Glossening

I am dashed and bashed and ready for the abuse of the weekend which will be thick and served in a glass mug, a very large glass mug. And in that spirit I have committed this affront to punctuation, pacing, and preposition, based on this past week's image at Elephant Words:

Glossening

He sat there on his ass and couldn’t believe, in the same way a person chooses to believe or not believe in recycling as an act of and expressing value, that she was going to turn the music up since he hated all the music played tonight never really getting into Modest Mouse which kept playing because they all thought the lyrics were just oh so clever but what the hell did look out the window of my color tv even mean, and so tensed up his shoulders thinking maybe he should do more than just mouth the words ‘wait wait wait I don’t think that’s the solution’ though instead he just sipped from his beer as she slid the knob to the right bringing to light more neon bars of LED-platinum illumination calling up a burst of bass compression like the air had compacted, crunched with rising density, matter spilling into an already defined space from another direction you couldn’t get sight of with simple three-dimensional perceptive physiology, gripped his beer tightly to ensure it remained where and what he expected it to be looking into the next room wondering if anyone now talking louder would comment the music was too loud and pulled his feet in closer to the couch as she set a vase full of fake flowers in front of the stereo on a piece of paper before angling the speakers at the long petals of fabric which began to quiver and wave loosing dust that fell upon the whiteness of the paper in grey abstract over which she now hung the crystal chimes off the front porch by a hook in the ceiling and directing the articulating neck of a lamp at the crystals shivering in sonic, prismatic glossening over the ever-evolving mandala of dust on the paper’s surface.

Holy Frakkin' 3AM, or the Road to Unabashed Theorizing

I've been writing letters all night. Various reasons both professional, personal, and objective. I am not sure what the triplicate of both would be. Throth? Which isn't bad as it is close to Thoth, who has got the cool breeze in spaces. He's a clever bite at that. (turns of phrase wholly intentional, I'm proofreading this one)

He's all word and such. Language. The great evolution. Which is, I figure, sorta like this:

Evolution is a physiological adaptation to environmental stimuli that transmits from one generation to the next. For the mass of terrestrial existence that has been transmitted through genetic coding, through DNA, with subsequent resulting slowness.

The brain, as humans understand their's (though I hardly feel stupid enough to believe that we are either the only conscious life-form on this planet or in the entirety of the universe) is the first organ that induces in itself a physiological change. When we learn, the natural response of the brain is to create new neural connections and folds within the brain. Our brains change with every new piece of information we gather.

But evolution requires transmission to successive generations, and the products of learning do not transmit organically. The brain of a newborn does not reflect the accumulated knowledge of its parentage. But, I mean, I have this thing all worked out positing that the brain is a single generation evolutionary matrix.

And I am totally justified because the brain is also the first organ to create an extra-organic codex for the transmission of its adaptations: LANGUAGE. So not only is Thoth the god of language, but also the god of evolution and thus throth made god.

Spare the rod and fear the Wroth.