noun      (pl. autoautoautoautopsies)
      the automatic autopsy of a car by itself
In Dabrowski's theory of positive disintegration, there are two kinds of people who are always themselves and always do what they want: those on the lowest level, that of narcissism, and those on the highest level, that of authenticity. People on the lowest level don't repress themselves because they don't care about anyone else; people on the highest level don't repress themselves because their every action is driven from their own values of what's best for everyone. I have never met anyone else on the highest level, but I've confused a lot of people on the lowest level as being on the highest (Sv, L, Y, I'm looking at you) because I moved out of the lowest level at 13 and can't remember what it was like. The level of positive disintegration is by no means the only measure of someone's worth, and I've valued a lot of people on the lowest level more than those on the middle because they're more themselves. But I can't connect with anyone who's not on my level, and it's impossible to sustain the inspiration to act by my own values by myself. My best friend, Sb, was on the third level, always in the process of questioning the meaning of everything, and while I was on that level, we could connect, but when I moved on to form my own values, what once connected us was gone.


We've outgrown all our scales,
As gravity pulls us inwards.
So our surface stays exposed,
And the inside as the outside.
The end of times is upon us:
The moment unleashed from time,
Removed out of all its frames,
A still continuum of now.
With the clock break the laws of physics,
And all the limits of normal matter;
Transformed into an exotic creature,
Not from this world nor the next.
I let go off all my outer shells,
Let them float away into space.
What's left of me can't be seen,
Still you can feel my force.
You feel how you're holding tighter,
As the pull of the stream takes grip.
Let go for all life is flux,
And all who resist can't live.

Ripples Through Time

Beyond the Styx

Plato's Cave


Minutes to Midnight

Trump and Putin are both pathological narcissists who have threatened to use nuclear weapons in Europe if necessary, and as a symptom of narcissism is paranoia, they will be likely to take these threats very seriously. Until the 21st century, pathological narcissists have never had the power to engage in MAD, and now there are likely to be two. There is a far higher voter turnout among Republicans than Democrats, and this will be especially true when both candidates are very unpopular, as conservatives are more likely to rely on the tradition of voting than reject it altogether as progressives often do.
Google offers a 30 million dollar prize to any private-funded project that can get a rover to go 500 meters on the moon. The problem with most of these projects will be that they'll make the same mistake that aerospace engineers have made for decades: they think spaceflight is so ambitious that they doubt themselves too much to do anything more than imitate their predecessors, who in turn did the same thing, so that rovers have not changed in their basic design since the 60s, even as every other technology has transformed since then.
Just like our computers, our rovers need to be miniaturised: its package volume needs to be as small as possible, as small in relation to a rover as a smartphone in relation to ENIAC, perhaps a thousandth the weight of a rover so that it would also only require a thousandth the fuel and almost a thousandth the cost. It could just be a camera looking out the side of a single motorised wheel. We could use a high-altitude balloon to get the rocket into the stratosphere (even high school projects have reached 60 km), where the high-speed winds will give it a boost of up to 100km/hour, bringing it that much closer to escape velocity. The only problem then would not be resources as much as figuring out the ballistics.

An egg falls out of my hand, and I’m inside it. I flail around as a hatchling in my own guts. A fox mercifully takes me away in its mouth, ensconces me in its stomach, cherishes me in its intestines, releases me into its bloodstream and delivers me into its flesh. In the shadow beneath a tree, the day makes place for sudden night. I leap into the air to pounce onto it, but keep falling, into outer space, to finally land on a spark of a star. I burn my paws and leap off again, but not before it sets my fur on fire. I wonder if all that’s ever going to happen is my dying over and over again. It’s nice, but gets so repetitive after a while. When I’m done transcending from one form into another, what’s left? It leaves me feeling incomplete, left with a desire that’s unfulfilled, but for what? All I know is that I am burning with it.
I rip and tear — through the layers
But there’s nothing there
Are you real, are you human,
Do you see into me?

Don’t bother with prayers
When the clock strikes twelve
When the hammer strikes the bullet
When the red sun dawns

We disagree
To disagree

Komm näher,
Lass mich dich sehen
Damit ich dich besser
Treffen kann

I'm staying at a warehouse community right now, and it's called Omega. I came down with stomach flu here: they call it the Omega virus. It struck me as a good name for an apocalyptic pandemic in a cheesy scifi. Like a plague sent by some alien superorganism. But it doesn't just kill anyone: it just culls anyone that doesn't conform to their standards, so that they can assimilate the DNA of those who do. Most affected humans die, and only those loyal enough to be suitable as servants survive. When the survivors become isolated from the rest of humanity, the entity releases a manifesto to brainwash them, and they're ordered to kill any human who hasn't been infected. At some point the uninfected find out how to cut off aliens from their hive mind and learn that they used to be a peaceful telepathic species, and became a superorganism when the elite used the virus against the system that came before it. When finding this out, the uninfected use their virus against them, since they're not loyal either. It can be seen as an analogy of the communist revolutions where the leaders didn't conform to their own standards of selflessness.

Telepathic Therapy Outtake

I've been called the Freud of the 21st century, but I'm not sure if I can take that much credit. The way he analysed dreams has been quite inspirational to me. It's true that I can see much deeper into the human psyche than he in his time, but he never had the tools we have today. He could only guess at the meaning of his patients' dreams, but all the different parts of his interpretations fit together so well that statistically, he had to be right. He had the intuition of a psychic, and I'm sure that augurs were inspired on people like him, even if most of them were frauds. Of course, he wasn't always right, and when he was it was impossible to verify, so that after the sexual revolution, when it was no longer true that most neuroses would be caused by sexual repression, his theories fell out of favour. In Freud's time, individuals conformed so much to the collective that their minds could be easily interpreted in line with its culture. Now, in a much more individualised culture, we have to interpret everyone separately, but of each individual there is only one sample. For most people, pychotherapy lost its effectiveness until the advent of telepathy. But telepathy blurred the boundaries between therapist and patient.