the last two days i have swam between 2000 and 2500 yards, pushing myself to even do that. I have still not been able to sleep well and that brings me to this morning.
One reason to post this is to give a link to windy.com a very cool website. if you play the forcast it shows some very cool, however inaccurate video. Yesterday it showed a storm moving into the gulf, but now it projects that to disipate, perahps winter is coming.
Anyway, you have the link now, do what you want with it.
I have finally caugght up on the tech stuff, patents have been filed, although they certainly need to be supplemented, papers have been written for publication, although the hard copies that just came in need to be edited (something well underway for what are fairly short papers, and this book, the science of nostradamus, is ready now although there will probably be another edition.
It became available at least in the Kindle version yesterday and I suspect the hard copy version will be ready today or tomorrow.
The sky is now a light blue, more of the trees in thedistance can be seen.
My half cup of coffee is lukewarm, largely ignored.
Capitalism. I have a conference call on presenting my theory to VC next wednesday although a half day seminar is inadequate. Still, it would put me before a group that would have resources.
I reached out to perhaps 4 large corporations yesterday. Probably the wrong ones, but it was a place to start.
A linear pink cloud has appeared that has taken on the look of alinear rainbow intheearlylight. It is somewhat peculiar looking.
It did not photograph well
The VC thing is complicated. I do not want to go into it too far. The world is sort of crazy, air bnb is a 30 billion dollar company and so is uber even though neither makes much money; uber I think loses money. My theory of quantum mechanics defines the universe below the level of thermodynamics and may accomplish nothing, but should save billions and has a sad sort of promise of faster than light travel, floating cars and free energy; sad because to exist it must have always been. It also has the remote possibility of providing godlike powers if the underlying symmetry of the universe can be altered, but that is unlikely if interesting and certainly the goal.It is strange that after all of these years of helping people with various technologies that mine would be the most fundamental. No, ironic. The universe is governed by irony, that is why the inventors of myspace are left in a backwater while facebook dominates social media, why my invention was invented by me and not someone more...shall we say appropriate?
I have a short rant.
Now that 9-11 is out of the way, I'll put my thoughts on that subject in writing.
the 911 terrorists won. not by destroying buildings and killing thousands; but by taking advantage of a weak president and largely corrupt vice president to drag the usa into a war in the middle east against someone who was not even an enemy.
now we stand on the precipice of new dangers associated with a president who may well vie with the 911 president for the most dangerous to the country because of corruption and ineptness.
Why is this
The reason is that the american public is stupid. not individually but as a group
trump was a reaction to the corruption in congress.
he was able to lie about cleaning things up when teh solution is term limits in congress; but the public is too stupid to force such an issue. why?
Perhaps it is because we are trapped in the flow of change.
I wonder if there can be an explanation for stupidity that works other than AuT when we destroy the planet we depend on for life, elect demogogs and stay apart.
Anyway, here is the first chapter of the Nostradamus book.
1.
The Physicist Miken
“Some people believe it is possible to see into the future, I do
not.” The anti-philosopher was a fat,
older man, I thought listening to them surreptitiously from my hiding place on
a nearby couch. His suit was finely
tailored, but several sizes too big, a cloaking device for his weight problem. His father had been a famously wealthy
attorney or perhaps a doctor or land owner who had left him a fortune that he
accepted as his birthright. His hair
seemed unnaturally thick, a toupee perhaps, a man too vain to accept that the
ravages of time applied to him. A house
on the cape in the summer, and apartment he shared with his mother perhaps in
the city. I abhorred the life of leisure
he took for granted, as I did in all other people like him. “But they are a lesser sort of people than
you or I. They get their news from the
phones and believe in Aliens and conspiracy theories of government. They are like sheep.”
“The Ancients believed the universe to be more transparent in
terms of history. They had time and look
at the minutia of the earth and the stars at night. They saw a larger universe reflecting the
smaller. Perhaps they thought this was because
the larger is made up of the smaller. “ The second man I liked a little
more. He had wild, thick white hair, his
clothes more threadbare. He was
overweight also, but his clothes did not fit so well, as if some of them had
grown too small and some body parts had shrunk so they no longer filled others.
He did not, however, have the hunted
look or mannerisms that those I ended up with as associates. He must be a professor, no family money, but
safely tenured with a pension or whatever retired educators had.
“Ignoring the ludicrousness of such an idea, try to imagine a
world where the lottery cannot exist, no trials, the verdict being in, where no
there is no insurance since you know when you will die, when everyone else will
die. Do you really want to live in that
kind of a world?” Toupee spoke as if all
of these things were terribly important to him.
Perhaps his rich ancestor had done something so small as winning a
lottery, there were so many lotteries in life, the one where you are selected
to be born, the parent you end up with, the time when you are born, the
country.
I had little interest in talking or listening to these two. I had a deep anger to educators from high
school. In 8th grade I had been minding
my own business, writing poetry to a girl I was too shy to ask.
The teacher saw how distracted I was, snuck up behind me and read
the poem to to the class. It ruined the
entire year and pretty much high school to me.
After reading it, he gave it back to me and I carried it with me
in a wallet to remind myself to trust no one.
After all these years, I knew it by heart.
It is spring
the invitation to seek the comfort love
is strong in the whispering wind.
Compelled to silence
I suffer the spurned lover’s fate
will i forever sit these quiet benches alone
or will someone i can love
sit beside me before winter comes
Hence, I refused to tell the two professors I was there, much as I
wanted to point this out to these men, that I wished they would be quiet, so I
could go back to sleep.
I was crippled, so I also feared I would be run out if I was
discovered, forced to hobble back into the snow. I had found my way into this comfortable room
and just wanting to die comfortably and alone.
And yet, I would rather listen than be shivering from cold and
loneliness in my apartment, so I lay still, spying on them from the couch where
I had fallen asleep and from such oblivion they had disturbed me with their
absurd conversation.
“What if we already do?” Asked the other man, the one who I took
to be an elderly history professor with his talk of the ancients. What if we already live in a world was the
future can be known, I suppose he meant.
It was not the kind of conversation that you would hear spoken so
seriously in many places, but this was the common room of a college library in a
small town in New Jersey, where two professors, one rich and corrupt, the other
poor and naive could stumble upon one another and share the crazy musings of
one with the pretentiousness of the other.
I closed my eyes. Could you
find suspense, mystery or romance in such a world? I asked myself.
As if he heard me, the white-haired professor continued, “Those
are the lesser questions. The major
question is not can you, but how do you predict the future.”
“Yes, that one would ruin everything.”
Through my closed eyes, I listened to them drone one.
“What of love, what of romance?”
That fat pompous man had probably never thought of such a thing.
“The electron and proton are a matched set. Perhaps for every person there is another who
is, not identical, but a perfect match? In
such a way you could allow love to exist with predestination.”
Somewhere in this exchange, I drifted off to sleep in the
cloistering warmth of the room. I did
not realize that this conversation could have such importance, or I might have
paid more attention to it.
This conversation was the start of a frightening tale of horror.
None of us can correct all the wrongs we will cause in life, even the
saints leave trails of dead. Our lives
are so horrible in the aggregate, we cannot correct even the best life. My atonement is the absolution of everyone,
no matter how flawed, my absolution is my physics which renders the great deeds
of all men trivial and pardons all crimes, no matter how vile. It is
totally appropriate that it be my gift to mankind.
It does not sound so scary, but it will.
Why would I do such a thing?
I could not live with my guilt, so I invalidated it.
There is fear in what you cannot see. More fear in blindness
than in sight. What you cannot see is what scares you the
most, so the monster is always hidden till the end of the movie.
It turns out that there more fear in seeing everything. Stop listening now, I warn of you, because
everything you know will die in these pages.
Do not ask me to stop, I cannot.
All that I do cannot be undone.
There is more to fear in life than the monsters in stories. This story will endanger everything that you
hold dear. Time itself will cease to have the same meaning.
Collapsed now, my vision fading, my life slowing ebbing, as the
snow falls heavy and thick around me in this wood that I remember so well. I think back to when I was first here.
I am too far gone to start this, but haven’t I started already?
It is growing dark. Perhaps,
like a crime, this can only be written under the cover of darkness.
You may call me Miken.
I warn you to read no further.
You insist? Then it is on you, I
wash my blood-soaked hands of the matter.
The story begins many years before today, when I was a student,
long before I could explain the science, before I met the muse. Every story must begin somewhere.
I could begin with a vision, a petty crime, the plague, a
traveller coming home, or even love. I
once believed in love, but the past keeps intruding, a real live ghost, like the
muse.
We will get to love and the muse in due time, we’ll start at the
beginning.
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