n10 – Plasma and Structures (страница 3)

When a child learns to speak, it happens rather automatically. And only after he has learned to speak does he learn what he says. He learns the alphabet. Even if he graduates from the philological faculty, he understands that he does not understand more about words than before, yet he also understands more — entropically, equivalently — if he needs it. He rather invents what he has discovered. He thinks, attaches something to the thinking, invents, and shows it to others.

Words and deeds are different things that refer to the same. To speak, one must do what is visible. If one does something, it is both visible and not. If one thinks, it is not visible. One can remember something, and it will not be visible, yet it exists — even if no one sees it. But someone might see it and remain silent. Will someone see what another saw, and to what extent will he interpret it in his own way? If it is not visible but exists, then for others it does not exist, because it is not visible. But if those others are not visible, can it be that they exist but are not visible? Perhaps they exist in memory. They are not visible, but they are in memory, and there they speak — each their own.

If I am memory, and others are memory, and all of this is within one I, then I am also the others. If I see a wardrobe, I understand that it is a wardrobe because it exists in memory. When I look at the wardrobe, I am the wardrobe, and everything else that is in memory. But in the moment of looking at the wardrobe, all the rest of the memory leaves the field of concentration. It turns out that I am that upon which consciousness is concentrated. And this concentration is not always static — rather, it is dynamic and conditional. It turns out that I am a conditionally reflexive dynamic area of concentration in the field of associative memory.

And if the concentration in the field of memory had no reflection about what it itself is, then it is what it considers itself to be relative to its current scope of concentration. Perhaps, first of all, I am the symmetries of myself — people. Or I am that to which I assign value. It can be an inanimate object, things. But if I assign value to something, and it is me, then who assigns the value? This is a molecular question, micro-time, micro-interactions that form something larger. This larger thing is not one — there are many, and they generalize into something even larger, and at some level become molar, coarse-grained, where a threshold of accessibility opens for a person who himself is a spectrum, a cosmic differential, he thought slowly.

Finally, he reached the highway. In the distance, a destroyed city flickered. In places, among scattered pillars of smoke, lighter smoke contrasted. He understood that knowing the reason why this had happened would change nothing, and he simply moved toward the presumed halt.

Ahead was a supermarket, which he managed to make out through binoculars. Next to the forest, a farm was smoking. The supermarket was locked. He climbed through a broken display window and saw the cashier — long dried up, judging by the name tag: Spazhek. Spazhek had long been empty, like the dried farm vegetables. The only thing he found was a chocolate bar under the emptied shelves, which he managed to rake out with a racket.

“Thank you,” he said, placing a hat on Spazhek’s dry head. The head cracked with a crunch, broke off, and crumbled like a rusk when it hit the tile, from which keys flew out. He realized two things: the keys had been around the neck and they belonged to the bicycle chained in the parking lot.

On flat tires, he rode to the first house he came across, broke a window, and took shelter from the rain that had just begun to intensify. In the distance, thunder roared so loudly that Spazhek most likely completely crumbled. A prolonged rain was approaching. Judging by the layer of dust, the house had been empty for a long time, as had the kitchen shelves. The door to the pantry was unlocked. Going down the steps, he found another one — a locked metal door this time.

Searching all suitable places yielded no results. The key was neither under the vase, nor under the stones in the yard, nor on the shelves. In the garage lay a small crowbar. The gap in the door was smaller than the tip of the crowbar. There was no hammer. He used a stone, trying to drive the crowbar in, which was bent at an inconvenient angle for such work. It had already grown dark, although it had been dark by the door all along — now it became even darker.

Suddenly, the barking of dogs approaching the house was heard. He locked the first pantry door from the inside. Someone entered the house — it sounded like several people. The dogs immediately sensed his presence and approached the pantry door, barking and scratching. The sound of a shotgun being racked was heard. Suddenly, the metal door below opened, and a mechanical dwarf ran out toward the upper door. Opening it, he ran through the corridor, bypassing the dogs. The man with the shotgun pulled the trigger. The dwarf flew back about five meters. The metal pantry door was already locked from the inside.

He found himself in some kind of club. Music was playing. People were dancing around. Among those present, three stood out — lacquered hairstyles, suits, chains, cigar, whiskey. The two big guys headed toward the new guest, who was already walking unhurriedly but confidently toward the exit. Without wasting a second, he accelerated along the street. The big guys came out of the club and moved in his direction. He turned into a dark alley and ended up in a dead end. Seeing metal stairs, he began to climb them. One of the big guys fired a couple of shots but missed and realized that the bullet could ricochet into his partner, who was already climbing the stairs. The stairs could not hold — part of the flight collapsed, and the big guy fell into a dumpster.

It turned out that workers had just poured tar on the roof, and his feet stuck to it like glue. He managed only to reach a pipe one meter in diameter and jump into it.

Rushing deep into the pipe with many turns, and finally reaching the last turn in the form of a ramp, he flew out of the pipe onto a wedding. A smoke machine turned on. Smoke poured from the pipe. When the smoke began to dissipate, the mafia realized that this was the one they were looking for. He dove into the smoke and hid in the garden. In the end, nothing worked except jumping back into the pipe. The mafia noticed this, ran up to the pipe, and began shaking it.

He was being shaken, but the shaking soon stopped. He overcame the atmosphere. The capsule he was in joined a swarm of ships — the Cryonic swarm, where many Earthlings slept while they figured out what to do, because there were essentially no sufficient grounds for anything. There was no goal.

Humanity had wandered into the so-called self-annihilation arm. The swarm was the sum of consciousnesses — modules that together formed a single cluster. Inside it, holograms were lived out: earthly lives, ordinary everyday routines. In parallel, super-differentiations were solved, which with each step, each iteration, generated the very reason why this was happening in principle.

The one who discovered this thought while inside an earthly iteration, walking through the forest, would consider this thought as pretense, which made it impossible to wake up on the ship, in the capsule. This, among other things, stabilized the processes of the cluster.

Pretense is a branch of creation, a degree of pre-creation, a way to hold the gaps in the shell — one of many optimization functions. To pretend for a while means to create one’s own world in which everything is as it should be for the optimization of earthly man. Pretense can be produced and changed rarely, or it can happen every second, depending on the frequency of practice and the intensity of growing symbiosis. It is subjective and differs from the pretense of others — from their intensity and frequency.

On one hand, pretense is the creation and maintenance of multitudes of subjective worlds for the optimization of these same worlds and those from which they are produced. On the other hand, they are soft geometry — intertwining patterns that acquire either sharp angles and rough two-dimensional forms, or incredible futuristic multidimensional soft reflections, projections, whose symmetries constitute the three-dimensional state of a person in ordinary everyday life. The predominance of one or another multidimensional form depends on gravity, which, unlike earthly gravity, is symmetry. Symmetries influence and determine the state of matter. Pharmacores as intermediate links in the state of man — so he thought.

He had a duffel bag with him, matches, tobacco, and rusks. He was walking through the forest and saw a small elevation in the distance, in which there was an inconspicuous ajar door. Entering it, he discovered it was a bunker, and the door immediately closed automatically. It was a hermetic door with a combination lock. Inside there were several compartments. Moving from one compartment to another, he saw that there were only two, but when transitioning from the second to the first, he discovered that it was already a different compartment — in other words, a third one. And when he transitioned again into what had been the second, he realized it was not the second but the fourth. Thus he counted seventeen compartments that looped and repeated again.