The Power of 23 “Existence is larger than any model that is not itself the exact size of existence.” - Robert Anton Wilson This week the Prosperity Poets took on the poetic deconstruction of quantum mechanics. What does modern physics tell us about the nature of our world, and more significantly, how it contextualizes and shapes our Work? What you read below is the fruit of those collective efforts of nine poets with hands outstretched into the quantum darkness attempting to discern the contours of the faces of the gods. A poet for every station of the enneagram. There was a general recognition that quantum mechanics has introduced a liberating element in contemporary physics that has broken out of the straitjacket of Newtonian mechanism. The science is reluctantly finding itself in a new era where all the old certainties are demolished, and there is the dim dawning realization of what mystics have known all along. To cast our discussion and creative efforts in the right direction, we started our gathering with a reading from E.J. Gold’s poem, “Spontaneous Surrender”: “I had nothing but myself with which to create the world. Out of myself the world was made.” This seemed incredibly relevant, as was the title for the collectively composed poem below entitled “The Power of 23.” Those of you familiar with Robert Anton Wilson will immediately recognize that mysterious and potent number 23 in the title. This introduction of mystery is quite fitting for a poem about quantum mechanics that has made uncertainty a determining characteristic of reality at the most basic level. Here is the poem written by the following Prosperity Poets who offered themselves up as instruments of coincidence control; Vadera, Loralilah, Grokkessa, Rocky, LLara34, auntiematter, gnosticman, Vida, and MrSierra. A brief aside . . . it was jokingly observed that this was a beautiful romantic poem, and we all laughed. Upon later reflection, I thought this poem isn’t romantic but like all true works from the heart, it is a love poem. The Power of 23 relativity is my favourite equation to keep questioning my imagination of time, is that a mistake, oh supreme and knowing teacher, my experience i understand through my insanity, you just know youre an elementary bosonic when nature hands you a holographic black string of chronodynamic dimensions instead of a relative hole, the final word doesnt exist in the mind-bending poetic multiverse where there are endless clones of ourselves and interdimensional worm-hole-whirling decision points, with point-like, shimmering mathematical functions, undulating in the field of quantum gravity, cosmology took a back seat to superstring theory quantum effect turns inside out Negative mass bounces back = Spindel, so despite the fact, he was a bozon, with gravity, twisted spatial dimensions and a theory of everything, her love equaled his mass and energy, are you really so closed to the fundamental spatial dilemmas with closed eyes and solutions subjected to strong gravity? The particles vibrate in desperate amplitudes of memory and longing, her hand slams the glass of water against the table, without actual contact, the impact pulses, wags, rebounds and ripples through the amorphous lattice, a deafening, thunderous static, raw noise settles into a perfect hum, a green field, where the wind blows waves over strings of grass forming jostling, trembling, ghostly bundles of nothing. Bosonic Tachyons, denoted and slightly dented in structure elicit quantized yet rigorously unproven variability only when extended to the power of 23 dimensional parameters. Picture below is Robert Anton Wilson.
Posted on: Sat, 04 Oct 2014 23:37:45 +0000
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