Science Fiction Musical cross pollination


imagine the universe as two flies fucking. not one fly, but u need two flies to represent the entire universe, and they’ve got to be fucking. ok so see that in ur mind two flies. those flies are the universe and everything in it, ok. but WHERE are those flies fucking? On a cow… but if the two flies fucking represent the entire universe, then what’s the cow? Just so. That’s the new physics, utter shite.


the closer we get to the gods, :: in physical pyschic space 04-07-14 :: the more arbitrary the laws/events (like for instance, draining pasta on the patio) :: how do the bugs / mice react to this, weird hot slightly nutricious water? Non sensical event beyond their comprehension

ouiji board navigation


we can eat the food of the gods, but the density and abundance would quickly overwhelm us, think buckets of grain left open…


Ancient Starliner returns to earth with aged crew


I am Francis Delmoght, a Devontian Dhrimesurg. We Dhrime’s are a thread of continuity in the shimmering totality – the translators for the yet to be, the small ones, the delightful and precocious babies. This is not my true form, I have assumed a shape and temporality that conforms to local standards so that I might more easily communicate. The transmission you are about to experience also conforms to local standards, this is the art of the Dhrime, our premise. We are the link between disparate realities, we help consciousness to interpenetrate. The Dhrime navigate the god dimensions in relative safety and gift the teeming physicality with knowing.

That’s the official Dhrimesurg greeting as required by law. Thank you for your attention. Basically, What you are about to see is beyond your present experience, so to facilitate enjoyment and understanding, I will offer occasionally commentary and clarification. Once your home world is saturated with the needed concepts and perspectives, we may transmit the source material only, for now my presence is baked in so to speak. Again thank you for your attention, let us begin.

The title of the presentation is Science Fiction Musical, although it’s actually a documentary of events that have yet to happen. However, on your world the so called dominant specifies is mostly ignorant of the actual workings of the spacetime, so it’s much easier to call it fiction and move along.

Here is a machine prospecting for vital resources in a cluster of jagged asteroids. Within, a lone biological is conducting self dialog on an open channel. We receive and observe.

The Dhrimes are the totalities translators. They can be seen as analogs to neuro chemicals in the human brain. When a deity stirs, the Dhrimes bring the spark across the gap in physicality, one assumes so that another Deity can get the signal. As far as the Dhrimes can can see, they facilitate communication between all mortality, as such they are also often diplomats and arbitrators. Francis is a narrator, though his clarifications are somewhat pedantic and even distracting, and he’s often stopping the action in mid crisis to expand on an interesting (to him) detail or nuance. His track is an encrypted signal, a parallel story even. Taken as a whole Francis is telling the earth people something important that isn’t totally obvious in the context of the SF musical.


The farther you get from the headwaters of culture the less people know how to age gracefully, stylishly. this was worse than the ubiquitous beer belly that presaged most middle-aged american men like a team of horses might pull a pumpkin shaped fairy tale carriage. the waddling armored bodies of their wives and daughters were not the pinnacle of horrors either, not for me. the 20-21 centuries were bursting with the obscene and unspeakable, with obscenity and waking nightmare. i could not drift through the miracle of existence in a stupor of consumption, for i am the future, returned to pay them all back for their decisive ignorance and graceless poverty of imagination.

for those with strong constitution , a stalwart soul go to the parking lot of any grocery store and sit in your car, watch the events unfold. observe the daily goings-on of my wretched and debased people. witness their joyless passing of time as they drag their bodies and for plastic packaged sustenance.

truly see perhaps for the first time what passes for survival and life on earth

opposite of escapist fantasy. a super powerful entity is forced to abide and document the death of consumption. the seed of a deadly cognitive contagion seemed to have originated here


How about a movie I’d like to watch. A toad ship (what is a toad, exactly) able to navigate interstellar void and a range of planetary atmosphere, crashes on a rocky planet. The sole occupant intoxo, self pitying, unconscious is waldoed into a control console and secured. This ship knows it’s about to die. It’s going to give birth too. It’s whistling a happy tune, poignant. This wouldn’t have happened except for the man in his forlorn state had skipped routine maintenance and hence the ship was improvising with what was available. Had the man not been extant (perhaps by a decisive suicide), life support systems would have failed and the ship would have sought out repairs and a new contract elsewhere, being a smart and very serviceable ship. But life support was badly broken and if the man was to keep breathing, the ship would have to deliver him to some rock with an atmosphere compatible to his needs, even if it meant the ship’s death. The food and companionship would be the man’s problem. So which world? Perhaps the choice would be more than life for the man, his present life wasn’t much of a life. Perhaps the choice could also be a farewell gift, not of the ship to the man but of the future to the present, for the man of the present would surely not survive this crash, he would be erased and replaced by whatever man crawled from the wreck, that would be a man with different wiring, new priorities, jolting absence of mediated reality. Birthed into hell perhaps, what he was made for. The scion of a long line of trouble makers, too long fermenting, rotted and worn away by his silly choices, a being in perpetual transition from mediocrity to who knows what? Something

Deplorable onboard scenario established in space, ship’s choices speaking to itself. Perhaps it passes through a constellation of wrecked ships, cluck clucking “oh there’s probably all manner of spare parts here, if my little man was only up for an quick EV. Alas, he has limited his own options and so too mine. I could waste him, keep this lovely incarnation. He’s been so dull of late, be doing him a favor. No reason not to, except of course I won’t. He can carry my seed to the next fruit, or not as the gods allow. Die young and leave a good looking corpse won’t be an option if we put down on one of yonder rocks, I’ll be so much foil and spun glass. Oh boo hoo. I’ll fix him up fine for doing this to me, the fuck. He’ll wake up with such a hangover and not a single dog hair to speak of. Just my seed and his own juicy meat sack. Good luck little god, good luck.

The VFX atmospheric re-entry and seemingly endless crash sequence. He emerges from the bladder of crash liquid, all that remains of the greater hulk of the wreck, trailing cables and goo. The oh shit moment as he surveys the landscape, the red queasy light playing on his face. He laughs until he coughs, and end.


irrational shame


What’s your god detector say?

On the Coordination’s ships, autonomous entities report on the approach or interpenetration of deity forms. We have no such device as a “god detector”.

Ok, rapturebots then. Are they tasting the divine?

Presently no. The artifact appears to be radiance free. Quite an unusual construct, most of it seems exist outside of local space time.

There’s nothing metabolizing at measurable rates?

Only simple fragmentary replicators – bacteria, algae, a bit of nano.

Well, gee. We’re almost through the entire broadcast burst. We’ll wrap that and then sans response, we’ll skitter over, leaving the nest in the shadow of the star. Suits and glamour up. Dose a medium and bring her too.

Deity-forms signatures are not common in this system. A medium might attract…

Exactly. Radiance or unspeakable horror may be nigh. Here we are in a blighted sector about to infest a magical transport possible derelict for who knows how many turns of the wheel. A tripper defies our quaking pitiful ignorance. Courage to balance the peril, decisive curiosity invites luck, so the prophets whisper. We’ll prepare a testament and keep it carving so that other mice might bless our foolish but unavoidable folly. We certainly can’t just leave this cheese. Have we got enough heros yet? Then let’s away.


spelling means control, signing is binding

different events attracts different entities


dungeons and dragons create the science fiction musical universe then play it through with actual people

app for back channel communication with player characters. the dungeon mastersh

if it rains, you’ll get wet


two dudes at a urinal showing their mandrake specials

two objects fall in love, non discernables gender


Insistence that technological prowess is the only indicator of intelligence is an occlusion. Rather than have a conversation with non technological people, European conquistadors enslaved and murdered them. The conquistadors called those people savages, which is another way of saying less than human, because they didn’t have the tech to fight back, because they emphasized other kinds of intelligence.

With a little presence and rapport, we can have conversations with all peoples/species.

Our survival depends on rejecting Tyson’s view of intelligence. If 1% better visitors showed up here, beings that intuited quantum physics as Tyson suggests, we might connect with them only if we’ve first learned to have conversations with our co-travelers of the home world.

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