TSON-chapter 2

Yes, I'm going to tortue you with my bit of self serving rewrite, more of a repositioning.  Having accidently stumbled upon a mathematical basis for the work of Nostradamas, I will turn it into a "commercial" work in the hope of getting my theories more widely read.  I have 50,000 words of math in Book 2 which means I can, by adding 10,000 words of fiction, turn the most important theory...ever...in mathematics into something the broader world might understand.
Much of the other work must be on hold for this so I will share it with you to amuse you, I hope, while the first edition is put in place.  You should be studying the books written in any event.
I will, as time allows, over the next couple of weeks, as I take this magnificent work of physics and turn it into crap for the masses. 
Perhaps it will entertain someone, I will be happy enough if it entertains you.

There is a part of the most recent science which within this I will develop to some extent.

"AuT shows, however that the future in a net expansion universe, is built from the present, which in effect means it is built from the past being steadily released at a ratio which entropy suggests is greater, perhaps much greater than the degree to which the future results from a new combination of past events.

Moreover, this breakdown which will occur and which is occurring comes forth in the form of electromagnetic phenomena, carrying portions of the future with it.  It is energy in the form of waves.  The present is built from the compressed past which is the future.  A compressing universe has a more hidden future, but not an expanding one. 

One asks what is the most dangerous aspect of AuT, it is the ability to see the future which mathematically, may be easier than in other theories where the nature of history is misunderstood."

On this idea a book with some mystery and some horror, the one genre I haven't written, can be built.  To do so, perhaps I should take the most precious thing and turn it into a monster?

Chapter 2: The Greek Muse

          “I began my studies in the cold damp of a New Orleans winter.  Winter has now come again,”  I told the Muse.

          I met the Muse under the strangest of circumstances.  I could not tell how old she was, for she seemed very young, but there was a touch of some half hidden wisdom, in certain light she looked absolutely ancient, as if she were an entirely different person.  And I was not able to get too close to her.

          How many times had I met her before now?  A dozen, perhaps?  Each time there was some barrier between us.  Today, however, I had gotten an invitation to her house.  Others were there, but they were outside the large double doors to type of hidden grotto.  While others swirled around us, it seemed as if we were alone.

          I longed to be truly alone with her, but she was with one of the sequence of lovers she had.  They were the kings of industry, successful professional men.  I did not dare to compete with them, especially in my current circumstances.

          She had noted the small notebook I had and asked me about it.  “And how did they begin?” She asked.  There was something in her voice that I could not place, musical?  No, authoritative, entrancing.  I didn’t want to answer honestly, but I could not help myself.

          “I lost everything in speculation,” I began.  I had told no one else about this, but for some reason, I shared it with her.  “I had decided on a life of pursuing wealth, and when the wealth was gone, I had to turn to something else.  There was only one thing I had in my life that was untouched.”

          “And what was that,” she asked, almost laughing?  She seemed to always be on the verge of laughing at what I said.  My embarrassed financial situation seemed to interest her not at all.”

          “My mathematics, my physics really.”

          “Let me see what you’ve wrote.”

          “Really?  It’s quite boring.” But I handed the notebook which I had been writing in.  She read out loud.

          “The first thing I discovered was that history and dimension were not what I thought they were.  One of the last things I began to determine, was that that time and time are not what I thought they were.”

          “It’s silly, I know.”

          “No, fascinating.”  She read quietly for another moment.  She seemed to be debating whether to continue.  At last she said,  “It is like the work of Zeno.”

          “Who?”  I was hurt at first.  Had someone come to my conclusions before me?  Then I was curious.  I was a physicist, but I did not know that name, someone famous enough that the muse would know of him.  The name sounded ancient.

          “Parmenides, would be better, but his work no longer exists.”   She said this as if she had read his work before.  “You should read his work, you might find it interesting.  It is a shame, Nostradamus’ work did not survive.”

          “His prognostications?  I think there are well preserved.”

          “His mathematics, his studies in history.”