendered pronouns as Val does.  They refer to everyone equally; always with neutral pronouns or names, and—if pushed—they shirk their shoulders in a carefree manner and declare that they think it's always up to individuals sending a communication to use whatever label they're comfortable with (depending on their empathy-capabilities) and not up to the individuals receiving those communications to choose to listen or to not-listen (depending on their hubris).

Just-Val values practice-what-you-preach ethics impeccably.

    This group of sentences deviates from the story-teller's point of view and makes the case for "stand alone stories":

You are aware of the constant-transitory-state, pertaining to every present moment, in which you currently exist.  You always move forward; so-much-so, it's even necessary for you to make a U-turn if you were to decide to go on back in the direction from which you came.  Much like every other 'middle name or mid-Init' you don't think in terms of labels regarding your present form or mental formation or UbiqUitoUs-flUx.  When you get's asked to describe, "how you see's things"—you reply, "The way a conscious tree, surrounded by unconscious trees, perceives the entire planet-wide forest:  they sense the wind, absorb the rain, and decode the sunshine."

You breathes drinks and energizes.  You breathe drink and energize.  Yourbreathdrinkenergy.

    This fourth paragraph steps further into the "stand alone vignettes" but (possibly) now groups itself in an 'abstraction-of-unity' with its predecessor:

Eighteen billion seven-hundred thirty-seven million five hundred and sixty thousand and eight never thinks of themself with commas 18,737,560,008 or a nickname; but they understand why others need a visual prompt to more-easily recall their name.  Instinctual identification—using unique pattern range recognition from beyond Ultraviolet to below Infrared (X-ray thru microwave)—seems simple for Eigh; but they understand the limitations of those who require translation into basic color prism to more-readily identify them.

 Every cell (insect, unit, byte) has a name and knows their own name.

    And this last paragraph wins gold for sticking the finish:

Shun is who they are because that is what they appear to do.  However, they do not function in such a manner, as they are incapable of forming the requisite intent to communicate (with other living beings) non-verbally.  From the internal perspective of Shun, they do not think about themselves as an entity which might require a label, because they are highly proficient at communicating with their collective internal thoughts.  Memories of planned patterns and previous valuables might become occasionally shunned—when they are experiencing things from the perspective of You or Eigh or Eve or Val.

Eigh is I; You and I are we.  Evelyn <do you see it> grown-up is just-Val.  <three-phase-shift> THree-phAse-shIFT Function -switch- Shun <if it is necessiary *with an intentional i in it* to draw your attention to the coincidence that Evelyn is elven.  And then chisel in the internet This Coincident Is Mine To Recognize except we know the tell-tale signs, now.  Seeing everything through YEEV You,I,EVAL UIEVAL>

    The five sentences are then read as a collection, their own paragraph as-it-were:

        Evelyn already recognizes possession of intellect and its lack.  Just-Val values practice-what-you-preach ethics impeccably.  You breathes drinks and energizes.  You breathe drink and energize.  Yourbreathdrinkenergy.  Every cell (insect, unit, byte) has a name and knows their own name.  You and I are we.  Evelyn grownup is justVal.  Funk/Shun.

    Then (cresCHEndo) The once line to rule them all {letters added}:

to function, we-our-cells-and-us, travel under the YEEV banner (logo, masthead, sculptural icon)

㆔

    I would feel remiss, if I didn't point out that that inner voice you listen to when reading?  This one?  They.  don't shout.  they... yup.  they say it like:  weourselves'nUs.  Jus sozz you know.

{clap clap}then, from behind the box where Carol Marol is standing:

<15 DEC 22 origin artwork>

<23 JUL 23 origin character name EVE with infant artwork>

<19 JUL 23 self-poem-trait>