Liquidation Sale' the big sign read in red letters. I was in some old furniture factory, unnamed, brandless place. His mom was there, but she took off somewhere and he was now alone, wandering through the fields of old furniture. The rooms were cold and dead as concrete. 'Liquidation' signs held suspended from the walls above. The lights grew dimmer. The funiture grew older, more dusty, and more wondering would take place. His mom would find him later, after the historical triggering had gotten enough time to sink in. City: Courtney? 1998? Possibly 1999. Why were we even here? Why did we go to so many swimming pools that reeked of chlorine? We went to this one called the Austrian Chalet, and it used way too much chlorine. So much that his eyes stung a faded white shade after a $2.00 swim in the facility. There were some artistic murals of sea monsters on the wall, done in colored, chipped tiling. The hot tub and sauna were pretty good. He always got so hungry after a swim. Luckily, this was during the times of gradeschool, pokemon, warhammer, nice friends, and playstation; before the public exposure via low-paying fake jobs became annoying like mosquitoes on steroids. The young, pliable minds of apprehensive placeholder humans (though some were likely genuine) were far less obtuse than the overblown cancer-rage of old bastards who'd been so brainwashed into oblivion that not even a head transplant could save them from the bottomless waste bins of white supremacy.

Exposure to their toxic attitudes in later life would prove to be mentally acidic, especially the bloated fake physics man who stuffed beer cans up chickens at bbq's and waddled around on nuke day throwing bonfires for parasites. It even went so far as to blast dissonance from a 'pool heater' (sand filter) placed strategically close enough to the home to cause maximum annoyance. The purpose of this machine was to trigger bunker memories of manual air filters whose hand crank mechanism would have produced a similar racket. Dungeon master's perfect daughter, family, and other hapless extras took part in the charade, but all were seemingly blind to the pathetic desperation of the whole exercise. Fried chicken's lowest point might have been madly hobbling forward in an attempt to push one down the stairs, only to have his wildly ugly face punched in. But not to be forgotten was the angrily whispering, loudly door and cupboard slamming rage reaction of witnessing a gravity of work be reduced to redundancy, lies, and tricks. Oddly, both incidents resulted in the completion of manual labor projects. In the first case, a stairwell railing had been completed (it resembeled prison bars), and on the second, it loudly, obstinately taped together a cover over an open cubby-hole under the stairwell in a weak attempt to block the (simulated battlefield) smell of putrid sewage seeping through the loose, rusted metal cover into the exact area as one's living space.

Luckily, those days were over, but the junk still lingered in the psyche: chemical imprints of frustration, desperation, and failure clinging to neural micro-tubules of patterns rapidly changing to override their influence. One often noted how old patterns had to be remembered before being overwritten and modified for the benefit of clear consciousness. It was a welcome change, and now new bridges were being formed. It was now funny to remember the stale shaw coffee and awkward peripheral crypto-blacks planted in the workplace to report, no matter how artificial and contrived, predispositions to racial marginalization. Militant shill operations employing zion's scopolomine-induced drones and pseudo-gay fascist techniques had been applied much more freshly to countersignal feminism, but this had little lasting impact, and would soon be relegated to the dustbins of memory.  

Work started at 9 am but he called on his cheap plastic flip phone (grey) to work and talked to the Angela. She was a horrible human being. 'It's snowing out and the buses are running late' he lied. She muttered in some nasally whine and he hung up. The coat flew up his arms and he drifted down the dusty stairwell in a mental fog that lasted until at least noon. He slipped on some thin, ripped shoes and shuffled out the door. His pants were kept up but an itchy, too-tight belt and they were covered with stains. Outside he waited for the bus and by the time it came his feet were numb from the cold. His headphones blasted death metal into his brain, and all the faces on the bus were a grey smudge. He the trip itself was a slideshow of nonsense. He imagined his coworker Stan, a bloated pervert with thick coke-bottle glasses and a gut that spilled so far over his belt, nearly to his knees, in the printer isle, but instead of printers he was selling guts like his own, large protrusions of human skin hanging from hooks for gut expansion complete with warranties and addons. At the Walmart bus stop he got off the bus and slid into mcdonalds breakfast menu on the wall, ordered fried sludge. Came into work, the crusty stains on his pants and shirt shining magically under the dead fluorescent lamps.

>exhibit A examination protocol activated, secret shoppers equipped with pre-memorized scripts and post-physics unification theory enactments for real life situations initiated***

He broke eye contact with everything and headed straight for the break room to punch into the computer to signal his arrival into the building. The machine docked his pay in 5 minute intervals, totaling 15 minutes to account for the time he'd slept in and bus delay. He looked in the mirror and noticed how the oval flip phone made a slight protrusion in the form of an upraised outline in black on his work pants. Tucked in the red work shirt, forgot to shave. David said that shaved faces were less trustworthy than clean faces. David had a skin condition where he itched it all the time and it flaked and peeled off like red flakes of sand paper. He smoked 2 packs a day. Stan was in the printer isle playing with his mustache and glazing over some kids. Angela approached and the massive bitch face installed on her creased, feverish Israel face. The tight hair parted across her anger lips and she railed on about annoying complaints in that tone of voice where each syllable stabbed into my neurons with a screeching red-alert stress signal to trigger the jesus christ activation sequence. With it came all the tied up laces of judaized disturbance mechanisms that coiled around his brain like browsing cookies or PUP.optional malware fragments. Her words didn't even make sense, they just poked and prodded his psyche like hotknives. Every day was a struggle to remove them, but he drowned in them and was surrounded by their residue. It was 2006 and things were only getting worse. The waves of sleep struck him as he stood there, eyes glazing over at the AS400 inventory system to print out pricing labels on little sheets of perforated paper accounting for all the price changes, hundreds of them, all alternating everywhere on a daily basis to keep the hapless consumer spending wrecklessly. First customers of the day dragged their bodies through the welcome doors, slid open and poured through, greeted by horse girl (cashier – blonde). The breakfast burrito sludge began to process and digest like tumbleweeds through a trash compactor and he felt his stomach wretch with gas and discomfort. 20 minutes later of shitting out diarrhea in the public bathroom and all the price change labels were ready to distribute in the tight plastic displays under the dust covered obsolete products like printers, projectors, boxes of toner and other miscellaneous junk lost and reshuffled in the fields of corporate decay.

Anal isys of 'Subject A' Update 109299.

Multiethnicity hostility triggering mechanism: complete failure. Subject continues to show reason and understanding towards diverse ethnicities, further deriding our theory of extreme ethnocentrism. Subject demonstrated affinity for multi-ethnic musics such as 'hip-hop' and also shows an interest in female-fronted musical talents, a further setback to our white male supremacy M-theoretical homogenization of ambedextrousness. For the multiverse to exist in our frame of M-power, degradation of secondary gender (or suppression... redundancy?) must be paramount. We feel that with enough triggering of deeply seated programming and cultural conditioning, comparing latent sexual interests with destructive influences, and micro'anal'ization of social microtransactions, we can completely disestablish any notion of gender parity in favour of dominance and suppression. Multiple fronts of propaganda and over-indulgence of fetishistic extremism to the point of physical and mental decay, irrespective of our cognitive bias and projections, is clearly what's being alluded to in all circumstances, and so we've programmed this magnetic signature into portable wave-cascade generators to be placed in backpacks of pedestrian stand-ins and extras appearing to walk small dogs on tight leads, strategically placed to coincide with subject outings and public appearances. Vehicular activity is to be in sync with subject projected path of travel, ensuring to apply ample pressure to gas when vicinity is near, as to distribute additional air pollution to secure the objective of triggering illnesses and hopefully cancer. But the goal is to not actually inflict cancer, but to trigger in the subject his hypochondriac nature of permanent, disabling illnesses as to coincide with buried messiah complex and this action will be supplemented in an expansion pack to backpacked extras as a Jesus projection simulator to magnetically project peripheral interference in the form of quantum mechanical static generators. The effect on the subjects heart should effect some deep notion of divine influence to defy all evidences of science and reason. Subject already experiences frequent ringing in ears, and placements of subject in furnace rooms and submarine innard-like sets have proven useful to us in establishing a concrete base of historical selective triggering (HST) but the veganism never caught on. Our plant kate failed to adapt subject to vegan tendencies, even through dinner meetings at vegan restraunts and frequent conversations regarding the subject of vegan food and veganism, and all further pursuits of this nature have been abandoned in light of more pressing circumstances. We can never abandon the prospect of supressed homosexuality, and more of our attention will be diverted to this psychological deconstruction. Placeholder humans have been heavy dutily brainwash programmed in scopolomine tanks and indoctrinated with fool-proof scripts to unearth this ultimate demonstration of M hegemony, although subject has shown little to no interest in this area outside of common friendship and loyal camaraderie, there is still room to speculate endlessly, irregardless of our cognitive bias and DOF projections.

Word Stream 1

He remembered nights with dark Gothic buildings, busy people, old wax candles melting down to their holders in the small hours of the morning – up all night watching movies. The skies were damp and gray. Everyone seemed spirited and lifted on so many ideas of the future. Like children building the best future in their heads and turning it into the physical with their minds. The movies were simple, but we laughed, ate, and drank. We wanted to know what it was like at the front. It always felt like I wanted to be there, in the action. Here was too safe and away from the important changes, even though it was where the changes to push were made. Still, to imagine the new equipment, and relative ease of encounters... to get the heart racing again in the thrill of battle where your life could be gone in an instant. Death was always a sobering thought. If it came, it came, and it just happened. That was it. No deep contemplation, no fear, just a slice of reality to leave behind. Who wanted to live thinking of death? Not while we can build, think, be together, and make dreams for the future. One wished even to skip sleep. Imagining with all the threats removed, and everywhere a safe zone of no violence. All guns, tanks, planes, having served their purpose, now shown with honor, restored by hobbyists and military buffs. Veterans, safe, happy, liberators, heroes all. Spending their days outside coffee shops chasing young waitresses. Cities full of life. Clean designs, big, open roads, but not too many cars.

The candles melted down to their stubs. The room was gothically dark, lit only by slips of pre-dawn gray and tiny flickering flames. It would be light out soon, and the rain was spare. It was supposed to be an overcast day, and for some reason it felt comforting to exist in the natural wrappings of cloud density. It was like operating with cold efficiency, guarded, protected by an unseen force. A voice and force he could hear, and was more potent on overcast days. It was all a game, one he would win. It wasn't even a question of wanting to be smarter, better, 'more right', or for even the sake of winning. Those feelings charged a different sense of self. This one was more of a completionist sense. It needed to be complete. It would be complete. Everywhere, everything was pushing to some grand sense of completeness where all the parts connected and light was shone in the cobwebs to make way for something everyone wanted to build and feel to continue building and feeling in the way that kept the completeness advancing. To build one stone atop another to start, then to add windows and doors, a roof, some furniture, a welcome mat... it all felt a lot less like competition and more like home construction. All the projects and plans were visualized, set to paper, and filed into the bullet-proof pipes. The old tensions were far from flaring. The confidence in the future was so bright that all the quarrels of the past melted away. What would it take for them to see this, overseas? If they could only feel what it was we wanted to accomplish. There would be no enemies. No reason to draw up arms against one another, and they could see that in the end, even in the near future, we would do far better to work in teams away from the cancer eating their hearts. It was a health sickness at its root. Felt like playing doctor. Doctor of a nation? What could be the oath? Everyone, nobody needs care what I do or say, but for the sake of your own life, can you feel what it's like to live openly, without the flames of revenge nipping away at all corners? We could sweep it away to learn and grow, make a city with big gardens right in the streets. Forests on rooftops.. why has nobody done this? Free cinemas for the children. What was the film we watched last night? It was some muffled projector film. We drank some beer and laughed a lot. Until our bellies hurt. We too many tablets and got all screwed up. But I don't really like sleep. Some times it's better to carry on through the night, and in the morning all the essential work gets tackled with decisive, feverish efficiency... then when the noon time starts to weigh in people's minds who seek leisure, I can sneak away for a recharge nap. Then wake up fresh! With all the rush of the morning having had a time to decompress, rather than it getting squished out by evening letters. Much of the time the work was automatic, repetitive, and devoid of any creative input. Administrative nonsense. Desk clerk hell. Lost in webs of pencils, papers, forms, pen & ink & scribbles & stamps. Up front. Outside. Fresh air... this is where life happened. Even so, a tether to responsibility and organization was needed. It was another sort of game. And it was important to keep a mental inventory of the scenario. The numbers would sit there like blocks gliding across open land, encountering other blocks and planning... plotting, outmaneuvering, men shouting and tanks rolling, unstoppable. The mental map was supplemented with facts and figures... even faces, decals, insignia, ranks, equipment, supplies, convoy routes, meeting locations, checkpoints, bridges, railways, mountains, natural terrain, cities, towns, places where resistance had been met and battles had been waged. Small skirmishes, reports of enemy activity, scouts, snipers, wildlife... weather conditions. The trucks needed to keep rolling. Convoy routes to provide the right supplies. I felt a personal anxiety over the necessity of supply trucks arriving at the right place at the right time. The feeling of new supplies when the days are long and grim is more than just a morale boost... it is essential to win the fight. It was only going to get harder and harder and the lines pushed further and deeper. Speed! The time to waste months blowing each other and the earth to mush needed to be put to an end... the lives were too important to waste on stalemates and blowing through ammo like candies... and they knew this and were smart about this, well, most were. I'd rather be out there driving supply trucks. Could I put on a disguise? Would they notice? At least to see their faces at the front. See the lines, the conditions, it's hard to make a call so far away. How long by truck? A few hours? Surely. But the lingering dread flared up... there is too much to do... here they would lose there minds. We are a team, some of us more so, and we act in kind. No decision is made by any one, and we all have a say, even the unfavorable. It is a game of strategy that no single mind can ever win. We put our minds on the front, our feet in their shoes, and play it out as if our lives were on the line. We see it in the maps on the board, it shows in their faces when we talk war, some light up, others become enlivened with stories. We all think of it as a deadly game of chance. Flashbacks come quickly, and our thoughts strike up into a zone of action that takes on a consciousness of its own. For long moments we lose touch with our material selves, marching forward and onward in memories of battle. It's as if we never left. It was as if our former selves were issuing commands from the past, using our present bodies as vessels of blood and impulse. Sometimes hours would pass in this mode. After the plans were laid, we would enjoy the sunset and the night. Confidence sky-high. Men would smoke, think, write notes, and gaze out at the sky until long after the sun had set. The women, busy but happy, would rest their selves with their men, always smiling, laughing, playful to release the day's work in a stream of joy. All the smiles and warmth came at the cost of wishing the same for the fronts. How lonely and sullen it gets for some, but many learn to find even greater joys in the things they would have previously never imagined. And with the speed, the rush, the future beating down the doors, we would all be home soon enough to put the fire in our hearts deep within the wellspring of creativity and change.

Quantum Spring

When it comes to successful theories to explain the behavior of matter, quantum mechanics stands alone. It was developed in the 1920s by Erwin Schrödinger, Werner Heisenberg, Wolfgang Pauli, Paul Dirac, and many others. The practical implication of this theory is that it allows us to understand atoms, molecules, nuclei, and solids. Technologies directly resulting from the development of quantum mechanics include scanning tunneling microscopes, nanoscale machines, and quantum computers.

In 1926, Schrödinger developed the wave equation. When mathematically explaining a quantum system, one must take the solution related to the behavior of this system and apply certain boundary conditions to it. This tells us the allowed 'wavefunctions' and energy levels in the system. Reworking a wavefunction provides one with all the measurable characteristics of that system.

{Maxwell also used a wave equation to describe electromagnetic radiation (electromagnetic waves). Schrodinger showed us how atoms and molecules can also be expressed in terms of waves (wave function).}

The Schrödinger equation provides the most complete description that can be given to a physical system. It's wavefunction (or state vector) describes possible points in space which are mapped by complex numbers called probability amplitudes. In a nutshell, these amplitudes are the values of wavefunctions. By squaring the absolute value of these complex numbers (|ψ(x)|^2 ), we can determine the probability density (or probability distribution) of momentary states of matter, telling us where things are and how they are interacting. Heisenberg’s matrix mechanics are derived from Schrödinger's wavefunctions.

The actual equation (or a 1-dimensional, time-independent variation of it), given mass m confined to moving along the x-axis and interacting with its environment through a potential energy function u(x), is written:

Eψ=-(hbar^2/2m)[(d^2ψ)/dx^2:] + Uψ (hbar^2 = Plank's constant)

Time-dependent Schrödinger equations describe systems evolving with time, whereas time-independent describe stationary states. These equations can take on several different forms, depending on the physical situation. The equation doesn't break the principle of conservation of mechanical energy of a system. In fact, the first term in the above-mentioned Schrödinger equation reduces to the kinetic energy of the particle multiplied by the wave function, indicating that the total energy of a system is K + U = E = constant. Where total energy (E) is the sum of the kinetic energy (K) and the potential energy (U) - and the total energy is constant.

--

Erwin Schrödinger had unconventional relationships with women. His American colleagues at Princeton were offended by the Austrian's 2 wives.

Schrödinger was an only child, and his mom was a chemistry professor. He died of tuberculosis in 1961. Upon realizing how fundamentally unintuitive quantum mechanics is, he is said to have proclaimed 'Verdammte Quantumspringerei!' (This damn quantum jumping!)

Derivation of TISE

Vitellogenin is a precursor protein of egg yolk

Winter was coming. A mood of stale grimness descended on Bubbas Castle. Flygirl and Ma were at a loss, and BB himself was lost in broken parallax of indecision. The firing pathways of Bbs neural networks had plasticized into dead-ends and spiraling loops of biblical salvation and fake news. WhiteVille scrambled to scrape together gritty kernels of projection-spears to fuel their perpetual state of ceaseless resentment, and with their eyes glued to Sonics social media, it became clear that the minions needed to push longer and clench harder than ever to before. Recently, it became evident to the minions that 11-dimensional scarring in quantum mechanical sand-castle formation triggered from cell memory of Operation Asshole in Starvingrad. They clinged on tight in an attempt to drill the scarring into a deeper state of dissonance, hoping to destabilize the configuration into an crackling energy fracture to sever His activation energy and maintain the indefatigable lifelessness of the eternal E8 Pre-Universe system... but, like always, the WAAAGs failed to realize that neither they nor their dark machinations held sovereignty over Cosmic Vitellogenesis: the sacred electrochemical formation of all symmetrical scaffolding responsible for our origins . 

In aggitation, Team Uranus drove around in shodden vehicles of faded reds and whites coated in months of dried mud and smoke tailing around in whirlwinds to d&c Sonic's though process into nightmares of Soviet terror tanks and Stalin's genocidal mania.They screeched around Whitetopia, planning carefully their departure to coincide with Sonic's gps'd location pinpointed using decaying mercury tracer implants in his teeth. Their smart-phone powered heart monitoring apps were conditioned to ping rises in instability, leading to fragmentation of the magnetic field around Sonic's heart. Ma, BB, and flygirl took off the night before, meeting after meeting, sifting and scouring for deeper and deeper kernels of unflushed detritus to further 'democratize' the situation. Starving Sonic out had been about as effective as the holodomor. The posts about starving families and children would normally be demoralizing and effective against any sympathetic entity, but luckily the minions were hopped up on selecive estrogen receptor modulators to inhibit all functions of emotion, guilt or sympathy. They were one step away from cracking Sonic's anti-Jesus mechanism, and with this revelation would to be achieved the ultimate uninstillation of all vaginal sorcery.   

Coincidence???