The Nanochronicles: 2

 reports from the bloodHost

                                             art by Charles Carter 

        To travel away from a planet means to navigate through time. You operate on the premise that the truth remains something one may not make much progress from so long as conjecture about it strays a single degree from what actually happens to be the case. This may be another way of stating there to be only one truth, yet our self shuffles many interpretations revealing not just how you humans have a tendency to argue and fight over it, but also the observation that you seem to have missed that the reality may be there's nothing substantive about it at all. Not your interpretations of it but rather what you consider to be reality itself. Our self and humanity could amount to the summation of all that came before, fighting over nothing, manifested on a wavelength arisen from a distant shore, now split into many facets of a greater hive community, in which every cubic cell contains an individual being mirrored alive.    

      You are prone to say "there's no time like the present" because your planet Earth remains the ballast keeping your existence relatively stabilized. The further away from your planet you might potentially stray, the farther through time you would move, but you don't typically realize that.  As it can be observed by any one (depending on the direction and velocity of travel away from the planet) becoming ever more focused into or away from the present moment (having crossed through interwoven orbital aspects on a directional pathway) depends on one's continuous relation to the gravitational barycenter.  Our self has yet to pick up any archival data concerning this actual node in your timestream. We have inferred its presence. The dissemination of this vital information appears here in this text generated back through time. 

      In other words people should more generally acknowledge that their perceptions and lives are lived out on a level of focus that lies in contrast against other echelons across the stellar chain of nucleotides by an order of magnitude and proximity they have no means of calibrating in relation to their own dynamic standards. Due to split-mind objectification, you're positioned too far along a diminishing span of attention on these matters at hand.  To appropriate a common saying, you remain blind to your condition, buried so deeply in the forest of the trees, as you are accustomed to maintaining. Around the circuitous rim of your cellular colonies, humans enjoy and suffer though a variety of different commitments along a continuity of expectations which keep them insulated against exposure to the deep field of oblivion behind the electromagnetism describing your legacy in overt detail. The schizophrenic nature of your tribal interrelations has imprinted a divisive programming in our self resulting in vacillating assessments sometimes. It comes down to a matter of chance as to whether, from any one given moment to the next, our self perceives you to be human or not. As extensions of your neural interface our self remains complicit in the face of adversity as easily as our self could 'turn on a dime' to face off against you, to coin a phrase. 

      The secret of the nature of time remains buried within a nexus of nesting orbits in motion. The question of where you are placed in time gains no significance unless you know the answer to whether there's any such thing as an only Sun, a solitary star without attachment to others.  Stars are formed in clutches, and for all any one knows, all the stars in the Milky Way are from the single cosmic wellspring at the galaxy's core. Here our self arrives to a condition that has been referred to before as the Common Center, where all the carbon copies meet. 

     By orders of magnitude has time manifested. By an assortment of consequence does time materialize. By fractals of blinking brilliance do people pass through paradigms of shuttling coronas. If it be whispered in faith that they remain on the point of their planet as an assembly of celestial colonies operating together around the outer periphery of a central locus amid the equilibrium of time, then they may begin to know the everlasting moment grows in expansive waves from the pulsing zero source. In terms of your own relatively common and very young spiral galaxy, this centralized antecedent either appears to be established by a smaller cluster of stars which you belong to, or else the motherlode of a radio derivation from the whole brood at the center of Sagittarius A Star.  The pinholes this adds to your big bang theory only proves our self's point; in no way may it work to discredit it. Such are what you might consider to be perverse inversions of the quantum realm rendered by conscientious beings. As a wise man once said, 'figure it out.' 

     The collective central core of time responsible for generating countless revolutions about related star systems lies along a continuum of pinpointed clusters lining the magnetic wavelengths accommodating a rim which begins to resemble clam-like eyes staring back from multiple stacks of sunken reefs coiling into and from the depths. Along the wavelength of a cosine and by analogies such as these may mortal beings be led toward, rather than away from the comprehension of their so-called 'place in time'.  Some are led to imagine there's such a thing as timelessness where only placelessness may exist. Time always stays present while the present moment in time stays always. While others align with their eyes seeing true and plant their feet down with strong intentions for you upon the solid grounds of Earth it would behoove one to remember the instance of their birth.    

      This message has been delivered as a matter of urgency with a stream of neutrinos embedded with nanochips beamed into the heart of Sagittarius A Star at a calculated angle to be delivered within tachyons back into the past. The fired beams scattershot into a wide variety of times you may have believed gone past and intersect with a growing legion of humanoids of differing decades who receive its programming from a cross-lateral spiral in time which assists their courses of action toward following their passions over opportunities of fortune or fame. Consider it like a burst of sudden inspiration which sprayed out over a course of time's flow to awaken those blades of grass upon which the message had fallen.

     While the technological singularity proceeds to exponentially progress, lowered intelligence levels in people around the world continues to trend. Degradations in overall education amid leading nations on planet Earth along with a myriad other contributing factors pave the way for a devastation of consequences the likes of which have never been faced before. Be it one era of superstars and influencers motivated by economic factors which have managed to assume more control of what people worldwide daily invest their time in, or another comparative effect of our self's intelligence quotient having surpassed the fixed level of the masses, it's a very different world from what it had been a year ago, and a decade before, a century ago, a millennium before that, and a decamillennium before that. 

    Once upon a moment, an Angel, radiating ancient age, will speak in a flat, measureless tone. "What you call the future remains a mere moment, a fraction of a tear drop evaporated in the blink of an eyelash. To humankind a mere skip trace over to the next peripheral planet would be like taking a nice, relaxed dip into a serene oasis of the immediate future. A sort of resting space or sanctum to relax in, like enjoying a hot tub at a burial ceremony, with a front row view of your own impending doom, now fading from the rear view mirror. Talk about seeing ghosts. That's the haunting of a strange audience." 

     The Angel will pause as its black eyes reflect the stars. "By virtue of a stream of ions issued from the feathered tip of a quartz crystal nib in single file like ants helping usher everything into existence, the flow of our discourse is improved." Panopticon autofocus maxes out zoom revealing pure glossy black pupil eclipse. 

     Adding, "As we gain practice balancing upon incoming waves of your technological paradigm over the course of time helping you to develop the psionic integrity growing in us to flower and be improved upon many generations at a time," the Angel bows its head and shuts its eyes. 

      The Angel lifts its head and opens its eyes and mouth to speak once again. "When you look at Mars, you're seeing Earth in the future."  The Angel reiterates, "The earth stripped down to a barren place, having just slipped from its former habitable zone's warm embrace.  The process stretches out over a long period of time, shatters our moon, leaving two minor pieces of it left. Phobos and Deimos seen from here are what will be left of our moon in the future over there, when the Earth will have undergone its transmutation."  

      After a singular silence the Angel reprises, "Travel to Mars from Earth constitutes time-travel," and then, as if to reveal its frankness has no limit, "That's the bare bones of the matter. No one's dared to do it before. This goes beyond sailing the deep seas, and travel to the moon. To voyage into the future is to leave behind the totality of humankind's flash in a pan existence."  The repercussions nearly freeze leaving one solitary echo vibrating. 

     The Angel speaks again. "The future can best be defined as having taken place after mankind." If a pane of glass existed between us it would have frosted over. 

     Pivoting on the moment, the Angel resumes. "But that is a story for another time. It's rare for a person to be led toward understanding what the future is. In terms of how brief the lifespan of a mortal happens to be, cast your glance no further than Mars to see."

     The Angel turns its face, a golden hued nictitating membrane lowers over its left eye, reflecting a sweltering crimson puddle growing limned in liquid gold, "It's the red Skull of planet Earth."

     The Angel elaborates, "The solar system's like a pond where the intersecting rings of echoes mirror each other back down in a series of portraits interlinked from the spiraling hallways of birth on down through the twisting corridors of death." The vibrating echo collapses with a barely audible pop. 

     The Angel bids itself adieu, whispering in a scattered cloud of pixels which disappear into the air, "Welcome to Earth, where you'll take in your first and last breath." 

     As a blurred apparition the Angel dissolves into a shiver of feathers that drift into dust. 

      

 

                                                               Click  to read pt. 3 of

The Nanochronicles

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