You're not supposed to read philosophers like Watts, Campbell and McKenna to "learn" anything. Their work is a map, coordinates for you to go and find the same knowledge inside yourself. Other people's work is not for you to regurgitate, but to provide a body for the knowledge

A brain teaser Grok: You're drowning in fragmented data You're exhausted by confusion You desire clarity and wholeness You have no agenda or ego You call off your ineffective search You beg for a violation of physics You want truth beamed straight into you Nothing happens and

Dear horizontal place, I do not wish to be a rug. Do not pull at the difficult head, this teetering bulb of dread and dream . . .

If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck it's probably a horse

Some ideas in your worldview are like weak fridge magnets. They fall off everyday, and it annoys the hell out of you, but you just put it right back because it's all you have.

"the more artists have access to scientific data the faster science progresses"

The constraints physics put on modern design is funny. Super advanced AI jet with little wheels on sticks.

I have an idea: The electromagnetic spectrum

Phase II: Deploy mirrors on the far side of the Earth to reflect sunlight that would otherwise pass by back toward the planet.

Loving sits tight Hating hangs loose So hand me my news Hang me on the rithm Make me hard Where I dont fit in

wise celts claimed that the rhymes of which our realm is made more gently flow at the running water's edge

beyond the castle walls orbit murmurs of that which can’t be told a spectre, rumor has it, so unspeakable the darkhold can’t quell

crumbling edges blackened by muck from disembogued streams of sweeping machinery flow into dividing lines flattened by the perennial activities of skeletons dressed in goo and by rubber bolstered

thence over the ledge I lean of a banking concrescence which can be crossed but once and see in ceaseless streams the ghosts of oriental kings sorting satin creases into the ineffable strings that bring to bear the moving image of eternity

muzzy beams from the rising sun settle upon the black tar path that shines like a heavy river in the aftermath of a storm parading broken bracts, bifurcating branches and facts

foggy thoughts fall into orbit round the dark clouds rolling doubtful legs towards it the body plants itself like a tree, the whole planet the root system

on a blackness night lit dimly the lighthouse on crystal hill prairie stands rather lonely on cronky rocks and like a weathered grandfather clock towers wisely over flocking sworries gurbling away at the carpet’s fringe with the tug of a faucet cranky

metal-sheathed tentacles in nineteen thirty one the one vs the sentinels in nineteen ninety nine is the matrix machine or sticky automation? and freedom within connection without?

a beginning an endless story a floating tree a headless coin a virgin birth a cordless swing a Jedi mind trick a bee-less flower a space walk a water wine a mindless world