A Brief History of Material Reality

We can’t all be soft if we wish to enjoy the luxuries
we have grown accustomed to rely upon tomorrow.  Soft sciences unfortunately
do little to progress technology as we know it today.  There are of course
two schools of thought concerning technological communication today.
One, that it brings us close together, two, that it drives us further apart.
Ever since man mastered fire, dark rites and rituals were known
to exist, gathered around an open flame in the night, people congregated
and gave glory to the mystery as it misrepresents itself underneath a flickering
cloak of constant change, erosion, and finally death as the leftover ashes
slowly extinguish themselves, starved of interest.  Ever since man learned
to control fire, fire worshippers set out in the dark, even bringing it underground
so as to more fully understand how to wield its power and put it to use like
the gods they envisaged might.  Shards of disillusionment shed from the sun
brought into a cave allowed men to splash walls with light from the inside-out, to
give birth to strange, undiscovered worlds that would
come forth, and present themselves (the creatures manifest therein)
if not upon the earth or in the seas and skies, then in the ironworks and forges of smelting
craft that developed into even more rigid geometric shapes transposed from what once flowed,
now fixed, like a fish hooked from a stream or a butterfly impaled upon
a pin.  Alas!  Men paid dearly for this fixed knowledge that could not only
be explained, but be seen in the night, shadows upon walls that cast
unfamiliar, yet recognizable floating figures of contrast at a tangent
to radiance.  Puppeteers, story-tellers, and men behind masks emerged and gathered
assemblies of the curious and convincingly told lies under the influence
of incense, first to themselves, and then to the community at large.
“Dissenters be damned!  The gods grow angry as you blaspheme!
A poor harvest is the only proof you should need, and you should fear
my authority for my closeness, if not oneness with those terrible eternal
powers who cause one to tremble, another to weep, and a third to
faint to the floor without any physical prodding by me!”
*Q-Drums* Boogie-Boogie
Dancers (if you can call them that) suffer fits of paroxysm and ululate.

... 

While laughter is known to be the best medicine, it should be noted that

there are those who have ingested so many inferior medicines that they
have forgotten how to use laughter’s truly cathartic nature to their utmost
benefit!  This fact I find truly disconcerting.  Sure, there are those
who get their yuks, chuckles, and scoffs in, but a hearty recognition
of honest excellence is oft missed by those pantheistic polyscientists
who rely on anachronistic thought patterns to sustain their Ego while
not keeping up-to-date or remaining stuck-in-the-gutter when the moment arrives.
How many among us will deny our feelings for fear of being seen?
(As if anyone is looking or even cares)? Who are we really denying?
And how will that denial be accomplished?  How many among us call our
shame-pride and our pride-shame?  Relegated to the bedroom, the bathroom,
and other appropriate places for inappropriateness where we fuck, shit,
and gorge ourselves to sleep by easing ourselves there with easily exhaustibles,
like limited quantities of drugs for which we rush out in the morning for, darkly,
moodily, or grudgingly, yet with a sense of urgency that pushes others aside.
Our daily successes nullified by our daily failures that come out flat
and judicial.  If anything in our lives were ever done lovingly, how would
that action look, sound, taste, or feel?  (Perhaps like ambrosia, a thoughtful gift, or
a present full of presence).  I was there the moment I was conceived and
I wanted it, I wanted more, the pain, the pleasure, and the spiritual fulfillment.
What are we thinking nowadays?  Who is in our thoughts/minds? How and why
has that pattern changed over time?  Aesthetic appeal I’m guessing.  Is this
not what you wanted?  Make me an ass.  SOH-CAH-TOA@Epoxy-Kaboom!

Make me what I am today!

042312

I wake up this morning, 26 years of age, in my bed down the hall from my parents room, alone with the my iPod and headphones that I wear at night to fall asleep to whatever’s on National Public Radio.  I have had the same routine for months now.  My mom wakes me up this morning at 7:45 AM because it’s snowing outside and she wants me to take her to a doctor’s appointment at Rochester General Hospital, where my dad also works, in the hospital laboratory.  The first thing I remember after taking a quick shower and throwing on some clothes, I’m walking towards the garage admiring how pretty the snow is in April when *THUNK* I run smack dab into the low-hanging garage door that I always automatically duck under to get to the car.  I know I should be angry, but I’m not really, and that fact is disturbing.  I take this physical attack against my body as an omen for things to come, but I’m not really scared either.  I drive in my usual haze of automobolic confidence, though a little wary that my normally programmed automated responses to my environment have been obscured today; I am yet successful.  My father greets us with his usual grin and business-like handshake, a display of warmth.  While my mom goes in for her brief appointment, my dad takes me to get a coffee and then guides me on a quick tour of the area of the hospital where he works, a narrow well-lit hallway that houses the hematology, histology, microbiology, and other chemical laboratories that are responsible for the testing of bodily humors.  I was interested enough to stay longer, but when we get back to the office my mom was being seen, she is walking out the door, perfect timing.

                After we get home again, my mom is off to her work at St. John Fisher College and I am off to the East Avenue Coffee Roasters where I go to do work, though not to work.  I have a form to fill out that the government sent me regarding my unemployment insurance, saying that their research shows that I may not have lost my job due to ‘lack of work’ but that I may have actually quit of my own accord and therefore my claim is under review.  I answer the questions provided as best I can on the little space provided, but given the overall complexity of my case, I doubt I will be receiving much more free money.   I’ve had four to five cups of coffee at this point and am completely wired when I remember that my friend Grace whom I saw at the Farmer’s Market on Saturday mentioned that she would be working at Joe Bean Coffee Roasters on Monday (today), so I go there next.

                The traditional rule for adult beverages for seems to apply to coffee too so my first coffee when I arrive is on the house, Columbian especial.  I sit down and talk with Ecarg (Grace backwards) for awhile and I tell her about how ‘the greatest trick the Devil ever played was to convince man that there is no such thing as evil,’ and my theory on the light spectrum of sciences (mathematics-physics-chemistry-biology-psychology-anthropology-sociology) and since she is a sociologist this sparks some debate because she questions why anthropology is more specific a science than sociology.  Indigo frequently blends into purple.  Then, branching from sociology and relationships we get into the topic of gender normative roles vs. same sex relationships.  I make the point that same sex relationships are always more capricious than normative couples because in a traditional sexual relationship there is always the possibility of bearing a child in the back of the minds of each. She makes the point that the use of contraceptives can pretty much nullify this fact.  I argue that although they can be used to mollify this fact, the possibility of making mistakes ultimately makes the relationship one of greater seriousness than that of same-sex couples (and yet isn’t making mistakes and risk-taking together part of what makes it so much fun?).  Same-sex couples needn’t take the fear of God with them into the bedroom because there is no risk involved in conceiving so they have the luxury of mentally disconnecting for the sake of pleasure with less risk (save STI/Ds), therefore that provides them the luxury of being more capricious, although emotional scarring can still occur, which is what some people don’t realize until after intimate faces become recurrent in dreams for which there is no defense.

                I finally get around to ordering another coffee here and turn my attention to Adam, a college student at Nazareth who had been taking video recordings around the store the last two times I was in the shop for making an online advertisement.  I offer him some of my coffee because I’m pretty spun at that point from having no breakfast and drinking six or seven coffees and smoking a cigarette.  My mind feels like it’s at the end of a long tunnel spinning, but I manage to hold a decent conversation with him about Googly® Eyes (new interactive glasses technology from Google®), about Space Invader from Exit Through the Gift Shop and QR code art, and he tells me a bit about Spaulding Gray, the book 1Q84, and the movie “Dinner with Andre,” and I talk about my problems which I know amount to nothing, but I talk because I have so much caffeine in my system that it feels better than puking.  I’m grateful to have an audience.

                After about two hours of this, I tally up and swing by the library to take some more notes, think, reconsider, and then drop off a movie (“The Way”) and leave to get some food back home.  One peanut butter and raisin sandwich and a slice of spanakopita later I’m feeling better.

                After cooking and eating dinner with my parents (I grilled chicken, mom made asparagus and fried potatoes) I watch ritual Seinfeld and baseball with my dad for an hour before retiring to the computer room to do just this.  I play some music, and hold a little pow-wow with Andrew Spuller from Boulder, Colorado over Facebook® chat.  He clues me into some new music from Gil Scott Heron, The Brand New, Jinja Safari, and Seasick Steve, as well as the movie, “Gregory Glenn Ross.”  We conspire about getting me to Boulder to live and work, as well as syncing outlooks on other future endeavors.  I can’t wait, the day is now through, reset to midnight on the 24^th of April 2012, a fine year.

Antlers Burst Apart

At Joe Bean, Grace notes (CDDB 1Q84) the purgatory mind-fuck, lens into the ambivalent disconnect, totally sapping the heartfelt love of deceitfulness, concocting happy little lies for happy little liars to lavish upon hapless little guests for whom I care not a lick, lapping knee ornaments.  Halfway between type A and point B there is a personality that invisibly meets in the middle, the relics of momentarily twain caprice.  Fragmentary, sentimental dates pay heed to antediluvian love notes posted everywhere for all to see to the extent that time stops in a typewriter, dead to eternity.  We come to the conclusion that no matter how much space we put between ourselves and our problems, time works independently on another dimension, the 4^th.  So no matter how much distance we separate ourselves from our ultimate fear in the 3^rd, we are not so far removed from it on parallel planes, like planets orbiting the heart of gravitational attraction at defined distances while the essence remains in time still-beating at heart.

I take a stab at singing the Hispanic show-tune melody, NO BUENO!klahoma! At the Hari-kareoke.

Suicidal swan song of the wild goose chase.

The Holy Ghost assimilates to my multicultural love for ecstatic expression, blistering gibberish.

Where in the bloody hell went those wild geese?

Long before the short-hairs, the surreal surface of circumstance blazons beyond boundary limits achieving its full potential at the hirsute unraveling where it falls all over the place, captured at the furthest extent of an extendable monkey frame.  Morphing monologue into a narcotic surround sound reverberating, resonating, and revamping invisible wavelengths of agreement that flash back to a day-dream when what was reflected by the personal-universal mirror, catching sight of synaesthetic pheromones from the drug-induced sweat of body-fevered kids who turn off and on like the flick of a light switch. 

At the dark ritual feast with the heads of habit, an ossified political polemic of demagoguery attempts to proselytize the convention defying hubris of Montenegrins. 

All I see are the ghosts induced by chemical reactions, chemical chimerae come to suspect me of summoning them away from whatever they were doing in the spirit world to come waste their time.

I forgot how to write.  I forgot how to write.  I don’t know how to do this anymore.  I don’t know why I’m doing this.  I don’t know how I’m doing this.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  I don’t know for whom I am doing this.  I don’t know where I am.  What’s going on?  Shake it. I AM concussed.  I woke up slamming caffeinated adult beverages, imported coffee, spinning cream in sight, all that’s in sight, a swirly gig, a dumb dance and I’m not even in Cabo San Lucas.  I’m doing this all on the city streets of Lord Chesterton.  I need to find some food.  Food.  Food.  I can’t take this anymore.  Protein starved for over-clocked synapses.

The Abs of Normal-C

Abnormally normal; acting towards
normalcy, a Gaussian depression
normalized using ground stabilizers
for support.  Enormous horses
tethered to the wall feel stable
on hay.  Clydesdale forces park
my engine on city street J.
Hookers here have the typical diseases
associated with the craft of man-
handling and being cast por.
Quasinormal sailors frequent
infrequently.  Paranormal act-
ivists plot Martian red hot topic.
Normalists norm, more, and taboo
for the cause, reason, or sake
of normality.  Under normal or
over normal, what normal are
you?  Feverish.  Why?
Zero idea.            J-Love

What does God want?  What do gods want?
Love.  And to hear the message.

Religious pragmatism for non-believers where
comfort can be found in established structures.
Sunday zoos where the free freaks
of faith conglomerate to worship
a season and be a part of
the pretty indoor surroundings contrived for by
the saints of circumstance to freely
organize or conform neatly along
pew lines set by the weekly guide
a shepherd steering a spaceship with a
steeple through the unerring eye of
a scientifically fictional space needle.
Onward S.S. Dromedary
through the wormhole of piety!

Blasting off, on into and through the
great beyond where the few and proud
play infinite taps infinitely inspired
by an all-encompassing warm energy like
a euphoric fountain within and without
pulsating infinite renewal of free love
translating into free expression of love’s
inspirational energy, without fear of
judgment or reprisal by the
all-appreciative powers of observation that
be, that see all forms of unknowable
perfection expressed every second in all
its dramatic goodness inspiring awe.

My indefatigable friends bounce
ideas until projects erode into
indefatigable sleep of timelessness
shared along the continuum of per-
petuity where all is as it should be
according to the glory of God who dir-
ects gently upon a unified field
without opposing forces unless the
reenactment is war on the world’s
stage where all actors don shields and spears.

Even the eyes of 20/20 are blind by
comparison, in a place where smiles aren’t
always attached to faces, detached yet
part-of somehow before reason’s age,
before happiness became attached to objects
of desire or learned desirability,
before bittersweet sympathies
and caffeinated compassions,
before I, even I wanted to understand why
some people took things so hard and
strain with such difficulty, why
some people plan ahead, premeditating
sin like apes
separate from the human race
who think superior and act inferior
retracing steps commonly
deemed contrite and worthy only of
frustration, unrecognized and unrewarded,
gains that gross satisfaction
demands recompense despite commonality,
because there are certain challenges in
life that we all must face, some that require
power and others that demand humility,
some processes that require gain and others
which demand separation for progression.

Indubitably, all change requires time
and where will you be at the time
when time ceases to exist, when your
time runs out?  Who knows the
exact hour?  It is good to change
now and set your mind aright before
timelessness ensues and holds you captive
to your condition in the place that you stand
whether you like it or not forever and ever, Amen.

Oil Spill for my Halo

Man’s natural condition is intolerable.  The natural inclination to learn can drive man to the brink of insanity, but who actually takes note?  There is a constant drive to differentiate and appear more unique in order to gain some form of favor in the eyes of the world.  The eyes of the world are largely indifferent to all attempts to appear unique.  If you are a butterfly, your pattern is preordained.  Nature inclines us toward the right path. You can’t please everyone.  You will end up playing angry games.

An uneasy equilibrium compromises assets, showing what’s- what-is affordable, rocking regional fashions foolishly either to keep out the snoots with upturned noses or the mentally deficient genome who really bring me down by their absolute presence that contributes to the guilt I ultimately feel for my individuality that requires me to suppress the altruism gene with sheer logic, reason, anger, and hateful demeanor that I feel toward myself and I reflect toward others because I look in the mirror to control my appearance and method act methodically for my own unique advantage and bid for power.

-Sheer Ego®

               There is always some rhyme or reason to the things that we do, even if formed at the scullery.  Heaven is a party without mandate.  Life is endurance and God’s word endureth for ever.  His law sets straight the standards that groups collude against in order to convolute our understanding of the basis of recognition.  I abhor lies and liars for making a life that can be difficult enough more difficult, and although I try to keep those individuals and thoughts behind me, like Satan, buried in the desert dust, hidden, secret, because it serves me better to sacrifice for the eternal mystery instead of grasping onto the pop-knowledge of the day, as much as I’d like to seize it. 

Derrick for my halo, euphoremic plasmanian devil, burden of mischief and misadventure.

Rude, crude, and not really shrewd, he gets his jollies from dear Ms. Molly, Molly Molloy.

Green love drug, sweet herb of compunction and compaction, I overemployed the cat in the hat, pipe I smoke.  Man does not live on food alone, some are driven away by hits, habits, and matches struck. I inflame my nose and pump the carburetor that clears my cylinder and fuels my engine with loose-leaf stacks, a common asset, and reason to get together and share a laugh, even if the poetry of life doesn’t seem to suffice.  It shelters my nerves from feeling pain whilst enhancing orgasm, a strong breeze blowing in the dead of weather.

Lack of feelings, sad path to anxiety, hex of control.  Dumb happiness? Dear money lovin’ race, here’s pabulum.

With respect to spiritual sorcery transparent in the real world
the loss of personal physical elements, transfer of ownership, and
objects displaced does not presuppose conservation of energy, fire
and metaphysics.  Doubting ignorance while acting recklessly,
ranting angrily,
and swinging blindly in cluttered space.  What takes place in the mind can often super-
cede objective reality (as we know it), otherwise Vulcan logic would persist.  Therefore,
what is recognized by the business world (by cognitive neuroscience and psychology regarding preferences and predilections) is ultimately collusion against those consumers using sensory and emotional overload assembly line Pandora products.  Everybody wants a box, you’re not unique.  A never-ending travesty: being lead the wrong way by loss leaders who want to separate you from your pawnables [better than you at chess].  What is your product or how have you been branded?  Own what you are doing, be better than average, the standards have been lowered just for you! 

Our children have been dumbed down by being taught by the sons of distracted teachers who think they have their own self-interests at heart (when they are actually using their head) while they don’t really know how to interest themselves with anything other than chores, toil, and busy-work that they’ve never really been interested in, wondering, “what am I missing?  What is this supposed to mean?” and the children can tell viscerally, cutting you to pieces. 

Cross-sectional statistics are depressing averages. If there is a Gaussian assumption that the bell-curve rises, then why aren’t the 1%-ers occupying the average peak?  To be utterly average is to occupy a depression.  Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?  Raise your head, dead-man, Breathe!

Gaussian Float: Come Frappe.

Fear and trifling, not seeking fulfillment so much as seeking an end to
conflict over income and employment with my father who dads me into
seeking ends beyond my means of capacity.  Perspicacity is a big word.  I’ve seen larger.
It’s another one of those days where the old man taps you on the shoulder
and tells you it’s time to vomanos.  Scoot.  Skedaddle.  Get the Hell out of here.
You’re in my way.  You’re blocking my entry to the path of enlightenment.  It is
unbefitting a man of such inherent virtue to throw all that goodness away.
What’s that?  Goodness, you say: a quality that just seems to fit in all the
right ways.

There was a point, with a bright flowery future in front of me when I believed that ‘everything
in life is an easily replaceable commodity.’  Thoughtlessly, it is true.  ‘Every experience
in life is an easily repeatable occasion.’  Forcefully, it could be contrived.  Surrounded
by users’ domains the feudal prince pauses, chips, and plays.  “There is a way
which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is
heaviness.  The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways: and
a good man shall be satisfied from himself.”  Proverbs 14:12-14.

cast all perfection aside
and bask in all the light it provides
i've fallen into stride
old habits finally standing aside
making way for clearer skies
seen through clearer eyes
tho something still holds me in check
maybe just the pointless task
to "get better"
so i'm setting clearer sights
devoting longer nights
spent postponing my lethargies
owning my deficiencies
condoning fishing in new seas
so cast all perfection aside
it proves perpetually pointless
leaves us permanently homeless
feeling left out within our own chest
spitting out reasons
to cling to past reassurances
it's a sad sight today
through clockwork sight
peering down infinite arms
at past action striking present tense
but a difference this time:
finally what's wrong's making sense
cast all perfection aside

--Spuller, Andrew

Shave your head, tanning is popular, shag is 60’s
Shaq is 90’s
Leash, fetter, chain, chore, toil, work, and grind to get better, well again, healed.
Make more money because the way down feels like disease and
poverty is Death’s financial blessing.  Electrolight
vigils lambert watts and electrochemical insights
expose darkened intestine.  Do it if it’s legal.  Barely.
What’s the point Maslov?  Is self-actualization the highest
ideal?  Call me a taxi tropist.  Growth in all directions
is dispersive and has little to no impact, save blooming
for bees.  Lard lasers bore me.  Mirth
shows a sparkling glee when restless with a loaded gun.
I can’t take back all I thought
I could, but I retained a lesson:
I couldn’t just discard those stripes.

What you think you know doesn’t matter as much as
what you know you know.  If you thought for one
fleeting second and couldn’t recollect, you really
are an amnesiatic know-nothing and worthless
to society except as a dumb fucking breeder.  Yet
the market is already fully saturated with those
types, therefore your quality of life will take a hit.

Better start smoking.

The salesman’s guarantee, ‘or your money back,’ satisfied by complex claims.
Satisfaction must be demanded!  Founded upon a sound structure of
scientific rationale, the basis of reason and reasonability,
highest attainment of salesmanship, the blastulating function bequeathed
to egg (on/off).  The highest guarantee, a return to normalcy, or
*what I expect normal to be*, again, demanding functionality, cash, and
carry.

In my moment of weakness, the world on my shoulders
prevails over me, good earth, covering my fears of tambourine
funeral celebrations, public ticket sales for a proper burial.
Hire the black dress, paid to cry, act guaranteed.
Guaranteed: a uniformed guard against the culminating tirade,
a vituperative eulogy which fails to spare the family.
I’m sorry I’m not sorrier.  I tried to be stronger in my
moment of weakness, I tried so deliberately to lie to myself that I was stronger,
but when that moment arrive, every effort to stop time failed.  The good times,
they were just too few, far between, and included terms and conditions,
applied rigorously with a gray glance and an iron fist.  As we gather
here today to observe life’s only justifiable guarantee, we would
do well to remember the example this dead man set and then do
our best to forget it.  You with the umbrella!  Up inside!
This is nothing if not unlucky.  No good shall come of it.  Save your
soul, lest you die convinced that there is no pain in fire forever. Amen.

Algonquin linguistics, the point of language is communication, yet recovering unused documents and focusing on specifics toward the use and rediscovery of accuracy, translation, and importance to the individual who identifies the secret whisper from within, without…

Economization of effort:  Telepathic communication: not just words, a perception and an overall conceptualization of a reality apart from the commonly agreed upon normalcy prone to compromisingly political positions, flexible-inflexible.

Brooding, fixed gaze intent, tight-lipped, these days are not to be forgotten, forged
in pain, anguish, strife, and agony at being full of youthful energy, yet being cons-
trained by social norms and inundated by constant stimuli that perpetrates
every clear, clean, or pure thought, life repressed by memories of dreams
restricted to the commonplace mall.  Here on the frontlines of the battle between
all that is good, sacred, and holy versus all that is dismissive, determinate,
and to the point, curiosity motivates the intrigued to break the cycle.
The belly of the beast, full of paroxysms, acid, and sixes challenges me to
refill, dares me to renegotiate, and tempts me to a game of pick-up Styx.
What luck!  The bar has been lowered.  Thank jingo and a petridish of human flesh,
scientifically justifiable to consume for the palatial knowledge of a scab, opportunity target.
“Philosophy begins in wonder,” Plato said.

It is sometimes necessary for the artist to understand that it is limitations and
recognition thereof that facilitate a better understanding of the milieu set.
Unrestricted variables float and require more complex machinery to correlate
and pattern.  Conflict, struggle, and strife are universally relatable:
we all have a tumultuous family life, no one wants to hear a braggart’s rights.

Poor me and my Kindle®.  Poor me and my Blackberry®.  Poor me and my ordinateur portable.
For the amount that I possess, my possessions make me sorry, and my lack of possessions makes me sorrier, as though I’m not contributing to stock-core-American-values being a have-not.  I have some.  Not enough, perhaps, more than I need, perhaps, American greed is most evident from the how much we trash and how little we recycle, expecting someone else to clean up our messes like spoiled children pretending to be rich enough for ennui.

The Big Sleep: Perpetual Amnesia

Inhumanism, laugh at everything contrived by man.  It is much
much more difficult to laugh at a sunset, a flower in bloom, or the
loss of something revered.  Repairable sentiments exact while
the Totaled rebate what they can extract from an unfortunate
body born to crash, a fiery fuselage bound to black box, or a steaming
locomotive Supermanned by the son of aliens, (Mexican anchor baby)
stopping short before the racist road blockade, teamstirred by white cops
on executive streets, branching into a whirlwind of baby battering fists,
legal carjackers come to fuck a donut or a Taco Bell® White Supreme.
American fiction, what’s next?  Myth supporting historians whitewash the
human condition with optimistic cut-off dates and a plea for ignorance.

Whiny conscience, another annoying tsk-task.

4x4 shot
Solid sphere orb
Tangent to all
Drug through the mud
Downward reverse:
Upward for all
Flap down push-up
Bird Biology
Fly to breathe Oh
Move to survive
Canvas great heights
Feather of wings

Temple cop-out:
“Wealth keeps me warm
Serve and protect”

Ontology
Generator
Panpsychism

Proxy tazing
Internet bite
Destitutor
The Viking thing:
Flying ointment

“Unflappable because he has no wings, an emotionless intellect, worse than evil.” AC

032512 wiki

Stock options -> Olive presses -> Thales(’ Theorem) -> Hylozoism -> Abiogenesis -> Panpsychism

"That from which is everything that exists and from which it first becomes and into which it is rendered at last, its substance remaining under it, but transforming in qualities, that they say is the element and principle of things that are." substance "is saved", but acquires or loses different qualities (πάθη, the things you "experience").

There is no one beginning.

"In the beginning, SPIRIT within (spiritus intus) strengthens Heaven and Earth,

The watery fields, and the lucid globe of Luna, and then --

Titan stars; and mind (mens) infused through the limbs

Agitates the whole mass, and mixes itself with GREAT MATTER (magno corpore)"

-Virgil

-Wikipedia

Neologisms:

(The ends are self-defined.  “All in agreement say ‘Aye’.”  Democratic spirit, the burden
of proof, peer reviewed (for poetics)) Irk.  Objective qualities meter and
----------points of precision--------------------------------------------- axially tally
aesthetically pleasing amounts to the fashionable individual, who
fashions fashion to suit seasonable reasonability compassed about.
The direction we are headed is the direction we are taking, roger?
Vector tangent to orbital scope, centripetal forces ride a merry-go-round together.