Friday, January 13, 2017

The A to Z of Theresa May’s Brexit

Tesla Is Snatching Apple's Stars to Make Itself the New Apple

Netflix Wants the World to Binge-Watch



There is a difference between being dead,  and being alive -  but unconscious.  It helps though to live in a developed world,  where you are helped from one instant to another.  because it is very easy to be alive one moment,  and truly dead the next.  the world over can do only so much,  so much in that he can keep you living -  but all together unconscious.  this was the state that I was in after the brain injury struck me -  only that I was near a hospital which could plug me into a  machine,  which would do my breathing for me.  after that,  they did not think I would ever come back to consciousness -  the chances were almost non-existent.

In that my body surprised them -  and on the third week,  I came shambling back.  But it was a slow back.  because I did not wake immediately to the world of the living,  but a strange world where I was the only conscious person,  though there were people who I knew to be figments of my imagination.  They talk to me,  and I could talk to them.  But in my head before they talked to me,  I knew what they were going to say.  now I was bright,  so this happened even before. Most people you could know what they were going to say before they  said it.   however,  if it is all the time -  then eventually you realize that your talking to a figment of your imagination.  everything which is offscreen does not exist in this world,  while in the real world -  things exist whether or not you can see them.

It was at this point that I decided to truly make up.  But I did not know how long I had been unconscious.  It could have been years,  and I would wake up to find my face aged significantly and there was nothing I could do about it.  the years that were left to me were going to be different,  and by different I imagined "worse".  that held me for a moment,  because in my unconscious state I could be truly myself,  and could depend on my faculties.  but in the real world,  those faculties might not be as reliable. There are a great many things which everything in the body and the brain has to function correctly.  this was not the case if one was imagining -  things worked better than before,  for example I could leap a great distance,  and talk,  and do those other things which in the real world might not be possible.

But,  if I wanted to speak to someone else,  a real someone else -  I would have to wake up.  that was the first decision point -  to line unconscious,  dreaming of a world which I was the master of,  or to interact with others. Your decision could well be different -  and you would not find me  objectionable to it. However, I decided that other people were more important than having all of my faculties -  so I woke up.


Waking up,  however,  is not an easy thing to do.   you think are going to do so,  but somehow things go badly.  you do not know if you have woken up until someone else responds to a question,  or asks one which you did not expect.  it is only after several attempts that this truly happens -  the other times you do not know if you have woken up,  though I like to think that I had but no one noticed or no one was there.  it does not occur  to me that one of the faculties which was not present was a field of view.  I later found out that I could only see what was in front of the,  rest of my vision was obscured.  Though actually I had known that the mind constructs most of the field of view and only updates the differences,  This did not occur to me at the time. 

I also learned that people were watching me during the day,  people who knew me before I had a stroke.  people who wished the well.  people who,  in some cases,  loved me -  and hoped I would achieve consciousness.  And on that day when I did,  celebrated a minor victory.

In point of fact,  it was day one -  the day I began re-learning how to do many things.  Including speak.


If you think about it,  the Internet is a fertile field,  waiting for you to discover it.  it can to many things -  but you have to use it.  which means you must plug in a computer.  which means you must login to a computer.  which means you must ask for a computer,  and have it plugged in -  and know  the password. 

Now this seems simple.  and it is,  for most people.  they sit down at a computer,  type the password,  and magically things pop into place.

It does not appear in the thought process of engineers which build computers,  that this would not be a tremendous hurdle.  Oh,  but it is,  it is.  that is the point where you realize that your brain needs to translate inner thoughts to outer thoughts.  this is for most people in  grained.  it was for me before my accident,  and for everyone that I knew.  but you realize a very sad thing.

You cannot speak yet.  not in the real world.  so you go to bed and sleep a while,  and figure out your next move when you are conscious.  you pass again through the fictional world,  and partake of pleasures which you do not know how to do in the flesh.

Then you wake up,  and try again.


So he wake up,  and you open your mouth.  when last you were among the living,  you could speak in several languages.  but now you are limited to " yes", " no"  and some third object which you could not pronounce -  it was an object invented by Gödel.  and is truly only in mathematics which it could be completely described. 17Gen(r).

You finally see a person which is not an imaginary thing.  you finally realize that it will take a long time to operate your computer.  after that,  either it will not be possible -  or it will take time.  but time is the one thing that you have mastered,  the one thing which separates you from the dead.  Though you do not realize it,  being part of the dead is no longer an option.

5 Aug 1914

A, not the, Zeppelin

5 Aug 1914
Near midnight

There had been a break in the overcast, which revealed stars. On board the zeppelin were six men who were going to bomb along the route, and ending up in Belgium, at Limoges. Hard faced captain was unknown to most people, but within the group, he was known as the best, he had survived, and that was rare. In fact, quite rare. There was only a few streaks of light which emerge from the gloom, and he would read them and then determine the results in darkness until he could read when they passed over floodlights. It good only be read as an intense time, to the captain, and most of the crew. What he was asked to do was bomb this place, and get out if possible, there is no sense in saying that it was likely.

He broke his first pencil, and rapidly securing and dark manage to find new one, more by feel then anything else. The generals were being exact, which was no way to run this ship. It was more by feel them by exactly calculations, but no general would believe that. They wanted order, and discipline, order discipline were the gods of their little realm. But they weren't because of this world upstairs and beyond the reach of guns, and loaded rifles. They were very like in her design, and wisp of life floating in an unholy, but none the less discernible place.

He looked down to where the dirigible mainlines were being severed, realizing that once they were free, he would never see them again. And in fact that was good, he could stand people who stood firmly on the ground, give him men of the aire every single time, he would understand them, and they would understand him, and that was better.

Almost by the he, he felt the weaving back and forwards of zeppelin, flowing in the air, as much as boats float along water. He knew this would be a good flight, better than almost any of them. Most dirigible pilot's wanted to do safe things, attacking nothing, and observe everything. But this captain wanted to get in the fray, and he selected men beneath that were the same way. They were hard headed - where as the troops on the ground were heavy handed, and at that point did not understand what the air was for. They looked up, and rather than see trails through shadow that we see, they would see trails that were, to them, ethereal and without cause. And they did not like them, not one bit. They, in about muttering what tell you that there is no good to be caused by this bombing run, a should instead build machines such as artillery. People in the year knew better, only they could see how to get the ground people to realize that this was the future.

Even during war, their were wars between states, and their were other wars which recruited people but were in fact different, and people killed them selves who were otherwise friends. For example, there were people in the air war, which were friends in flight, and then were enemies of the state. This is why everything ,and nothing, are alike.

The pilot guides the ship, not really taking advantage of the many things that he can do, because thou masters of the ship think that it is necessary. What he needs to do is get a hold of the ship, and rather than force her to do his work, guide the ship so as she and he are one. This is the main point: rather than guide something that is not-him to do work, he must merge the ship to be part of the process. Thus his flicking between left and the right, is as much for his knowledge has it is for the ship. He is at peace, when he and the ship are one. Gradually there is no difference, and the the buoys, which control the ship, are in fact one between them both. Their is rhythm, he checks one thing and another down his list of 35 or so things. Whether the winch is loose, whether it's taught, all things that he wouldn't even recognize as things he has to do, he just does them, and they in turn, as if magic, do themselves, under his guidance.

Then they are truly aloft, with all of the noise below them, and only stars love above them. He said is eye on one of them, a bright star named Antares which settled in to the left, and though not entirely, it was the main sail in his quest for further stars. Beneath them were stars of different kind, man made, but the same stuff in its own way. Stars above, and stars below.

He heard a call from forward in the vessel, it was the third in command, telling him that he was to high in the vessel, and he should shoot for lower if he could. He nodded, to himself, if anyone, and corrected his course right thumb pushing up, and left hand pushing down. And in less than a minute the third officer cleared him, and told him that that was all right, though no words which you or I could understand had been passed between us, just marks as in the old day when Mark Twain passed in two dimensions. Then it was peaceful, with only touching the knobs to adjust. Then he stood very still, and know motion was called for by below or above.

He saw that clouds were moving adrift, and he could see more and more light from below, rather than darkness, it was clearing, and very rapidly so. This meant he would have to be redoubled in his efforts, because men from the ground could easily spot him now that there was little air between them. He would have two be wary, and on guard. This would be the most dangerous part of the flight, and he rattled left and right just to play with them. Remember it is dark where the ship is, and their isn't light that can pierce upwards into darkness.

Then he directed the ship to the point of attack in [], it was brighter than usual star, only it was on the ground and it shown with lights that were man made, I know I've been saying this repeatedly, but it is important. It was clear, though getting cloudier in darkness ahead. He knew he would have one chance and one chance only to deliver the bombs, and get out of the way. Surprise was the key element of their attack, their were no combat air patrols, it was truly peaceful sky, with all of the bric-a-brac not present. No, not a air patrols, no civilian, no military. He drifted the ship downwards along certain path that had selected in advance. Every minute count, because every minute was one less that people could get away from the bomb blast. Yes, he was evil, not just going through the motions.
But no one from the ground had seen them yet, and that was better than expected.

“Right rudder, and hurry about it.”

The command was abrupt, because if it had failed their would be no turning back. But the right rudder was normalized, though just barely so. He had signed, that was a close one, though only he and the second in command knew it. The other parties on the ship were oblivious to it, and that is the way he wanted it. Somehow that made his responsibility, even though he did not know what would be killed next, but even so it was still his responsibility. Perhaps because only he knew, if anyone did, when it eventually killed over.

Thus it was with a glee which was warm on the inside, that he traced the crosshairs to a single point, and with that point crossed the two pin theirs together, and walloped them. There was a warm feeling, down to his feet, not unlike fish that had been warmed up, and even fresh and whole. He pondered whether this was part of the death that he felt when ever it had betrayed him. But he decided he would not think about this, there was too much work to be done, too much betrayal to meet out. The killing urge had struck him, and he could not help but listen. Then he gritted his teeth and said blast bombs in two the fury. They are was only minimal damage from a couple of guns which had only glanced, there was no question they had not been hit. In only a few minutes he had expended all of the bombs, and as he did so he was emasculated, totally drained. He was a shell of his former self, getting by without without any compunction, there was no will at all. His ship turned around, so he did not remember giving the order. And with that there was nothing left to do, but slip away into the darkness. But the darkness was no friend of theirs, it would be cruel them until they got down to the surface.

The build up was long, and torturous, and then there was a short duration of darkness, and then along and weary road back after having done the damage. He knew from the way that absolutely nothing, that each person felt the same way. He raised the rudder, and slipped away, ghostly in to the night. Every one of them fell trained, pencils drooped down from his arm, having done its work. There was no time to waste, the had to get the ship turned around, a course which was designed to cover their tracks, because the immediate bearing was not the correct one, it had been north of the true course.
So it went on to the true course about 20 minutes later, and looked away into the darkness as if nothing had happened. The captain made sure that his course was correct, and they were back in the flow. He hid the ship under the clouds, and disappear into the darkness.

The there was one of wrote pattern, which was almost like noise, but quiet noise. They were swimming through was a shambling mess. He could not see any of the features, or size of that he recognized, every thing was a blur, the clouds were thick, and he could only see details, details that did not add up. He scratched numbers, though you really could not see them very well. He guessed and flew into blackness, but with holes which resembled something like the ground that he was looking for. He moved the right hand backwards and left hand forwards, hoping against hope that this was the right option, but he did not know this, but again no one else knew.

He gradually gritted his teeth with Noise, and more to himself, so no one else could here it. There was ringing in his ears, almost, but not quite, beyond words. It was a high of sound, which only he could hear, but inside his head it was interminably allowed, so loud in fact he could barely hear himself otherwise. He then cited pinpoint on the ground, and he knew that this was the place he had to land. Of all the places on ground, he knew that at once. It would be some accomplishment to describe things he did, but basically he was a rider, in a peculiar kind of way. He nuzzled himself. 

Then, without thinking about it, he called to the crew to be ready. Knowing that they too would do similar kinds of emotions in their particular way to set the course of dirigible - in a few minutes it would be over, and done.

Than back down the ship he screamed was heard, and the captain knew that someone had moved something inexactly, the end if they did not quash whatever was there, all things would be consumed - and each one would, in his own way, perish, not together, but alone, died alone. Then he knew they were dying, each one of them, he heard distinctly the second officers crying, third officers moaning and weeping, he heard the gunman, deep in the back cursing to himself. Over what it knew, it was something which had nothing to do with this. Then it was his turn, to fire back on the back of his leg, right leg has turned out, and burned all the way through and ate at his skin, gnawing and
crawling, both above and below, down to his leg, and up to his waist, it was slow because this did mean he was going to die, quite yet. There were things that he wished for, and he knew that among the many people, he was the captain for good reasons. A kaleidoscope of colors, each one picture, or thought, Reminded him that everything would be dark soon, but not yet. Time had stood still, every second lasting a minute, and he timed every second as if it were his last. Then this world was free of him, he realized that he had not seen with his eyes, but imagined the picture instead. Then suddenly he was free, and some very interesting things were occurring, none of them were expected at all. At least by him.

At first he did not know he was dead, he felt the same way as here lies would have, just lighter and more resonant than before. Then you realized he was looking upwards at the zeppelin crash and burning and him self as falling upwards. He twisted and contorted, he had no control. Then he straightened himself outwards, falling downwards and there was heat on his back, though it did not quite feel like he bought burning sensation. And it was in long sentences that he remembered this, because he knew he was lying on his face. So he was remembering, or recollecting, not simply experiencing.

It wasn't fair he felt, he had so much to do. And then he realized, he was departing this world quite yet, because he had so much to do, so much to do, and so little time to do it.

But instead of feeling very degraded, the felt as light as a feather, and as giddy as someone who was five or six, with all things that that entails - the light headedness, which seemed to go on for ever. He was giggling, truly giggling, as if nothing else mattered. He did not know what to make of it, is was as if he were in a trance, and then he saw something which alarmed him: the zeppelin was going down, beneath his feet. He wasn't just feeling has light as a feather, he was a flight as a feather, free to do what he wanted to do, if he only knew what that was. Then he drifted back down, more likely than he thought he could, and drifted, drifted until he was stuck half way up to the ground.
It was an odd feeling, as if you just stood out from their first door, and felt loose across his face. It was as if had dirt pulling over the body, pouring In to every crevice in his body. It seemed crass to him, every pore wanting to be oiled, but instead creased and cramped. Than he felt as if he were climbing with ants, and even felt so, though he found none. But the feeling would wash over him two or three more times, subsiding as it the thing at all had to defined it. Then he stood, with all of his might not devoted to scratching, and looked around getting his bearings. He was on the dirigible, and it was dark, so that he was blinded not from darkness, but from light. The light. The light. He did not know where the light came from, and in his memory never did. But there is place not know to the memory which knew.

Thus he stood almost motionless, watching the dirigible plummet in to the ground face forward, with everything else distant memory. There were plumes, parading their way up, until they vanished, to be replaced by another set equally and the same though different. There was an ebb and flow to them, they would glance up words, and then tamp down to only rise again. It was almost as if things were in slow motion, and perhaps they were, because he did not know if there was any kind of magic in the way that the preceded perceived things, and that was no minor feat before people had thought of it quite the same way as we do in the 20th century. And for a moment he knew that, though consciously he did not believe that that was possible. But as an unconscious fact the new that it was true.
Than in the center of the zeppelin, he saw transfigured ways, first of light, then of darkness, they were transferred to everything that they touched, and they listened as nothing else did. This was strange and magical, nothing like he, or almost anyone else, could imagine. His eyes were luminescent as he saw the creeping's of light and dark, and the spaces in between fluorescing as if they came in and out of darkness in to light.

There were no stars, though he knew they were out there, someplace. Then the brittle metal shattered, and pulsed into the ground. Almost stopped in his tracks, waiting to see what would happen next. Then piece of the shimmering was aimed straight for him, and he knew that this would be it, though in one part of his brain he realized that it might not be it, because he was not corporate, but many other sections of his brain did not believe it. Then he was consumed, consumed as if nothing could matter, and he was in blackness. As black as night. He thought that would be it, and in the last second set of prayer to God for is many, for he knew he was evil, sins. He prayed to the Virgin Mary, for his little girl, who was pure of all of this, into his wife which new his wickedness and loved him all the same, because she had had in inside of her, laughing as she did so. He glanced at her hair, on the inside, stroking its blonde tenuous structure. Golden in that way which he imagined it to be, though he knew that that was a lie. Then he saw, though this too was lie, that shimmering head of hair which was his wife was fate.

But he gave sleep, and instead he was formed into many threats, on was part of the mountain, one was beside the shore, another one, still another one, was on playing fields, where the dirigibles slept, waiting there turn to be used. He saw the broken up pieces of the ship that had carried him and his crew, and almost all the way back again. But it was almost, and shoots off of him were testament to what could happen. Like he could not do was focus, it seems as if there were a dozen offshoots all vying for his attention. Each one of them was interesting in its own right, each one clamoring for attention, each one breathless in its nature.

It was almost as if the consciousness was rebounded, and no thought could finish before the next thought gave way, gave way to that other place that he was now staring into, but did not know.
Then he caught a group on things, he wanted to know if there were any others of his group, and where they were. This started as a gnawing in is brain, if he had a brain to speak of, and became a consuming obsession. Has he did so, the forms gave way to one, and only one, conscious thought. Gone were the fields, and the mountains, in every other place which was here he was again standing, though not in the same place as before. He realized that he could disassemble his consciousness, and re-assembly, if he knew how he had done it, just now.

But now he was solid, and enraptured in a human form, cloaked in some semblance of his former uniform, though he could tell that it was just a form and not really garments per se. The same thing was true of his boots, they were not really there but just a fashion of themselves. He glanced at all of these things and then girded himself, and took a stride and then another. Soon he w, as walking, grimly and determined, as if he was going to go someplace, and find out which, if any, of his crew were like him, though he doesn't know what to call himself. Clearly he was not human, but he did not know what he was, phantasm, a ghost, whatever he was he was not dead but not alive yet either.

A grimace was appearing on is face, he was determined to find out what was going on. Through the heather and weight, over taking clover. Their was more than just site, there were feelings, and sound, and even smells that he remembered from his childhood. But all different, and yet all the same. He trod towards the wreckage now being put out by human numbers of the tribe. He felt pity upon them, so he could explain why, after all he was dead, or rather half dead, and they were so living, but he could see how they were stressing and straining, clawing for every bit of ground. They were pitiful because each moment the plotting along, 1 foot in front of the other, each moment as before. He wondered why he had never heard this, this place caught in neither the living, or maybe had and just dismissed these fantasies as the ravings of a mad lunatic. Or what people talk of when they do not make any more sense. Only he was dropped in this world, and he liked it, adored it, because there were many things he could now do, if only he had the will to do them, because new that there had to be some way for him to affect the living.

The next thing he noticed, was he did not have to look around, he did not just see with his eyes, but which ever part he looked with, from the bottom of his feet, to wisps of his hair, it was always the same. It was almost as if every part of his body was aware. So thoroughly aware in fact, that it was painful. And that was interesting because he had not experienced pain in this form at all. This was not the pain that he knew from before, it was removed and distant, as a lark calling in the distance. Its sigh, as if it was reaching out to him, but did not think it was anything other than pain, searing pain in fact. It was as if it was another life, conjoined wit h his own, but yet separate from him.
He had to get focused, focused on what he was doing. While the delights and pains were real, and terrorising, he had to get focused on where the crew were, and if would see them at all, because there was no guarantee of that.

So he moved, effortlessly, though haunted by something that was there on the ground, and he could feel it. It was as if it were a shadow, mimicking his movements, copying them, on the ground. He stopped and gestured with his hand, and saw on the ground the same movements, but they were not his in the same way his hand was. It was as if he had a double, doing what he did, only on the ground. A simulacrum, if you will, a double, moving as he moved. Standing where he stood. But he knew that this feeling would not stop, and there were things, now, that had to be attentive to, or he would lose his crew. And he did not want that, not in the least, and his crew would follow him, to the ends of your if need be. But not if they knew that they were attached to him even beyond the grave. He would push until he had the obedience from them which he required. And then push some more, and then more, and still finally more, until he got what he wanted.

Then he moved effortlessly, and amissed all of the swirling motion induced that some of the swirling motion was through his leg, but bit of it went long his leg, as it was supposed to. Just, mind you, but he could feel this, or he thought he could. So tried to see if this was a reaction, or if it was something out of a dream. He couldn't tell, most of it was hazy. But if it was so, that tiny bit of friction and that he was there, not a dream, then could be solid if only for a moment. This would mean that, even if vaguely, some amount of his presence was corporeal. He really hoped that would be the case. And if it was, that little bit was at least enough to tell him, how ever tenuously pause, that he could have found effects, if only tangentially. Because it would also mean that the being outside could, even if not knowing, could detect his existence.He became still, and decided to test this assertion, right here, right now. But how to do so, because he had no claim, or other such entity, which would allow. So he just had to improvise, and see whether or not it really did join, or not. He stopped, and knelt down as if to get his arms dirty, and that he realized, that that was not going to make a difference, standing or seated, because the wind was going to care, and was going to care. Of blowing of the wind was seamless and imaginaliss, be he standing or sitting up. He was gripped by indecision what to do, and for a moment, he did not know what to do. Then he got a hold of himself, and took him self to task, and got on his original project to find the men of his crew and put them to work, which was going to be a project in itself. Then, and only then, would he pursue more distance projects, including this one, which were further down the line.

So eagerly he stood up, and trod to where the embers of the dirigible were still burning in the night. He noticed that he could see again from any direction, including backwards, and he noticed that there was no difference at all between the viewing, up or down, left, right, up above, or down below, it was all the same to him, even as he was walking. This he caught used to. While in a manner of speaking, he got used to it but there was a nervous tic about it that welled up, so he tried to calm this. Remember, every time he felt something, it was corporeal even though he was. He thought there were two pattern, which never came. It was indeed odd, but he would get used to it, even if it was the last thing he did. There would be order, and he said himself to doing just that, order, order, order, order. He would maintain order, and resolved not to fill in the gaps.

Order, order, order, order, order.

Each motion became synonymous with order, and discipline, and each motion was the same, not close to, the same.

If it was the last thing he did on this world, he would have order and discipline in his motions.
Feet to the front, arms had rested, crisp in order to his legs, stretching as if each step was the first and last. Each them a small step forward, gazing in to the blackness. Order and discipline.
Until, at last, he became what he had been in life: machine of duty, order, and discipline. Then and only then, would he surround himself with the variety of senses, taking in the view which did not have to necessarily have the vision in his feet. You do not understand how much his vision depended on his eyes, it was unnerving, but he had mastered it.

But couldn't establish the view anywhere but outside the body, however much he tried to do so. He couldn't have order in his feet, and expensiveness in his feet, no matter how much he tried. And he did try all the way up to where stood. At this point other things directed his vision.
He made his body to stop running, and posed a moment to survey this new territory in his new form, because it was after all different. He could see shapes that he knew were not visible to the corporeal eye, and he knew that other shapes which were resonant, to not appear so to him. He guessed that the light that he saw was redder, lacking that crisp clear view of violet which made things as if they were fuzzy, rounded, as if a halo surrounded everything, it was if everything was illuminated. Ghostly, in fact.

With this did for the scenery was it gave glory where the air around everything a crackle, where the air around it all was surging and ebbing away. Once again the halo effect. He realized this was going to be a feature, at least in lower light. He also felt that the light was piercing him, as much as he was piercing like. As if it stared at him, just as much as he stared at it. He was just beyond the pale, glow that was shimmering just beyond the boundaries of himself. Then he decided to walk in to it. He noticed that even bright light was even to his eyes. This was different, different from how he was use to in a living state, where soot and blackness would crest over his eyes and lead to darkness.

Then he was fading in to blackness, reliving the sprawling that said to him that he was slipping apart. Fade. Blackout. Cut. Words that just had new meaning from cinematography.

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