by Shaun Lawton
We dwell way beyond the fabled era of dragons, fractal dragons, that is. I discovered fractal dragons in 1982 or so, when I was a sophomore in high school. There was an article about them in OMNI magazine, and I wrote a report on it for math class.
A lot of time has passed since then. Both friends and pandemics have passed on, reduced from their larger than life size and stored in our genetic tapestry, leaving certain turbulence in their wake. The gathering cosmic storm continues to manifest, building energy, exchanging it, as our planetary system strives to reach an unspeakable equilibrium during our rapidly accelerating course through this currently electrified existence.
One of the few things that appear to remain certain, this base electromagnetism flowing everywhere seems to have achieved a sort of ceaseless conduit, which is to say a solid state basis from which to continue while living creatures caught up in the ride readjust to its existence in an endless struggle of adaptation.
Once upon a time in my own youth, dragons were thought of as the basis for mathematical equations that mimicked uncannily the natural patterns of the developing universe. Dragons were empirical proof that the coastline and the oak leaf were intrinsically connected on a level far surpassing our willingness and possibly even capacity to understand. There's a decent chance that statement makes no sense to a good portion of people reading this. Sometimes observations may cut to the quick and not seem to make a lick of sense, but that's okay because we can all stay tuned to a sense of true north.
Most of those here with us, except the few rooks around, with their ears bent low to the ground, their senses amped to maximum alert as they travel down the less worn paths in search of evidence that would help point toward the deeper mysteries, most of us just choose to look out the window and not think about it all that much.
Because we are to rebel in utter exultation due to the realization we are all bound within the great coils of this cosmic constrictor. We meet her face to face in the darkened chamber of our hearts. There's no escaping the fact that she knows, as all animal spirits do, that each individual one of us are here to serve or undermine her own existence, and that of her kindred.
Now that we've come as a society to slip between the curtains of the veil, revealed to lead toward the uncanny valley of shadows, all the more reason gathers to make certain we benefit from knowing the proper difference between what's actually occurring and the incessant onrush of elaborate stories conjured by the highest wizards of finance throughout the interconnected Empire of Hives that has self-assembled through the underground networks of power over the course of the last three years.
Welcome fully now into our novel Age of Lies, "America On Line," for we have well gone and passed the prefatory and introductory periods of this informational processing pandemic long enough ago that its initial stages have already sailed out of sight in our rearview mirrors. And what powerful rearview mirrors we do happen to have.
Now is the time when every man for himself, every girl for herself, every boy for himself, every woman for herself, every single human being bar none alive today have this one thing in common we are being lied to in perpetuity by every social utility network, media station or televised channel on Earth, with few enough exceptions to make no difference to the escalating momentum bestowed upon this Age of Lies fueled by ordinary corporate power alone. Do you really think the US govt is harboring top secret files on UFOs? Think about it, if you can.
We used to have education in place with a solid analog foundation of empirical knowledge amassed which more or less got responsibly passed along to successive generations for a few decades but ever since the advent of the PC and internet and now in the rapidly churned to white water evolution of AI and its entrenched facilitation of our whole spectrum of possibilities (both good and bad) we are all left as side show spectators in an out of control arena whose borders are no longer contained or patrolled by anything remotely human, which is to say necessarily stripped of the most vital aspects thereof.
The only way to see through this churning dance of electrified pixels, or at least one such means that occurs to me as providing a brilliant opportunity for it, is to unplug, and perform a "wind check." That's when you lick a finger and stick it up in the air to feel which direction the wind's blowing. Otherwise if we keep our noses to the online grindstones, our lives will continue appearing as snowy static on the lens of an old camera eye that once snapped a photo and saved it as a .jpg on a harddrive to be converted into part of a collection in the living Cathedral of Masquerades, an ancient organization whose secret has been preserved for centuries by hiding it out in the open for all to see, a sort of ceremony hallowed for the mass consumption of a new breed of civilized slaves, all too willing to continue nursing on the convex glass nipples which have risen in cost to now a dime each, a price every citizen remains certainly willing to pay, sincerely and indiscriminately yours as they say, we the legion of happy people wagging our tongues just hanging on for dear life in the great curling wake.
