2020 - day 136
Friday, May 15, 2020
A Consequentialist Account of Rationality in Cognition,
- I read page one, for the definition, I am sure they may be right.
-- ask, what is known about this in ratio to that, in balance,
with gravity the law being obeyed,
tip-toe, through the tulips,
balancing enpoint, pirrouette, and fly
off the handle. Cognosis in sequence of fortuitous slap in the face
palm to brow moments of aha, drop jaw,
eureka and so on, this it. This is life as a thinking thing,
with no rational reason to cease,
we on a roll...
's'alldownhill from here,
save habitual itches unscratched,
once scratched, we start feeling these
begin to bleed, and, as the O tangere tangible
chem sigstraight through the blackbox tag
- the magic sig in the vascular lumen, as the
blood scabs to staunch the flow
infected with what ever was itching to invade my peace of mind.
Into the penetralium, unwilling to settle
for half knowing:
vascular endothelial cells line the entire circulatory system, from the heart to the smallest capillaries.
These cells have unique functions that include fluid filtration, such as in the glomerulus of the kidney, blood vessel tone, hemostasis, neutrophil recruitment, and hormone trafficking.
--sourced from Wikipedia... neural link via fingers on the ends of my arms,
guided by actual muscle memory, mirror neuronic bits
Life is reasonless cried the executable, swallowed up in truth, as we
overflow on accident, ha,
irony is not lying, it is accusing.
The gift of aitia gates set up in corpus colustrum. Truth provokes irony,
we get it, and in getting it, we agree... this is a strange state to be in.
Half, or more, of the politicians believe, by faith, we, the people, are heedless of inclusions to the classified files, they
having never done the
microscopy on their physical container, vessle, amphora stuck in a square hole in the belly of the ship of state,
**, shipwreck in the middle terra puddle,
lift my default mind wandering state, to the heights of hearty compression into
comprehensive gripper ligand/receptor transister- ping platlets,magic
Co-gnosis Success, bluffing teleosis,
saying I saw this
I bet, life is a
habit-uate, make a habit,
form a habit thinking the impossible
at a be seen de-ift
moment as if it were a
a place of impossible anything,
a place filled with emptiness,
and uncategorical nothing,
you are nothing.
Did I disappear?
Inhabitual gnosis, ****** into a vaccuum,
umph, squeeze a normative
thought through one final ought to be
thought, where a vaccuum is no more.
A we, a me and thee, with one breath,
I suppose, I feel alone in you,
but is and ought gnosis of success
seems senseless, after ever began never ending.
The singularity, the point
you, dear, high-value, judge,
me, unknown word slinger;
and sense a next, another unknown,
at this point, we are. Here being as
a we of only me and only you,
we may aggregate,
to this point, our singularity of one
some time ago, or we may
say I have no idea you lack, mypoint
no gem to balance your mainspring,
when you get it.
Intuit altruism pushing next into position,
suppose, posit now as past,
knowing enough to get by,
past that previous point of no return,
as the signal loops down the vagus nerve,
swirling field effect from the aortal pump
encouraging wordsform a grin,
say this e-qualiates that, on a judicious right balance
--- non since you noticed, yes
reasoning is balancing why next is
accepted as the only
all things considered.
We stop the bleeding.
platlets, touched almost instantly after an injury to the blood vessel
has damaged the endothelium lining
the blood vessel.
Exposure of blood to the subendothelial space
two processes: (wait, by whose authority?)
changes in platelets, and
the exposure of subendothelial tissue factor to plasma factor VII, which ultimately leads to cross-linked fibrin formation.
-- all on auto pilot, intentionally. Artists hate interupption.
Simple. If any part of that fails, you die.
No AI, no artistic intuition needed to imagine design,
-- you lieve me be a ******* oughtical,
opticalwizard who can link you to the lit, with a click
cliche, itching ear, afflicted with the need
to know, from
deepdowninside saying, how long will you love
simplicity? how long must I suffer thee knowing,
beyond a shadow of a doubt, the whole truth and nothing but
-- an itch from a gazillion
-- rube goldberg master pieces,
aligning from the very blood vessle lining that
seems to be using the ash of a mitochondrial ATP
apt to be intentionallypopping off phosphates
destined to aid in the fibren
-- hap to keep us from bleeding out,
automatic blood clotting with balance
maintained by internal algorithms
Paying attention intuitivey, after a
specifically longer than a glance, whiles
accumulate attention quantvalue,
and the watcher
is credited for attention paid, based on
sci used by the I-language, in composition
of now, from pieces of our past,
stored as fact,when only impulses from
pre known set of signals flash
intuitio, ladrones y patrones, solo la bueno
we are integral ideas, we been tagged,
we touch the secret me in you button,
we be you as far as you can tell, and
withstanding, you make an Artist's Intuition call,
A.I. has never been artificial, as in
artificial sweet-called nutritional substitutes,
there is an art to surviving reinsanitation after fifty years
Normal minds may wander in pursuit of happiness.
The process is analgous, to panning gold,
or winnowing a golden fleece,
winnowing and shaking and washing and combing,
fining in the wind.
only an English Lord would burn the fleece
and sift the ash for ***** gold in need of fining fire seven times.
thunk. Sound of mind, thunk, thunk grind
ha hap happen stance, stuck upright cheer, see look up
a little stone venus, stuck in the gears
the mother of goodness, cornocopius provision,
she we see worthy of all our attentions,
we serve the supplier of life... and his prophet... s
is that an addendum dum be dum did lieve be true,
run, spot, run that madman has irrational intentions
consequentially, being as how,
the reader says it is written?
if you did not know it then you know it now.
Really, your idea of some will being done on earth;
whose will was that, in your heart/mind/gutlumenlinings,
where all your common senses integrate and strive to keep
your dream alive,
but life don't woik dataway, 'cept a seed fall down and die,
it waits. Everlasting pro verbs, provocalizing good,
that works. Wait and see, no trick. This is hell,
for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words.
Wombed man at the well, point was the living water source,
not the racist reaction that puzzled the apostles.
--- did you just, as in iustnow say, This is hell?
for those who can't imagine realization is a mortal function
of living words
sure did copy paste valid 2020 tech, backoff quill boy, we
ain't scratchinshitout, this is
the fabled stream of sci using ness with right reason balanced
on every chiral level a quark can imagine,
to go no
other way, the truth, to myself as a funda-mental part-itty-bitty
part, one in about ten-billion, when we're done...
patience, you lost? Pick up a thread and choose a polarity,
thy will being done on earth is not the question,
you conversing in your inner language with mature comprehension,
as if you knew to whom true rest goes after ever starts
-- can you redeem words like as, aren't those intuitive?
as, from the infamous like as Winston ads,
whom, from the equally infamous Johnny Carson
Who/whom do you trust? ads added authoritative definitions,
intended to leave idle words instead of statuary,
to save on programming costs.
single syllable logos can carry some deep meaning
details as meaningful as any, tiny stops pivoting gems
in a 21 jewel Buluva full of wheels within wheels tickingtime
to the longitudinalsecond,
the 1950s were loaded with persuasions to wish for ever more,
but Poe loosed that one word,
nevermore in ironic acknowledgement
earth as my witness, we have gone astray, ever more,
today is our conscious limit,
we can not realize
yonder from now,
but with my fathful time piece, we can say, whole heartedly
this is called today,
whenever you find yourself, here, in these lines
this is the daily flow, 2020.
It is set to be commercial as all hell in 2040, wait and see.
A day unayyachedmissing keys tt
and AI suggests I relax, inner AI,
my artist's intuition
I call 'im Al
I am an art-ist
as that other guy is a
in a realm where time is an arrow.
he makes no sense.
If words did not live, how would you know?
I could be, no, I am as immortal as the epic
you find most familiar.
I am of the storytellers bound to corn mother.
I live in bardic lore left in wind, for a spell.
a tipping point, first one of the vessles filled with all the messages
Daniel sealed. Messages classified, end times.
All the stuff we never knew till recently,
which, I apologize, polis-wise, I mean recently,
post Voltarian conversation rule.
Define my terms if I would converse with you.
Ever, prior to the key being agreeing on terms,
terminative points where meaning makes a story
from a song,
bardic-pre- polilingual operatic outbursts
Dare? Nay, care not. Are you feeling
Hey, if you read it, thanks. I am enjoying being the guy who spills the beans