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Jude and others like him store personalities, transferable by magnate

see Hacking, Rewriting the Soul

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Jude DiDiablo

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Angel, Devil, Ghost, Spirit, Avatar, Name, Power, Voice, Breath, accuser,, consciousness, devils are tortureer of sinners, torturere of saints aare inevitably the angels

impossibility is an inevitability

the system runs up against itself

Jude is asked to fill out a psych intake fom, a safety plan form…

he’s dead and he’s in a psych waard in purgatory in a standardized teext txxt about to go into surgery and out of surgery and performing surgery

god is a surgeon operating on a patient who swallowed a time bomb

time bomb knowledge gnosis conciosness the souls live on the transmute

personality, memory, experience, name, self (seelf-relation, immediacy, identity, ), karma…

a seminar course on postmodern tecnique 

jude is a body a vessel a person where perssons converge a persson of persons the prophets are also trinities, gods, impossible, absurd, the unsable, unallowable, the will not versus the caan not versus the inconceivable versus he unimaginable metaimaginable unmetaimaginable too much to much tooo much

the impossible is the  ruler the sovereign the state of exception the unprofitable

imagine the constitution has gone in and out of effect, maybe for dictatorship abd yorus=====uprusubgs,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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this week i’ve made it a goal to finish two books, one audio and one print. I read The Transmigration of Timothy Archer and found it pretty good, its probably the most austere PKD novel i read and i think that worked in its favor. After The Divine Invasion I was surprised and pleased by the return to form of VALIS, wwhich remains my favorite of Dick’s works thus far. 

I’ll probably get the itch to start Radio Free Albermoth soon, but right now i’m engrossed in a re-reading of The Golden Compass. Does anyone have a good word for the subgenre of SciFi which combines theological themes? Other examples include Russel’s The Sparrow, Cixen Liu’s Three Body Problem and esp The Dark Forest, Octavia Butler’s Patternist series…

Actually maybe i’ll read Xenogenesis next?

i feel overwhelmed sometimes a lot by how many books i want to read. listening helps in that i can listen for much longer periods of time without loosing focus and even when i’m driving, doing dishes, etc but at the same time the expanded horizon of plausible books to read is daunting, and sometimes i feel like i’m wasting time wheneveer i’m not reading a book at at least 1.5 speed,

i heard a youtuber joking about a persn who reads too much needing to take a reading break and honestly i think mayube thats something i should look into ? especially cause there’s lots of podcasts i’ve been neglecting ever since goodreads made it harder to add those as books :(

anyway the print book i want to finish is one i was already almost done with i was reading this spring for thesis research, Ian Hawking’s Rewriting the Soul, which i actually read out of order  so i only have 6 or 7 pages left from the 13th (of 18) chapter of the book. 

there was a lot of great research in this book but i found some of the theory kind of disapointing expecially in the last chapter wherein Hawking displays a rather starteling and unsubstantiated “singleton-bias” against multiple personality judging it not the right/best/correct/… mode of knowledge for dealing witht he world and growth?

i’ll try to write some kind of essay on the last chapter actually i think, could be a good exercise…

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i like having my blog as a low-barrier way to share my thoughts and what ive been reading, its really good practice i think and helps me keep ahold of my voice

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voice is an interesting thing. in the artistic sense, style maybe, or material of communication. Lacan refers to voice as a partial object i think. 

i think maybe its the yazidis? or no the druze i think who refer to the 5 emenations of god? i think one is Idea which i like, also Word (Johanian theology, which has connections to platonic philosophy i still want to read more about…)

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the guerrillas were preparing to evacuate the forward base camp when they found her, tattered like a silk kite, turning the hot equatorial sunbeams bluye and grey and heaving with the scent of cut ceder and wet jade.

From the shells scattershot a halfmile radius and the wreckage of the trees she’d left in her weake, they guessed she’d been shot down by one of the Beserker Helicopter, which patrolled this mountain range like bees in a drought who had taken to canabilizing each other’s hives for the dregs of the prior winter’s provisions. 

she noticed them when they first found her, according to the report of Comrade Q—, leader of the returning patrol who’d redirected his troop of six when the call came in that a strange signal was being broadcast on all shortwave frequencies from somewhere close to the FBC. Future expeditions (three more were made in less then 48 hours of the initial discovery) failed to identify any signs of communication beyond the initial radio signals, which continued to be broadcast on a 3 minute and 26 second loop. 

But Q— would continue to insist, backed up by the solemn testimony of his five companions, that upon first entering the wreckage of the clearing, when the wings and antennae and other fluttering apendages which could not be clearly categorized (tails, mandibles, legs, sexual organs, they all seemed mixed together, form and function obeying insights from a topography otherwise hidden and utterly alien to the guerrillas) first became visible, her wingspan as long as two Berserkers from nose to tail propellers, that she had reacted when Q scrambled over the fallen log, moss and mushrooms coming away from the wreck and intermingling with the black fur of his forearms, and met her gaze—if gaze it was, the 26 bloodred and indigo eyes clustered according to rotational symmetry around her central beak, running counterclock to the rest of her body plan. she half-blinked these smaller, dual pupiled eyesin some kind of recognition—not necessarily a recognition of intelligence so much as the appearance of a new object in her field of vision, and began to rustle her wings, the four great dragonfly-green segmented rudder wings, and the blue and red rotating wings, which came in trios, twelve total, each trio corresponding to a space where the secondary elbows of the rudder wings crrisscossed before deviating back towards where they adjoined the central body plan, forming a four open spaces like the crook of a knee. 

the rustling soon stoped, aprox. (it was determined later) at the same time that a higher pitched frequency squeal was emitted over the higher radiowaves, a coo of distress some said, or of relief, or possibly predatory excitement, the more pessimistic guerrillas said. 

but while the rustling only lasted thirty seconds at most, its direct antecedent (what Q insisted had to be its antecedent, and anyway there was proof that if hadn’t been occurring before, since as soon as they picked up the radio signals they had turned on their body cams and the footage of the clearing backed this up) would continue throughout the next two days: the angel (for that was what she was) had begun to rain down a kind of furry, delicate spoor, the same bloodred and indigo-black as her lesser eyes and marked with gold tracings (though as they landed this shifted to an oxidized bronze-green, and would only appear gold under the exposure of intense light or heat) with hairs gathered at three poles, roughly the size and responsiveness of a puma’s whiskers, all lusty and mother-of-pearl. these spores rained down in pulses, rather like how the seeds of a tree for a few days during a certain micro-season will maintain a steady patter, almost seeming to dry up for a time just before a strong gust comes through the canopy and a rebounding cascade rained down on whatever forest dwelling creature happened to be passing below. 

the spores were initially intensely hot, and if it were not for their whiskers a stray spore might land on exposed skin and leave a painful burn, but the whiskers ensured that a guerrilla or another other creature for that matter had enough time to dart back. more dangerous were the spores that clustered together in ravines or the pits of recently uprooted trees; at least one anthill was buried under the spores and irradiated by heat, for despite cooling quickly while airborn and the whiskers tendency to bounce away from all vegetation or other objects it came into contact with, when the spores came into contact with each other they tended rather to cluster closer and closer, enough that in large enough quantities they became quite efficient insulation and contain more heat then a freefloating sample seemed capable of holding. closer inspection revealed that the spores in large enough clusters would begin to buzz, outside of the audible range of humans but within that of a few of the other guerrillas, and this vibration produced not only sound but heat as well. there was some concern that the angel would cause a forest fire, and the watchpost set up by the next patrol to be sent out (which relieved the personal of Q’s patrol who had stayed behind to observe this otherworldly sight) diligently set about upturning the largest piles of spores wherever they formed, until the medic used a thermometer and determined that the tempeteres being generated would not be enough to start a fire given how wet the vegetation was.