"Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout
A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway.."
More fuel to the fire that burns without heat..in regard to Jacques Vallee's ground breaking lecture at TED which outlined the roots of coincidence regarding the basis of organic life being an expression of genomic information made three dimensional to the eye, that indirectly suggests parallel dimensions of a similar expression in ourselves as well as existing as an extension that exists without us, at the isthmus of experiential observation..neither completely flesh nor completely information but a hybridised expression of the word made flesh..to use a 2,000 year old expression..perhaps it is more art than rigorous architecture..as Paul Kimball has suspected, that animates the mirror we occupy.
From one of my favorite leading edge physicists, Brian Joesphson.
"It is commonly assumed that nature can be described in terms of ﬁxed mathematical laws. However, the discovery that the Standard Model cannot be reconciled with general relativity in a straightforward way has created problems for this point of view. An alternative is Wheeler’s proposal to the eﬀect that participation by observers, as postulated in some formulations of quantum mechanics, is the mechanism whereby physical laws emerge.
According to Wheeler, that principle might suﬃce to build everything.."
Then again, it was Alan Watts who suggested that “Man suffers only because he takes seriously what the gods made for fun.” or “Problems that remain persistently insoluble should always be suspected as questions asked in the wrong way.”
At times, when I read a paper like this or theories regarding the root of materialism being information as a form of energy expressed in spacial terms, all of this seemingly underlines the impenetrable mystery of our role in these passages and transformations inasmuch we know so little regarding our own orientation. At times it seems we are descending into a vast cavern with the pinpoint of a flashlight to guide us, and therefore nothing is in proportion to it's nature, rather we compare everything to our own nature which is sketchy at best. And yet as a contrast to this, almost as a parallel to the observer effect, our species individually is given a name, a role, a sort of stage on which to act in the light of day..like" the pretty nurse selling poppies from a tray'..
.“We seldom realize, for example that our most private thoughts and emotions are not actually our own. For we think in terms of languages and images which we did not invent, but which were given to us by our society.”
― Alan Wilson Watts
Birthdays as another invention come and go and another is rapidly approaching me counted as the 63rd of them, and yet perennial questions of what, why and wherefore remain in regard to our occupying this very bizarre position, oriented in a sort of Disneyland of sociological culture. It is not as if these questions prevail themselves as to impede as they say, my performance..and yet like the negative on a photographic film, this little flashlight peers into dim caverns and rather becoming more coherent, I seemingly have grown more humility in the face of going along to get along, like some sort of sharp rock grown smooth by the geologic passage of a torrent. A great deal of noise without content seems to grow louder every time I see a proverbial stalagmite growing in the midst of autonomic chatter arising from this Disneyland of opinions. At times, I think I resemble the fellow in this photograph, sweating under the weight of this costume I have been sewn into..Goofy the dog has got nothing on me. One could say this is a reflection of the play inherent in life.
In a similar vein, other voices, similar concepts regarding the embedding of information in living systems...
Well that is all that is fit to print on my little keyboard my invisible friends out there in the equally virtual Web Land and so I am off to do errands over on Penny lane. I might bump into Mr Lennon, who seemed to get balance his walking stick on the same contradictory trajectory of surrealist tendencies while wrestling with ourselves as inhabitants of a human zoo. Yes, he was the walrus...and will remain so until I get off the bus.
Of course, the melding of music and surrealism in another place and time seems timeless inasmuch as some things never change while we come and go on our shopping trips through the biology of information...