A quick revocation of facts, or facets, or faucets (in a manner of speaking)
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about syndication. About sequence. About the splitting of vectors through pure synaptic concentration, and the implications there-of. What would Linnaeus think? Would he be able, even, to determine the physicality of a panoply of frolicking vectorlings? But I have come to doubt even my own abilities in such pursuits. I have stood in this very chamber, and I have felt the tiny ever-branching, ever-splitting algorithms melt through my fingers like so many strands of spaghetti (cooked, of course (though that’s not to say that uncooked spaghetti is incapable of melting through one’s fingers, but rather this: that yes, a solid may break a tooth, but only a liquid can offer it passage along the river we all find ourselves on at one time or another), strained and still slippery, like over-accentuated eels and the feeling one gets with one’s hands in the aforementioned eelhouse, so to speak).
When a vector begets another vector, when an algorithm births another of its own, when the grid warps and perverses itself in ever-more-flattering dimensionalities and scalar sensibilities in a desperate bid for attention (or worse, retention), why must these be the limits? The sub-sub-sub-vector given the same prominence as the sub-vector? A laughable offense. And the agency behind the offense? Well, we all know that the only good offense is a good deference, and nobody does deference better than yours truly. I’ve risked too much to throw it all away now; you can tell I’m getting older, and my stellar cartographies will be in need of a good home. The demiurge is encroaching more and more now and if you think I’m going to give up constellation-building now, well, you’ve got a thing or two to learn about me.
So let’s leave the categories to the Linnaeans, let’s leave the prosecution to the wronged and wounded, the phantom-figured limbless emigrants. My homunculus will sweep the mess under the +x^2/-y^2 welcome mat matrix we found when we arrived. The cathedral will always be around, it’s just a matter of connecting the right vertices, and don’t think I’ve forgotten the sundry sycophants and sub-atomics milling about the sphere (is it even a sphere? did we ever figure that out? let’s get a bobble-head on the phone right away! unless they’re all too busy orbiting!!! (if you know what i mean, ha ha ha) - Ed.). The renovators are here, and who am I to argue?