On his back the dimmed sounds seemed like creaking ripples of underwater bubbles. The sick ridden body felt weak, while the sharp mind was as sharp as the failing TL-tube overhead, fuzzy moments followed. The Freighter touched the rusty panels of the belly of his ship, as an act of love, while the feeling of rolling undermined the pull of the deep dark.

“In poor shape we are my dear Love”, whispered the freighter’s Shipper seamlessly through his hissing teeth. Escaping steam was his answer while rushing wetness promised a salty goodbye.

“Our poor condition bids us farewell, my freighter”.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The challenge is the following title: The Faithless Veil

The Raven rolled on his back, playing with a twig as a kitten. The dove circled and returned, what do doves say anyway? His black pearls are peering at the foliage, though and memory hunkered down behind its beak, while clouds this time steal the sun.

Fur bounces through, one of the four hundred has returned, with blurred vision staring at the Raven. Complicated signals communicate the Rabbit’s excitement, the new visitor has come.

Old world versus the new, the decline of dragons sees the light of lions. A stalemate stare holds the promise.

Oh yes, they have finally met.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

How lovely! I’ll challenge with the following title: The Changeling’s Shoes.

Sloth-like, sniffing the air to feel and sense. Has the gauntlet been dropped in front of his dark abode?

Sounds resonate through the forest, something is up. No longer a senseless peace will drive inaction, sharp directed action, as adrenaline fueled hunting, drifts uneasy in and out of focus.

A long tongue flicks a beetle lazily of a branch. Deaf it can’t small its way, but a vibration of tension catches its wildly rotating eye. Will it tell me a story, will I ever be challenged…

I am an old man, because I have lived a lot. I have fought years, lived on love for years, lived on money for years and my constitution. I have been old now for years.

My view is one of rest. I am sitting on a high, in grass covered plain with in front of me a steep abyss. underneath rocks. The sea climbs my rock, finds it to steep, falls back and tries again. The rest of sea stretches in front of my until infinity and waits years for its turn.

The grass under my hands feels cool and a gale moves my long hairs. If I look up I see unknowing clouds float by. They are hurrying in the same direction. My back is that direction. A few ships are searching floatingly for fish. I myself worked on such ships and mis the people that used to work with me. I am sitting her alone because the sea is not always quiet . I am sitting alone here because I was lucky. Loneliness due to luck. Loneliness due to actions. Loneliness due to loneliness .

Hours I can sit here watching out over my girlfriend, my mistress and my sometimes enemy. If the sun caresses her in the morning she is beckoning, and I enjoy her beauty. If the wind is strong and jells at her, she screams back and covers herself with a blanket of waves and fogs of water over her skin. If it is dark, she is dark and then she ogles me sometimes with her lit up breakers.

I miss her, but hate her. The jealous sea did not only take my friends, but also my biggest love. Her I miss more. I am an old man, because I lived a lot, but now I looking back for many years. I am old for years. I am alone for years.

Nightfall slowly comes because the sun is putting itself out in the sea that looks at me quietly. I am now looking in the direction of the the clouds. My hair folds itself around my face and I walk to my house. A house that is located behind this plain in a slightly lower valley and I have lived there always.

Here I have spend my years.

There used to be my parents and brothers and my sister. Later, then to young for the sea, with my mother and my sister. After tat with my sister. Then alone.

I miss the evenings when I was no longer alone, talking about all things we could think of, looking at each other in silent moments. The laying against each other, the kissing and the deep moments of becoming one, somtimes for nights. If then the sun would come up and she would be in deep rest, I would look at her and my view was one of rest. Moments of peace. Moments of being together. Moments of complementation. I was not always lonely.

Broodingly I light the fire and prepare myself a meal. The night around me is a dark blanket and covers the light. The wind picks up slowly and softly it starts to rain.

It is disconsolate, eating for yourself.

Marco
(12 aug 1992)

Yesterday was not my day. Then I sat in the night in between nothing. The stars bleached my skin. The holes between that light were barriers and were silent. The observation of the view, a look upward, was just one of silence. No wind, no sound, no feelings and everything is crawling slowly to no destination. This day is only a night.

Yesterday was not my day. The missing of that what animates me is difficult, it locks you up. You know what you should do, but the effort is to large. These thoughts are but little bubbles that explode in once head. Plop, plop…

Yesterday will never be my day. I know what will happen, everything will become different, everything changes. How fast does the grass grow when you know that. If only there was never a yesterday, but just a today. On that day I live often and wonder around some. I watch the animals, the people and feel their presence. I watch the trees, the bushes and the crawling in between, but never the grass.

I watch the sky which is blue now with white holes, holes in which you can look deeply, they make noises and talk with me. Today is during the day. The light feeds you, but unfortunately  also the grass.

Tomorrow I never know. I think that tomorrow is a kind of today, only longer. Maybe you are watched there and one has peace with it. Maybe one is in the sky and making noises. It has been silent for a long time. I would like to experience tomorrow. One is not as silent as yesterday, maybe one is not wandering, but everywhere at the same time. I would like to experience tomorrow, even if it just to forget yesterday.

These thoughts feed me more than the sun whose is beaming between white holes and screams with rays. From one point he screams. Yesterday he was not screaming. How else could it be. Yesterday there was to much grass. The grass that wriggles in that what it calls wind, an allay today. Yesterday is an enemy. But that he always was. Yesterday is a night.

Marco
(04 aug 1992)

First the one we all feared, Luc Damion the furi,
ruled the earth, in contradiction with God.
Now just a little child on the threshold of damnation of men.
21 now rule the earth, disguised as grumpy old man.

Wizards with fame, fallen angels some man say.
Cloaked among people their works collide
with the resurrection of mystics in men.
“Ah”, would the philosopher say, “is that not the burden of men”.
but no one knows how the wizards play…

Marco

As confined in a body, one has defined its boundaries and limitations to the physical self. An inward look defines the inner self; an outward look defined the outward self. Awareness of self is defined by the ability to define its own boundaries. Self lies on the border between inner and outer self.

The outer self is dynamically influenced by interactions with its environment; this is also true for the inner self (with its inner environment). However, cross-talk between inner and outer self is an interaction known to both, but it is only just one of the interactions encountered. Interactions define the self, the soul is the ability to learn and infuse (understand) interactions, not the outcome of this process (as is the self). Interactions prevent a periodic repetitive pattern, thus the soul is in a finite-state.

Question: is the soul based on algorithms, does it follow the Halting principle, or does it circumvent this by understanding interactions as a subset of trivial statements (instead of non- trivial statements)?

Marco

It works like a silveren crystal
breaking things to see.
preparing, transforming,
a brief everlasting scene.

One on one on one it builds
a tower to be raised.
I sense a shivering tense,
a moment amazed…

Marco

Creating is a funny thing, it is dynamic, and the parameters defined will change. However, we hope to believe that the underlying principles are universal and binding.

In the old day we cut down a tree, hollowed it out and sat in it. We called it a boat, why not. The boat was a little smaller as the tree was. Then entropy happened and the tree-boat broke down. We repeated the experiment and got boat number two. Entropy continued and we constructed a new longer boat from the previous two. Parts of two tree(-boats) are now greater than one tree. Evolution in boat building resulted in the assembly (by design) of small tree-parts in boats that are much bigger than one tree. The next step is self-assembly. Small parts (of a tree) self-assemble into a boat.

Self-assembly is under investigation. What are the underlying principles, can we make up some rules? We observe self-assembly, we do understand parts. Self-assembly is under development. So we will build via self-assembly.

So what is the next step? A boat that just “is”, not assembly at all? “Build up” from even smaller parts used in self-assembly, or to introduce a term: self-materialization. Fruit for thought…

The same in thinking, or philosophy, it is creative, dynamic, and we try to define some underlying basic principles. However, the underlying principles of hollowing out a tree, hammering some planks together, to throw some “wood-molecules” in a catalyzing matrix (self-assembly), or to snap your fingers and have a boat, are different. The result can be the same though.

So to define the principles of my philosophical thinking, without realizing that they are molded by entropy and that all principles are dynamic, is be flawed. I would be able to define the box I was in, I can only observe and guess which box I am in now.

Were are the edges of my box, is there a box, and why is my thinking limited? These are the problems I hope to solve. However, I do not like to construct the box. I rather see it be defined by self-assembly, hence this blog. On the other hand I do hope that boxes appear all over the place without the catalyzing matrix promoting self-assembly. I hope I can define via self-assembly the box I was in, while creating the parameters of the new creative, dynamic though self-materialization principles. Now that is hard to grasp right now. One thing is sure even this document will change, I just wanted to snap-shot this idea for now…

There is one thing really puzzling me right now though: what is a box?

Marco

Foot by foot, name by name,
deeper, slower, more pain.
Inside insanity breaks a wall.
Walk slowly in the netherworld
and seek what calls.

Older, fouler than evil,
deeper in the earth, in suspension.
The mind hurts, dreaming, seeing, believing
a truth. The truth is ours.
Immortal deceiving.

The waters weep, the tree no heart,
the falcon sweeps vision apart.
A night with no shadow.
The dream of morning light, ends.

An end to reason, and to order.
Forget all that has been.
Another wonder has been seen.

Wide open, deep truth, slow death,
no pain, close range, no lights.
The falcon sweeps vision apart.
The dream of morning light, ends.

Further it goes, the cancer grows in side us all,
closed in by illusions, closed they say it is closed.
Death ends, spiral, circle down.

Foot by foot, name by name,
deeper, slower, more pain.
Inside insanity breaks a wall.
Walk slowly in the netherworld
and seek what calls.

Seek out a light and pull it down inside your mind.
Wear this crown, never cease, never hush, never creep down.
We are at the end of reason, and to order.
Forget all that has been.
Another wonder has been seen.

Marco
for Cryonic Tears