If consciousness is the way that information feels when it’s processed in certain ways, then it must be substrate-independent; it’s only the structure of the information processing that matters, not the structure of the matter doing the information processing. In other words, consciousness is substrate-independent twice over!
Ton coeur took a hold of it tho
Formless spiritual. Father, Word and Holy Breath. Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of
the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every
moment. This verily is that. I am the fire upon the altar. I
am the sacrificial butter.
Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them all, A.E.,
Arval, the Name Ineffable, in heaven hight: K.H., their
master, whose identity is no secret to adepts. Brothers of
the great white lodge always watching to see if they can
help. The Christ with the bridesister, moisture of light,
born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to
the plane of buddhi. The life esoteric is not for ordinary
person. O.P. must work off bad karma first.
If you're trying to eliminate all risks from your life, what you're actually doing is eliminating all possibility from your life. You're trying to collapse the universe of outcomes such that what you've lost is freedom. You've lost the ability to act because you're afraid.
Okur Takip Önerileri
Every life is
many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves,
meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men,
wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves. The playwright who wrote the folio of this
world and wrote it badly (He gave us light first and the
sun two days later), the lord of things as they are whom
the most Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, is
doubtless all in all in all of us, ostler and butcher, and
would be bawd and cuckold too but that in the economy
of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, there are no more
marriages,
glorified man, an androgynous angel, being a wife unto himself.
The things I see
God, watch over me
For the things I see
Could not have come to be
Without you making us all free
What today has been
And what tomorrow can be
She walked right into the scene
At the gate
All wild and free
Gave the man his fees
Her husband standing at the door
Drinking his tea
The old man sitting in the waiting room
Pointed his finger at me and told me
It's you, the groom
I saw you last night in a dream
I'll meet dear god in the next three
He says I see you good man
I hear you and know what you can be
Go get me that man's tea
You tell him it's for me
I know he's dead or dying tonight
He looked it
He knew it
He knew me
Let others complain that our age is evil; my complaint is that it is paltry. For it
is without passion. People’s thoughts are thin and flimsy as lace, they themselves
are as pitiable as lacemakers. The thoughts in their hearts are too paltry to be
sinful. For a worm it might be considered a sin to harbour such thoughts, but not
for the human being shaped in the image of God. Their desires are stodgy and
sluggish, their passions sleepy. They do their duty, these hucksters, but like the
Jews, they let themselves clip the coin just a little; they think that however well
the good Lord keeps His books, they can still get away with cheating Him a
little. Fie upon them! That’s why my soul always reverts to the Old Testament
and to Shakespeare. There at least one feels that it’s human beings talking. There
people hate, people love, people murder their enemy and curse his descendants
through all generations, there people sin.
windrag
no flight tonight on the red-set airlines
although the flights were meant to be
there was an accident
all of the meanings bent
and the 45 crashed into the sea
red alert below the hurt will grow
if you let it inside you don't survive
let the station captain know
that the pilot is still alive
I used to listen till the morning
but crash landing came without warning
I really tried my best
but the trip was put to rest
can't sleep now the birds are chirping
Databend
goodnight little eye
the moon, the sun descending
can I run a lie?
imagine a life as it's ending
goodnight sweetheart
thicker thighs for my friends
too young, too hard
imagine a life as it's ending
I begin to databend
nothing in, prize out
don't show me why
the future life's depending
on your better mind
cut up and condescending
goodnight my love
thicker thighs for my friends
my hopes are above
where all of your data is landing
who goes?
who goes amid the green wood
with springtide all adorning her?
who goes among the merry green wood
to make it merrier?
who passes in the sunlight
by ways that know the light footfall?
who passes in the sweet sunlight
with mien so virginal?
the ways of all the woodland
gleam with a soft and golden fire
for whom does all the sunny woodland
carry so brave attire?
artistic straps and an ode to angels
finest lover
goodbye then, the Finn-est sin
you've ripped apart the recognizable
crazy eager, the shitty Wednesday
awe the weeks of the strangest heartbeat
missing minds and crappy poetry
a friendly bother of loving strangers
something something something demitrius demarcus the III
Today I pooped 3 times
3 times crap came out
but only once was diarrhea
I'm proud of today's mark out
a peaceful way to end my insomnia
knowing my liver problems are dying out
and that my loneliness is ending my paranoia
I don't know how this topic came about
so goodnight, or good day, BOM DIA
I wasn't driving when the airbag popped but it still knocked some sense into me
I was crying when the sharpnel hit and cut out a part of him
I was lying when the cop asked me about him
but the car wasn't on fire
and he wasn't inside
I was reading Black's red message's to Blue in that one Paul Auster book
they weren't even real, I made them up thinking of Blue cuz he was a creep
I was drunk when I crawled out of the wreck but I didn't scream
