Duality is a bit enlarged at the inception of this essay since internet is down.
It usually gets beamed to my nonlocal hookup for cordinated transspacial interactions
via omnidirectional quasi-wifi which I answer on a directional antenna. Why do we make
each other pay for this cultural simulacrum of telepathy?
This means my communication with you has to also come through a temporal
delay line of a hard-disc-ferro-field-pattern until my internet connection
has been restored.
Non of these words made much sense in the early 19th century and will be
archaisms to giggle over for the histodigeraty of the forum archeologists
down in the nerv-space-scaleups of decentral archive of the early 22nd
century. All this of cause given that we are still in the cauvenistic
western dating bias that i stoped writing on top of personal letters some
suns ago. I replaced it with a symbol that reminds me of my concepts of
eternity and hypractical time.
A little bit to my personal background that blurs by having constant
figure-background reversals. I see no reason to hide that i came up
the (=self)hypnosis line into NLP over to R. A. Wilson and McKenna so I
thought there was enough prep work done to enter hostilian hyperspace.
No christian prayer could ever stir enough of the genuine gratitude I feel
for the global effort that orchestrated matter in front of me from the
rudiments of a plant-industro-chemical concuction under the gracefull
guidences of the wiki into the the conciousness-hyperspace-airlock that
this psychonaut has now on flightlog.
But by Bob and Discordia this stuff is impressive in all the strangest ways.
I do not think I ever got such a lesson in respect before. One of my
metapores for intimation secretion speaks sum such of the DMT expierence:
Picture a session of russian roulet with you as the only player and picture
the gun as fully loaded. You are pointing the barrel at your psyche and
there is just no question about that it is going to make a big bang.
The "fun" is in finding out if you are "just" fireing blanks or if
"serious shamanic disfigurement" of your host-universe-psyche is an option
for "you"
How can one feel so immortal and practically dead at the same time?
Can there be such a "thing" as too much perspective? Just way to
baffeling to integrate.
Even after considering musical mappings with tonescales and octaves.
Long story short - High everybody.
3 are the letters of DMT and 3 DMT trips make a hyperspacial triangle.
It seems to really point out how all borders are imaginary, imaginary
borders create culture, and that all culture physcially shapes the
crust of planets....