NO ORIGIN TO
UNIVERSE – EXCLUSIVE ! !
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.
SCIENTISTS FIND KARMIC RIPPLE EFFECT – JAMBUDVIPA REJOICES ! !
Boguslav Martinu – Puppets (Kloutky) Books 1, 2 & 3.
EMANATIONS OF A LEPIDOPTERAL NATURE -
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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