Freefall-lphlogiston Through Hilbert's Hotel
leashed un 2021-07-13 AM

originally dreamt within 2021-01-25 \pm one week
reconstructed at least three days later

did not awake from multiple impacts, arguably due to
bracing self as described at end of Angels&Demons

setting: endless construction site of hotel, open at
ground floor, excavations below and babylon above

fell from construction floors, where state
indistinguishable from artwork gallery,
accidentally into billionaire voyeurist corridor
surrounding executive conference chamber;
absailed to lobby, walked to dining hall for meal
where encountered three from TAU; interrupted
their table, dragged by their race to street,
where occurs unpaved sand hell nightmare awakening.


The nightmare's closing details are recalled easily, despite the weeks elapsed, both sober and otherwise, and the deliberate omission of their precise description at the time. Instead of boring you with the horrors, let's pretend that you wanted guidance in finding more pleasant and interesting reading material; provided that one of the students had a copy of a properly detailed physics textbook, I'd recommend that one chapter I can never seem to find on time, although I always know exactly where it should be: right between the ones about applied thermodynamics of compressible fluids, and spectroscopy.

Do Zombies Dream In Neutrino-Speak?
leashed un 2021-02-05 garbage collection, AM
Vincent: I don't know how to thank you.
Jerome: No, no; I got the better end of the deal:
I only lent you my body; you lent me your dream.

from the movie Gattaca

Nearly two years have elapsed between the timestamp appearing in this shard, @2019-04-17T03:12:19+02:00, and the date that appears above, and although the mental missile keeps on keeping its course, regarding nothing other than its lightcone, and whatever bits of divine intervention dribble coherently across the abhorrent vacuum, there gradually surface remnants of the mind, fragments discarded by previous processes with concern for neither precision nor parallelism of a hyperballistic garbage collector, and eventually their finalization must be considered.

In the most general sense, everyone dreams, since that word encompasses everything ranging from the happy hopes of an idle moment, to the murky unlanguageables that haunt the sleeping mind. One of this site's recurring undercurrents is the interpretation of the latter, for they frequently hold a mirror to both the collective unconscious, and unconscious the individual, through which the conscious recollector may one day remembrance. The pleasant ones tend to leave a wistful longing, where the waking state is dominated by a nostalgia for actual past events, frequently confused with those of the dream; nightmares, however, rarely invoke that emotion, and instead tax the simulator's abilities with mimicry of both the world's behavior, and the electromechanics of the protagonist's own motions, to the point where the lucid mind is no longer fooled, and rips through the illusion into wakefulness.

Of course, the categories aren't always so mutually exclusive, and occasionally a challenging experience entices, while a happy one is dull; most relevant to the action taken by the woken individual is the simplest of questions: would you rather remember, or forget?

Face-Free Recognizer[blee Human; Edges Sharp!]
leashed un 2021-01-03 morning birdsong

It's not much; definitely not enough for an effort at reconstructing the truth, however alleged you may allege mine be, nor should I give details sufficient to place the geography, leaving instead only cues for those who recognize, and voynichal salad for those who don't.

;;;;;
title: Greenshifted Spake From The Head,
or: How I Learned To Worry STOP
tags: school, people, truth, geography, prose
date: 2020-11-02
;;;;;

This one's dedicated  to the school-girl-city
who reminded me, during an expected interdiction
of my  restless pacing  through the  both sleepy
and  ambullomutationally hollow  suburb, at  the
north of its tidal  sewage, open to the freshest
swills  of  the   Ostajhian  Puddle,  where  the
innocent and guilty frolick alike through desert
dunes, paved and tarred lanes, and under rooftop
weather vanes,  that although dogs go,  and cats
me-ouch, too,  and snails  die under  John's Old
Brown Shoe, one must never forget that goats can
eat, bleat, climb, rhyme, and have an all-around
jolly good time.

Although I must acknowledge honorable mention
to  those   who  have  encouraged   me,  through
ridicule,  anger,  incredulous faith,  and  most
importantly, dance-free safe,  that although the
most  important techologies  are  those that  no
sane green  man, while he patrols  the Corridors
of  Time,  should  expect to  find  absent  when
falling through a one-way floor, there are a few
that work no more.

Instead  of  pretending   to  understand  the
broken  symmetries  of   the  vector  guage,  as
normalized   relative   to   few-dozen-component
Johnson  noise across  a hand's  span of  mostly
empty  printed circuit  boards,  I  will tell  a
story that never happened,  about a soldier that
my brother quite  possibly personally instructed
in  every important  skill of  the variety  that
keeps certain  cases alive, certain  cases dead,
and avoids shooting uncertain dire wolves in the
head;   and   for  the   unavoidably   pervasive
imposition that words  describe actions, instead
of  merely patterning  the  shape  of the  world
across flat  space, and mapping  the projections
sattallittic onto oblate  spheroids without ever
considering  whether  the Integral  Trees  could
consider the  unidirectionality of  time's arrow
as  mathematical certainty,  I will  continue my
avoidance of  scalable vector  graphics, bitmaps
both compressed  and chromatically  reduced, and
include    a   small    amount   of    paragraph
justification  for  purposes   of  allowing  the
prosecutors  a  sideband,   through  which  they
invariably accuse  me of wasting fuel  for music
school; and I reserve in the hearts and minds of
the architects untimed one special place for the
invariable  case, computationally  equivalent to
the Axiom  of Choice, wherein the  world's shape
is described in  softly spoken direction cosines
and aggressively murdered men.
What Made The Good Cops Different?
leashed un 2020-12-15 winter sunset

Although, as men older and wiser than myself have observed in the archives, there are few reasons to increase the rate with which one encounters the enforcement branches of the public service, I have often, and usually do, as a matter of policy, disregarded this priority when planning the path taken in retrospect by the author of the next mind, resulting in a number of encounters with the local fuzz.

Although the precise documentations in the relevant departments almost certainly differ, possibly wildly, from the descriptions that I have listed, my record is sufficiently diffuse that they can probably serve as mnemonics for either interested party.

namer of profession 2014  racketeering sting
claims investigator 2017? stolen tree splint
deliverer of corpus 2018  altercation with
head of corrections 2018   ... pub bouncer
tlv-jaffa detective 2018   ... same incident
tlv-jaffa detective 2019  assault? battery?
tlv-jaffa detective 2020 ... breached peace!

Over the next few years, as I see necessary, I will write of specific commendable actions taken by each officer noted in the above list; I doubt any of them recall the incidents as anything other than another day on the job, for they did nothing beyond what can be expectated of their profession. I avoid writing of the other extreme, in the hope that I may forget the people, despite how impossible it seems to forget their actions. I often avoid writing precise descriptions of the settings, although I'm aware that the convoluted confluence of unconvicted innocence, convinced guilt, and inequivalences of architectural practices, simmering metastable across that paper-fine hyperplane, itches.

A Fossil Named "Zehu: A So-So Just-So Story"
leashed un 2020-09-24

Occasionally, thought-trains derail at the most opportune moments, allowing the plausible deniability of any recall regarding the author's intent, inspiration, nor catalyst.

title: Zehu: A So-So Just-So Story
tags: war, school, verse
date: 2020-07-20 20:11'07"
;;;;;
The following words are not fiction.


Zehu hasipur shel katsin beshem Bingo

Bee    Ayyy    NGO
Be    Aint   NGO
be    no   NGO
for bingo weren't
his name, no!

Ratsu lemamen  la nahar et  ha Ringo
bezmansheha deshe vehageshem bli Singo

baWadi   notru :? ohalim    vemotot
letsido: khayyalim, shehemtinu lirot;
haspaka leshavua, shvuayyim, belakhats;
oolai gam kumta imhatseva shelpalkhats!
zerem khazak, mibirkaim vamata;
takhmoshet beshefa, pkuda shenatata;
madim yeshanim, tikim, vesakim;
kamuvan gam hamon, hamon, sakinim;
rak tipa khomer gelem lasotsiometri,
lemniyat hivatsrut od tsava psichometri;
plugat tsoarim, yeshenim amukot;
ve shomer sheshama:
"Au secours, sale cabot."



Bits, both rotten and otherwise, preserved arbitrarily; the school tag, while removed from this post, is arguably still relevant.

Brain-Bubble Burst Boxing
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.

Advice From An Instructor
leashed un 2019-05-15 01:45

Barely over a decade ago, I had my conversation last (at the time of this writing) with an inspiration - words don't do him justice, so I'll use as few as possible, though fallibility and fatalism compel the use of a few extra. I don't remember our full exchange - for it took place over minutes scattered down the hours and years, blown across forest trails, grassy diamonds, and endlessly flowing pitch, level for a fleeting lifetime - so I'll avoid quoting the exact words leading to the following misinterpretations, although if reinterpret them you must, I recommend that you do so with the assistance of one or more of the locutors present at the time of that speaking...

1. If you must shoot, shoot to kill.
2. If your first shot isn't likely to kill, make sure you're sufficiently familiar with the firearm that you can send off a handful.
3. Kill with at least one bullet.
4. Don't be the guy who gets shot in his sleep on the beach.
5. Don't write that book.
6. If you must enlist, think once; think twice; and enlist.

He is quite likely to have meant at least one of those interpretations, and someday I hope to ask him which of those unintended were not incorrect.

With Kind Regards To Future Students Of The Distant Past
leashed un 2019-04-23 0648

As you may be aware, efforts are underway to revisit, comprehend, and ultimately digitize the unpublished research notes logged by the pseudonym allegedly signed as Borodin, no mean feat given the centurial culture barriers blasted apart by the brave volunteers. Although Alexander Shulgin may have cast open landscapes innumerable of both the imaginary manifestations of reality, and the physical attainment of hitherto mere amorphisms, he also found himself at the precipice of a language chasm deep yet narrow: for example, had he needed to verify that his friends and relations could recognize lexicographic racemization in eightth-bit-cleaned compilations of IUPAC nomenclatures - or worse yet, disclaim their own proficiencies in one or another of such disassembly exercises - he may have never encountered the question of how exactly "2CB" decompiles as "brominated two-carbon notafueladditive"... if you're still reading, there's a chance that you remember what I have forgot.

In the hope of finding common understanding, recognizing the preexisting conceptual landscape, and not getting too worked up about whether discussion of how many concepts this list contains is conversation or syllogism, I'll elaborate upon last semester's practical work, starting with my quick rephrasing of instructor comments regarding an educational recreation of four experiments performed just over one hundred years ago, all of which exhibited at the time of their publication an unexpected degree of discontinuity, despite the prevailing theories regarding the nature of the underlying continua:

nb: comments  and grades for either  student could
apply to the other,  since they worked together on
all  parts of  these experiments,  interpretation,
and presentation

in the first week, you arrived prepared,
with questions about  the apparati. your
elucidations of  the prevailing theories
improved markedly in the second week.

in computing the  statistical expectation values,
you performed several  computations yet presented
the  results of  only one.  merely listing  which
source measurements caused statistical failure is
unacceptable,  without   discussion  of  possible
reasons  for  each measurement's  exclusion,  and
your grade  was reduced for this  reason, and for
omitting an additional procedure made possible by
the   preassembled   wiring   of   the   provided
electromotive forcing apparatus and documented in
the reference notes.

your presentation of  the results suffered as
a consequence  of disclosing  choices leading
to the samples  ultimately correlated against
the  prevailing  theory, a  disclosure  which
reduced  the  time available  for  discussing
alternative wirings.

your reference  notebooks are  incomplete: roughly
half  consisted of  rephrasings of  the prevailing
theory, and you could have saved ink by specifying
one  of  the  previously   published  works  as  a
reference standard; and you  failed to detail your
rationale  for  choices  made  during  experiment,
computation, and debriefing.

Since my final grade in that semester was lower than that given by this instructor, above the minimal level considered passing although regrettably closer to that than the perfect score, and quite satisfactory given my policies for allocating study time and mental effort for schoolwork, I consider that to have been a good learning experience.

Incidentally, the numbers relevant for rendering the previous reflection against the one percent decimal background across half a year of an arbitrary sparse set of the distinguished portion of a fourfold metric are: '#(63 89 76 87 30 84)

Reconstructing the machine that produced such a trace is neither trivial nor ...

... and in case you were wondering, the four experiments are all spanned by attempts to measure Ohmic impedance of fluids (e.g. Helium, Hydrargyrum) dilute well past chemical inertness, and modulation of such measurements by the nature of the irradiation upon the circuit component emitting the lepton.

O'Reilly Bubbles Via Sehr Viel Angwandtestoffmatrixen, Naturlich
leashed un 2019-03-15T1234

Check out this 8bit-clean compactification of notes, written by mine own hand, during a recent seminar delivered for the organic chemistry department, on the subject of academic publication, by a doctor named Neville Compton, who spoke as representative of a publication conglomerate; out of respect for the academic process, and the prudence necessary for correctness, I will give credit where credit is due, although the full names of audience members are not disclosed out of respect for their privacy:

2019-02-18T15:42:33
notes during SOC Seminar, 2019-02-14T15:00
Dr Neville Compton von Ang.Che, EIC
'forest vs trees' cf numbers: Erdos, Bacon...
worandie Bell curve for the Nobel graph?
unidimensional academic noise: launch/land density of journals/societies

didimensional  research   mappings:  lat/long   are  only   relevant  at
lowest&highest resolutions, languages  (of publications&conferences) are
more relevant

'What Would Hipassus Publish?'

re:  publication (cf  lateral  vs longitudinal  communication, ie,  3+1-
metric): "language  all over the place",  in abstracts (and the  rest of
the paper),  he means that  authors conflate vernaculars  with 'standard
english' [noshit.gif]

"none of  our editors are active  in research"
cf tenure - academic vs editorial

"publication  ethics"  academic ethics  from  the
editor's  perspective: plagiarism,  misdirection,
interest conflicts, exclusivity violations (in no
particular order)

journals use antifraud software!? drywear!? what idiocy is this.
'who will fuzz the fuzzers?'
Editor's Note:
Please do not shout from the gallery!

datafraud  detection: are  graphics considered
wrt  viewing on  screens, printed,  or as  raw
data? this I asked at  the end, and he claims:
they've  only launched  systems for  raw data,
and are still mulling over presentation forms.

citation DAG: prune early, prune often!

reviewers are not necessarily a blindable factor,
so  journals  (at  least,   those  owned  by  his
conglomerate) consider author recommendations and
interest-conflict disclosures

"new  vs  innovative"  -  what's  the  difference
between  'novation'  and   innovation?   this  is
'patent   nonsense',  mais   c'est  pumpernickle!
everything becomes FeNi when it's all fini.

journals respond in a  variety of manners, rejection
does  not necessarily  mean the  research itself  is
invalid, and could just  be an opportunity to revise
its  draft for  publication; often  the editor  will
offer comments  (their own,  and/or based  on peers'
reviews)  elaborating  why  exactly  the  draft  was
rejected   rather  than   accepted  with   suggested
modifications.

speaker presents a  "pyramid" graphic, reminiscent of
food pyramid,  but I, sitting aside  Umberto's ashes,
think of that trivial Manutius<->Garamond pingpong...

editors accept responsibility for  the whole review ensemble's
opinions, thus  suffering appeals,  blames, etc: they  are the
diplomats of academia!   the manager-psychologists, calm-skinn
ed thick-headed lizards, soaking up environmental energy.

What would Malaclypse do?

social  media leads  to rapid  dispersal yet  also to  rapid
fragility  of   shifts  (cf  orders  of   phase  transition,
fragility in the literal, engineering sense)

... at which point, RA  comments in tangential response to
NC's question "if you hadda earna million pounds in twenty
seconds,  what  would  jesus  do?" that  he'd  ask  for  a
fistbump.

initially  I misinterpret,  since RA  and I  communicate as
silently as  practical, knowing  that the  entire classroom
hears our every  word, as I do not  whisper, and superfluid
tetranucleomers do not sign.

my interpretation entails social media's brittlifaction of
the infosphere as arising from electrodynamics in a manner
similar to friction.

final  thought,  before  stage is  opened  for  audience
questions:  the challenge  of  'social engineering'  the
publication process  hinges upon an editor's  (thus also
their peers')  susceptib ility  to influence  by 'screen
numbers', i.e., number of followers. not all numbers are
created equal, although some numbers are more equal than
others!
                      Postscriptum:

The documentation processor aimed at
conventions  wherein  a  doublequote
indicates  speech by  the presenter,
and    a    singlequote    indicates
stenographer neologism.
We Told These Proofs 2B-Selfevident
leashed un 2019-03-09T1437
nota bene:
- please include statement to be proven, at top of file,
- along with the assumptions deemed indispensible,
- not necessarily in that order.
- thank you

*** 1a1 student
assumed:
- field of positive integers
- from which, logarithms are extracted at a sufficiently high base
- autopsist has enough humorsense to creatively disinterpret names
of chosen variables in the context of locally-smooth metrics.
- the integer constants in this exercise had historical meanings
for the current operator of the autopsy machine.
*** 1a2 student
simulated:
- piled cannonballs until reaching closed-form series collapse
likely assumptions:
- familiarity with common integer sequences
**** for the benefit of Mr Kite:
there will be a show tonight, with cannonballs.
how about these classes of complexity computation?
- i. naturals are either a constant, or sums of a constant.
- ii. triangles are sums of all consecutive positive integers.
- iii. squares are sums of two consecutive triangular numbers.
- iv. square pyramids are sums of all consecutive square numbers.
- v. now, you are thinking with exponential implosions.

The remainder of the proof mistranslations are left as an exercise for the future.

Ah, That Ol' Search for French Ghosts...
leashed un 2018-09-25 09:51:03

These are some notes recovered from an old pad by the name of "Google Keep"; since I trust those ramparts about as much as beer farts, let's back up to an even more mysterious cloud!

• 2016-04-10 untitled so tree

sirocco rpt
autocorrupt

the phone alone falls only from the throne
how now plow cow?

how about a nice game of AlphaDrama (a game for one humanity (autocorrupt: bullshitter))?

I'd play with myself, but I don't yet know the rules of theoretical play well enough to sing a solo songalong

• 2016-04-10 Digital Fortress

This is what you should never build yourself; the day you become wealthy enough to need one, you hire the best opsec guy in your network to build it not-for-but-with you. Building it yourself is a challenging exercise, worth your time for the lessons you'll get, but should never be regarded as battle-ready tech.

The fortress consists of maximally inspectable hardware, and double-compiled software. The fortress contains no key loggers, and all packets are sniffed before exit.

Such beautiful silence, at the hour you could only choose as twelve... confirming what before you only thought you knew: this task was for an elf! But you let prosody get your betters, and fell again from the highest cliffs. Aah well, life isn't all buts nor ifs.

• 2016-04-11 Enter Archman

Daunted by the full scope of the task ahead, once it'd finally hit him, he inhaled slowly, nostrils hugging tight to his septum till they nearly made one fleshy mass, then fluttering apart as he whistled out his newly-relaxed surprise: "Coo!"

The most difficult part of predictive authorship lies in determining, before the words have been etched, into which (whinceth?) medium - a question spanning memory, security, audience, prestige, self-image... the works.

• 2016-04-20 Gallows Stall

there's a wondrous adolescent joy about calling just to hear a friend's voice; not a ring-wrong-ditch, but a brief chinwag, to hear the surprised joy on the other end, even catch a whiff of it yourself. That's a just use of the tech, playing on the social buttons of hearing familiar voices to elicit emotion... yet like any weapon, no degree of safety nor training can ever prevent it from one day swinging the wrong way, slamming shut on an innocent tail.

• 2016-06-13 Burned Manuscript

This is not my story, I'm just the unfortunate wretch charged by fate, misfortune, to tell it, to beat the odds and bear the news of our victory. Setting out, unknowing the end, only the message received, the word to pass, of the victory achieved at Marathon.

This is not your flood, nor your blood. This is not your scene, nor your dream. It's a waking life, all day aware, never afraid, never too scared. This is the first day of the rest of your strife.

Virtuous machine learning: self-image deciding recognizing fraud detection for p2p makers. redefine spam!

• 2018-09-25 Irony, Man!

Not a quarter after "Gallows Stall", this one dude hung himself in the shower using his clinic-issued pajamas as rope. Life finds a way - even one out.

Reflexive Interferometry
leashed un 2018-03-30 08:28:23

Trigger Warning: This post may have been produced in a facility that also processes lucidly-written prose.

BACKGROUND

SET: My current life doesn't quite consist of "unending boredom punctuated by brief moments of sheer terror", but I'll reluctantly admit to being most afraid of succumbing to my own destructive boredom, yet also most loathe to harm my only asset - quite a powerful pact! Self-expression through words has tended to only agitate those who try understanding them, so recently I've combated boredom through reading, cycling, and the avoidance of liberal language with those who profess intent to analyze, heal, or otherwise "help" me beyond the essentials: camaraderie, companionship, and the unfettered exchange of information.

SETTING: On the day of this experience I seasoned my breakfast cooking with 0.8g vapovers, then cycled (or drug the steed) for several hours across rough terrain and rocky shoals to visit two friends whom, for lack of better pseudonyms, I will call Shura and Alice; the former I have known for several years, since our military service; I've only met Alice, who now lives with Shura, a few times before; but military conditioning runs deep, so I trust Shura's judgement in more regards than just partnership and supply.

ANANDOMIMETICS: I vape cannabis at low doses on a roughly daily basis, a habit variously termed "titration", "infusion", or "addiction", depending on the speaker's set. I cook with the leftovers - an imprecise science, but it brings back the magic of cannabis as adventure, a magic which frequent abusers erode. I do not consider my use of such natural medicine improper, yet I am aware that it places me without Law.

SEROTONERGICS: Lacking precise dosage data or other statistics, I brag with reticence, but I have developed quite a tolerance. My conscious mind enjoys a broad variety of receptor agonization, but the subconscious evidently doesn't enjoy entertaining that luxury and has gotten infuriatingly efficient at leaving me at or below a Shulgin-scale "Plus Two". This was my first time smoking changa (or any other form of DMT).

FOREGROUND

I arrived at Shura's door roughly six hours after breakfast. When greeting me, Alice lamented that she always met me in a similar physical state: awash in mud, sweat, and the good vibes that hours of highcycling catalyze. This comment brought to mind James Herriot's encounters with his fellow veterinarian's wife, Zoe, whom he'd never met sober. Although I've so long despaired of finding such an elusive mindset as to consider sobriety merely a useful social fiction, I still felt keenly what James Herriot described: the embarrasment of a somewhat insecure man finding himself disheveled to the point of clownhood in the presence of a charming woman, who also happens to be a good friend's partner. Before this reflection made more than the most fleeting impression, Shura and Alice herded me about with encouragements to feel at home and join them for pancakes.

While discussing with Shura how morals shift during and since service, Alice asks for clarification about one point I'd made using obscure language, and Shura explains with one word, "Bandit", to convey the immortality of action limited only by fear of capture. Though I appreciated the efficiency of information transfer between Shura and Alice, mediated by the connotations around that one word, amplified by the pronounced accent, I felt a twinge of excitement: for me, the word evokes Barnoch, Vodalus, Severian, and the cardinality of ethical continua. The philosophical discussion was cut short by relocation to the living room once we finished our meal, where we returned to psychedelia - that is, subconscious manifestation of the conscious, and vice versa; for lack of a better slang, "Mindbending".

After several reminiscences and comparisons of unshared experiences, Shura seemed to surprise Alice by offering me to try DMT for the first time, in the form of smoked changa. I gladly accepted his invitation, and he prepared me a mattress and pillow just indoors from a balcony: at my disposal were generous airflow, roughly pi steradians' view of the nighttime city at my right and the art-adorned living room to my left, and my two hosts making last preparations such as turning off the TV, adjusting music, and fetching that snuff that makes us dream.

Shura lit a stub of incense representing the Home archetype, and marked my "third eye" with the charred end after it finished smouldering. Next, he offered me plant ash snuff containing nicotine as nootropic, or at the very least, mental laxative. A pair of assisted insufflations, one per nostril, sufficed to send me powerwalking to the bathroom to practice the eyewash drill, but I returned after a couple of minutes to blow my nose and excuse myself for having not snorted anything in years. Shura suggested I smoke the hit while sitting, and lie down if needed; I propped my back against the pillow, accepted the pipe and lighter, and took in the hit which seemed to my eyes to be quite small, but Shura insisted was an appropriate dose for a first time.

I was able to return the pipe before noticing any effects; but by the moment the lighter linked our hands, I was struck by a wave of situational analysis, closely followed by visual effects. Before my attention turned to the visuals, I found myself analyzing the Promethean symbolism as my fovea refocused from the dime-a-dozen plastic lighter to the human guide sitting cross-legged by my mattress, his expression as inscrutable as the firsthand view of secondhand smoke.

Least interesting of all the visual effects were the baroque decorations leaking from an oblong lattice; predecessors have far surpassed my ability to describe polychrome fractalizations using mere language, and readers unable to visualize these or experience for themselves may still observe any of the countless offerings of complex analysis carried to its unending whorls (such as the sets of Mandelbrot and Julia). Additionally, I fear that my training and expertise with absurd doses of phenethylamines and tryptamines both natural and synthetic has desensetized me to such beauty. Far more interesting to me - and I'd been piecing together this decision during the minutes leading up to inhalation - would be searching for the neurological or optical elements of the entity contact phenomenon.

ANALYSIS

The visual field consists of both a broad two-dimensional display of the surroundings, and the mind's interpretation of them. By leaving my eyes neither solely closed nor open, but alternating at several low fractions of Hertz, I observed the interplay between how the latter broke free of the external world's impositions upon the former, which I shall now endeavor to describe as best I may, given the impaired lenses through which recall I must.

Concurrent with the effects' plateauing arose a memory of an old friend's account of her first DMT experience: though her exact words have faded, they left an impression of disdain; that she had experienced no effects beyond the visual. While I did not notice alterations to my thought process beyond those of a large bong hit, closing my eyes unleashed visual distortions of a hitherto unseen nature: each of several times, the neural leftovers of Shura and Alice rose from their seated poses to approach eachother and unite.

Reflexively yet without apprehension, I wondered whether I was about to watch them fuck; yet no amount of reading - Hegel, Huxley, or others - can prepare for, nor quite capture, the experience of witnessing Adam and Eve yield Shiva, within the bony personal cell of skull island. The entire process took minutes, if not mere seconds; while I lost count of both blinks and breaths, there was no subjective distortion of Time.

Speechless, I opened my eyes for a final time; that is to say, I relinquished conscious control of my blinking reflex, and grinned at Shura like a village idiot greeting his mayor. Meeting my eyes and hearing my silence, Shura raised a fist, which I met with mine. I do not recall our precise words, and I suspect they were preceded by laughter, but it was clear that the "Businessman's Lunch Trip" was over.