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2021 0525 well well well

I am going to repeat myself. It is not only a consequence of being a man in his mid-60s who has said so much he is losing track, but it is also a reflection of the Zeitgeist, the Spirit of the Times, wherein indoctrination all over the belief spectrum involves repetition. Say something enough times and it becomes part of you. (Aldous Huxley described a process called “hypnopaedia” in his Brave New World, imagining that the World Controllers would have their citizens listen in their sleep to things the Controllers wanted their citizens to believe, like “Ending is better than mending” because it increases consumption and helps the economy thrive. But hey, if you search my blog posts for Huxley references you’ll find I’ve mentioned that already. I am repeating myself.)

I’ll also repeat a riff I made long ago, cheerfully ripping off Walt Whitman. He said something like “Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes.” Now, as long before, I say, “Do I repeat myself? Very well then, I repeat myself. I am redundant. I contain backup systems.”

I’m not EXACTLY repeating myself, though. Time is too precious for me to hunt down the original thing I said. And the flaw I found in my favorite book in the Bible, the Book of Ecclesiastes, is a slightly different flaw from the one I’m looking at now. The flaw, then as now, may be found in Ecclesiastes Chapter One, Verse Nine, which–surprise!–is about repetition. One translation: “All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again, there is nothing new under the sun.” The flaw I found long ago was in the last phrase, “there is nothing new under the sun.” The flaw is describing Earth and its repetitive travails as being UNDER the sun. We are NOT under the sun. We are OVER the sun. When we drop something into a well it goes DOWN into the well, not UP. And the Sun is at the bottom of our local gravity well.

The other flaw in Ecclesiastes 1:9 is that of COURSE there are new things. Humans did such a thorough job of changing the environmental mix that we now have much more strontium-90 in our skeletons than we did a hundred years ago, and all kinds of nasty stuff in our fat cells. Communication is now nearly instantaneous for almost all of us: I write this at 9:29 PM, Mountain Standard Time, on Tuesday, 25 May 2021. As quickly as five seconds after I post it I will probably see that someone, somewhere on Earth, has seen it. And that instant communication is changing the course of world history.

My triple acrostic is a repetition of the word “well.” But one of the delights of my native English language is that “well’ means many more than three things. My eyes well up just thinking about the possibilities. Also reminiscing: I once conceived a character named Aloe Vera Welling-Goode, which is a bad pun of “All very well and good.”

I’m slightly sorry that my image is too chaotic for the viewer to easily read the acrostic. My sorriness is alloyed by the delight that its chaoticism (is that a new word? sounds like Catechism, doesn’t it?) may be viewed (watch that definition there!) as a metaphor for four fir fore the way the Universe ACTUALLY is shaped, as opposed to the way it’s SUPPOSED to be shaped–symmetrically pristine–and smart-aleck scientists are still grappling with the Actual. (“Smart-aleck scientists” is not my actual view of scientists, but an echo of intellectual thuggery as can be found in alt-right propaganda. I repeat their view satirically.)

Here is a much easier to read version of the acrostic:

well well well

when the warp and weft of flow
elongate a startled doe
lenses singular/sensational
loose their bedlams gravitational

The words are easy to read, but what do they mean? By “warp and weft of flow” I meant that aspect of Space/Time we call Gravity, which knits the All together, and the Altogether, and the Alto–get her on YouTube; she’s fantastic! As for that poor doe, she has strayed too close to a Black Hole and its gravitational force is so different from her nose to her hindquarters that she is being stretched like taffy. Thank Goodness, and Wellness, that she doesn’t exist! As for Lenses, Singularities and Sensations, they all also relate to Gravity. And “bedlam” is contractual of both Bethlehem and Craziness.

I wish you well, Friends. I also wish you well. Well…

Image

The reproducible human being has been in the literature at least since Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, which was written in 1931. Most of the humans in his imagined future were not born, but decanted from a vessel whose chemical mix and hospitability depended on the caste of its embryo. The lower caste zygotes were subjected to “Bokanovsky’s Process” which cause the fertilized egg to take twinning up to as much as 96-fold.

Much later there was a richly imagined story by James Tiptree, Jr. (the nom de plume of Alice Sheldon, who kept her gender a secret from the science-fiction community and fooled even Isaac Asimov, who corresponded with “him” and referred to “him” as Tip), entitled “Houston, Houston, Do You Read?” This was a future without men, and very few distinct women, who had to repopulate the Earth with their clones. Then three guys from three hundred years ago, time-warp slingshotted by the Sun, show up…

I’ve had a brief go at a clone story. The one new thing I was bringing to the party was the notion that if extensive human cloning was taking place, there would be a process called Twisting that would afford every clone something absolutely unique to her- or himself. The clone would then choose a unique name. I imagined, among other things, a Gary, Indiana populated entirely by Garys, who would jet off to wild weekends in Helena, Montana, poplated entirely by Helenas…

I have a feeling that DNA preservation is going to be big in coming decades; and, legal or not, high-profile folks (such as Mohandas K. Gandhi) might, willingly or not, be cloned, perhaps over and over again. Thus a semi-doodle of a person in lotus position bloomed into this weird Cirque du Soleil of cloned Gandhis.

Here are the words:

GreatSoul–Bapu–some roots vedic
All recordings are not vinyl
New-found tech from Chi to Vilno
Darkest dreams of Saint & Villain
Here we walk a gene-pooled vale
In our quest; seek verities

Would a cadre of Gandhis be helpful in saving civilization? I can ask that question, but I’m not arrogant enough to think I can answer it.