Brain-Bubble Burst Boxing

Tagged as oneirotics, space, war, shards
Prev leashed un 2019-06-02T0400

TERROR WARNING: The weak of spirit would call this a waking nightmare; they who have so diligently abraded all traces of spirit against the lathe of heaven must recognize it by now as merely the latest page in a choose-your-own horrorshow.

In chilling duality to that recurrent sensation wherein the final peace found at the end of freefall is merely sudden resumption of consciously sensing the equilibrated support of one's own somata, one of the worst states of mind into which to awaken is the panic of an uncontrolled dive from full comprehension of plexure hypervalent than the waking state: final grips at an idea's full graph alternate with sense data, and soon enough the tendency of entertaining the illusion of control compels the counting compulsion to reveal that the two sequences tend in opposite directions. Punt that observation of how the Zeroth Impersonal is less lonely than the person into whom I now awake, in favor of hinting the local nabla, that it may guide tomorrow's turn...

Imagine an amphiphilic fluid near criticality, foaming as it struggles to contain the nucleated vapor phase within at least two surfaces of liquid. The liquid itself churns, oligomers forming and vanishing while enthalpy dances between the phases. Consider only those oligomers lasting longer than the relaxation time of the pressure imbalance across a punctured membrane; and consider only those regions of the liquid sufficiently thin to contain no more than a single layer of so-called bulk separating the surfaces. The arrangement of such units is enumerable, whether the fluid is water or words.

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