Friday, March 28, 2014

Gravitational Waves Original Face of Universal Cosmology

The Caterpillar can reveal new leaked study that finally disproves theory that the Universe had an ‘origin’.  
From our Infinitology Correspondent:
Kosmologists agog over gravitational fog from the future.  Primordial gravitational waves lap knowledge’s further shore  -  Particle physics posits miniscule ripples in the very phosphorescent fabric of space.  We ask:  What borned the Universe?  Was it a egg?  Do they hot?  Scientists believe they have found the echo of the 28 billionth day of the Universe.  Did the Universe congeal while expanding into Sunyata?  A detectable signal, was it?  A detecting consciousness, is it?  Residual energia.  Vestigial energy residue.  No Origin to universe posited.    No Universe to posit origin of.  No consciousness to consider Universe and Origin.  Universal Origin.  Awareness of Universal Origin.  Material support of Awareness of Origin of Universe.  No Universe.  No Origin of Universe.  Universal Egg remains uncracked.  
Now we go over to the Institute of Knowledge –THIS JUST IN:
A group of research-scientists have discovered that the Universe cannot be experienced outside of the Mind.  This has created a schism in the Physics Community, with one sect claiming that phenomena can only be a product of Mind;  the rival camp claiming that Mind is, in itself, a product of phenomenal reality.  Abstaining from the debate, the Dark Matter School claims origination in a cloud of liquid green Time. 

Boguslav Martinu – Puppets (Kloutky) Books 1, 2 & 3.

It had seemingly been a long time since I had run into that mysterious and magnanimous carapaced character sometimes known as ‘The Caterpillar’.   That haunter of dark and sidereal sinuous thoroughfares of Time’s skirling skein.  Particle-rippling cultural transmitter of nebulous and autochthonous knowing, he abides in the spaces between other places, near and far.  Empathic antennae alert to vibrating ethereal moleculars.  Multitudinous limbs concealed beneath trenchcoat of misty nightways wanderings.  The Caterpillar had taken to capering and none can cut a caper like a caterpillar can. 
          I wandered on through night’s archival galleries,
                        In galleons I sailed upon the oceans,
                                    In gravity I walked upon the surface,
                                                Of lands I knew not where or neither heard of,
                                    And on I journeyed into night’s bright imagery,
                        A treasury of all that is imaginary,
            I wandered thither starshine zither celestial,
And halcyon drowsed a bright September Sunshine.
            To fall under the whirling spell of the hyper-hypnotic hypnogogic spinning feelers was to wake transfigured and transformed, suffused and raised to a more subtle level of perception.  A figure ahead, always seemingly just ahead, twisting through time’s alleys and runs.  Flowing on, almost gliding over the ground, turning sharply at the junction of alleys, spinning round to glance – yes – all is safe - - - the figure continues, enraptured in nocambulatory blissful experiential reverie.  Lambent dewdrops tell all there is to know, dangle from grass-blades, perfect

The lepidopteral leitmotif continues, rolling and flowing along, humming or vibrating quietly like a wasp.  Rounding a corner I come face to face with the Pupa, the Many-Legged-One, Carrier of the Iridescent Carapace.  Huddled in multi-buttoned surcoat, battered hat pulled down low.  Falling into the charismatic spell of the presence, I reeled and into my hands he placed the consignment of arcane and crypto-coptic accoutrements, artefacts, rolls, scrolls, discs, tapes, microfilms, parchments, bits of carved reindeer-antler and walrus tusk – riddled with symbolic richness, such like as these and the scattered jewels and rubies of learning he cast before me to throw into the wind unto the World be thrown, whirled and scattered to show the flow and share flaring glazed mosaics myriad spicules. And as in a whirling Dervishi dust-devil, the figure had melted off, had rippled ahead in time, dodged between molecular occilations or some anomaly in the echo of fabric’s first reality.  Riding effortlessly Gravity’s rippling Primordial Waves, gone into the sunlight’s dazzle of another yesterday.  The Lepidopteral Being was as a phantasm.  As a whisp.  As a mist.  As a breath.  A feather in the wind.  A speck of dust.  A thing not known.  


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