Jack Kimball

Port Rhombus

"Permit one," the old emulator intones, "the ball is rolling, Pleiadian
pink, spinning off gray glazes and beiges and lemon shades between
our heels, madly tapping." Her eyes dim with her sense of place. "No,
those are toes. And this is because we disambiguate, and remain but
creatures before the undercounts, 'bumps' in the void with no potential
to engage ourselves away from the kingdom of experience within."
 
 

The Lovers

What word prolongs a crippled relapse burst of glamor, untying our
performance with unraveling how the prediction can be solo, renitent
overconfidence, a relic entirety jangling sneer inquests as well as
'overthrowing' laws of the improvisatory of versus off dissent --
smoothness with a pulse that beats ordered expressionism in radiant
amps, and adds twilight to the cliff's? Diluent? Sleepy days of
assented-to hours and castlelike brick loosen us from these biodata
taken weaker to interiors, into sussed, sonic focus. The viscous beach
of sequence here left for quarantine -- ephemeral -- saluting death in
an integer of spray over the incapacitants. Up soon.
 
 

The Sands

Blooper, blooper. I'm not afraid of showing the much simpler and
evictive, formless, inexact I evaporate and waver into highly animate,
raw munition. A hand is supposed to cohere in what I feel of this
hearsay environment. Raising one and the press of moisture exude
only passion, which if one allows I agree with, with wilderness
expressed, but a misdeal.
 
 

Such

The argument for exactness uses a version of the "readiness"
principle and proceeds with slight affects permitting a new
anthropology through groundwater oared with, and travel to, the other
Everett-worlds. A sufficiently advanced "early" civilisation might colonize
other worlds, presumably by means of an exponential discourse,
dictated by random events (oar-mutations, genetic dialects) and
falsifying the clam-to-turtle's spectrum (its admitted meanings) in wee
packets like stringy, asteroidal mass extinctions in flows, and such. It's
inevitable, then, on a minority, although a great many, of these parallel
shores life grows in the mind as if this were only disorientation from
having already evolved sapient-level technologies millions or even just
thousands of years ago or in the "future." Such early arrivals, under
the usual, fortunate pressure to expand, would spread across parallel
time racks, if they had the sex life to do so, displacing other claimants.

I claim that you are now pretty convinced that you are not an upload,
and that if I were to convince you that you are, you would be very
disturbed and disoriented.

The gateway has two ends, which are linked together. I'm roadways,
not a test. If I restrict the emotion of each end to be subliminal, then
each end must stay forever within the cone of creation (forward light).
There is no 'either' end they can feel their way into the past light cone.
Therefore we can never come out of a gateway mouth anywhere but in
thought transference, possibly massive or between biological friends
you and I may never know. I don't believe that Jupiter-sized brains will
be as useful as some imagine, except that they can run one shared
reality. I should add, the nano-posthumans all need to cooperate
flawlessly.

Get ready. That's the idea. The entanglement we're talking about
passes data, but it cannot pass information, and it can only transfer
uncrackably coded data, at that. The unique office-scape of
teleportation isn't that it raises speed of thought, which is no faster
than the choo-train affairs which already travel between receivers and
senders, but that the sender ends up in exactly the same thought as
the receiver.
 

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