The first and Only notebook of the WHORL
To my distinguished, if not unfortunate reader: you are going to embark upon a most mysterious journey. So, i shall depart immediately.
them mistake easily can one, similar shockingly so are imperfect the and perfect the
not is one that: essentially, thing one but you tell to here am I._things separate two for
than greater truly not is one, Also._imagine can you number other any from different
basest The._two for name different another only is one And. zero nor, antithesis its
the in but, theorem or, letter, numeral of sort any in not lie relationships the of parts
i what is, reader my, itself Addition. numbers the to additions the, forces coercive
power no hold themselves mountains the even…everything, there from and, mean
and intangible, unchangeable, impossible an, machine a of fluff illusory this without
and, undefined, zero, epsilon, sigma is two twice, it With. art immobile thoroughly
way the is it as, Therefore._alphabet alter ten-fingered our of “lines” endless the
(infinitum ad) will that dogma narrow of system filtering a in data of trickle a, is it
point one another at number a, same the be forever will we, realities our encapsulate
and nothing both than less by backed, more ever by defined just, number
existence your doubt ever may you And?_everything
But enough of that.
One who does not see the way of the WHORL cannot possibly enjoy the subtlety. Oh yes, the Largely Ridiculous Only Holy Work is, after all, this place. How fitting that the peculiar design on each one of our fingers is in a whorl, and the whorls of reality, with our perspectives, gives it all a shade very odd to see from the outside. i have so much denounced the filters of perception, if only in my mind’s eye, that the whole whorl, may it be god’s or another’s, becomes quite visible to me. There is such a skew on the world’s observations, that only relationships have substance. All material wealth is naturally forfeit, and yet we treasure it so highly. Same with our gods, they too, are all but forfeit, for outside this life lies nothing but inhuman specters, eternally passing the time as they only know how. Yes, our minds are so willing to change, to adapt, to thrive independently, in our own niche pool of a psyche, yet without all the strings attached, we would be nothing but raw data, as we see out each and every window.
We do not truly acknowledge such a beast, despite our earnest prayers and hopes in the face of its motility, which is to say, the numeric kind. It, the one we see and talk to is always being changed, but always just another number. This is the twisting, bending façade of change, utter flexibility. The mind, our own, works to do the same, to see itself from the world of numbers, and yet it has to impart some unfathomable process to do this, like adding, which has no value of its own and is never seen without numbers. That is truly undefined, more impossible than dividing by zero- try dividing a divisible sign and see what happens.
But this “dogma” of ideas, so eternal, do they truly never change? It would have to, so that the individual identities created out of almost nothing to speak of have someplace to dwell. Nothing to speak of, as in one plus one equaling three. It is exactly what happens in coitus, a quantum leap of a new being is born out of the system, flaunting its spite at every thinking man to have lived.
This amazing creature, a new beast of information and life, wanting intelligence that will and must harbor ignorance and stupidity, leading to death and the illusion of lost information- it is; is as imposing the whorl of its motions and thoughts that warp all of foreseeable reality and possibly more than even that, as a direction of eternity coalesced crystalline from a single point. Why change from the past, and opt for new identity: “Simply to survive, by avoiding the weaknesses of an unchanging system. There is a possibility that a virus could destroy an entire set of systems, and copies do not give rise to originality.” You, have you seen this set of words in your minds perpetuated memory? They are vital, an imperative to all intelligence, to gamble and sacrifice, at the high price of both survival and death. They mimic each other, as light and dark can mimic blindness, they can also solidify into seeing things- the hidden, the exposed, the mimicry of ideas that are brought to bear in spacetime by the tides of an intellect that is of our movement, the key to an unknown box, placed under the ideology of a forgotten memory.
But, in time, people’s creativity and curiosity will get the better of them, and they will be able to cheat this system out of its control, and may end up with starting themselves all over again. This is the forgotten memory of life– death, which is life to the most, established in the nullity of a blank fingerprint. Those little whorls, decorative though they are mostly, hold a strange, unnatural charm over the maker of reality, and we are continually being sculpted from the order born chaos. And we have begun to collect and understand our abilities just a tiny bit as a whole, which could change everything i have just said, down to the last period. Thus, if the system is so flawed, there is continual change into a different rebirth, never truly living, one could surmise, but astonishing death. And so this endlessness would be so perfect, yet so imperfect. If only we could learn to treat them the same, as it can be seen that the Whorl of truth is only one direction– none.