The Kloacal Kiss of Strange Attractors

[jporter]

or: Pucker Up for Andromeda....

We've spoken of the bounded imagination before: a young fool nested within
a piano- a kingdom, a nutshell, a drop of dew- an incredible sphere for a
monk;  even, as has been suggested, the implied space within the head- a
prison for Achtfaden and Greta.

Setting: space and time, as Loyola (filtered through j.j.) reminded us, is
important.

The right time and space: Hibert Spaess, Hyper Space, and more recently,
the compactification known as  Phase Space, where the complete state of an
entire system at any given moment becomes a single shining point; that, and
the generalization of Vector to Tensorial Analysis, are required to
maintain local sanity- the arbitrary sanctity of some here and now- no
matter, as v. Braun suggested, the transformation.

[That's Tensorial not Tonsorial, Byron...but, damned if didn't I hear it
somewhere that "Black Holes ain't got no hair"?....and from that other
Wheeler, too, I think. Yet, odd as it may seem, Black Holes could also use
a trim. So, tonsorial might be just the ticket, after all- each hair, like
that electrified Dixon's- a tensor, sharing the same origin at the center
of the only space that really matters, or, to a Black Hole, that becomes
matter- (matter over matter?) All Be It, in Jere's case, a little empty.

Once there was only one Ark, but Cap'n Noah faced the same problems as the
Ruck and Anubis: waste and incest (also known 'round these parts as
feedback). Forty days, swabbees, is a long time out of port, and the
sublimation process begins getting colorful- tattoos, piercings and such-
about a fortnight out. If the world were an ark, and sublimation subjected
to tensor analysis, then, from the gaia perspective, sublimation might be
styl'd: speciation.]

Even when the planet was ruled by those with cloacae, there was a division
of the Excrement Stream. Oh, the cloacal space was still shared, common,
but the timing... some was passed, while some sprang off to become centers
of entirely new vortices. But that was long ago. We have evolved. We have
fed the stream which feeds us. Yet, deep within the space of our own fetal
belly-minds, back in the secret basement of the womb, we remember the
cloaca- a common space shared by shit and egg- waiting to be kissed.

jody