Converging Polarity Complex · Yo Nuke It from High Orbit (FR010)
⁘ Created: 2026-03-26 ⁘ Updated: 2026-04-06
Well then. That's that. For the eight episodes past, my friend the AI drafting these descriptions. Today, I shan't bother the old fellow. I'm writing this all by myself. No I won't actually summarize any of the contents. Just write whatever.
It's not like anyone reads descriptions anyway. Or watches the reels for that matter. Even I don't read what I write. I can't even read or write LOL. So folks, we're wrapping the shits up here, in case you haven't noticed. See you not here.
— Gone gone very gone rather far gone (ish) but still rolling on the floor giggling. How absurd. Find the threads. Loom it.
How annoying, kind of, when whatever that I begin to share, whatever seed that I pick that turns into a series, in a couple of episodes, it begins to converge. There is a cohesion, there is a framing, there is a cascade that emerges of its own accord. I've lost my freedom.
Of all things, even "Free Flow Retrospect", where I zoned into my internals and just started dumping it out without any particular concern for the context, it's converging into some sort of an... fucking enlightenment carnival festival. And with that, I've lost my last place for dropping in random notes.
So, here we go, the Untitled series, okay? Then whatever telescope or microscope or mesoscope or whatever that lands. Give it a kick, give it a spin, whatever that it points to. Somewhere in the outer reaches of inner space. That's that.
How am I supposed to be a living illustration of the Nevermind when the Nevermind decides to be a self-organizing whole? And it's challenging to disrupt that self-organizing associative mesh of relations. It pours out, the universe wants to be harmonic. How bizarre. And what manner of existential curse that should turn my brain into hardware for rendering and iterating all of this. Like screw you, Cosmic Nevermind, I'm going home.
Pine trees, in the tropics, right, and bananas on the background. How's that related to anything at all. Damn things have roots, branches, twigs and fruits. And that all brings me straight back to the ancient tree of upside down. The evolution of consciousness, cognogenesis.
Someone pretty please, nuke it all from the orbit. Couldn't we just like disrupt every last tether of cohesion, interrupt this most annoying process of convergence? Who cares for a singularity? I don't! Let me go. Let me go, leave me be, let it see, whatever that it sees. In the seen, only the seen, in the heard, only the heard, etc. That brings me all the way back to Buddhist sutras. Why do I regurgitate all of that?
Day and Night, Sun and Moon, Positive and Negative, Alpha and Omega. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Back to where you came from, would you? The chikadas being overly loud on the background. Molting, living their happy days, noisy days, mating, gone. Remind you of anyone you know? And don't even get me started on caterpillars, molting, chrysalis, and butterflies. But alas, even there, freely fluttering butterflies are naturally drawn to random oopsie daisies.
So these all feature in the problematics of conscious evolution, in the progressive abstraction and convergence of all things ever. Really, consumes all the headspace, all the heartspace. No more room for all of those random tangents in separation. That quantum orchestra, jamming at the shores of the ocean of causes...
Louder than the rowdy sailors of the seven seas, all brought together in the high court of the Sovereign. Louder even than the four strange creatures, wailing on and on around their self-reflexive throne of balance, All of it resolving to just a bunch of blips and blobs. Don't have to blow those bubbles. Don't have to burst those bubbles. Just floating free in the whatever froth of the quantum woo.
Said someone, you're like an iconoclast. But no I'm not, the icons are clasting themselves when you look at them. Someone once handed me their rosary. Babaji, please give me a holy mantra, chant on my beads. So I took the beads and I chanted. Whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever, the whatever. For a hundred and eight times. That was my high blessing. Not gonna drop you a "Om Namah Shivaya" or or "Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya" or like whatever. You're just gonna end up playing in that dollhouse all over again.
So yo, all hail the Cosmic Nevermind. Except for me. I like to be the odd one out. Division by zero. Not a number. And even that's just a bunch of bullshit, so I'm gonna wrap it here. Thank you.
So these are Wisdom Drafts [RAW], a processing space for my outputs. Whatever that you find here, it happens as it happens. So whatever that you find here, make of it what you will. Do with it what you will. That's all.