Friday, July 26, 2013

My '300 Brane Brain' Explained (Many Pertinent Links)

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The 300 Brane Brain

"I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't believed it." - Marshall McLuhan

OK folks, I will once again attempt to explain "Human Quantum Computing", from my experiential POV, and, as this will entail explication of some cutting-edge advanced Physics, I will first lay down some links for reference for those not conversant with modern theory: (parallel timeline navigation)

I will attempt a brief overview here and now, so that the reader can comprehend some of the perhaps inexplicable former Posts in this Blog, because other of my overview posts seem to have disappeared. Please refer to the above links if I fail to explain anything here, or in other posts on Human Quantum Computing, well enough for your good understanding. I will not engage in a lengthy exposition here and now, but will assume the reader will fill themselves in on the basic concepts as delineated in the links above to better understand my anecdotal shorthand, as it were.

Basically, I believe I can actually perform Human Quantum Computing operations across approximately 300 'bundled' alternate reality matrix wavefronts, by exchanging entangled qbits with my parallel selves through porosity tubules (wormholes) manifest in the branes (Calabai-Yau Manifolds) separating ongoing probability vector-sums cast into divergent existences by the 'branching events' defined in the Everett model of the "Many Worlds Metatheory'.

For a simple illustration, I like to recommend Jet Li's movie: "The One"

Or the TV series: "Sliders"

Even before "Sliders" was produced, I experienced perfectly similar instances of trans-temporal and trans-locational movement, and became familiar with many of my closest contiguous alternate reality-matrix personages, and we have traded timeline inhabitation freely and with conscious choice for decades.

The principle of utilizing the brains of one's alternate selves, on parallel wavefront probability vectors, is simple in practice (imagine the process, think it, do it) but devilishly difficult to explain simply.

The Many World's Theory posits 'branching events' that occur whenever a "probability vector-sum" altering 'choice' is made, and the independent propagation of two ongoing wavefronts that proceed in different but parallel directions from the instantiation of a consequential choice. Enough of these are made within almost congruent lines of continuity to create 'thin spots' and actual Einstein-Rosen 'holes' in the Calabai-Yau 'branes' that separate parallel timelines.

I have estimated that I can most easily sequentially and simultaneously exchange qbits with about 300 of my closest parallel selves, thus providing the wetware platform of multiple computational nodes necessary for both Quantum Teleportation of data, and Quantum Computing and processing of same.

As stated, please peruse previous posts for anecdotal embellishment and further explication and elucidation. Namaste' all.

No Secrets From 'Remote Viewers' (Or Channels)!

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"Ye shall know the truth, and the truth will make you free."

So the 'crux of the biscuit', as Frank Zappa was wont to say, with regard to State secrets and security, is inherent in the actuality of certain 'New Age Arts'. If, as Edgar Cayce proposed to the nascent 20th Century psychic world-view with his 10,000 unexpectedly accurate 'readings' and prognostications, if there really are non-corporeal beings that can both 'see' things on the physical plane from a POV beyond it AND communicate their 'x-ray' visions via certain 'sensitive' folk, then there are NO government secrets that are safe from their scrutiny, see?

When, in the early '70s, the CIA started to employ Astrologers and Palm readers (Project MKOften - )

and all the "Men Who Stare At Goats" programs began to be researched, there became apparent two inescapable holes in ANY security system: 1) A good 'remote viewer' could penetrate any safe or vault or "Eyes Only" classification system; and 2) a trained "Channel" could do the same, given the 'reality' of (respectively) trained clairvoyants or beings existing somewhere other than in the material world.

Now it has always been my personal recollection (from Berkeley 'underground' scuttlebutt in the early '70s) that some Channels (like the 'Original Michael Group') in their sessions stumbled across some sensitive information the government at the time wished to remain completely unknown (like the details of Project Northwoods

or the cover-ups of high ranking Nazi war criminals like Bormann, Barbie, Mengele, et al , brought to the Americas, as finally my hunches about them were corroborated -

So there then ensued covert attempts by the N.S.A. and the C.I. A. to 'muzzle' channels in general, and perhaps even the 'O.M.G.' specifically.

Now the efficacy of 'remote viewers' has long been proven and utilized (but never publicized) by the US Government. The incident of a viewer correctly identifying the immediate environment of a US Air Force Colonel kidnapped in Italy by the 'Red Brigade' in the '80s (an absolutely perfect description of the place where he was subsequently found) is but one example of this.

Now if one truly believes in the existence of 'Collective Disembodied Entities' (or even Angelic Beings like the Cherubim - Cayce's "Librarians") who can communicate with certain folk and whose perception stems from beyond our sensoria's physical limitations, then these also are 'easy breaches' of any attempts at secrecy.

I personally have either 'channeled' or intuited certain undisclosed facts the details of which have been actively suppressed by our Government, the truth of which insights I have proven to be true. One of these is the fact that Frank Olsen did not 'jump' out a closed and curtained window on the 10th floor of a New York hotel weeks after being given a really weak (supposedly 70 micrograms) dose of LSD, but that he was executed for threatening to expose the CIA's use of unwitting subjects in their MKUltra drug trials.

Being privy to stuff like this is frightening to the powers-that-be, you see, because all their hard work trying to cover-up their heinous crimes comes to naught if psychic abilities, or Angels, actually exist.

So it goes. Namaste, all.

"Crassing From Ashid" And Other Logolongonenamorations

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'Crassing From Ashid"

. . . and there were times, truly rulelost and lucidiferous times when the food was so glad it leapt into our mouths with alliterative sighs and euphonic tonics. Whilst silkily synasthesiac and sibilant our serotonin cascaded over neuron falls, raising a rainbow mist of endorphins.

We grokked 'God', and deconstructed our conditioning awash in insights resplendent with glosses recently transcended, and inculcated conditioning overcome.

We were "coming down", but not brought down by anything "reality" had handling our perception's deceptions. The "illusory nature of Maya" was made quite clear and the fear of ego dissolution dissolved as sublimated 'lizard brain' 'breath-of-fire's.

The interludes between 'being' and 'non-being' pulsed with portents and import, while mundanity crept like a leprous mist upon our dancing eyes and soring synapses,

Yet 'the trip' encompassed a gallimaufry of gamuts with lucidity dripping from every pores, whores there we were for the leaping faith we found every one of those '70s 'survival filter' free mornings time and again, our realescence ritualized: 'chickening' the sun awake, high in the Berkeley hills:

'Crassing from Ashid'. - J Thrasher, July 2013

OK folks, now that the kids are in bed, and I've had a short nap, I feel the need to wax eloquent in an obstreperously (almost) obscene fashion. So if the following piece makes little immediate sense in scansion, try just pronouncing the syllablestrings aloud, and you should be then well invested in this, a fine example of my logomania.


Pound on, wonderbunswomen !

The future is about to come crashing down
on your seminalien Socraticed concupiscience:
gobs of bluecheeseviralslimeswallowing
sumshucksters circle revenently ‘round the women’s bidet
for a just a whiff of vintagestiff deathlustcurdcrust.

[ . . . meanwhile,, in an adjoining abbatoir,
carmelized all-iris-eyes shining with:
“Love me ‘cause I can lick my own, slick”; her ogleobsessed bloatedbratwursthunghusband
was whanking furiously on his priapic principles,
diddling with the livefeed display
where his wife was splayed and playing, plying her suckcesspool sublimnanalwitherkneeling succubusiness
whilst he watched, wondering who would get off
thisincarnatiedyad dharmaweal fistfirst . . . ]

‘Snatcwhoreorally, carnalicklewdin on this The Kid wasnot.
In Seminalaryan school all they had tauthemabutt booty
hardonly swerved to cunfewes him,
so he neversuspeckerheaded a thing,
banalthewile the massturdebaiting pimpherinhell
washaving herscrewineveryoneoncue, druggedandfrugged, whenever he could, consequimsays be dammed. Gofrigurs.
Anall this took f’revher to fingerout, buttwhim headiddled tit, tolerant hey new twat was twat, so nutbesotted gnomewhorewashe, she shed “whank who’s berrymunch” hand they wend their hairy ways.

The Kid’n’er leftownan lovived awiledinsin enemafarther
outinthewayback untrying two hurts to make amends
till atlassed they true grue apheart teachotheransplit.
Amoral? . . . dumbtotryno . . . I guess the testis:

en crudite verite. - J Thrasher, 1996

And then there is lambent logorrhea:

. . . and so that’s the story of how I was vested with the Bukowski Chair at the WWW Univerity Of “n”th Dimensional Creative Neuraethiology© Physics. I passed my Orals with a rather lacklustre (I felt) 10 hour recital of my Onaneopus©: “Moribundant Museschatology©” (shortform); and was subsequently elected Salutightorian© of the obligatory Grand Piano Vomitory. But, needless to say, I digress.

Anyway, so, when the Angelic Host (Luciferian Rebels inclusive) manifestly decloaked on 9/9/99, and the ensuing ‘World Tao-Zones Index’© plummeted, my wetware startup company ThrashArt© went cortex-up, AND, then, my 1+?+? year Marriage Contract with ‘Celeclonal Drew Barrymore(©)#427’© was terminated in its third month for nonpayment of premiums, I felt pretty low. Lower than a dysmounted© HOLOSIMM on a melted microchip, I tell you true. Nevertheless, I rented a cheap cubi next to the downtown ‘Toke-It-Topium’© pissoir and dug in my plasteelheels, rationing my expenditures and flailing frantically, round the 10 hour metriclock©, with the ‘waldo(©)trol’© of my cubi’s holographic V-keyboard, trying to spewout enough CDopy© pusillanimous persiflage (at ¥1,000,000/word@Uscale) to keep me in tofusteaks, and trying to transmute my melancholy into something resembling remuneration. Transcribed pain always pays mohbettah bucks, brauae.

It was about that time, if you will recall, that President Hanks, just back from a State visit to Neowobblyville©, capital of the L-5 Republic, gave his now infamous “Religeosity-Industratareal Simplex (type XII)”© speech, which, I might add, was a freelance collabberation© of William Safire(©)wareAI23© and yours truly, and all heaven broke loose.

Feeling the heat of the Nutluddite© Fringe’s Basque ninjas on my exculpatory trail, I had my trendy Maoriyogibear-facitattoo© redone with a more inconspicuous mtlflkechatoyantGuernica-epicreep©, and decided to go hang out at ClubMadHedonism© Bayonne for a while, under a psuedonominative© personality rented from gNom-De-Plumes-R-Oui©.

Things just got stranger and stranger though. I ran into my 43rd wife there, sporting new mams (she, not me), and a new beau (some codpiece-enhanced crackreek© CPA from Tierra Del Fuego North©, with a contiguwuss© eyebrow and betelnutrotted© plasteeth), at the nightly ‘JackoffJill Disco’©; humped them both perverunctoreally© (for Deco-rhum’s© sake) and ended up whipped and wayoverhung© at the Club’s Breakfastorgybar gimme-Buffet© trying to choke down a plate of ‘MagnoliaThunderpussy(©)Pooptarts’© and fresh jizcream©, while unSteadmanly dodgering© the OTTOmaided© cat-o-mime-tails© wilding Elviituvla’s© that were working the buffetline.

It was then that I had my now much valleywho-Op-ed© epiepiphany©, in an effuallgent© flash of agenbitinwitsitu©-IRMWsckt©-shortedtoground-threw-brainspam© so perspirinvidiouscicacious© that if froze the Synthlymph© in my stunned and reeling hydro-enSETHalamic© AIemplants©!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - :

. . . “THE BANNED”©!!!!!!!!!!!!


I was on a MISSION FROM COD!!!!!! I had regained my Guerilla WittgenSteiner© cummingsynsenessence© of NOHthrupFryedlike© centracontraility© of mythooze©, and myonaninkarnakitive© concupissantequiproseleGaiaSet-E©!!!


WAYRADITWAS, and well, the rest is herstory, as y’ll know, but those were theodoronodaze© my frskens, and that was how it all CAymendooBBing@. I gHesse© chew jest ad two Bea “ARThiere”©, don’cha’gnome©, don’cha’gnoumenon©! It’s just like Tiny Dr. Tim and/or Gandalf said, longague© in Fairway Park: ‘We’ve already won, all that’s left is the moppin’ up.”! The viewture will be shapesifted by GrindingrungrunniongrinninAOLollywaillin© young ThrasheRs with wetwirednetskateboards©.

{IMNSHO, there’s no reasonably probable [IOW: none now having greater than what I calcululate© to be an 11% (±2%) chance of consensocioccurrence© (percentages having permutatively decreased in conformance with the vaticinaderivation© of a geomatriaxially© continuiguous© AINcontraverticestringfractal-inaccessationablequationmodel© since ‘65)] bifurconcatenation©/line-of-’futurehistory’-force-vector-sum that will escape the substantive influence of of the 60’s, so get over it, already, all you fundittoheads and nostalgia buffs.} Progress, don’t repress or regress. ‘YAH don’t need TA wHETherman, for ‘lo, ‘WITCH-WAY’ this wind blows.’} - J Thrasher, 1985 );{>

Namaste', all.