Thursday, May 5, 2022

mein gedankenspiel: frisky frolics of a faded freak

 2004 was when I threw down the fingerless punk gauntlet: see if I have what it takes to force my slimy skull-walnut to emit an apt radical novelty. 

Either novel or radical are a cool calm summer breeze - while apt is a brutal beast that plays poorly with the others in the rare event when it ever does at all.

Play on!

Geadankenspieling has been one of my life's keenest joys - my little mutant pet that's totally free to play, in a proverbial void that lets me score as many ideas as I can, & has the personal potential for some utterly harrowing IRL results depending on what I come up with & whose chain it yanks.

Those Trifectas are the profane Grail, but there's plenty to chew on among the sloppy apocrypha, & to spare. One result was nothing but the intellectual equivalent of a tantrum, noting the tragic ongoing omission of a prime historical revolution: the shift toward female s3x selection first indicated by Chivalric Code & alleged all-girl "Courts Of Love" in medieval Europe. Another a cosmic mega-kludge that makes a lovely sibling to one at least partly inspired by the Susskind & t'Hooft mega-hologram model that's arguably FAR WEIRDER than mine.

Some synaptic byproduct even got frisky enough to inspire a "Dead Letter File" metagame of its own!

I also learned that I'm the kind of sick pervert heathen that can drop a one minute sermon!

The most recent is Q.L.O. - which came with 2 highly evocative instances that may or may not be proofs. Let posterity - or infamy - give someone who can tell the difference the call says I, & Alfred E. Neuman take the hindmost.

Doubt any subsequent treats can be siphoned out of all this dying fatty gray mucilage this late in the farce - but then, I always do...




jim said...

A tad weird & wacky that Quantum Ludic Ontology fell out of my skull like a random fun-grenade immediately BEFORE my intended slog through piles of ontological theory.

Not all mutations are twisted equal?

jim said...

Sad that the dying blood-hog in my head has an ever-smaller shot at any more harvesting of yummy thought-toys, & nearly no time left on the shot-clock to score ... yet w/ my personal life a malfunctioning circus of poverty & shame I've already dropped a pair of them by mid-2022 after an epic drought. Even treating myself to a parting shot(?) of serendipity via a random dive into neurology - a science which I both adore & have 0.0% academic grounding in.