Category: Thinking, thinking

Permutations of the Arrows of Time and its Effect on Now

Thanks to the notebook (paper power!), I further evolved my novel’s setting, establishing that, theoretically nine arrows of time exist and six stages of chi-particles exist.

A Now can have between one and nine arrows of time. The arrows of time affect how Now is perceived and experienced. When all nine arrows of time exist in one Now, the Now is dominated by entropy and chaos. It becomes extremely short-lived. The gamma chi-particles responsible for Now cycle through existence more quickly, gaining energy and mass while slowing. Once the gamma chi-particles gain sufficient and energy, they move into the delta stage of chi-particle existence and decay into elements.

In our Now existence, where I, Michael, am sitting and typing in 2017 on Earth, five arrows of time exist. Three are the forward moving arrows of time involving psychology, thermodynamics and cosmology (Hawking’s take on Eddington’s idea). They work in relatively parallel synchronicity.

The other two arrows of time in this reality are the biological arrow of time and the imaginary arrow of time. We can’t grasp the imaginary arrow of time but we perceive its impact; from this emerges the paradoxes and conflicts of our existence that we can’t explain.

Hawking’s three arrows of time are dominant in this Now, providing the Now with a relatively long life and stability. This also affects the states of time I call Hawking Time, which are the present and the near and far futures and pasts. The near and far states are extensions of the impact of strong psychological and cosmological arrows of time, providing us (as the observers) with the false impressions that the future and past exist when they’re actually just knowledge/awareness of other Nows.

In the novel’s Now, the same five arrows of time are in place as in our Now. The difference emerges from the Now’s creation. The Now was created when beta chi-particles encountered a wave function collapse. The five arrows of time emerged. That’s normal.

Here’s where it changes. The beta chi-particles would normally become gamma chi-particles. In this instance, the beta chi-particles became binary gamma chi-particles. This, coupled with a more dominant imaginary arrow of time, causes the binary gamma chi-particles to continually loop back into themselves. Crashing into themselves creates new iterations of almost the exact same Now, but with a side effect of chronological entanglement. In essence, the Hawking states of time are misconstrued about being the future and the past. Additionally, the binary gamma chi-particle presents the characters with the illusion that they can control the past and the future and overcome the inherent paradoxes.

This will not happen ‘forever’. Eventually, as in the case of a standard gamma chi-particles, the binary chi-particles of the novel’s scenario will cycle and decay to the point that they gain more mass and energy, becoming delta chi-particles, etc.

Glad I cleared that up. Needed to more fully understand it to be consistent and more clearly tell the story. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

0

A New Notebook

(EDITING NOTE: “Long Summer” was the working title for the trilogy that is “Incomplete States”.)

As I was writing this week, I realized that I needed a notebook and pen.

I had the pen. I’ve stowed pens in most of my coats, jackets and computer cases. I often also put one into a shirt pocket or clip it to my collar as a writing talisman.

But the notebooks have been used and not replaced. Fortunately, I have a stash of new composition notebooks, often referred to as ‘lab books’, at home. I pulled out a new one today and stuck it into my computer bag. Once at the coffee shop, I blessed it with my usual annotations on the cover of name, the month and year, and the place where I started using it. As always, I wrote using my Z4 pen. As usual, the ink didn’t dry before I swept a hand across it, leaving a black smear on my heel and a barely legible blotch on the notebook.

I needed the notebook because the computer was coming up short. I’ve been working out further kinks in my chi-particle theory and how it interacts with a wave function collapse to create ‘now’. All of this is the concept behind the novel in progress, ‘Long Summer’. Along the way, I began exploring the existence of more arrows of time than the three Hawking proposed, and did equations and charts about the permutations of time available.

It was all becoming confusing and entangled. Naturally, that led me back to the Copenhagen Interpretation, the EPR paradox, and finally, expanded thinking on quantum entanglement. Hence a notebook was needed. I could draw and chart all of this with explanations and labels faster than I could type. That visual progression helped me organize and clarify my thinking and understanding. I further evolved the thinking behind the stages of chi-particle existence and their properties.

After all that, I could finalize address the aspects of my novel concept that bugged me: how do chi-particles interact with sentient entities (such as Humans) to create a moment of Now?

If Now is the only time that exists (despite the apparent existence of the arrow of time), how and why do entities think of a remembered past/history?

If a past doesn’t exist, how does a perceived past continue occurring during a Now moment?

Of course, one thing to always remember is just because they remember a Now as a past doesn’t mean that the past actually still exists; it only exists (or existed) as a Now moment.

That led me at last to a paradox that I didn’t fully appreciate. The deception of our own observational bias about who and what we are, and how we experience the arrows of time, with apparent knowledge of a substantive and concrete past that actually causes and establishes now, continually gets in the way of comprehending, plotting and expanding in the other directions. I keep returning to the logic of what I know.

All this greatly enhances my appreciation for the amazing thinking and math behind physicists and their theories. My thinking is ‘deep’ to me and causes me angst as I struggle to hold on and comprehend. Yet, their thinking was so much deeper and more complex and abstract. They really are amazing thinkers.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

1

Personal

Some days, you know?

You feel like asking all the gods of time and existence, when the hell will this all end? When will lasting change come?

You think of the fights you’ve been in and the efforts you’ve made. You think about the deeper, darker, harsher sacrifices that others endured to achieve their dreams.

You wonder, what needs to be done differently? You examine your life, actions and motives and question yourself about your direction and activities.

Questions bubble up again through the stew of thoughts, emotions, time and observation about who you are, what you’re done and what you’re trying to achieve. You seek your vision and wonder if you’ll ever accomplish anything close to what you see.

Doubts cause you to think, maybe this isn’t working. Maybe I need to change what I’m doing and how I’m doing it.

Because there doesn’t seem to be progress. No light at the tunnel’s end is starting to become noticeable. There’s no sign of dawn. Despite efforts to be confident and hopeful, you feel like you’re wilting under the pressure. Despair becomes your regular companion.

You look for signs and omens, and search for the keys to success and victory. You think, God, others have made it. What does it take? What does it take? 

Intellectually, emotionally, physically, you understand what it takes.

Some days, it seems like the reservoirs are empty. There’s nothing left in the tank. Sucking on fumes, you vow to stop and change, because this sure as hell ain’t working.

But you know no other way and grasp the conundrum of your existence. And you sort of smile because these thoughts are so familiar, they have their own place in your brain. And you know there’s so many others exactly like you. Somehow, there should be a measure of solace in that, but this is always so personal.

0

The Wave

Have you ever been here, at a moment like this or a situation like this?

Somebody drives by and waves. Naturally, you wave back.

And you think, were they waving at me?

A mental muddle ensues. Who that was? What car make was it? Who drives a car like that? What did the driver look like?

You ponder a list of suspects like you’re solving a major crime, trying to winnow down who it was driving by at this time of day, in these conditions, waving at you. Ugly propositions arise. Maybe they thought you were someone else.

Maybe they weren’t waving at you.

You try to reconstruct the scene in your head to see if someone else could have been the target.

Or perhaps, like me, you’re sitting without your glasses on in the cafe, limiting your functioning vision to a dozen feet. Just beyond that, where you can put sight and awareness together to get some idea of who it is but not enough to see their eyes, someone waves.

And you think, like I did, they’re waving at me.

That automatic hand rises in a wave back but then….

In retrospect, you wonder….

Were they really waving at me?

0

The Importance

She was stunning, gorgeous in all the manners desired in the commercialized, western intersections of fashion, sex, television and movies.

The tragedy was that she knew. She’d been told since her curves first emerged and noticed lingering, admiring gazes.

All she wanted was for others to watch her as she walked and moved. She looked around to reassure herself that others were looking. It came to be all that was important to her. Nothing else mattered except to know that others noticed her.

She needed to be noticed, and she thought, all she had was what they saw.

2

I Want to Ask

I know it’s silly. I shouldn’t care about these things. But –

I can’t stop myself. I must ask.

I’m driving home. A car is in front of me. We pass the speed limit sign: 40 MPH. The driver ahead of me, now going about thirty-five, slows down to around twenty-seven. We then follow the road around a curve and up a hill where we encounter a new speed limit sign: 25 MPH.

The driver speeds up to thirty-five.

So I want to ask the driver, what’s in your head? Do you know you’re doing this? Are your actions of doing the reverse directed part of a secret organization Or do you have something mis-wired?

I almost followed the driver, a white male who looked about fifty, when he turned into the store parking lot to ask him, but I was already running late.

Have others encountered this in their areas? Does anyone know why this happens?

Help me. Please.

6

Hairy Now

It became a little hairy with my thinking today as I coped with chi-particles and now while writing the novel, ‘Long Summer’. 

I was dealing with the side-effect suffered by intelligent, organic creatures when a now is forced into existence. I simply wanted to vet and standardize for myself what that side-effect meant. That vector of thought shot me back toward the chi-particle structure, earlier rudimentary chi-particle thinking about how it evolves and devolves, and the relationships established with Hawking’s three arrows of time.

So, weirdly, the chi-particle has imaginary mass and energy and gains real mass and energy as it slows down. Dropping to the speed of light, the chi-particles gain mass and energy and releases other wave/particles/energies that develop into the chemical elements of the known universes, but also deliver time and gravity, time occurring to create a now associated with a wave function collapse. When the collapse happens, then reality is formed through an intersection of the box with the three arrows of time – psychological, thermodynamic, and cosmological.

But – this is where it becomes hairy – I recognized that the chi-particle not only exists in a state of imaginary mass and energy, but also imaginary time. It seems like an ‘of course’sort of concept, but I struggle to keep it pinned in place in conjunction with the novel being written.

I’ve been trying to further understanding of how the chi-particle interacts with the known theories of relativity and matter. I’ve always (ha – I came up with this about nine months ago) theorized in this imaginary existence of this imaginary particle that travels faster than light that isotopes and variants exist. Chi-particles exist in everything in the a half state. Once they’ve achieved real mass and energy, they continue decaying. As they decay, they shift from real properties to negative imaginary properties. I haven’t evolved any theories about what this would mean to the box of now created during the wave function collapse at the intersection with the arrows of time.

But further, for there to be an awareness of now when the wave function collapses at the intersection with the arrows of time, a sufficient aggregation of chi-particles for a particle species – such as Humans, for example – must exist for them to have an awareness and knowledge of their own existence. It’s at that point, when the ‘Human’ chi-particles aggregate, that Humans can reach the point of, “I think, therefore, I am.” Yet, it’s fleeting. Humans can’t understand beyond these moments of time (with the associated arrows) because once the chi-particles decay to the point of negative imaginary mass, energy and time, Humans cease to be.

Meanwhile, playing with the periodical table of elements to establish how this all fits together, I realized that the table becomes a multi-dimensional matrix in order to accommodate the chi-particles.

I needed to write all this out to think it out, stabilize it and make it ‘real’ to me. I’ll tell you, I’ll be happy when I finish writing this novel. I look forward to returning to simpler thoughts and plots.

Now I’m done writing like crazy for today. It sure was crazy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

0

Today’s Agenda

Between making oatmeal for breakfast and turning on the shower water, I asked the writer, “What are you going to write today?”

The editor joined us. The writer recapped where we were as I washed my hair. The editor reminded him that we need to go back to further revise and add to some previously created chapters because of other events later introduced.

“Yes, I remember that,” the writer answered with affable equanimity. “I will, don’t worry. There needs to be three of these chapters where we’re at now.”

That was the first I was hearing of it. Before I could say that, the writer continued, “That first chapter of this trio is titled ‘Miasma’.”

“It is?” I said. “That’s the first I — ”

“Yes. I don’t know what the other two are named yet. It’ll come to me.”

“Okay, but what’s to happen now? Forus Ker — ”

“The Englis and Exnila.”

“What about them?”

“Do you remember them?”

“Yes, of course, but — ”

“They’re going to show up.”

“They are?”

“Yes, yes.”

“How? And why?”

“Because remember, all the nows.”

“Umm….”

“We’ve only focused on some of the nows. Other nows are happening. We’re going to inroduce them. Oh, yeah. That’s the name of the second chapter. ‘In Other Nows.'”

“Isn’t that a little too cute?”

“No, it’s perfect. Trust me.”

I turned off the water and stood there dripping. “Okay, I’ll trust you. But how do the Englis and Exnila arrive? I don’t see it.”

“I do. It’s coming. It’s developing. You’ll see. Trust me.”

The writer says trust me often. “Okay.” I don’t see that I have another choice than to trust him. If I don’t trust him, we get nothing done. I began drying off.

“Hurry up,” he said. “It’s time to go write like crazy.”

I nodded. “At least one more time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0

Last Meal

For my last meal, I went all out. Prime rib with horseradish sauce, roasted new potatoes, roasted asparagus with a small spring salad. A blackberry cobbler with real vanilla ice cream. A nice pinot noir to drink with the meal was requested for the meal, with a Praeger tawny port to drink while smoking cigars after my meal. Although I’ve made friends and re-established three friendships with others who died and are here, I’m dining alone. I like being alone. The Caretakers weren’t surprised. About half the people request solitude for their last meal. The other half like being part of a big party.

As I understand it, and they made it clear in orientation, I’ve already died, killed in a car crash in my new Ferrari. I can’t believe my timing. I was just making it big. Now I’m dead.

At least I don’t need to worry about my heart and cancer any longer. Or my hair. I can’t gain weight or do anything to this body. I won’t have it tomorrow morning. I’ll die and be reborn, starting over.

Doing the stroll, I say good-byes to the world. Bright orange poppies proliferate in a sandy field. Birds wheel, collect and land. A comforting sea breeze chops up the ocean. Waves splash with sunshine. This place, Aition, is temporary. It reminds me of the central California coast, just south of Half Moon Bay, where I lived my life. Born and raised, a California native. I stayed there, except for Vietnam, marrying twice and divorcing the same, with five children resulting from these unions. Richard, one of my boys, had preceded me in death. He was the oldest and the brightest. I tried finding him here but he’d already left, they said. I would have like to see him again. His death in a plane crash gutted me.

These thoughts carry me to the Solarium. I sought a final glimpse of my new sun and planet. Looking at them, I still can’t accept the truth of what I’m being told. The sun is the size of an orange. My planet is like a blue, green and white pea.It’s already populated with eight billion humans. I’ll join them tomorrow.

I kept asking, “Is this a model?”

No; that’s the planet. Those are all planets and suns.

“How many?” I wonder aloud.

“Billions and billions,” they reply.

Expanding my scope of seeing, I look up, down and across from the overhang where I stand. It looks like billions and billions.

I’ve compared my new Earth to the Earth that I left. It’s several suns over. They look pretty much the same.

We never cease, they told me. We just leave one place and go to another. This stop is a sop to us because we’re always wondering what happens when we die. It’s not a good sop. It opens up as many questions as it answers, and then, I’ll die here, be reborn elsewhere, and have most of my knowledge gone.

“How do I get a job here?” I asked a couple of the Caretakers. They’re all beautiful, perfect people and seem serene and happy. Why not? They’re living the perfect life. “Who do I see?”

“You can’t do anything to get here,” they all answer. “You’re born to here,” Juarez said. “Just like you’re born to other worlds.”

It seems capricious, arbitrary and unfair, just like the world I just left.

Time to eat. See you all later.

I suppose.

0

Hey, Writers – Ten Ways of Getting the Writing Groove Back

Find yourself not able to write or otherwise blocked, de-motivated or listless? Here are five healthy tips for getting the creative juices going.

  1. Have sex. Sex is one of the few matters humans tend to focus on while they’re doing it. If you’re thinking about sex because you’re doing it, you’ll free your mind from thinking about how you’re not writing because you’re not doing it.
  2. Eat some chocolate. I hear chocolate is good for everything. I like dark chocolate, myself, about seventy-two percent.
  3. Likewise, light up a doobie. If you’re fortunate, you live in a state where recreational marijuana is available. The fabulous state of Oregon where I reside is one of them.  If you don’t want to light up, have an edible or a tea.
  4. Drink wine, beer, coffee. These work for me.

More seriously, trying to write when you feel blocked is exasperating and frustrating, a feeling like popcorn caught between your teeth or your toe stuck in a hole that’s developed since you put the sock on – and you just bought the damn things. Really, the quality of goods sound these days…grumble, grumble.

I’m usually over-thinking it, over-analyzing where I’ve been and where I want to go. Fortunately, I’ve evolved my writing practices. I’m rarely afflicted to the point I can’t write these days. Hope to hell I didn’t just jinx myself.

Part of that is that I don’t write linearly. I let spray the words and write like crazy. I don’t worry about anything of punctuation, grammar, spelling or story details. All that can and will be cleaned up. Just write like crazy, damn it.

The second part is that I learned it was my inner reader daunting me, mocking my efforts by comparing me to Pulitzer Prize, Nobel Prize and other winners in literature. I learned how to tell that damn piker to take a hike. They’ll have their time later, after the first draft is finished.

Finally, I learned that I’m writing to entertain myself. That really freed my thinking. I’m a simple fellow with low standards; surely I can write something silly to make myself smile, a horror scene to make myself shudder, or describe a person with such loathing that I grimace with disgust.

But back when I struggled, I had several work-arounds that stimulated my flow. (Now it sounds like I might be lactating.)

  1. Type a favorite passage from someone else’s novel or short story.
  2. Go for a walk or do tedious chores like yardwork or the dishes. These activities don’t require much thinking, freeing the mind up to wander. Hopefully it’ll wander in a writing direction. Besides chores and walking, consider activities like fishing or bowling. They seem pretty mindless, too.
  3. Edit and revise what you’ve already written of the piece you’re working on. That always stimulates my writing energies.
  4. Brainstorm about what you’re writing and where you’re stuck. What does Penelope do now? Brainstorm it. What else is happening in the story? Brainstorm it. How did the murder weapon come to hand? Brainstorm it. Remember, brainstorming is about generating ideas. Don’t self-censor; put it all down.
  5. Draw about the story or character. Instead of working in words, visualize on paper where you’re going or even where you’ve been. Let the details flow. If the murder takes place in town, walk around. If you’re in a starship, look around and see that starship. Describe it to yourself. Make it real. Look at the battle scene; hear it; smell it; see it.

If you’re read this far, you probably realize this is’t a list of ten. Sorry; I just put that in the title because I read somewhere that numbered blog posts are more often read. Actually, I believe I made that up just now.

It’s just part of writing.

 

1

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑