The shape of quarks to come

NOTE: The following information has been superseded by itself, as scientific knowledge is by definition subject to constant revision. Thus anything that is said henceforth may be regarded as an illustration of quantum foam, in that the breakdown in structure it implies is embedded in the very structure of what is being said at the moment. This inherent self-referentiality and paradoxicality thereby temporarily converts qubikuity into a postmodern blog, for better or worse.
Someone mentioned quantum foam the other day as a pleasant-sounding thing, and I agreed that if you ordered a cosmic cappucino, you would definitely want it with lots of quantum foam.
Quantum foam refers to the miniscule scale where physical reality breaks down from the level of solid objects into complete immateriality. This is said to be at the incredibly tiny Planck length, or 10(-37) cm. The smallest bit of matter we know of is the quark. Now, I have been googling around to find out what a quark looks like. My guess is that it is not round like a tiny billiard ball. Anything that is on the verge of being dissolved into quantum foam is unlikely to be so regularly shaped. Furthermore, they are unlikely to be hard like billiard balls as well. My guess is that they have a spongy surface, rather like green cheese as in the case of the surface of the moon.
Of the six types of quarks (up, down, top, bottom, charm, and strange), the smallest is the up quark. The up quark is also known as a first-generation quark. By comparison, the bottom quark is quite large, but then it pops in and out of existence for only a micro-instant. Evidently, on that level, size doesn't really "matter."
For your edification I have found a picture of a bottom quark, again by googling. This is as accurate as present-day science can render it.

The rope

a skinny rope

hanging in space
attached to nothing

supports the weight of moons
heavy planets
eclipses
and sorrow

all air lifts
feet dancing up the aerial path
mind takes wing and
who can gainsay this
light quintessence

the rope could

pull it down and the curtain opens

The way it is

We are in thrall, no doubt, to unseen forces which may be human, alien, or a combination thereof. Their existence behind the scenes, pulling the strings, determining our lives in ways great and small, is well documented. Most people now accept the fact of a secret conspiracy that has existed for centuries and has led to control by a few of the world's riches. What gives them this degree of domination over people's lives? Their ability to control people's minds.

The project of dumbing down humanity, endemic in history for generations, has been going especially well of late. The PTB (Powers That Be) have discovered how to subvert our belief systems so that whenever we act in what we conceive to be our own interest, we are in fact doing the bidding of the impersonal power elite whom we unwittingly serve. Our accustomed basis of ethics and rationality lies in we believe about ourselves. We see ourselves as good. Our unconscious sees us as evil as a corrective and so they are at war with each other. Both are deluded.

This inner war that is fought every second in every cell in the body between the anti-entropic forces of life and the free radical forces of death finds its reflection in human conflicts and in the works of the imagination, which depend upon standards of opposition. The binary split which creates such dynamics of evolution and change in biological systems and cultural histories is terrifying and forces our minds into paralysis. It is as if we deny the reality of struggle all about us, in favor of the negligent peace of a separated mental stance. This fact is food for the PTB. It enables them to feed us on images of warring divinities, driving us to distraction, while their banquet tables are laden with the spoils of our feverish labors.

Now that I have spilled the beans, so to speak, about the aforementioned (Trigrammaton), your belief system may never be the same again. For that destructive act I may be labelled a terrorist, but hopefully not yet a martyr. To avoid that fate I must go underground, to Pellucidar. You will receive my next dispatch from an overheated room somewhere in the back of my imagination.

Waking

the sleeper wakes
into a dream
and from there wakes
into a series of dreams
where waking is but a vision of light

morning is broken
the shards of the day fall back
into the theatre of night
where plays are endlessly enacted
and the stage is but a stage
for future performances

stop counting time
play the music to its own beat
you will yet be able to take your exit
when the early dawn
wraps itself around your feet

Puzzling the will

The will to live. It's a good thing, so we think. In fact, isn't there a judgment about people who do not have much of a will to live? I'm not just talking about people who are driven to suicide, but those who live carelessly and let themselves lapse into ill health, or who simply underutilize their resources and live less fully than perhaps they ought? It speaks to our own will to live, somehow offending the norm of the entire human community in which we find ourselves. We are all here equally under the circumscription of the body and the senses, and "the heart-ache and the thousand shocks that flesh is heir to." And we all have to daily exercise that will muscle in order to have the determination to stick with it. You can't get out of it that easily, we say to our less willful brethren. Suck it up already!

But the question I would pose is: whose will is it really? Who wants us to live? Is it even ourselves? How do we know some alien race has not bred us to inhabit this planet, and somehow needs our life force to exercise itself for a certain number of years in order to benefit them energetically somehow. Some variation of The Matrix, in other words. How do we know our will is our own? How do we know we are not simply being manipulated by some bioenergetic device to maintain our existence here, unthinking, unquestioning?

Of course, it could be God's will. In which case it would be all right to obey it. You don't want to piss off God, after all.

It could also be some evil force. That is what the gnostics believed, and they were pretty much synonymous with the early Christians. Not that they thought we should all go "off" ourselves in protest, but they definitely saw us benighted humans as living in prison. The Black Iron Prison, modern day gnostic Philip K. Dick calls it in Valis.

So whether it be God's will that we feel impelled to continue inhabiting this mortal frame, or that of some less benevolent force, we must acknowledge the possibility that this "free" will of ours is an illusion, even in the intimate matter of survival. We have been heavily conditioned, to be sure, to think that we have free will, because it is very useful for "Them" to have us think that way. What a con! We think that our will is our own, so of course we will follow it unquestioningly.

When Hamlet was ruminating about "to be or not to be," he might have been grappling with this very issue:

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all...

It is generally agreed by Shakespeare experts that the "conscience" Hamlet refers to here is not our modern meaning of conscience, i.e. "doing what's right," but something more akin to consciousness. Specifically, consciousness of our unconsciousness, which we are afraid of. In the case of what is on "the other side," it could be worse than what we've got here. (Although that seems hard to believe, if you've listened to any of the Republican debates.)

They want us to think we have power and that the highest expression of it is our own "free" will to live. Never mind that we have no idea how we got here and generally have no concept of having consented to it. Did they drug us, cajole us with promises of lots of sex and sensual pleasures, or simply tell us everything and anything that we wanted to hear to get us to take out an 80-year mortgage on this big-ass piece of fleshly real estate?

Don't fear the unconscious. Fear what you know. Doubt how you know it. Question everything. If there's any reason we're here, it's to find the truth. Don't blow it.

This is not a blog

Well, this is a blog actually but this is not a post on a blog. This message refuses to be posted, thereby to become a component of this blog, accepting its terms and conditions. This message is Occupying Blogspot. That's right: you are visiting in occupied territory. Occupied by the people. Which people? The people who are the people. Obviously the people who are not the people are not us. Therefore we are the people. And we're occupying this blog until the blog de-hierarchicalizes itself. Hmm, that's not a very attractive word. Nevertheless, as I say, we will occupy this space until our non-agenda is accepted by the non-people and our rights to do whatever shall not be abridged in any way. We do not submit to the powers that be, whoever they are, or are not, and we hereby proclaim our personhood as collective individuals. Thank you for your time. Send $10. That is all.

Maybe baby

If we look at the ingestion of time in human physiology as emulating a quantum information processing model, we could refer to absolute pure consciousness as the principle of Yes; the relativistic dialectical mental consciousness aspect as the principle of No; and the quantum consciousness "wildcard" randomizing principle as the great Maybe that makes us divinely human. When the time component in the spacetime matrix is encountered by the fully potentiated mind, there is a hypercharged negentropic counterpoise to the Time Arrow as it curves downward in the universal general relativity geodesic. Thus we have the capacity not to choose as well as to choose. We become like cosmic Hamlets, trying to decide whether or not to act and ending up instead in a state of suspension, of divine discontent. Like an electron in a state of quantum superposition, we do not incline to locate ourselves absolutely in time and space, but let ourselves roam the universe like a giant bird looking for a place to perch. The uncertainty principle reigns supreme. Probablistically, we strut and fret in the range of a set of solutions to the Schrodinger equation. In the words of Buddy Holly, "Maybe, baby, I'll have you for me." The transposition of the ultimate object (You) for the ultimate subject (Me) is the "solution" to the circular question raised by the ultimate Maybe. This is a consummation devoutly to be wished.