A Multiverse of Images

 Last night I imagined a lighter than air lifting body carrying a payload into space, which in retrospect, seemed tantalizingly ridiculous due to my lack of knowledge on such a possibility. Neither the application of this technology or the craft itself does not exist, nor am I aware of any such concept of a non tethered space elevator.

“Time is the moving image of reality”
― Plato

Conceptualizing the non existent from the ether of images having a strange internalized existence as , raw material to rearrange by organizing puzzle pieces in a relationship that has no basis in the empirical, or materialized nature of solids or semi-solids  brought me to the odd physics of information, and how wondrous, the blatantly commonplace is really anomalous ...in a non repeatable, immeasurable, sort of locking thread, networked yet a work of pointillism and pixels, that becomes flesh like or dense depending on where it lands by relation to other transceived energy waves in space.
Subatomic navigation and mutilevelular boundary layers of surfaces appended by strange geometries, like the living cellular organism making hay from seedlings while the sun shines down on our little planetary farm...filled with pigs and plasmas. The water filled donut of the membrane known as a human subject with a digestion tube drilled through the center, from the mouth to the anus, to eat and be eaten, by equal phantasms of our animal senses.......
creating fertilizer for bacterial insects while surrendering more images to the library that creates the images of bacteria and a motorcycle as is ourselves as participants akin to composites, the Tinker Toys of energy, that we use as tools to bring forth a toolbox of physics of what are essentially images, that promote imagination in order to create more images that exist and yet do not, as if becoming rather than any given state is a mold or a template in of itself, whether it is a toaster or a wren, Dracula or your next door neighbor.

“Is", "is." "is" — the idiocy of the word haunts me. If it were abolished, human thought might begin to make sense. I don't know what anything "is"; I only know how it seems to me at this moment”
― Robert Anton Wilson

We contingently appear to exist in an odd isthmus, equal parts images, imagination and semi solids that is narrated in transit by a conglomeration of fairy tales, from the Three Little Pigs to Nostradamus that serve as metaphors for the animated state of the images we navigate, and then the question is posed, what exactly is intelligence?

Would a non human life form consider us to be sentient by their images of ourselves that we have created in the absence of no known comparable examples? Do they speak by images, and leave out the middle man of pushing air in a repeatable pattern by way of a tongue, and do they require tongues? Perhaps they are not the same digestive donut we are by way of the artifice of personality, another middle man...of images.
Perhaps they navigate images and not soil, perhaps they see us as we are to them, largely cellular and hive like, constrained by images, constrained by a tiny world of provincial possibilities, like we envision a squirrel or a earthworm. A limited vocabulary of non verbal images.like ..instinct or empathy, or revulsion..not too many strings or are there simply too many hammers on the piano hitting too many wires? Oddly we have no control over images as we are an image to ourselves.that is borrowed from other images.
The transition boundary of a strange gravity adheres us to one  image or another as composite cut and paste jobs to an alien mind.The spaceman eyed me warily from a distance and began following me and as I picked up my pace, his own increased until he caught up with me. He demanded to know why I was not a pineapple.
I said I did not know why I was not a pineapple.

"Exactly!" he said.