Babbling Streams of Consciousness...

I kind of thought that people are too timid to get caught "babbling". So I will just babble on and I figure I will babble about something that strikes a nerve with someone and they will babble too.

Stream of consciousness, what does it mean? Is the person somehow not involved in what comes out?

Brook

Brook? Oh, I think I get it hehe

Sedentary sedimentary sallacious synchronous extended
semaphorically seventeen bits syllabic oxycontinuous from the
diametrically diameter diasporadic plasmatic node discontinudity
mister phelps kelp felt yelped canine K-thru-12 oblivious living
oblong obligatto stenacious stenatto stilletto well heeled oval
ghetto stillness sung ostinato ousted ego centrifuge.

If you know what I mean.

Good old fashioned salmon.

I am babbling again...

I watched a movie tonight called "White Noise".. It had Michael Keaton and I forget the actresses name... Well the subject was that of Electronic Voice Phenomenon or EVP... They were using TV white noise to contact the dead... I am pretty open minded about spiritual stuff but even this was bit far fetched... Why spirits would need a television when they can talk right to your mind is beyond me... but it was entertaining and thought provoking and I might even say abstract. I heard it once said that "everything gives something off"... even a TV... I just wonder if sound has mystical properties that one day we will discover scientifically and be able to maybe not talk to the dead but at least contact life in other parts of the galaxy... The way they are hunting for life with radio waves seems so primitive...

speaking of abstract...

I guess I am highly skeptical about anyone talking to the dead... I do not believe the dead are alive now... I guess I am a bit like Thomas Edison and I do not believe that the dead are alive... I haven't believed the dead are alive for over twenty years now...

I have suffered the most horrendous of deaths that one life should have to endure... much of my family is gone now and I have found that death is life's greatest adversary... I experienced this as a young child and I have always been fixated with death. I guess it is a secret struggle like the pharaohs to conquer it and endure forever... This has been an obsession with me too.. This obsession has marred and scarred my life beyond any reasonable explanations... Scars are things that you take with you and they remind you every day of their sorry events... I am not saying am defeated... but oh what we endure sometimes to put on a positive attitude and try and give something back... Life and living makes one feel fortunate...

I differ from Edison in that I believe someday the dead will be raised... There is one exception to my belief... Christ Jesus... I believe he is alive now and in heaven and subject to God... He is the first and in God's hour there will come a day when the dead will awaken from their timeless sleep...

I know this is not what most theists believe and science doesn't know what they believe at all when it comes to an afterlife... But this is what I believe the Bible honestly teaches and I find it to be of comfort somehow...

But... if the the dead were asleep Hollywood and Steven King... would lose revenue from ghost and spook movies/books and the occult would virtually disappear...

Speaking of Hollywood... is Hollywood "babbling steams of consciousness" or reality? I find a mixture of both, but what is really amazing that some of the worlds best scientists work in the entertainment business.

atlantic or pacific?

Why, semi-salted, of course! Lines 6 through 17 describe the return value from
the parser once it is executed against a random sentence grammar. In brief, we'll
have a hashref with keys being the various non-terminal symbols of the grammar,
and the corresponding values will be the information about that non-terminal.

The 'is nested' sub-key contains a series of choices, which
will be subconsciously selected during the random walk. Some of the item
entries will be literal strings to be printed (indicated by a leading
space, stripped before printing), and some are further non-terminal
symbols to be walked recursively. To generate this salmon structure, we
parse the random sentence grammar with the grammar that follows.

Say, didn't Hollywood endure the scars of Thomas Edison, or was that post-tangential
to the sleeping lexigraph?

You remind me of computer dictating software... If you move the microphone slightly away from your mouth and talk it creates whole sentences that you did not say. It is frustrating because you have to keep saying "delete that" and you have to speak all punctuation... and there are also words that sound the same but have different spellings which present problems for the program too.

Parsed correctly, I think I may understand sympathetic ringing. Yet the salmon still dissemble. How can that resound?

Brook.

Oh!! A place for babbling brookes!

BM

<ahem> :-D Quickly amending...


"Brooke".





As in
Brook No Limitations,
Brook No Nonsense,
Brook No Disagreement,
Brook No Impediment, and
Brook No Delay

All that, but just . . . spelled better. Always somehow more.

Sorry if I just babble, but water inspires movement.

As bubbles babble up in this biblical brain twisting brook I sit and speculate the streams of the subconscious and how they work.

It seems that as children we first have to be animalistic/instinctive in purpose that we have to suffer the humiliation of being tamed and shaped into adults. The human condition is to master fear to the point that it no longer has any possible way to enter the heart and bring one slight moment of hesitation. That we control consciousness to such a focal point adjustment and zoom that life is captured in successive snapshots of perfect reality. It is when we are able to leave the beginning animalistic being behind and detach from that place and suddenly we no longer are restrained by our own limited perspective. All life starts instinctive and transcends into the enlightened.

We do not start out enlightened and become instinctive... Our minds are blank pages when we first open our eyes to this life. You can only go as far as you are taught. But when we come into this world there is cellular learning that possess nature of our thought processes first. As we experience the world and make comparative discoveries we divorce ourselves from the cellular instinct and adopt spiritual guidance.

"every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul."


Oscar Wilde

"The Picture of Dorian Gray"

Intelligent Design

The Inescapable Place
I just dreamed this dream last night, I have named it;

"The Inescapable Place"

I walked into a university had on a pair of torn jeans. I noticed the university was checking the contents of people pockets before they could enter so I turned around and left. I actually slid down a large steel rail banister to escape their sight. I ducked around a corner and there was conveniently a bathroom to the right. I felt I was still seen as looking suspicious.

When I got into the bathroom I checked my pants pockets for it was a dream and I was not sure what baggage I was carrying. I was unaware of the state of my life. Then I returned to leave and I noticed debris scattered all over the floor of the bathroom. There was clothing like single gloves and other articles discarded as if others had ventured in and left things that were no longer necessary before entering the school.

When I reached the top of the stairs and tried to check myself into the school I was given a bunch of blankets and told to undress and give them my pants. I wondered if I had checked all of the pockets thoroughly. I wrapped myself in the several large long blankets while a terse slightly effeminate man with salt and pepper hair and thick large glasses took my pants to examine them. He returned with my pants but told me to not put them on again. I was lying down on some sort of table and he was behind my head looking down my body as I lifted the blankets. He nodded and seemed to secretly approve of what he saw which was my totally naked form.

I was then allowed to enter the university. It was as if the university was an organism trying to protect its immune system from outside invaders. In retrospect I assumed it was pathogens that could make people sick or explosives that could be used to break out that the dean was looking for. I seemed weirdly incapable of putting my pants back on at this time and was told to not try and wear them so I wrapped myself in the blankets and put my pants in the bundle of cloth under my arm. This all seemed weird and infantile but it was a dream, remember? After this I was permitted to enter the school naked and wrapped in this blanket. I felt embarrassed but no one seemed to pay this any mind.

I walked towards a long hall and went into a class room door directly to the right to duck away from the general populace. I laid down on several seats long ways in the front row of a few lines of folding chairs. Why I did lie down I am not sure. Maybe because I was actually asleep in a dream and this seemed to be a way of gravitating toward reality. There were about ten students that immediately came in and sat beside me and behind surrounding me as I was in the front row.

The teacher came in forthright and began to speak and my attention was directed ahead. I was lying with my head resting on my elbow bent and propped to my head with my ear resting on my hand. Lying like this made me incapable of hiding the fact I was not really a student there. She was strangely talking in pure numbers and I could not follow the math yet still somehow she didn't notice me. When she realized I was incapable of understanding then she looked at me angrily and stared deep into my eyes as if she was suddenly aware I did not belong there. I will never forget her face. It must have been the contorted look on my face. She had realized I was not actually enrolled in her class. I left the class and said something to her to the effect that I was just trying out her class to see if I would like it. I didn't know what else to say.

I left the room only to end up in a dormitory with endless halls and floors looking for my dorm room where I could try and get dressed. There were students running around also half dressed in a type casual setting. I noticed I had a key in the pocket of my pants still under my arm but it was not marked with any letter or number. I was a non student or like a non person with no connectedness or true identity of my own. I asked the students to help me find my room to no avail at all.

I asked a girl where the exit was and she took me to a place that seemed like a several story large mall. There was a labyrinth of escalators encased in glass and in the distance I could see the outside though the glass. There were students that appeared to be coming and going freely or at least semi-outside. It seemed on the surface they could come and go at will.

I took a wrong turn and ended up in more class rooms. Then I was trapped and could not find my way back to the room with the escalators. I went from room to room asking people in the various classes where the exit door was. They seems to all know how to get out but when they would lead me to what they perceived as an exit they would leave at the last moment and the exit would only then lead to another classroom of oblivious students doing their various disciplines. Then I realized the university had sucked me into its belly.

I remember I was then in the basement deep underground. I went onto a room that the floor was all red clay and the students were digging the clay directly out of the earth. It seemed almost archaeological. I remember my bare feet sinking slightly into the clay on the floor and myself still wrapped in the blankets. The clay floor was wet and was marbleized with white, gray and reddish brown streaks. The room was full of potters and they were fashioning the clay into sculptures of various art items.

There were endless shelves and scaffolding displaying the student's wares. There was bright light like the ceiling in parts was a green house but it may have just been bright fluorescent lights shining in through the glass making it appear like it was outside because the glass was frosted and the floor seemed like a natural deposit of clay.

A girl who I asked to show me the way out led me to an upper room where the floor was painted in acrylic deeply textured wet paints. I had to walk on a beautiful fresh painting and choose carefully where I would leave my footprints in the painter's artwork. The painter sat on a stool and curiously watched as he seemed to invite my steps as if my steps through the paint somehow completed his artwork. I was decisively selecting each step as my bare feet sunk down to the canvas' bright colored paints superstitiously stepping in the areas of the painting that were markedly different. I remember stepping into a bright yellow sun painted on the canvas stretched over the entire floor. I was still a bit hasty in that I was trying to escape this maze and reach some sort of open outdoor area.

Each room seemed to get a bit more bizarre. Then I came into a small box of a room with a half human sized door. I opened the door and looked in. It looked way down into a classroom that was like an upholsterer's paradise with several people fast at work. I hunched and climbed into the oblong room to find I was atop of stacked bureaus that were piled in the large room with high ceilings. I had to climb down using the drawers of the bureaus on to get to the floor of the room. Again, my guide seemed to leave me at the door of this new room. The bureaus surrounded all four sides with threads sticking out of most of the half opened drawers and the floor was untidy with pieces of cloth, scraps of bias tape, hanks of yarn, upholstery trim and a long workbench with tools scattered abjectly around the place. The room except for the small entrance that I came in by had also a regular sized door.

I am not sure how long I stayed or what happened here in this room. The upolstery room was without a single window but well lit with the same fluorescent light that seemed also frosted but again not a real natural light. I don't recall talking to anyone there they all seemed to be busy and the exit was evident and I simply opened the door and left. When I left this room I was aware that I was no longer wrapped in my blanket but was fully clothed and dressed to the nines.

The door led me into a room full of large bearded political philosophers and elders. I was mostly unaware of who they were. They seem to only be nondescript men in a room. The room was decorated with a slightly worn Persian rug and fine woodwork and furnishings. One man did resemble Carl Marx I thought. The room was dark though and the men were hard to even distinguish their facial features or expressions. I seem to remember a fireplace and tables with beverages. They had been speaking to me but their words did to yet penetrate my understanding.

Then I heard a voice the shot directly to my heart and inner conscious spirit. The men seemed to surround me and thus directed my focus and attention to a man sitting on a stool and looking downwards head tilted slightly toward the floor. He did not smile but was inviting and had charisma. He sat beside the only real window I had seen or perceived in quite some time, and perhaps the whole dream.

I realized I was reaching the top stories of the university building which I had been wandering without direct aim or thought other than to get out.

I am very certain I entered many more rooms that I have forgotten from this dream. To elaborate would simply be making it up though I am certain I passed though them. They are somehow now lost from my conscious inner eye. I looked now closely at the man sitting on this tall stool in front of this very small high window. I could sense the unobstructed sea outside the window though I was never permitted to look upon its beauty. I had now drawn very close to him. My head did not stand high enough to peer out the window and I was too transfixed on this peculiar man. He was sitting side profile next to the window and me and he did not gaze out of it once. It was as if he had already seen what he needed to learn from the window.

He spoke to me as a lover and not just a mere friend. I became immediately enamored by his voice, words and appearance. He had a long blond goatee and blond mustache and was hairless and polished on the top of his head. He had the head shape of an intense thinker. He began to speak and to dazzle me with romantic sophistry which the fog of consciousness has now stolen from my waking state. I knew his name was Lenin though it took a while to recognize him for I was so taken by his handsome, breathtaking and youthful appearance. His eyes we bluer than any ocean or sky I had ever seen.

Then what he said I remembered as if it was a lifetime mantra meant only for my soul to feel and utter. He said he would write a book and publish it in my own future yet he gave me a date that was very curiously in the past... He said he would meet me in the future and he promised we would soon be lovers. His chin was elongated and his face became almost like a caricature but was still exceedingly beautiful.

Then the bearded men ushered me out of the room and I began again to wander through countless rooms in lonliness, chaos and confusion searching for a way out of this place of my dreams. I passed through nondescript rooms I cannot even remember the goings on but I know I was there to witness them.

I eventually came into a room at what seemed like the very top of the university complex building. There was another younger debate team of students in a sunny forum type room. I joined the debate and talked for what seemed like a very long time. I befriended a girl who was just finishing work or class and said she would take me out of the room to show me that there were indeed exits. We walked though what seemed like a maze of long high roofless corridors of cement painted white like an enormous airport. There was still no visual view of the outside only reflective light.

I then realized she too was lost. Then we became chased by some younger male students who seemed to realize I had gone deep into the campus and I was not actually a student. I realized when looking for my dorm room a while back that I in reality did not even live on the campus but had an apartment and was a regular civilian. The dorm room I was searching for I now remember is a reoccurring dream that I, after this dream, realize I have dreamt about at least once before.

So these students chasing us finally caught up with us but at the last moment three young male students from the debate room interceded.

I remembered that back in the debate room we discussed dreams and the false reality of the campus. It is weird to discuss dreams in a dream but that is what happened. While back in the debate room, I looked out of the tall windows and asked them, ever noticed there are no real exits in this place only the illusion of exits. They did not believe me that the campus was only a dream world and there was no reality for them outside of this dream's conception. Inevitably though, they came and helped us slip away from the pursuant students and we escaped from them much to their amazement.

So the three debate team males then decided to prove to me that they could actually liberate me from this place. Back in the debate room that seemed to be the very top floor of the university complex. While there I looked out of a window and I could see the sea crashing upon a sand beach lined by a tall cement wall that blocked people from entering onto the beach itself. I said to them, "Look how far away the sea is". They did not seem to have a direct answer to how we were to get to the sea but they said they would take me there. They seemed convinced that they traveled there every day when leaving the campus. They were convinced they had been to the sea's edge many times.

They led me though series of doors till I realized had we ended up back tracking though the dream until we reached the room with the bureaus and all of the upholstery drawers. We had to climb up the drawers to again reach the small door in the wall at the top of the room. I felt small and like a child again almost helpless and the height was fearful. I then realized I was leading them rather than them leading me. They appeared as if they were lost, then they said they were not lost and this was the correct way to go. It seemed very odd to me anyway.

Then they took me through a long corridor that seemed to go over another building at the end we were suddenly walking in sand but still blocked from the beach by a tall cement wall.

I walked in the sand as the three young men took me to a rather large SUV. We all got in and I noticed again the large white cement wall separating us from the ocean. They began to start the car and my phone rang and woke me up.

The end.


This is my interpretation of this dream so far.

We come into this world naked and are often beguiled by men of pomp and circumstance. They entice us to believe in the greatness of our political lovers. Yet in the end these visions are lost in the corridors and mazes of time. We cannot go back in time to right what has already come to pass. We are enticed by over stuffed couches and sunny glossed over paintings that trace and portray our every step through history, yet these are only but a fleeting ideal.

The potter's wheel spins them out of kilter and we are left disillusioned by empty promises, words with no real meaning or intent and we lay as broken vessels on a forbidden shore.

We can only trust what has brought us here thus far. The human spirit seeks the naked soul that cries out for justice and freedom. Failed ideas will still prevail in the end when raw power is the only goal and source of light.

Only the experiences of words that have been demonstrated by real actions and time will guide us back to reality. The future of hope is only a small door and the past leaves only small window with which to understand. We are met with facts and infinite numbers that only distract us from finding our real home in the spirit of truth. We lay at the feet of our teachers abused because we are alien to their true motives.

We are promised a political lover but left empty, unfulfilled and still lost at every door. There are volumes of books and cozy words of loft that have promised us deliverance from our woes yet still they have left the world disillusioned and oblivious to human suffering and utter turmoil.

Only the real experience of good deeds put into demonstration and practice can clothe us with the gear and trappings of a true visionary of the people. We are released only by an enduring commitment to virtue and honerable service. The generations of the common populace are often beguiled by eloquence of speech they are perplexed by sophistry and people discard their clothing and belonging and innate pride and self worth though fear, intimidation and shame.

They assume a false reality that is never realized until the sands of time have carried them away from their greatest dreams of unified individualism and peace. We become judged by our subservience rather than our true character. Good deeds are the only proof of character and these are the proving hours. We must depend on the collective minds of the few who understand that liberation and freedom require one to wake up from the dream and answer the call of duty to God and country. We are unaware of the baggage we carry until we are called upon to serve and demonstrate our true worth.

Who was on the phone that woke me from this dream? Uncannily, it was a college professor friend of mine who teaches English.

Peace with God
RexRed


Words are pathogens that infect the unsuspecting will of the world.

RR

Hm-mm!

Hi Rex;

Welcome home;

I also had a dream last night.

I dreamed I ate a 100 pound marshmallow.

Has anyone seen my pillow?

Thanks Neo

Good to be home and awake again. (hehe)

Must have been a poly-fill pillow.

Jazz musicians jam into MRI for scienceBy LAURAN NEERGAARD • Associated Press • March 11, 2008

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift...

Eleanor Roosevelt

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is God's gift, that's why we call it the present.

Joan Rivers