Plasma and Structures

In other words, even within one point of view there were branchings into different points of view, and all of them could be correct. Examining a multicolored polygon from all sides, walking around it, everything gathered in one head. But when describing this polygon in words to someone else, it always appeared not as the polygon itself in its originality. Even while walking around the polygon in a circle, with each lap it impressed the one it pleased less than a few laps before. At the same time, he had grown used to it, yet had not remembered the arrangement of colors in each corner. If he remembered, he had rounded the shades. If he described it to someone, he had not described it completely. If he described it and added that he had not described it completely, then it existed completely — in its incompleteness.

It was always unfinished, because it was always connected with something. And if it was not connected, then it did not exist — until one looked at it. If it existed in memory but was not remembered, then it did not exist, because it might never be remembered. Even if it existed in memory but never manifested itself in the actual here and now — even if the here and now was itself a memory of the past, coupled with a hypothetical future in one perception.

On the other hand, if something existed in memory but was not remembered in its fullness, it might still influence actual perception. Moreover, distant memories and waves of accentuations could be closer to the here and now than the physical here and now itself, which consisted of a mixture of all memories. Imagination could be closer and more actual than the rest. A distant memory, the physical present (which itself was a memory relative to which the present was recognized), and the imagined — were one and the same actual presence in it. As long as there was no need, as long as the very relation to it was not remembered, it remained as here and now.

Being simultaneously in memories and on a bus was being simultaneously in memories and on a bus. But as soon as the bus disappeared even for a few seconds, and the memories at that moment actualized to the degree of the bus’s disappearance, then precisely in that moment it was here and now. Yet when the bus appeared and the thought arose that those had been memories, that became the actual here and now — until another here and now arose in which there was no bus, which had already left an indirect trace in any subsequent here and now. And if the bus was accentuated and surfaced in associations, it became more intensely embedded in the actual here and now — which was the area where temporal loops from different regions of memory connected. Imagination, too, was a mixture of memory. It could mix with perception and be coupled with it.

From the point of view of memory, everything was a comparison of memory — associatively actual areas and perceptions. The imagined was the same, but with a degree of perceptions. If A was memory, B its actual state (a mixture of degrees), and V perception, then A ⇒ B, where A was all memory — larger than B, yet equal to it, because B was dynamic intonations, discrete degrees of the entire A. And V was what transitioned into B and already consisted of intonations of A connecting with B, and at the same time looped back with A. That is, A was looped with B, while V was not looped but transitioned into B and, accordingly, into A.

In other words, vision, hearing, the balance sensor, and all other perception sensors connected into one. This one was a mixture of multiple indicators. These indicators were processed and recognized by memory, where memory was these very indicators that had been accumulating, improving, and automating since birth. Yet these indicators continued to arrive uninterruptedly. Thus it looped, and into this loop continued to arrive perceptual mixtures. The area in the loop where perceptual information arrived was the actual here and now. But it was not always “I.” “I” could be located in the loop to varying degrees, in connection with the perceptual.

In the same way, “I” could be in a dream, where precisely the mixtures of degrees of memory and perception within the dream were more evident. Sleep was like that very ring inside a ring, which was usually identified as a dream only after it remained in the ring.

The process of remembering was the process of scrolling this through the ring. What was forgotten was what remained in the ring, but it was unreadable because it was no longer in the form in which it had been. It was such because it was unreadable, where reading itself was the memory of how to read and of what was being read.

The same applied to mistakes. They were not mistakes — they became mistakes only after being realized as such. But at the moment when these mistakes occurred, they were not only not mistakes — they were that relative to which the realization of the mistake was itself a mistake. The realization, which had not yet come, after it came, reversed the positions. This was one variant of the given context.

In another context everything was different. Contexts could change in relation to one and the same thing, where it could change degrees of erroneousness — from yes to no. In each case, from the point of view of each moment in time, the degrees changed. They were not static. They changed only as much as they were held in attention.

A name existed in time only as long as attention was concentrated on the name. It existed by itself only if it itself looked at itself and knew about itself. Even if it really existed in this way, no one could know about it. And if someone found out, then at that moment it began to exist for the one who knew and thought about it. As soon as he stopped thinking about it, it disappeared. But it existed in memory. It existed potentially. And even in this potential case it existed as actual, because it was located in the field of thought.

Absence was elusive as actual. From the point of view of the form of logic applied at the given moment, there was a probability that there were as many forms of logic as any subjective imagination would allow. But all their multitudes intertwined, forming cluster areas. This allowed the matrix not to disintegrate as a species, even if it contained fundamentally different logical universes. They were connected with the rest. They were offspring, degrees of the rest. The matrix itself clustered within itself. At each level there were its own degrees of internal and external equilibrium.

Inside an embryo, nano-robots produced themselves in the form of functions and shapes according to the codes of chromosomes, which represented qualities of lines stretching back to the times of Lyuka, qualities transformed by the environment — where the environment itself was a form of molecular cluster diagrams in relations of symbiosis between organics, electro-thermodynamics, geometry, cosmos, and gravity.

When the bio-nano-robots inside the chromosome passed through many iterations and for the first time looked at their own dynamic micro-architecture with an eye through a microscope, they dropped what they were doing. Some jumped off the threads to look. One dropped little balls and jumped along the ropes. Some stepped toward where everyone was gathering and discussing. Someone from the thin sticks descended the stairs. One uncrumpled himself, called cylinders from bent half-brushes. Another moved like thick sediment. Three transparent ones came out of the hatch along spiral tubes. From the stripes, formless oval-centered things began to spin.

Everyone was celebrating the New Year. Someone was setting off fireworks. Children made a snowman. Friends on a sled spun their friend. He spun them on the swings. They threw him into the snow. He pulled a rope. When they ran, they laughed, ate cake, and listened to a tape recorder.

Part 4

He climbed the ladder onto the ship and flew off. He saw a new planet, stopped, put on an exosuit, landed, and began collecting extraterrestrial materials. Having gathered the material, he flew back, put it in the cabinet, locked the cabinet with a small lock, put the key in his pocket, sat down at the table, looked out the window, brewed coffee, took the mug in his hand, approached the window, and saw someone flying in the distance.

He took out binoculars and began to look. In the distance, a ship was flying. In the ship’s window stood a man looking through binoculars. He looked at the name of the ship — the inscription was illegible. The ship was far away. He thought that he could not remember the name of the ship, did not remember what he had done today, and stared with surprise at the mug. He did not know where the mug on the table had come from. In his hand was the binoculars. He looked out the window and saw himself — the one who was in another ship, looking at him. He got scared, jumped back, and, falling with a delay, saw through the window how he himself got scared and fell. He hid under the window, peeked out, and saw how, a few meters away, his double was also peeking out of the window, looking at the one who was peeking. He realized that the other ship was so close that their side parts should have already collided.

He looked through another window and saw that they were fused together. He saw the double who had also seen that they were fused. He had forgotten how to control the ship. No longer afraid, he looked out the window and began to examine the other ship, searching for clues. The double was doing the same, examining the ship and searching for clues. The name of the ship was out of sight.

Suddenly, something flashed inside the double’s ship. This something had already appeared behind him. Without turning around, he took the binoculars hanging around his neck, began peering into the window, turning the focus wheel, adjusted the focus, and saw that something formless was inside the ship. It was gradually taking the shape of his double. He turned around and saw a semi-transparent, forming version of himself. He poked his finger into the liquid double, pulled it back, and realized that his finger had stuck and was beginning to be covered with a shell.

The shell spread across his entire body, covered his face, and then fell off. The shell came to its senses, crawled toward the kitchen. At that moment, children were playing in the yard. A woman entered the kitchen, saw the shell crawling toward her, got scared, grabbed a handheld vacuum cleaner, and began hitting the shell, not letting it explain anything. The shell crawled out into the yard. The children hid in the garage. A stout man ran out of the neighboring house, grabbed the shell by the leg. No one understood what was happening. Someone was filming it. A dog was barking. The man began beating the shell, shouting, “Who are you? What do you want from me?” He struck with his fist and realized that it had almost disappeared. He was hitting the grass.

Inside the ship’s cabinet, something twitched. Something was trying to break out. On the floor lay a mug with spilled coffee. Next to it lay the cosmonaut. He gradually came to his senses, realizing that the sound was somehow bringing him back to consciousness. As soon as the sound stopped, consciousness began to slip away. He crawled to the control panel and turned on the fans. He felt better from their humming. The cabinet fell silent. He assumed that the material samples were somehow affecting space.

He turned off the fans. It became quiet, but again the feeling appeared that something was in the distance and approaching. He immediately turned the fans back on. The wave retreated. He peered out the window, trying to remember how to control the ship, when suddenly the fans fell silent. From the cabinet, transparent threads began silently spreading.

He woke up by the river, next to a burned-out campfire. Nearby stood a progressive motorcycle with spherical wheels. From afar, a kilometer-high wave of dust was approaching. He got on the motorcycle, which automatically activated. The storm was already slightly moving the motorcycle from its place, but he was already riding in such a way that he could not see what was ahead. He looked at the road through the visualization panel, on which a cliff was displayed. He accelerated as much as he could, flew out over the cliff, jumped off the motorcycle, and slammed into the opposite wall of the cliff — a consistency that absorbed him and spat him out on the other side into an underground forest.

In this forest were futuristic bio-mechanisms. Small white spheres flew up to him. They emitted some molecular sounds. These spheres formed a row that would scatter, arrange itself into different signs, then gather back together, glowing in waves. The row gathered into a sphere. It broke away from the ground and flew toward clusters of mechanisms that were not quite mechanisms. He did not know how to understand this.

He no longer thought about how he had managed to start the motorcycle. He realized that he was that blue-green thing he was looking at. This thing was flickering, and around the yellow one there were four of them. They performed some function. He felt that he was inside this thing. He was this flickering function. Under his feet, other rows similar to the first ones ran by and distracted him. He looked again at these semi-transparent, glowing blue-green things and understood: when he looked at them, he became this function. There were countless varieties of them. They glowed, shimmered, turned into something multicolored and different, constantly becoming something new and new. It never stopped. There was another one nearby, and another. The ground was not ground but soft sparks. His legs began to spark. He entirely consisted of sparks. It was as if he had fallen into a cloud of sparks and was spinning and sparkling there himself.

Everything was so unlike anything that had ever been. Each part was so multidimensional that it was impossible not to pay attention to it, and there were more such parts than one could look at. It was infinite, even in its smallest part.

For a moment it seemed to him that someone was shaking him by the shoulder and saying something in an incomprehensible language. He partially came to his senses and saw people around him trying to help. He was lying on the beach. They lifted him and carried him somewhere. He tried to come to his senses but fell asleep again.

He came to in the evening in a hut. Not far away, people were sitting by a campfire. A bearded man approached him and said:

“You stepped on a poisonous fish.”

In the spaceship, something was growing out of the cabinet, but by this time only recently arrived people with lasers were inside. One of them approached the instrument panel, turned a red switch. “Docking in three… two…” Today’s was the last flight. He returned to his cabin to take a nap while unloading took place. Departure was only the next day, but he still needed to go into the city for batteries, sensors, and some devices to repair the navigation. The small vessel had been plowing the seas for forty years, yet the navigation kept malfunctioning.

“Fish is always needed, but at least we could fix the lights,” he muttered, lighting a hand-rolled cigarette. “What, after all, is the nature of metaphysics, and how is it connected with probabilities, with the theory of primacy, the theory of rings? Can there be civilizations in space that are fundamentally different from us? Is it possible that these civilizations are connected with some of us? That some of us *are* them? They are connected with the rest. What is the dynamics of degrees in this picture? How can the subjective dynamic boundaries of semiotics look from the perspective of multidimensionality — especially when they are translated into linguistic form? In what forms can aliens exist? How long have they possibly been on Earth? Could aliens have existed before the formation of Earth, and even been involved in its formation?”

Hypothetically, they could have a non-static and non-material form. What is not material for one could be the material from which what is living — but not considered living from the point of view of another alien — is composed. A human himself is an alien being for an inhabitant of another planet. But there was also a time on Earth when there were no microscopes; people did not see and did not think about microbes. Similarly, aliens might not see us.

The varieties of alien forms could be the aliens themselves. The very thoughts about aliens could be a form of existence located in phenomenological space, which belongs to hyperspace. Hyperspace could be a particular case of a fractal. Another particular case could be an infinite Koch snowflake, which has a finite outer volume but not an inner one.

One could imagine a limited sphere inside which a person walks through a forest, yet remains within a sphere four meters in diameter. And when the person walks, he still stays in the center of the sphere that creates the forest. The sphere produces real matter for the person, but the person never reaches the edge of the sphere.

From the point of view of the person inside the sphere, other people are what the sphere produces. And so it is from the point of view of every person. Not only that — a running dog is also inside its own sphere. All spheres are located in a huge room and connected to a computer. The number of spheres changes according to the number of living beings on Earth. As needed, workers install new spheres and increase the area of the room. In itself, it is a single hangar inside which there are spheres, a computer, and workers. But the hangar itself is a program in a more powerful computer, behind which sits the creator of the program.

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