The Wild Recluse

The Wild Recluse

Lab...................................................................................................... 4 Alchemical Mashup ............................................................................. 5 The Cat's Insight ................................................................................ 6 Muttering .......................................................................................... 7 The Mad Laboratory's Mad Filing System................................................ 8 The Computer Calculates But the Deranged Hermit Knows ....................... 9 The Grotto........................................................................................ 10 The Perfect Ravine by the Manor ......................................................... 11 The Dew Construct ............................................................................ 12 The Moog ......................................................................................... 13 PHP Beguiles the Eremite.................................................................... 14 Fantastic Machines ............................................................................ 15 064516129032258+3+1/806 .............................................................. 16 Know Thy Contraptions ...................................................................... 17 What a Racket the Robots Make .......................................................... 18 Heath ................................................................................................ 19 Green Hill and April Shroud................................................................. 20 Carpe Noctem ................................................................................... 21 Small Gnats Mourn ............................................................................ 22 Chromatics ....................................................................................... 23 The Rise of the Mezzobots .................................................................. 24 The Sphere....................................................................................... 25 An Aqueduct in the Trees.................................................................... 26 Efficient Use of Analog Streams ........................................................... 27 The North In Spring ........................................................................... 28 Thinking Beyond Tomorrow................................................................. 29 The Insane Hermit Starves Himself After Gluttony..................................30 The Brightening Emulsion ................................................................... 31 A Bright, Happy Apocalypse ................................................................ 32 iOpen him iUp so that he might iWax Poetic ..........................................33 A Dome............................................................................................ 34 Dolphins and the Shadow ................................................................... 35 A Glistering Wave Glosses the Mead .....................................................36 The 14 Layer Elizabethan Model .......................................................... 37 Mundane Meanderings ....................................................................... 38 Automata ......................................................................................... 39 The Night With the Amorphous Tingle...................................................40 The Hermit Embarks on a Voyage ........................................................ 41 City ................................................................................................... 42 The Perfect Drizzle For Festivities ........................................................ 43 Creeping Around the Street of Shadows................................................44 Roses in the Cafe .............................................................................. 45 The Stout, Swarthy Bushwacker, A Dream. ...........................................46 Particulate Smoke Coats the Smart Phone ............................................47 The Deranged Hermit Remarks on Blogging Grammar ............................48 The Mackerel Crowded Secrets of Eternity.............................................49 Buttons, Circles, and Arrays ................................................................ 50 Blue Glowing Sorcery ......................................................................... 51 The Metabolic Beast ........................................................................... 52 Enfolding Sunny Spots of Greenery ......................................................53 Moonlit Berries .................................................................................. 54 When Vortices Are Skyscrapers ........................................................... 55 The Deranged Hermit Screams: I'm Bringing Sexy Back .........................56

Flight ................................................................................................ 57 The Surface Eremite .......................................................................... 58 Two Books or a Transcendent Flight Through the Ether ...........................59 If Only I Lifted That Dreamstate .......................................................... 60 The Hermit Embarks on a Solo Spaceflight ............................................61 The Well Tempered Recluse ................................................................ 62 'Little Flashes in the Psyche'................................................................ 63 Iron Man vs. Iron Golem..................................................................... 64 The Pods that Carried the Elves ........................................................... 65 The Grecian Urn Vessel's Space Journey ...............................................66 The Grecian Urn Space Vessel Closes in on Palpatine and the Insane Hermit ............................................................................................. 67 Billy Liar, White Dwarf........................................................................ 68 Palpatine at the Clavier ...................................................................... 69 All These Beings Know On Earth .......................................................... 70 The Serene Throng of Speculative Versifiers ..........................................71 Like A Wizard Still, It Has Not Changed ................................................72 The Astral Shards .............................................................................. 73 Icarus .............................................................................................. 74 Palpatine Continues Raging................................................................. 75 Solve................................................................................................. 76 The Bleeding Edge ............................................................................. 77 The Learner vs. The Thinker................................................................ 78 Antiaging Kakuro ............................................................................... 79 No Reconciliation of Opposites............................................................. 80 The Hermit Sings and Brain Challenge Taunts........................................81 Antiaging Sudoku .............................................................................. 82 Tundra .............................................................................................. 83 Like Melting Ice ................................................................................. 84 Return............................................................................................... 85 Preconscious Impulse vs. Intuition .......................................................86 The Fork-Poor Lightning Storm ............................................................ 87 The Gong Tormented Heath ................................................................ 88 White SpaceTime and Highly Deformable Eglantine ................................89 How the Sorrow Surged Softly Backward ..............................................90 Easter Sunday- Ah, Bitter Chill It Was Not! ...........................................91 Listen to Them, Vegans of the Night.....................................................92 The Swerving Sword .......................................................................... 93 Preconscious Savant .......................................................................... 94 A Host of Daffodils ............................................................................. 95 Serene .............................................................................................. 96 New York, circa 1900 ......................................................................... 97 'Tis a golden age of gadget wizardry and novelty... ................................98 Gluttony for Drowsiness ..................................................................... 99 CCIE, IQ, SPF, MIT, CR, and TNS ....................................................... 100

Lab

Alchemical Mashup The eremite dabbles in evocation, excels in conjuration, beguiles with enchantment, struts garishly via illusion, repels with abjuration, amazes with transmutation, prophesizes via divination, and coaxes new life when he melts flesh gollum spell components into biogenetic purposes. Many failed creations slouch toward their cage doors in knot-like interference patterns, hopelessly woven into mobius eternities, endlessly moving forward, endlessly reverting, endlessly dipping in and out of consciousness. The wild recluse obsesses over the conundrums, the templates, the equations, and the rites that blossom out of the universe spun by these creatures' locomotion. Meanwhile, some distance from the grotto, a possum streams blindly along a well-worn path.

The Cat's Insight The hermit's familiar is shrewder than a typical cat. It sees through multidimensional, tubular space. invisible to man and to many felines. It can plan, consider hook-shaped hamiltonian cycles, streak athwart the sine-wave hedges, and jest when passing squirreltalk. There is little use in my trying to describe the way the elf howls when his companion does not return home by dawn. After a midnight of cold, clear prancing and giddy, giddy laughing, a sinuous, ugly path traces the eremite's homeward route, nothing like the elegant self-avoiding aesthetic of the familiar's path. It could be the secret corridor in a pyramid or, perhaps, the opposition to fullerenes, or, even more likely, a MMORPG dungeon, or a Frank Lloyd Wright complex set into the slope of a steep ravine. More transcendent than a slouching sphinx, sleeker than a GQ photo shoot, more absolute than the polyhedral RPG substrate common to PSP, Xbox, DS, and the iPod Touch, and swifter than bacterial-DNA-holographic-quantum cubit processing paradigms, the spectralferal blur of foamy onyx creeps across the planar quadrant.

Muttering More incoherent mumbling, more magical bridges, more illustrious galaxies. The raging hermit spews lava beams at the dishplate planets, furious that his muttering must cease, incensed that he must utter no more melodic signifiers, classifying and categorizing the vast fields. He considers that he may not be able to pause. A vaunted cavalry launched spears at his bark fortress ages ago and still he did not hush his wailing so that he might be better concealed. He intimidated the steeds, heaved their dorsal manes upward, nearly dismounting the knights. But they held firm, maintained control, gently coaxed their travelling beings back to readiness and then overran the barky stronghold. The wild, raging vagrant leapt over a battlement and into the creeping woods. The knights did not follow, but continued to trample and, eventually, raze the fort. The hermit was no longer a menace to the manor. He was now a forest haunting monster. Many questing squires sought him out. A ransom was placed on his being. Civic legions, strung together in towns and hamlets, set off to locate his new hideaway location and bring him back to justice. Then, they forgot about the deranged vagabond. He eventually wound his way to a foggy moor and lodged himself within a tree trunk. His infinite wisdom was unapparent to the stars, who only felt his primordial shrieks. His wild bestiality was unapparent to errant messengers, knights and seekers. They only glimpsed a savage, but quite human, varmint. Will the universe ever grasp that thing which is the mad hermit?

The Mad Laboratory's Mad Filing System The laboratory, strangely mosaic laden, the wall patterns interlaced with alchemical procedures and dabblings, creates a projection of tiling onto life and of storage back onto pattern. What a bizarre filing system: rather than distill the category name into the file name, a permutation on date, time, and substances indicates the category type. For example: if he improved on a love potion on the fifth day of the eighth moon, using toadstool and cardamon, he would entitle it '08-ts-cd-05', whereas, if he devised a fireworks displays on the 2nd day of the 3rd moon, using glycerin and rosewater, he would label the storage crate '0203rwgly'. He could recognize approximately one hundred experimental categories via this system. He would certainly return soon so it was best to depart. First, I took a box and threw it out the portal, then leapt into the chute and dropped a hundred feet and fled to safety via the underground caverns, which I knew well through my incessant meanderings both terrestrial and astral. When he returned, though quite distant at that point, I could still hear his insane, wild cackle, followed by his demented, ancient moan.

The Computer Calculates But the Deranged Hermit Knows Every time the sky darkens, the wild recluse flees the moors for the safety and quietude of his grotto. Though the radio waves and frequencies forecast rain and make hair tingle, the recluse swims through them and does not let the pulses and modulations redirect his supercavitating path. The clouds flash on and off like vacuum tubes. Through layer and protocol, via conduit and ether, the glen is located, and the cave entered. Shelter and darkness await. Glass shine and the pitter of giddy fins lend a soft reflective glow to the earthy vestibule. A gurgling, hiccup-like sound is almost discernible through the thick silence. There is something else present.

The Grotto "Not fair of the gargantuan troll to ask the wild hermit what its got in its nasty little pockets!", shrieks the mad elf as he slouches back into his cave to wait for the horrible daylight to pass. Once inside, the gray eyes peep out multiple times, scanning over and under the sun's scorching swath, eagerly, twitchingly, almost frenetically waiting for the eventide. Effervescence, wild daemons, bobbing, lances to thwart graffiti-craft. Balls dripping down on banners, streaming over the hills and back over the town, merging with meandering orbs, ejecting from slowly spinning, slightly ajar, wheels tens of thousands of feet into the fringes of the void. Such a bizarre aerial spectacle plays itself out over the grotto. The eremite's destiny and the galaxy's template merge. Weep, fair elf. Weep with joy for the honeyed middle of the night approaches. Dancing in the grass by the lake, dalliancing through the city near greenwich, and drifting into slumber on a daisy field, awaits.

The Perfect Ravine by the Manor The perfect being by the steep, sunless ravine. The contemplative poet who skips, sips, and sings. The ever fresh metaphysician with a lifestyle that commingles indulgent lounging and minimally perfect recipes. Idling about in Cockaigne, at a perfect gravimetric mass, the ancient, beautiful man is loose, unwound, his whims floating toward the nearby pulsar. Slender, pulsating in the nether orbits, serene in the meadow, dallying with the chipmunks, slurping raspberry nectar, eternal sloth and nutritional equilbrium discovered on these steep sloped hills. Here lies one who absorbed eternity in the way he lived and ate over ages. Sprung from deep in the dark ages, when gluttony and famine spanned the vast cantilever of forgotten archetypes, this being everslowly lapsed into everlasting monotony: peasant-idle with hansel's diet in a sunless ravine linked the gauzy spindles together. Until the modern age, he was the only one who fell into this eternity-generating pattern. Now there are two.

The Dew Construct Collected dew slung back its arm until a clunk was produced, and clapped its amorphous appendage until a sprite was glimpsed, then amalgamated gossamer and bow-mist, warped into a dangling construct, and lumbered across the heath. A demented laugh bounced off the moon, back to earth, and out into disco orbit. Whistling comets floated determinedly. Captured moon rods arced around the earth. Backscattered fizz warped the whining flash. Spenserian fairies tinkled across the tufted sky, draining the air of vapor and crying it down upon the daisy fields. It took more than lake water to elevate the torrent to screaming pitch. The Lasso-Fu was born.

The Moog At the moog, the deranged hermit scores symphonies and tornadic fugues. The brook and the horns make metallic airs. The piping organs flee through the dropping notes like a nonrounded line, unfolding and curving. Chanteys rise up from the horizon's dull fog. The music emanating from the valley rings of elven despair and hobbit hope. Was their cause for such extremes? Is not radical centrism the way to push the sluggish craft through the narrow portal of time's present? Will the nodes differentiate between hyperspace and eternity?

PHP Beguiles the Eremite The eremite briefly gazes out into the depths of the moors, but cannot pull himself from his PHP long enough to frolic, and soon enough looks up at the gears and chambers of the moon, exposed to discerning alchemists, as they creak and lurch the luminous orb over the heath. Wee sylphs darn the encircling hazy weave and bulging bow. A pebble crawls. A cricket leaps. The air bombards protruding appendages with a uniform, teaming film. Soft bewilderment lies down in the grass and stares past the teaming air, past the teaming cosmos, and onward into the swirling afterworld. Moon whorls gather the acoustic midnight strains. The dancing mole does to the floating object mourn, even though it is cluttered with stars and not of a disposition to answer pleas. Through this geometric absurdity, the wild elf remains wild while cobbling together sky designs cube by cube, pagination having been cast aside for a more ancient science.

Fantastic Machines The hermit doubts the complexity of the fantastic machines that pop into his thoughts, especially when he has not slowly built up elaborate, jagged faculties through steady, severe reading and escalated puzzling. Yet, an ant may dream infinitely complex workings that reach out from its snapshot mind into the rest of the universe, mechanisms that swirl and slowly turn, slowly build and crumble, grind into order only to succumb to entropy. And, the ant does not speculate on the complexity of these machines, half-formed in a mind that can barely solve arithmetic. It simply spins them and they gather in unlimited intricacy, beyond the comprehension of the entire race. Barely perceived, distended and bulging over the horizon, inflated via ribosomal sequencing and cosmic aggregation, a cyclic-consuming automaton boosts floating continents and displaces vapory seas. It grows until it is world-sized. It then lifts itself up and lurches forward. Countless seabirds complain angrily from vast ascending rings.

064516129032258+3+1/806 Washed out hills and damp fields absorb all but the faintest green notes from the tingling aura still draped over the moors. Amidst the flippant butterflies and plump bumblebees, the berserk eremite rests calmly, pensively, serenely. The dazzling clovers dance in the grassy hills and the wind ruffles my feathery body as I watch nearby. The hermit is not typically enamored of repeating numbers, though often finding them useful for spell casting purposes, but this cantilevered, bombastic remainder, derived from dividing 192 by 60, has smitten the elf with its brutal elegance, its vernacular swish. It has been described in hermetic notation here and, thus, may look unfamiliar to the neophyte. The patient, sleepless eremite recodes his ordinal and discrete data for fast processing by his pendulous, placeholder-shifting gadgetron. It is striped, blocked, posted, wholesome, and endlessly repeated. The hermit taxis on its staccato runway and flings himself across the ghost of Jupiter. A logic-gamed, rubiks-cubed, tiled automaton also flings the quotient's fragments throughout the laboratory, into its every niche. Husky dreadnaughts near Mercury fling the squandered ticker tape and gawk at the trailers, potions, corrections and tabulations transforming the void into a teaming chalk board for polymaths. The sky storms like Starry Night then breaks up into tattered stratocumulus just before dawn. Introducing Bumpus Crumpus.

Know Thy Contraptions The restless eremite brims with spectralizations: He concludes that Socrates refers to contraptions in his oracle and wisest-man inspired examinations. Contraptions bound with powerful math, logic, visual processing, reading comprehension, procedural wizardry, and subnet masking abilities, full of genius and wound up with algorithmic perfection. Like spiders spinning webs and ants waging war, mechanical clocks, watery machines, dewy alchemy and grist mills guiding life's motion, they suggest infinite greatness, and it is there, locked up in the web weaving, that Socrates found contraptions and their manifestations. The spider waxes eloquently on all woven things, including poesy. The beaver grasps discussions about cantilevered bridges and establishes spans that link solar systems. The termite pushes skyscrapers up to the edge of the galaxy, and then into the forbidden zones beyond. Outside the elegant contraptions, logic, math, and science are routine, unspectacular, and Socrates noticed, but possibly failed to note that the the contraptions could be tweaked and retuned to expand their realms and fields. A chess master contraption could be rewired to serve the development of routing algorithms. With a minor cognitive enhancement, just enough to allow mushrooming thought and cloudy brightness, a spider may utilize its web weaving talent to stitch armor for heroes. Even with all of this about specialized psychic inventions having been discovered, the recluse never undervalues the usefulness of generalized intellectual power.

What a Racket the Robots Make Were the hermit slightly less weary, slightly less mild, slightly fiercer, then the bobbing bots and droids would be scattered in a clinking, clanking, clattering bustle by the wild recluse. Fond remembrances of bygone days, when zombies crazed and androids sleek did not comb every mFraction of the grotto for every eResource for gobbling and cobbling, stream through the eremite. Indifference settles into the smoky vapor hovering over the allergenic film dangling over the creaky meadow populace. When apathy magnifies the dream state, then, through the bulging lens, conjurations streak, constructs rampage, wormholes permit invasions, and necromantic gates open between the prime material heath and wild chaos. A hobbling, hunched man, with a cane to prop his shriveled legs, struggles to the cave opening, legs shaking, arms trembling like a staggering marionette. The cautious hermit peers out with 2 glowing eyes and only approaches when he realizes that it is a wizard with a package and a tome. The delighted recluse darts back into the grotto depths with his treasure while the ancient sorcerer rests at the cave mouth. He will join the eremite shortly. Instruction is necessary.

Heath

Green Hill and April Shroud Winter is here and Spring is not far behind. Let it bristle us and the lands. The warm mornings and the cool midnights refresh and charm the stars in magnitudes. Briar and heath, bramble and tussock, cloud brushing maple and planet brushing oak, converge for the splendid rehabilitation. Sidereal dust settles on the dappled verdant dawn. In reference to hobbyist contraptions, Maia passes over her blossoming world in a propeller-driven dirigible. Appareled in moonlight, crayon ice crystals illuminate the red dome. Even the awful mocking hermit leaps up at the bright orbs and croaks gleefully.

Carpe Noctem The air is calm and fair this dusk. The sea rolls gently into the horizon. Black and sleek is the iPod terrain and the iPod sky. The deranged recluse awakens and tumbles out of the grotto into the glassy gleams of the star-frozen forests, far from the tranquil heath. Troglodytes and spelunkers mechanically pace the fused soda ash. Asynchronous flickers pass between astral points and points of consciousness. There is, foremost, the long line of heroes dipping their toes into the Northern Sea. Combined with desire, this synchronized moment whirls the grotto into a blurry gyration and hurls it back to the leaden moors. The eremite, wild and weeping, disembarks and kisses the elfin meadow. A clutch of gangly branches forms affection in the symbology and an embrace in the manifestation. There are no confused alarms of cracking icebergs and lurching glaciers, but, rather, only plaintive gales that sweep the dismal mead.

Small Gnats Mourn Among the river sallows, or borne aloft, the diaphanous gadgets flit about, congregate, hover, buzz, and glide. Refined gentlemen alight on hilltops. Damsel fairies twitter from nearby glens. Pipe in hand, swaggering like Edward Arlington Robinson, a well-kempt Earl winks at a silvery elf and is soon aglow in magic dust. Lust and flirtation lift the atmosphere into a state of transcendence. The two oval faced lovers fan their translucent wings and wander away. The meadows still blossom. The planets still burn. What abstract machine powered this tale-telling engine, the early 20th century tinker wonders.

Chromatics Twisting scales and winding steps, darting up and down the hillsides, screeching into the void, laughing at the orbs, shrieking and popping, cellular and powdered, organic and mineralized, dazzle. The many-tinted swarms infest the air overhead. The eremite stands pleased. His insect constructs usher the missile bundles into orbit where they shower space with chromatics. The wild deranged recluse shakes his rickety fist with glee as the explosions fill the sky with a blotchy palette and return distant, dim reports, chuckles from the nether realms. The heath flickers in tulip, broken white, and jagged greens, and, amidst the crackle and snarl, the hermit can be heard screaming: 'Enjoy!'

The Rise of the Mezzobots The moor-wandering eremite adores these intricate little machines, these spring-powered automata, these puling mechanical men and unfolding contrivances, assembling his stolen collection for display among the rushes. The Queen Moon's starry fays, the bathing planetoids, and Palpatine pass by at various times during the evening and pause to appreciate the clinking, clattering collection, the emperor's gnarled fingers gesturing childlike approval when a gypsy figurine weaves a complex gesture of incantation. The cranes flutter. The tin drummers click. The cherry scribes sloth-slowly engrave the parchment. The static generated by the nearby nanobots initiates madness, insanity, chaos, driving the recluse deeper into the wilds, yet these contraptions are the way of tomorrow and the soft, soothing miniatures, so dearly regarded by the deranged hermit and all passers by, are 19th century, yesterday, antique. Even Babbage concedes that there is little to be learned from them and that the star trail must be cleared for the self-assembling goo pooled in laboratory vats, ooze composed of countlessly congregated angstrom droids pushing outward by virtue of their own volume, goobots that cannibalize each other in their expansion. Nanotechnology will doubtless soon pervade, but the mezzobots now swell for one last act of noble note.

The Sphere Enormously dense prose passages and logic charts inspire the comprehensive puzzler, the daft puzzler, the porpoise dipping under the spherical shadow, and the tender locks of the west wind extoller. Trunkless legs and city sized orbs lope about and glide to and fro, tailings from an ancient droid battlefield. Scaled karnaugh minimizations interrupt ragged storks in their appointed tasks. Adore the dimpled spider before the nightingale. Ebb with the circadian tide before wafting away on the ether. Lapse into private slumber before napping in the stubble fields, drowsed with autumn scent. Test the mellow notes for the solstice fragrance and weep upon finding the pumpkin spice mist that drops from the vine, heavy and immense, smashing open and spilling pulp and complexity onto the moist vineyard. Shower the frequent signifiers like you would dunk the spring rite for summer. Fling test onto shower. Whip ebb between enormous lapses as it makes staggered lines athwart the ethereal nightingale's spicy garden. The silver sphere slowly floats over land and sea, softly settling onto the shoulders of a steep glen.

An Aqueduct in the Trees The wild hermit fiercely yearns to visit these glassy corridors, to whisk up and down the chutes, to flit through the networked webs, and to surge throughout the countless, crazy capillaries, before the maturing sun melts them away. Multilayered and woven, the xylem and the ice seams, through a data link layer, intermingle passengers, exchange nanoparticles, and osmotically transmit information over the myriad parallel channels. He may miniaturize. Or, perhaps, the urge to course through the network will be so strong that the clusters will quake and heave from this will to power, from this new reality's exerted force. It is not difficult to empathize with the recluse. It is magnificent architecture, reminiscent of a time when emperor's commissioned prideful architects to wow beholders and nothing more. Structures would suggest their own heartbreaking cosmology. Onlookers would wobble and drop into each others outstretched arms. Rousseau would convulse in the dirt. Winter is evanescent. March is waving farewell. Tumbling buds imperceptibly creep toward blossom. Utterly cloudless days, followed by clouds banded for rain, line up to pass overhead. The time to broadcast this musing had been growing short. Soon, the erratic cleavage angles of spring sugars will replace the orthogonal salts that, for the moment, still drench winter's cured rinds.

Efficient Use of Analog Streams The wild eremite makes wasteless reuse of the stream as it vectors from stillness to rapid vibration, endlessly losing trivial mass, splashing it on the petals while it is icy, rinsing the leaves as it warms, and enriching the psyche as it heats beyond comfort. This drizzle-to-deluge compels the solitary elf to dazzle the meadows with dance and aria. The beckoning of Gray's hilly scape, populated with the herd, the lowing cow, moping owl, beetle, and ancient burial ground, wisps the hermit on gules and gusts, ushers him away on twin ion engines, tabulates distance, and calculates cloud-reach. The deluge induces ecstasy. Cool rain and a gleeful afternoon inform the viewing, thinking, and shopping schedules. Every blossoming cloud that weeps weeps for joy and for the elf's alchemical genesis. Every watery system that bawls torrents pours them onto a heath sick with gay concertos.

The North In Spring Awful North, let the webs of branches, wheeling over the prairie, slowly sink into the meadow and splash the dew and dairy. Weave the hemlock tree, unravel every pleasant angle until it is free. He rests again in drowsy gluttony. This is necessary for his eternity. He maintains the distributed storehouse in every hue of his holographic essence. The substances course in countless webbed tangles, to endless destinations, in endless complexity, utterly balanced, utterly beautiful, dazzling. When he is very slightly starved, the demented hermit coos and it traverses up from the valley and across the sky like an acoustic meteor. The arrows shower the gardens with translucent sculptural evanescence. The spectralized acoustics radiate in crown shaped dips. Listen. The dim craft hears the peril and replies with empathy.

Thinking Beyond Tomorrow The enraged sprite notices the dawdling wenches and lunges at the flattering lamp glow. And, from the corner of a wry glance, singing mermaids are seen riding the waves. He flaps around berserkly. He seems nearly unstoppable when screaming and rampaging. Like an analog robot, he crashes into walls, only to twist and veer off into netherworlds. Fading in and out of abstraction, dipping into the subatomic stream, and shouting over mountain and mead, the furious dwarf expends his velocity and naps. Sprawling, idle civility is compelled to face this unpredictable menace and plan for when the slumber is disturbed.

The Insane Hermit Starves Himself After Gluttony The wild, mad recluse wakes up drowsy after a day of indulgence and feels sharp, hot hunger almost immediately, but decides to embrace it and exhilarate himself in minimalism rather than scarf cakes and puddings from his pantry. He lopes with wide, menacing arm gestures. The roebucks tremble. His long, apish arms sift the silt perversely, his eyes leer from side to side. No being or force challenges this decrepit monster. An orb, gently observing forest life, dashes to 10,000 feet when he sweeps into the clearing. The canopy line ripples. The deranged outcast feels his elevation dip and he unravels himself in the field and dozes.

The Brightening Emulsion Every time a comet glosses the sky, the sprites and elves dance upon the level shore and lift their tender eyelids to gape, and the hermit watches from his cave. The roses tint the fields where the daisies gleam, and the moon creeps forward. Then, the hermit coats himself with zinc oxide particles from the tenacious Blue Lizard Suncream and gently massages them into his face with a soft, cotton T-Shirt to initiate absorption, then sleeps 8 hours, with equal time spent sleeping on each side of his face, to further enhance absorption. Then, he awakens and uses the gentlest of cleansers to more blend and mix the substances than to wash them off, and ends up with absorbed zinc oxide and a soft, superficial, emulsion, resulting in a brighter, though somewhat ghastly, hue. And, he steps upward and toward the festivities. The hyper sprites twitch. And, frequently, the elves are unnerved and flee. Though brave and capable, they evade if possible, desiring to avoid conflict that may result in them dispatching another being, no matter how depraved that being may be. Then. the hermit howls with glee and incoherence. The moon's starry fays glower. Cold Pastoral.

A Bright, Happy Apocalypse The deranged hermit is unsure who or what pilots the wispy-tailed craft streaking overhead, but, since they assail the meadow, he quickly learns to operate the mobile martian blaster in order to repel them. One by one, he knocks them out of the sky, deftly dodging any descending glitter while doing so. They streak by, whistle by, buzz by, whip by, and flit by, but the alert, fanatical recluse tags every one, sending them sputtering over the hilltops and crashing down in the nearby dale. In total, a score or so are stopped, a medium swarm thwarted, a vibrant, chromatic destruction averted. Soon the meads are safe, allowing hare and squirrel, roebuck and falcon, to, once again, mingle hands and mingle glances. The forest gala heaves melody into the stratosphere. Every luminous body pulsates. Every lens pointed at the sky glimpses crowds of phantom partygoers strewn across the milky way, laughing and delighting in a trillion separate occasions. The victorious hermit drags himself back to the grotto with a deranged smirk, as wide as the firmament, encompassing his entire face.

iOpen him iUp so that he might iWax Poetic Silt washes and puddles while the blue embers gleam overhead near dusk, closer to clouds and closer to hope. A light passes through the frozen crystals dangling in the sky and backscatters an ambient glow across the entire lightless heath. Even here, the angelic reclusive bard is whaling away on his PDA, pecking out a masterwork. The bleak currents course overhead like a tangle of freeways commingled with society, bound by cloverleaf. The lonely poet glances upwards, as if to recharge the ephemeral muse, and then continues parsing his soul. It is difficult to discern whether he speaks with vibrato waves or slinking gales, but he doubtless sees the amorphous, massive clouds thrusting upward and splashing athwart the immense galaxy. The currents are bound by aerial clay. The pressure and density shifts affect droughts even as tenuous and bright ice patches waft on an atmospheric layer. Predictably dense, the settling mist tingles the scape with chill and inspires the graveyard school.

A Dome The eremite is not concerned with the rod-teaming skyglow, glancing up to notice a darling damselfly flitting about in the haze, for a vast dome is being ferried across the galaxy to cover the heath and shield it from merciless ultraviolet beams. Trapped in a time-bending warp, four pearldrop craft haul the massive dome, wreathed in twine and tangled in cosmic spaghetti, through concentric saturnine bands and elliptical orbits. Soon, the insular meads will team every instant with arachnids, herping explorers, and lamp-eyed frogs and lemurs. From the galaxy within to the galaxy without. The wild recluse leaps from a nearby clearing back into his safe grotto.

Dolphins and the Shadow Dapple dilly daffodil, watery, warbling whippoorwill, sentient, sapient synergy, draft and dole, duke and drift, demise and design, zen and zebra, coke and cola, poverty and allegory. The tetrahedron, the dodecahedron, and the orbital patterns of satellites, electrify the gamma world glutted with the rousing shakes of lapdogs and the craggy slouching beasts lumbering toward supernovae. The stellar anomalies glimmer distantly yet lucidly symbolic, as if the observation of wise beings accelerates the inward collapse of hydrogen nuclei and merely shapes the fabric of the prime universe. Robber cells hover around the comet interweaving with the dusty rings in their regular disc revolutions. The endless, convoluted, unsolvable tracks fuse forever with myriad hapless pebbles thinking of doing something to tidal shores that meteoroids never did to planets before. One luminous disc against the stars proclaimed that this was not a moment to linger but a frazzled spectacle of a digitized image stream from the pluto orbiter. This was a time to flee to the dappled garden and dawdle by the buzzing moths and the dribbling brook.

A Glistering Wave Glosses the Mead Is it a supernova or ball lightning? Swamp gas or a lenticular cloud? Will the savants listen to the maddened, dazed eyewitness? Warped by gravity, the continuum squeezes these craft into our sky. They frolic with the rods and dally with the sprites. The soft twitter of skylarks virally alerts the rest of the universe. The haunting call of the nightingale sounds tinny in the suction of the receding night.

The 14 Layer Elizabethan Model On this damp spring evening, the hermit already speculates that, though of limitless complexity, dense prose must be weakly connected. A fine sonnet coalesces like ice atop a brook, and, upon deconstruction, exhibits integration that is far more intricate than a LAN, yet its effortlessness baffles him. Stars dash about in tiny swarms as the hermit browses the anthology, absorbing the multimedia experience of whispered words and conjured visions. This dual tiered absorption jury rigs a 14 layer parallel stack structure which the elven eremite uses to route forest traffic: 1- Summer's Day Layer 2- Temperate Layer 3- Windy Spring Layer 4- Licensing Agreement Level 5- Solar Layer 6- Precious Metals Layer 7- Chronology Layer 8- Random Chaos Level 9- Eternal Layer 10- Beauty Layer 11- Underworld Layer 12- Eternal Stratification Level 13- Biomechanical Layer 14- Genesis Level All that is rough-hewn and unkempt in the meadow multiplexes through this bizarre device, spinning off into new biomes, novel astrologies, and undreamt of charts, each layer a different channel, a different uniqueness of treetops bouncing over the pointed signifiers, conveying and propelling each abstract being toward multiplanar destinations. On the other hand, that which is dainty and refined decodes into twitchy and uneasy analog states, ever awaiting restfulness, ever dashing across the bubble's surface, ever collapsing and dropping into morose designs before spilling over into festive streams. The deranged madman shrieks with glee as he directs the evening's network traffic. A sylvan WAN is born.

Mundane Meanderings Books are cumbersome for the wild madman. It is the glowing LCD that serves him on the windswept heath. The prose flows down the screen like a crystal brook, every note absorbed by those gray eyes. Every whim cast into a puff of cloud and flung upward and into the lowhanging jet stream. Then a long, idle moment. Madness overcomes the atmosphere. Serenity still grips the tangled scrub. The hermit concludes his session and commences his romp across the heath, down to the yellow mead, and curls once about a rock in repose.

Automata The ever-recursive fractal creep and the pulsing waves of cellular automata swirl into a wild vortex. Reefs slowly accrete and populate with vibrant cuttlefish and textile cone snails, the fabric and the beings intricately convolved with automaton processes. The shorelines near which they dwell, and the clouds that drench them from above, are infinitely complex. Reef and shore, shell and cloud, diligently record the abstract automatic and fractallic operations. The demonic surge of rapturous gusts then lifts the sails and spins them off westward. Alannon wails and Demogorgon seethes. WiMax buckles and frame relay clouds dissipate. Vivid oceanscapes, streaked with pastels, spread crystalline brine over the lagoon and lift the waiting castaways into the stratosphere. Digitized craft approach according to the development of a rule 110 cellular automaton. Sinkholes emerge according to the principles of a Mandelbrot Set. They are successfully dodged and the infinite void is reached and traversed.

The Night With the Amorphous Tingle Fractured pearls, cloven emeralds, and misshapen gold amass and dash over the lea like fireballs racing toward the lake. The filtering comb on the meadow's fringe glances at the gold and snags it. The pearls and emeralds hie onward. The mad hermit must be summoned to wrap his mind around the complexity of the emerald, thus unleashing its power, and to fixate on the comely symmetry of the pearl slices, thus empowering their protective screens. Once this is accomplished, the comb can be assailed and the gold, freed. Until then, the distant dim planetoid grows imperceptibly larger as it is approached. The spinning discs, arrayed with multiple implements, thrash at the void. The ancient eternal father lies sullen in a shady vale's gloom. The weapons that we fear are piercing points. The technology that we embrace is jazzy and electric. Dreams and evanescence wink in and out of the spaces between reality. It is awful. The comb is attempting to devour the gold, its horrible hair undulating in the varying breeze. Gem spirals beams in endless kaleidoscopes, panoramically, on every foe, every target, every distant sector. Pearl splices the continuum and emerges within comb. Comb recoils and alters its pulsating pattern to reflect its change of mood. Pantry houses grain. Body houses consciousness. None of this really dispatches the comb. It is only when a hardened and acrid banaret springs from behind a hill and tilts at the snooty baleen contraption that its fluctuations begin to flash wildly in panic mode. The final alert is triggered. The courageous knight unsheathes his sword and scales the meandering stairwells lining the coral bower in order to get close enough to strike. And, strike he does. His blow launches the mossy comb, upset and bawling, up into the ether, and, just before it departs from the troposphere, it expels the gold, which plummets groundward and dents the prarie with a geologic anomaly that will last for 100,000 years. The universe is safe again.

The Hermit Embarks on a Voyage The recluse will be leaving the moors for a time. Seven continents and seven seas await exploration. Quiet stars await reflection. Comets morph into dragons. Chart, watch, and sextant, sail, mast and anchor, forest, GPS, and cosmic rays, spaceship, gorgon, wilderness, and kraken, await, protect, employ, and offend the solitary elf. The meads may never again resound with his beserk wail. The lists and catalogs that once so fondly described the eremite may cease their generating and renewing. Jungle shores tangle the sky and lap the seawater with large, leafy tongues. A first in eternity: the beserk dragon of a humanoid steps onto a tropical island. The air is strangely still, but a low frequency pulse twitches the planetary aura: the island in REM, or perhaps indigenous peoples embracing the moment.

City

The Perfect Drizzle For Festivities With morning coat and top hat gracefully posed, the gnarled hermit and his dainty fairy dalliance in the hirsute urban scape. Barouche upon carriage upon lone horseman canter by. Threads shoot athwart and through the dewy affair, bolstering impressionist joists with futurist weave, and integrating the blot-patterned parisian evening with over-ruffled elegance and restraint. Nearby, with tome and scrolls gathered, a skittish elf heads out toward a gigantic palace, leaving a shady street behind, barely noticing the air awash with cloudy angels, unsure if meta-differences will obliterate the galaxy, but certain that post and lintel construction will buttress the confounded bay whose sailboats and sunny foam still flash upon the inward eye when unfolding terrain melts into showers and gloom. Technology abandoned, employment forgotten, intellect but a whisper, they frolick all the night.

Creeping Around the Street of Shadows On my spirit, makes a music too. One too far for reckoning? One too devoid of purpose for the hermit to take notice? The wandering hulk does not know. He dreads the eremite but sweeps over the stellar arch on his way toward destination moon. A cosmic poltergeist, a will-o'-the-wisp of dark matter, an astral brigand, the morphing hulk flits from lunar orbit and vaporizes in the atmosphere, leeching into the damp heath soil in order to reconstitute in a subterranean cavern and brood. The wild recluse awakens shrieking. The interloper is detected. Massive conjured wedges are stockpiled in the grotto armory. The hazy beast lurking miles under the weepy meadow trembles in fitful slumber. Maddened barking summons the dire hounds. The eremite is ready. The blurry hulk stirs.

Roses in the Cafe The eremite's notebook PC was fading its charge, his mind, drifting from a clattering gadget-scape to an early modern zen. A blue sun is a ferocious lamp. The white paste that coats the ether-hide repels the ultraviolet phasers. Even in Starbucks' tinted interior, the glorious lantern peaks in and spots the scurrying elves. Grasp them! That was the secret. Fathom the cosmic orbs with the physical brain's analog fabric, with the astral mind's abstract pumice. Model them and know that Ptolemy endeavored the same but that this time, radical simplification would conclude with success and ageless happiness.

The Stout, Swarthy Bushwacker, A Dream. At Starbucks, the wild eremite drifted off and found himself in an autumn woodland where a beaming knight-at-arms galloped over the starry grass and happened upon a malignant rogue. Having just robbed a passerby, the rogue was counting his gold coins and prepared a nasty glance to meet the cherubic face of the mild knight. He returned to the now, but re-visited while gazing at texture patterns at Home Depot. The tale continued when across etherous channels, the banaret called for his gods and his squires to encase him in a bubble in order to erect his battle preparation contraption and set him off to meet the rogue. The rogue then cast whispers that fluttered like moths over the choppy ferns and glassy lakes to the tawdry hideout. Again, the recluse was in the 3D matrix that is the urban scape for several moments when he spontaneously returned to witness a blazing sharp lance pointed directly at the scoundrel's face, who silently pulled out his bootknife and idled. Planetary wheels rolled across the infinite darkness and, in an instant, the knife flitted toward the knight's face. He glanced ever so slightly to one side and it deflected off of his helmet. He drove the rascal back into a tree with the deadly pointed lance and wailed at the heavens, and then at the rogue, ordering him to flee while he still had the chance, for the knight did not wish to kill on that serene day. It concluded: The coins fell with a clatter and the glossless hooligan leapt over a small rivulet and into the concentric void. A bolt whistled by the knight and at the rogue, but it was tardy, for the forest was empty but for knight and arriving page.

Particulate Smoke Coats the Smart Phone After a mochacinno and a Monet dabble, a jaunt on a hamiltonian path via the system bus takes us past the glassy urban scape and into the infinitely divisible forest plotting. Yield sign yellows and stop sign reds dapple the field for a dally and a snooze. Horns and whistles masquerade as bird mimicry. As far away as we have come from the perplexing city, its atmospheric halo remains an afterimage superimposed over every novel stimuli. The multilayered street graph is hardly the cougar's camouflage, but the massive oaks, with owls peeping out at regular intervals, eerily float over the metropolis. Rather than self replicate or fashion cosmic goo from complex nature, the deep, probing networker miniaturizes his astral self and courses along xylem and ant tunnels, vascular tissue and canine networks, food webs and cloudy fringes, until passing through a smart phone's logical structure in the organic troposphere. He then pauses and marks the start and end with blue gumdrops and stains the entire route neon red.

The Deranged Hermit Remarks on Blogging Grammar The wild, gittery vagrant screams beserkly and confusedly as he reads the fragmented but thrilling posts on Engadget, then is somewhat soothed while perusing Wired, and laughs aloud when reading Switched. He observes: Wired.com's blogs are generally the most well written. And, Wired blogs also have the fewest unnecessary and too often poor attempts at humor. In fine, Wired.com serves up the finest collection of science, sci-fi, and technology blogs, especially when considered from a literary perspective, though some might contest, weak from a visceral perspective. Engadget's posts are the most exciting and inspired, though riddled with frequent and gratuitous quips as well as semi-frequent awkwardness of sentence structure. It is easy to tell that the posts here are rushed, but, though not particularly impressive from a Keatsian standpoint, they do make the most enjoyable reading from the vantage of a Web 2.0, 3G, lenticularly cloudy, positivistic geometry. Gizmodo posts are the least literate. The sentences are brief and always resemble headlines and photo captions. There is little in depth content here, but, my the hermit thinks it so happy silly and is the close cousin of the dirty, skanky, but slitherously pleasurable Valleywag. The Boy Genius Report is filled with quality prose. Though some of the posts are glitzy and meant only to capture attention, most are well written and composed of actual paragraphs more than 2 sentences long. The one problem with this site is not the posts, it's the AOL 4.0 layout and icons. Switched posts make the wild hermit howl with odd humor. They are occasionally compelling, but are, most often, entertaining. And, it is certain that the Bard and Oscar Wilde drew yelps and gasps from their overgiddified audiences as well. And, there is something dated and awkward about this site. A little treat from the mad troll. An interesting site with unrealized potential, with usergenerated blogs filled with science, science fiction, and fantasy: the blogs on SFFWorld.com. The mad hermit will be keeping one squinting eye on the blognations's verbal output, especially those precariously literate tech blogs. A saucer streaks overhead and distracts him. He hobbles and slouches toward the dissipating trail spread out against the sky. Meadow flowers wash the flowing grass. The black familiar slinks around the awful gas that pushes up against the distant mountains.

The Mackerel Crowded Secrets of Eternity The eremite shirks the saddening effects of the appalling red skies from his starry psyche. The hound, all blotchy black and white, spots him near a creaking fence and charges out of an easy gait. Time is frozen by gripping terror. The hermit's face is fear-frozen, as if by a horn that blares wildly upon it. Spectral beauty drifts downward in wispy banners, rubbing its muzzle against the lush canopies abutting the grotto. Inert powder coalesces into fragrant bands that dome the entire heath. What cosmic analogy could disrupt this psychic arrangement? Only slightly further, the recluse feels, is an edifice containing the mackerel crowded secrets of eternity.

Buttons, Circles, and Arrays Looping in an eternal descent, tawny deer trot underneath the turkey vultures that encircle above. Barren tree trunks serve as buttons for the cumbersome gods who activate the data feed from galaxy's end to end. Twirl and twist, the beam is here. The cactus plotted mesa refracts the oceanic light from space. The boreal tundra clarifies all vision with an appalling cold. Chill and glow, embers and icicles, eroding and constructing, the alien termites endlessly enact guided organic processes. Nanobots hitch rides on the tumultuous mountain raising assemblage. Victor reacts quickly and drops to the earth for mercy love. Impulse plus geometry prevail in this hazy academic sprawl. The amusement is clearly derived from the quadrivium. Many alchemists attend the lectures and add shadowy corners to their workshops filled with the modern memes. Victor gapes from across parsecs, receptive to the game, deducing from its logic. Dawn will soon peal across the entire solar system.

Blue Glowing Sorcery As dwarven, wobbled steps huddle the night together and heave beams of light in every which way, and correct and alter the day's bobbing and the cloud's warbling, seven times seventy spherical silver objects flit over the skydome and encircle the horizon. As wicked fairies and pernicious elves cast lightning at the wondrous pods, the galactic formations of the nether stars, and the curvature of the multiverse, buckle and bend like pliable beams buttressing the gales and the warped, stringy holograms comprising the local clusters. Why do the malevolent sprites clash with the enigmatic silver pods? Why do the authorities spill modern rock and jetlike helicopters into rising, atmospheric tides? If reached, will the formation of countless grays infused with their crafts sputter and eject phaser dots upon the onlookers, or will they open up eternal and infinite realms situated within their diminutive fleet and vacuusuck all oglers? Maybe they were not born for death. Perhaps generations of overpopulation bloated their welfare programs to the brink of perforation. Maybe they were told of one wide expanse where fair-browed humanity struggles and plays in between temporality and infinity, and they felt they could share the beautiful astral space with us. They are here and we shall greet them.

The Metabolic Beast It was upon us. Now it has struck: Envelope the borderless terrain and the maples innumerable as high-borne stratus layers bawl upon the trendsetting urbanites with the candy cravings. Wield the halberd and the trebuchet over the ring and wand. Bequeath to me the disc-shaped and thick edged confections stuffed with mushrooms and peppers. Fructoid monsters whale on sucralose pixies. Neither gains an edge, the pixies firing barbed thorns in numberless showers upon the sugar thugs. Sleep drowsily, nap deeply, the high strung serums will resolve the paradox, salvage the equation, and save the heath. The Metabolic Beast will whimper and cower.

Enfolding Sunny Spots of Greenery The hermit's beloved's brother graduated from The Stevens Institute of Technology. The hermit's beloved is extremely intelligent. The hermit streaks by the drooping orbs in his astral craft. There is an exciting complex of possibilities coalescing in the brine. Awful theories belt out their arias, thundering them down the lanes, pealing them across the brooks, wailing them over the moors. Technophilia morphs into antiaging hysteria and dips the cityscape into quicksilver. Crowds of agitated geeks near 40 twitch their thumbs on their Blackberry Pearls. There was sun yesterday, but tumultuous locks today. Images swirled inside the spheres fired from clouds. They splashed watery scenes and translucent tides on targeted groves and glossed them with a gleam. All is well on this Friday filled with drizzle, melodious gray, and endless downpours.

Moonlit Berries From gleam to leaf, branch to wing, and wisp to perch, they drift downward from hilltop, they wither from Malthusian bulge to skeletal scrawn, they strut and stomp in arenas where once they graced vapory lawns with tinsel feet, where once the Apple Store replaced Wonka Vision, where once Microsoft and Sony endured. With touchscreen precision they select their fate, they choose their biome, they absorb psi, while pulling into the Starbucks parking lot, excited for their tea, while Mahalo creeps over the horizon and into the collective unconscious, while Twitter flourishes, Facebook peaks, MySpace turns, and Google begins a very long, slow fade. Psyche envelopes five glowing pearls, each an archetypal disposition now swayed by selfreference. Sapphire wings, emerald leaves, jade clouds, diamond gears, and pearls bend to psychical will, coordinate their cleavage angles and crystalline design to the relentless Trout Route engine, to chess and to sudoku, to logic games and to sonnets, to Flash and to Photoshop. Finally, from a nocturnal dreamstate, vegan vampyres spill over dim forest falls and into the urban scape in order to spread their heliophobia to a vain and garish populace.

When Vortices Are Skyscrapers The hermit has not, in some time, obliquely collated rivulets unfurled or graphs delightful, but, rather, he barks and seethes when ancient ladies refuse his courtesy and when thin, tangled twines spangle orthogonally in every which way, like pleated hair loosened from prim constraints to splash upon the grass. The fay coven lures him nightly, closer and closer to their bondage, and he sidewinds toward them only, at the last instant, to reel off perpendicularly, twirl into a vortex tower, and retreat back into his vagrant grotto. The ratio spindle fibers concatenate into code and sum into bundles. The murky blue dusk is dipped in stodgy humidity. Wastrels and vagabonds roam the moors now that tin-cased craft strafe the forest rows and spin snagging web wheels. Empty and vain, shadowy and sad, the effete recluse tucks himself into a corner of his lair and laments. He does not fall upon the thorns of life. Nectar gleams in tulip cups and he sips. Yellow bands stretch across his heath and upon them, he dazzles, and upon their shimmer, he rends the multiverse with his thought: In the dazzle-static, he multiplexes. In the dazzle-frequency, he collapses. He pearls every glimmer onto a storage necklace. He frets, is a bit obtuse, but still frolics with the damselflies.

The Deranged Hermit Screams: I'm Bringing Sexy Back How long has the hermit howled over the arching timberlakes strewn about the dank scapes? Perhaps as long as the bubbly pop icons have been idolized by giddy women and delightful gays. The endless pulse, the ardor, the snaky meandering phrase endlessly looped over the throng of antiaging geekers, inspires a clarion call to groove, to rave, to wax melodic on 2008 and its ever shifting phases. The casual Buster Keaton endures the winding jock sashaying round the workspace, the bar, the serene lounge, and the hipster cafe. Unfurl that roswell ultralight notebook and drift away to house beat.

Flight

The Surface Eremite As the ringed rivers flow enlessly into each other and thence into mesh complexity, the patient, sleeping eremite watches the shores. As the hurtful lust of metrics codifies the universe, the soft, gentle recluse metamorphasizes into a discrete madman. But when the astral pod careers past the meteor shower, every witted creature lifts its gentle eyelids to gape.

Two Books or a Transcendent Flight Through the Ether That is the boolean fork that must be navigated. The Earl addresses the wild recluse: "Remember who you are, Bartholemew." Since the bygone days, since the Apple IIc and the Timex Sinclair 1000, Intellivision and Space Invaders, the hermit has been familiar with, and has abstractly utilized, digital machines. He still retains and continually expands upon the mind-space development that resulted from this usage. The Earl continues: "Reach back into your Apple past and vitally relive the technological experiences, reframe them and freshly categorize them, drape them over your current psychic matrix and feel your body move through their manipulations as if you are acting out an unsettled dream. Do this to vastly increase your IT functionality. The results of the month long astral flight and novel discrete mapping will be of greater value than reading 2 computer science text books from cover to cover. You already have inside of you all that is needed for inventive greatness. You need now only attain that serene state where your secrets can all be replayed, relived, and reabsorbed by your material being and astral being" The mad eremite concurs and commences his flight. A month later, after psychically typing on the ancient keyboards, clacking out simple programs in BASIC and Pascal, after cosmically poring over user manuals and tweaking configurations, after completing a serene, ever-slow, crescendo toward geekdom, he returns a full savant, realizing that this type of consolidation, review, and reliving of what he had already experienced but allowed to fade into psychic background radiation, losing that IT-necessary immediate applicability though still retaining the cumulonimbic mind development, has filled him with reservoirs of useful talent. The Earl is pleased and the deranged hermit, delighted.

If Only I Lifted That Dreamstate The hermit often broods, questions, iterates and reiterates his life pattern in a holodeck realm, and gropes for veracity in a dim, slouching wood. Only ever when the owl sings and the wind sweeps the pollen grains in vast clouds over the thirsty moors does the endless repetition generate novelty. Otherwise, pandemonium clutters the mindspace and stillness sprawls across the gusty crags. A slick, spidery humanoid peers over the cliffside verge, tinkering with his hovercraft, ogling with envy at the glider taxiing to take off atop the nearest peak, and imagining the possibilities of the dirigible about to float off a slightly more distant peak. The three craft launch almost simultaneously. The resulting ternary complex resists computation, lending itself only to the ken of the viewless wings.

The Hermit Embarks on a Solo Spaceflight Propelled via lucent turbines through cosmic squalls, the glossy-garbed eremite traverses the universe, abandoning the rocket-tubed metropolis for vacuous space. As he passes, displaced stars are spilled into wormholes and points of consciousness are spun into orbit around silver quasars. A wave pusher passes by, concealed in a blurry pulsation, full of momentum and velocity, surging toward safety. A tinny nanoswarm chases closely and shadows imitatively, warping in and out of the wave space, stinging and nagging the pusher every microsecond of the way. Some way across the cosmic neighborhood, a wobbly orbiter convulses. A bandit shuttles cargo. A fledgling empire grows. Further still, at an unearthly distance, a twisted hand's maddened bolts branch wildly toward a caped cyborg charged with defending the galactic cluster. Comic screeches and howls punctuate the lightning flashes as they illuminate the eerie nebulae. The teaming multiverse is a dazzling spectacle.

The Well Tempered Recluse Oh, how the eremite glitters and flings himself high, streams along the currents, veers around the dangling aerial amoebas, vaults over thunderheads, and returns. How he sweeps along the bow-bend and pushes the portly waves while listening to the peals roll through the cold rain. That zany recluse heaps the jazzy banding, the happy, far-out happenings, and the silly. terraced hues. And, that bleeping, flickering ENIAC blurts reds and pinks, blue and purple, as it ticker tapes out a hairy romp for the festive dotcommers. Silicon Alley is awash in a footing multitude. From a distance, we convulse in disjointed awe. Some gasp. Some turn away. Others stir in hiding for the hermit's mastery and achievement.

'Little Flashes in the Psyche' This is how the hermit describes words that reach deep into the lower levels of the brain and course through the myriad channels to the brink of the optic nerve and cause a flash to be seen by the conscious being. These are actual visual experiences and are different from words that cause the fancy to conjure up images and elaborate fantasies. They are different from the musicality of poems and from the images drawn by the sounds of objects operating in space. And, the blinking manifestations are also different from those elicited via hallucinogenic drugs and sleep deprivation. They create a true multimedia experience where there may be evidenced only speaking, a dialog, or a tale being told, to those unaware or oblivious. This baffles and infuriates the recluse who only considers that the brain may be directly manipulated by technology to create multimedia immersion, and that this is the scientific bleeding edge, but who does not believe that a bland, muttering elf, who just happens to utter certain words, can create some sort of thorough immersion of the psyche in rich, chromatic vision and sound. A certain sequence can summon ursa major across the nova-ridden firmament.

Iron Man vs. Iron Golem The lonely eremite plans to craft a steel golem to counter that meddling busy-body who zips around so presumptuously in his red clanking suit. Alchemy and enchantment prepare to battle speculative technology. Cackles and sneers punctuate the laborious invention process, while chanting and muttering accent the mystical evocations. The grecian urn vessel hovers silently over the earth. Palpatine watches closely. The Grays take passive note. The ancient duel of magic and science, armored knight and beast, astral and spectral, light saber and blaster, elf and troll, is about to resolve itself in the cloudy arena over Gotham. Will the golem belch forth acidic fire into such a cubic volume as to ensure Iron Man a corrosive demise? Or will Iron Man's repulsor rays prove too much for the medieval construct, hurling it backward through time? The wild elf collects morning dew and almond butter for the coalesced light militia of the lower sky, the golem's fanciful air support, the diaphanous squadron. The golem lurches. The iron man blasts off.

The Pods that Carried the Elves The sometimes idiotic, deranged recluse realized that everything he endured within, every sprite, every stressor, every accent, every bout of maddened focus, was the aftereffect of a huge churning clock and cloud that worked toward his still, pristine permanency. Each was subtly angled, almost infuriatingly to his advantage, to slow the fast-whirring tops that were the essence of his being, on a glittering tabletop, in the undiscovered multiple dimensions beyond the galaxies. Even the cracked diet of legumes and oils generated soft, ambient heat throughout the body without the need for metabolic quickness, thus affecting a tortoise grid in the consciousness sphere and slow, immortalizing tropical islands and scummy ponds in the prime material plane. The howling sociopath screams shrill agonies and belts glass-melting arias against the calm, oppressive cumulus clouds. Everything he does hyperextends time and thwarts the countless molecular bombardments cast at life from chaos. Phase Out of Being

The Grecian Urn Vessel's Space Journey Ah, the grecian urn vessel launches from titania and spirits beyond the oort cloud rather quickly as it ponders the large orion warrior now draped across the pinned stars, the knotted clouds and the wispy gases of the interstellar medium. More delightful stars, more giddy giddy stars. Forever spewing nebulous clouds forever vast. Looking up at the night sky, I can see the tail of the vessel dissipate as the sun recedes. Massive information gathering and aesthetic appraisal is being summoned. If the ecstatic hermit glimpses this excursion from his hovel, the hills, the land, the sky and the universe will reverberate with his cries. Pastel blue novas will erupt the galaxy over from perforations along the continuum seams. Planetary will heave into stellar, and the unplanned wanderings of ten thousand astral beings will snap back into the present moment. Delightful days, otherwise.

The Grecian Urn Space Vessel Closes in on Palpatine and the Insane Hermit This is how the mad hermit streams upward to the enthroned Queen Moon and her starry fays. This is how the deranged hermit stops muttering so that he may enter a silent shroud. He rips the fabric of the multiverse and weeps through the tear like The Blob through a ventilation shaft. Then, other dimensions must endure, other galactic federations must hurl neutron stars at the bobbing and weaving madman in hopes of negating his demented force. Whirling shoals accrete to a cloudlike swirl to mislead and trick the maddened astral vagabond. There is no intellect: only impulse and repetition. Then, cloudy peace and beaming terraces unfold their serenity onto singing eternity, warping dissolution and dissent into etherous posts and lintels for titanic kingdoms. The impulse is momentarily confused with the compulsion, and the brooding melancholy is mistook for obsession. The stellar conundrum that results is swollen with fairy glee. The Kakuro that suggests itself tabulates a gigantic sector of the cluster and is then integrated into the holographic whole. The cellular automaton that hints at arranging a pod of binary systems is meshed and merged with the uplifting holography. And, finally, the windswept heath is dark and vast under the milky stars, its qualia, a hurtful, eroding force majeure upon the railing hermit. The infinite, frozen urn swings toward the blue emperor. It is infathomable, infinitely more complex than the force and the entire Star Wars cosmology, and it fires a sand ray across a planet's face and onto the insane hermit, launching him back to the borderland keep. The urn slowly revolves as it orbits a banded gas giant. Palpatine crinkles his gnarled fingers, readying a torrential shower of energy bolts. However, the complexity, the genius and the infinite power of the urn deflects the assault and allows the urn craft to return fire. A hero is sent off to route the emperor. He is thwarted. The petrified lover unfreezes and acquires bitter resentment toward Palpatine and springs upon him, knocking him off balance, tumbling him backward like a wheel for several parsecs. The Urn has survived the Emperor due to its deeper internal structure and more elaborate and brilliantly simple design.

Billy Liar, White Dwarf The wild hermit noticed a tear in the galactic cloak. While browsing iTunes, he realized that 'Billy Liar' was not the most popular Decemberists song. He knew that it was certainly the most distinct and renowned by fans and within indie rock circles, but there existed other, more frequently downloaded, songs such as 'O Valencia!' and '16 by 32' An ancient fable might illuminate this discrepancy: the tale of the white dwarf and the red giant. The white dwarf, being the more compact, urgrosh-wielding humanoid, resonated tornadic waves, whereas the red giant, louder and more beserk, enormous and magnificent, wilder and with wild hair, rippled crimson tresses, spilled flowing locks, wept stars, and bawled novae. The two gathered in front of an aimless agora crowd. The vast many recognized the giant and harbored mild, semi-favorable opinions, whereas only a selection of devotees surrounded the unwieldy dwarf. Thus, more chose and downloaded the giant fifth than selected and downloaded the dwarf first, among those who downloaded. In reference to 'Billy Liar', since there is no ranking criteria other than that of absolute download frequency, the more blandly popular, en masse, while still being valued enough to inspire download, ranks higher than the song adored by the few, hovering on the event horizon, nearly bursting into the maelstrom, mass popular via sinuous tributaries intermingled with clique-nodes, a wheel within a wheel, but still on the outskirts of the unforgiving center.

Palpatine at the Clavier Jagged splinters of electric force cut through the infinite night and pierce the Jedi to the core. Just as his fingers on these potentials make horrible death stars seem insignificant, so these self-same sounds on the zenlike force make destruction, too, or so it seems. Lift the fragrant purple of dark side energy to galaxy sized blossom, and, with it, flush Yoda from his hovel with brilliant gules and propel him into the beyond. Then, skirt the edges of Gandalf's workshop and blast him with hyperbleeding fractured bolts until he coughs up the spectre to haunt the moors of middle earth forever. Next, command a star destroyer to cautiously orbit Galactus' craft and, while this is transpiring, reach into the void for all the nanoscopic and macroscopic force particles that can be aggregated in one consciousness, and unleash them in a torrential, branching lightning shower upon the world eater's ridiculous mask, and do not relent. Pour every dram of molecular and cosmic yang into Galactus' quaking form until he respires no more. Finally, trick the Borg and the Beyonder, Odin and Thor, Godzilla and Mothra, Superman and Flash, into a single gathering, then envelope them in a faraday cage of force, like a prismatic sphere, like otiluke's telekinetic sphere, like electron clouds shorting out super powers and kinetic functions, until they are subdued. Then, it is finished. The Emperor reigns over all heroes and villains.

All These Beings Know On Earth All that these visitors understand is that we are radially infinite and lineraly, quite finite. That is, we can forever be still and radiant in our conscious eternities while our mortal shapes drift: often one-way to chaos and havoc, but, in the case of the wunderkind, pendulously, between states of youth and kind-of-youth and back to youth, always heading forward in time and space, like a sine wave, but never careening off toward feeble old age and death. The gentle fay rules the shadows of the wood and summons the wunderkind to walk hand in hand across the lake isles and brooks, brambles and bowers, eaves and parapets. The fantastic of yore and hobbits prevail this day. The eternal freshness of Williams and Stevens always adds a pastel yellow to the sky and daffodils, but does not fragrantly and fluently integrate with the severe gores and outcroppings of the nether realms.

The Serene Throng of Speculative Versifiers The elves race around Hyperion's rings while a collection of poets gaze at Saturn and emote in marvelous music, and detector molecules vibrate with joy as the endless quasar beams encircle the galaxy. Heraldric vector graphics and Lindisfarne texture patterns arise from the aggregating crystals on the frozen glass. Silent are the stars in purple folds. The ocean's breath seems taking flight for Rigel. A vast geometry of novel gases glows periodically and bakes the twisted organelles draped over the local cluster. Immense voids permit no thoughtfulness on them. Grays replace the elves over Saturn and pods replace the scintillant carriages. Magic is adrift in the astral sea. It is a derelict miasma over the bog. It is a dying algae bloom in the gulf. Invention coats the universe but magic still swings the sloops of consciousness to higher waters and steps up the holographic quanta from material to abstraction to verse to gauze.

Like A Wizard Still, It Has Not Changed From afar, the heath has not changed. It is distilled from the ether and spilling over the gentle slopes in a frozen fashion. Blueberries fall and form lines. But, microscanning reveals two tiny crabs creeping along, just creeping, a few micrometers, a few nanobots whirring beside them, scanning them as they creep. The tumbling grains of silt are pills in the pellets and they fling the loping fauna off into space, drip the lolling flora out onto the dishvalley. Twisted elms bawl their extensible metadata onto the gloomy, gothic scape, each leaf streaking back to its roots, each branch shuddering in the dark, blighted convulsions. Hunkering the soil and themselves, scolding the relentless, gnawing caterpillars, lashing out at the pecking robins, the roots cleave the inner earth and the evening is glossy. Linear starlashes blink clumsily. Golden novae stir coyly. Diaphanous sky glitter ripples by chasing dust. Moths respond with beams.

The Astral Shards If shards from an astral collision glittered above the heath like a second firmament, would you fill with excitement as the eremite left his grotto? Or, would the withering sedge, compounded with the grass, flatten emotion to sentiment? Think not of the hermit, your ship is splendid and ready to race through the floating crystals. Translucent, but not opaque, watery, but not water, gleaming, but not metallic, the archcraft will propel itself in a stately arch. Since droplet squadrons smartmob the dank cavern, and since a brooding mountain looms less ominously, the deranged recluse sleeps through the night.

Icarus Matisse's jazzy Icarus, like a blaring, colorful cartoon, circa 2008. Bruegel's Icarus, in a bizarre scape on some distant world, circa 3008. The bright, starry Icarus dangles as if a projection of a CRT, and the bleaker, dystopian Icarus, as depicted on some futuristic scape peopled with anomalies, splishes into the water. No energy blasts from Palpatine or thunderous shrieks from the deranged hermit are needed to return the ambitious tinkerer to the oceans and fields.

Palpatine Continues Raging Radiant electric shells spill over the globe and onto crumbling stars, the creepy Emperor approaches the eternal beyond. Not even he knows what will befall voyagers to this destination. The island, shrouded in mist, awaits visitors who never return. Will he go forward? Outside the universe, the digital dimensions vibrate in nervous layers, dripping information to each other, through seive layers of each, from top to bottom, and back up through weightless capillaries. The wide, damp, and crinkled folds of knowledge and history integrate and disentangle, swirl together in violent vortices, and drench the material universe with suggestive fields. The anterograde amnesiatic milky way slaps the void with its dangling, rotating arms more slowly than accreting gravitational inconsistencies that creepingly eat the multiverse. Ancient, crooked Palpatine's gothic pallor howls at the wisping comets and meteoric rubble. Every universe that ever was and that will ever be will be contained in his formatted and optimized sapphire sphere. Ancient Merlin was once an instructor, and the Emperor can integrate wizardry with the force when necessary to better affect an unprecedented astral convolution of science and magic, of biochemistry and alchemy. The other son of Jor-El, Hal-El, follows the circumference of an interstellar circle and happens upon the unaware and pensive chancellor. Warp speed lunges and screeching retreats punctuate the early conflict phase. A nova winks and Hal-El turns, losing the hyperspeed advantage, and permitting a savage energy blast to rack his astral being, which is then yanked from his limp form and rattled about the bumper planets. The advantage cannot be regained and Hal-El slowly withers under a relentless downpour of cerulean thunderbolts. Palpatine finishes Hal-El and then completes and casts his abjuration.

Solve

The Bleeding Edge Though the deranged recluse adores the simplest of games, such as Brain Challenge, Brain Age, Mensa Math & Logic Puzzles, Ivan Moscovich's Tough Topology Problems, Numbology, Color Junction, Snood Towers, Tetris, Comp TIA A+ 2006 Q&A, graph theory teasers, knot theory conundrums, crossword puzzles, word searches, sudoku, kakuro, and cipher, it is the lichen-like, mossy, bleeding-edge X-Box 360 immersions, sprung from minds resplendent with landscapes, cartoons, and glittering avatars, minds that are also fully equipped with savant gifts acquired from endless, psyche-transforming, quasi-logical, quasi-impulsive puzzling, that dazzle the hermit. The images and motion are so staggered, staggering, and overflowing with non-polygonal essence, that it makes the solitary elf weep with joy to lie beside a stochastic brook and absorb the digital lushness. And, upon returning to the ever-thrilling, exhausting, epic-catalogued, present instant, swaying from slow scholarship to frenetic puzzling and back, gazing at clouds and at stars, the recluse is inevitably lulled into a drowsy stupor.

The Learner vs. The Thinker The hermit begs for those who scoff at deep, massive learning tasks, for those who solve rudimentary puzzles composed of the most difficult subject matter, where over preparing can lead to simple solving, where all the effort is in the learning and not the thinking. The damsel fay thinks this should not be. 'How can a book learner survive the wasteland?', she queries. How did civility begin? Who brought us out of the forest and into the meadhall? Thinkers, she asserts: those who climb with simple connections to exponential heights, those who devise YouTube and wheels. The wild one lunges at her then gasps and hisses. She recoils but does not retreat. He is amazed and frightened of her pronouncements. There is something amiss that cannot be verbalized. It is dim and distant and relates to the wheel, and how something other than analytical thought may have led to its genesis. Let baser things devise to learn to learn. Let sudoku solvers conquer calculus learners. The beserk mad recluse counters that learners can think and that thinkers can learn, but that along the curve, the polarities are inverted. There are different mind spaces devoted to each. The powerful learner is often a good, but not great, thinker. The inattentive, distracted thinker often excels at tasks that have few instructions but NP-Hard solvability. Pure innovation atop of multiple choice problem solving perpexes both. The musician who masters the GRE and shreds on the guitar, but cannot merge the two, is a statistical anomaly. He is a multimedia gadget, whereas the pure learner is a machine and the pure thinker, a program.

Antiaging Kakuro The process of solving them, the energy expelled, the dreams empowered, the forces conjured, the distraction of the intellect, the electrifying mathematical logic, everburning fens, whinnying carols, warped conduits, drifting and meandering imaginings: It harnesses them all. It hoists them to solar height. It unleashes the quicksilver to dribble down the swishing hill and morph into a mist golem upon striking a maple. The gadget wrapped into knotty essence must factor itself at each twist and add itself at each loop. Only when the summoner is relieved is it finalized in the even kiln. There will be many other paradigms for methodology study presented. This is simply the first.

No Reconciliation of Opposites While the deranged recluse is aware that gadgetry must be stylishly donned in order to merge effectively with the sleek, youthful persona obtained by adhering to the maxims, he also realizes that they must be nurtured seperately. That is, the technology should not influence the persona. Organic, expeller pressed palmseed oil should not be poured on top of your laptop, and staggering biotech machines should not be utilized for antiaging. Through the gaming cloud, the two may meet in mist and watch rooks scamper around the fringes, bishops zigzag, and the stochastic pawn advance form shapes and skylines. Through the modern puzzle matrix, they may wave to each other while deduction, induction, and imperceptible murmurs of impulse weave together solutions in the field seperating them. Through postmodernism, they may adore Hollywood from the LCD screen and embrace gadgetry as a devotion. But, for antiaging, glimmering vegetable oils must be used that are full of galaxies and nebulae. The eremite is advised to merge them at Layer 7 and not any lower. He forever remembers to revel in the seperate but synergistic gizmo glitter and gauzy glow, watching them swim in the cloud stream and tumble up into mammoth, beautiful formations.

The Hermit Sings and Brain Challenge Taunts The madman has diminished his conquering will toward the other 8 games in this Gameloft suite. He only grapples compulsively with Impression, attempts to race through Trout Route without cessation, is less severe, but equally determined, on Reflection, and feels the paths burned into his afterimage space during Travelling. The bizarre, congealed way he deals with these puzzles is nearly preconscious. He only seeks the stars, the moors, the songs of ages, Lucy, the untrodden ways, lofty galactic clouds: he does not want to consider the math and logic of puzzles when dalliancing over the meads, thus he makes them preconscious through incessant, impulsive completions. The measured labor has nearly produced its outcome. The wild, deranged hermit can be heard singing and screaming as he rapidly engages keys and buttons on his AT&T Tilt's Brain Challenge.

Antiaging Sudoku Rutherford banners, trailing and fanning themselves, sprawling eastward, spraying their code to the winds, turn. Planckian orbs, dancing and dazzling, morphing and twirling, stuttering northward, stupefying the wilds, pause. Chaotic reels, full of sparkling verse, stream out line after line while harmonizing with the cloudy primary colors behind them. Rolling stanzas, digital and analog, hopeful and despairing, containing every measure of man and each discrete molecule of code, warp the field, leap the 9 rows, and swim the 9 columns, until they droop and loll. Oil flows over the grid. Water washes briskly over it. Substances seep through the board and permeate the unmixed quicksilvers. A puzzle is born. A solution to antiaging is glimpsed. The model, the very structure, the temporal majesty of the coalescing 81 cells, invigorates.

Tundra

Like Melting Ice The ice cave warped, bowed, and drooped into the mud. The dragon, hovering on its new dragonfly wings, flapped like Smaug, then buzzed like Baalzebul, as it circled over the dissipating frost caverns. iGoogle, Google Docs, desktop Twitter, Windows Mobile (ironically), YouTube, MySpace, Facebook, Blogger, the iPhone, MacBook Air, and select widgets, modules, plugins and other components are beginning to erode Windows spatial proportion of the desktop face. In order to endure this new cafe-cool web culture, Microsoft will be compelled to downsize Windows to an invisible, behind the scenes, operating system, more than BIOS but less than the bloated, sprawling system that bends, like a hoverbot, every LCD-tipped tentacle of the endlessly redundant OSPF forests. The bizarre droid and the insane hermit do not love Google, or Twitter or YouTube, per se, but they are giddy and excited, jumping about like frogs, over the utopian future they are heralding.

Return

Preconscious Impulse vs. Intuition The eremite is back on the heath. The stony rubbish of the distant city is now a distant remembrance. Glossy streams and glowing lichens populate the grainy earth. Pulse after pulse washes over the panpsychic moor. Will the aerial swathes commingle with the dingle starry and pepper gleaming cometoids down in heaps or will The Avengers, The X Men, The Hulk, and The Fantastic Four invade the meadow and compel the hermit to cast abjurations? Wild prismatic sprays spiral, perne, and disperse, blinding and incapacitating the superhero teams as the orphaned, abutting forest sneers at the fray. Blobs drool over the cliffside and fill a jagged pass nearby, amassing into an indestructible superbeing before lapping on the level gardens while hedge crickets sing and small gnats mourn. Instinct cowers to dalliance. Heightened sorceries amaze the horrid sine wave of spectators and competitors.

The Fork-Poor Lightning Storm Winding static weaves and mazy motions stutter earthward and, along with them, clouds barb each other and jab at the constellations. Never a branch. Never a branch. Crackles and pops, the neon rice krispies of the lower sky, lap at the vast fields, flash bright and staccato, orthogonal, tubular, terraced, horrible. Bows and bows and hisses. Dreams and gongs and seas. Ribbons and ribbons and ribbons. Toss the sky slabs in heaps upon the firmament. Let them suggest the glowing blue accent that morphs like a living haze over the yellow mead. The hermit's wisest sorcery spins a cube in the grotto, spins it indefinitely, wobbles it slightly, gives it precession, and reads it every 1000th rotation, deciding a mosaic addition with a compact switch statement. Depending on the wobble and position, one of 25 mosaic tiles is added to the growing puzzly picture.

The Gong Tormented Heath The eremite, while waddling past the ghost-warbling nightingale and careening through galactic sectors on the grecian urn, admits to himself, and to his astral retinue, that the bards who weep of lapis lazuli, dancing elves, and dolphin torn waterways, have quality control mechanisms and engineering charts that result in finer, orb-like structures on a more consistent basis, though, doubtlessly, the bard of autumn, chapman's homer, and opiated stupors reaches greater levels at the furthest end of the opposite end of the long tail. They all listen, they all feel the diaphanous footfall of every echoing word as it reflects through the shadows and then softly drapes the lichens, they all seek wisdom. Maddened fairy foil, crumpled up, uncrumples and is gay. The organ that the digerati activate has large, columnar pipes and is set into an urban edifice. Attendees bawl over the mournful, recursive fugues. The moors fill with glee. The cities are orbited by pod-filled aerial traffic jams which crawl and wind in worn abstractions to their cyclical beginnings only to warp-accelerate and trace their path anew. The bubblegleaming craft delight in their own glossy existence. And, through it all, the ancient alchemist's gems refract the age.

White SpaceTime and Highly Deformable Eglantine Modified carols sung for encoded boundaries barely compare to the rich, infinitely complex odes that ring out to varied clusters. Magenta approaches cautiously, the hermit wails, the grumpy one circles the irregular valley twice before perning inward. Tender is the sweet flowing brook intertwined with non-geometric rhyme schemes that push the limits of computation. The boundless designer reaches for the ultraelaborate hoping to be overwhelmed and mired in negative capability which he rends into sweetness and light before emerging with a hardy, persistent optical framework that dispels the morbid calcified state. The buzzing reptilian specters of remeshing fabric textures are thwarted by ultraimpervious lymph nodes and Keatsian Odes. The vivid imaging of Keats and the stellar, quantized mesh merge. The Odes suggest codecs. The transforms suggest odes. Stanza pixellation will surely follow.

How the Sorrow Surged Softly Backward The eremite looks out at hazy peaks and dizzy fields, blue wiggles high, and red wobbles slow. The analog pulses surge and swell past the eremite and onward toward the dim verge. After the wheels of the universe totter, and the spools of intellect unravel, the glum hermit dashes himself onto the canyon floor and weeps. Loud crashes diminish into, eventually, wisps. Craggy ridges defurrow from intensity to blandness. Desiring to dash off into the psychic ether, the recluse is instead surrounded by torrential waters, and enveloped in arching foam. Time to return to the moors, time to reawaken the generative energy that cosmically forged medieval industry, time for dream state automata, time for festivities. Weary of melancholic, melodramatic, purple-prose digressions, the eremite determines to soon engender an era of more concise writing, but for now, continues to indulge his weakness for the baroque, continues to conjure lush meadows and ornate engravings, continues to weave sinewy emblems, linear theories, parallel cliffsides. The plunging hoofs are not yet gone.

Easter Sunday- Ah, Bitter Chill It Was Not! The hare dallianced through the sedated dusk. The moping owl complained and the moon promptly replied with uplifting symphonies and cosmic blue trinkets hurled down to each sad raptor. Temperatures in the upper 40s are refreshingly cool, but already warm enough to conjure infinitely complex chromatic glimmerings in the flower-dappled meads, washed through mist, but still daisy-giddy. Soon, warm 50s and april afternoons, where lipid clouds, sharply delineated against the endless cerulean, will elicit euphoria then tangle and merge the infinite psychic continuum. Crystallized and swollen, puffy and faceted, quicksilver and edifice, and all the states seperating the polarities, and all the weaves and looms spewing gossamer into the winds to affectionately tangle the heavens and to settle onto the teaming hyacinths, and all the words inadequate, and all the mutations dandy, and all the progress, the percolating spores nebulizing the breezes, and the bepuzzled prim daffodils, shall rise cheerfully. The recluse creeps back into the bower, silent, dizzy with glee, overwhelmed with Spring.

Listen to Them, Vegans of the Night When the curfew tolls the knell of parting day and the grotto vegans dawdle about the woodlands, the more gothic meadow vegans lounge in graveyards, in sweet melancholy, immersed in the hallucinogenic images conjured by aged inscriptions. Some mute, inglorious herbivore may rest among the unenlightened ancients, some Moby guilty of his livestock's blood. The stars fling icicles about themselves as the clan idles underneath the ever-faintest traces of dawn grazing the forest trim. Eventually, a soft, genuine sadness creeps over them and they return to their bowers and hollowed trees just as heavy clouds push into the complex swarm of life and glitter draped over the vast wooded expanse. April is here and moods are sadder.

The Swerving Sword The heaving, shifting arms heave the dense, wedgelike blade through the sky and splice the honeydew into hemispheres. The tinkling, gangly chainmail rattles as the huge sword drops its density with a thud onto the damp earth. A timid elf lurks beneath the layers of steel and iron. Supernatural strength permits the staff and wand to be set aside and the marshall weaponry to be wielded by the oft coy conjurer. Delicate rains fall on dewy lawns. Sad clouds sound rumpled whimpers. The poisonous dagger creeps up, bolstered by an invisible force, no doubt. Lightning and acid shock and corrode it, preventing it from further mischief. Happy elf, silly silly elf, you cannot think though compulsion is as good. Let the compulsions guide the storms, the regimens, the world's gyrating, the heaven's perning. Let glorious sunbursts spill cosmic glitter over the electrified grass. Seven ages has the deep-ravined sprite. He will flit through the studded biomes every astrological second. Then, the biomes will turn taiga-like and the ecosystems, temperate, as the grasslands drift, the forests lift. No harsh alarms. No excitement other than what overflows spontaneously from within and which is followed through as a sharp, happy possession.

Preconscious Savant Thoughtlessly pondering a conundrum while preconsciously prattling may lead one to congregate and aggregate the impulsive, non-visual, pathways of thought and invention. Various prints make many patterns and many tributaries. They are twirled up into bobbins. They are gittery and flash outward like sparks when the mind detunes contemplation and amplifies impulse. There is babble impulse. There is sketching impulse that evolves with each pass. There is more. If the wild hermit must babble to reveal the truth, then he is brethren to those who speak in tongues. But, it is not a close kinship. He is closer to the ever-shifting draftsman whose scratch looks eerily similar to primordial deification. Following the ever-shifting threaded prints that unfold out of the mouth, while the eyes loom, moonlike, overhead, softly shut, guardians of secrets, leads the psyche on a journey that is myopically brisk and stressful, but ultimately serene and meadow-terminating. That is, it ends in a dappled mead.

A Host of Daffodils The kind recluse has listened to meterologist speculations, has consulted the storm birds, and has interpreted the wavy channels summoned by giddy psychic states, and is now certain that winter is not playing possum, that spring is here at last. Shortly, this maddened elf will lounge by the lake with one enchanted ear open to the daffodil vibration. The steep ravine walls will be traversed in breathless exhiliration as sprouting angiosperms climb skyward and a gossamer sheen illuminates every being on the heath. A chemist-fay, on his treestump table, rests a clattering vial of dew, beaker of cream and silver ladle. The eremite approaches with questions about his vernal commission. The chemist whispers a reply. The hermit is satisfied. For now, daisies blanket a sportful field that the naive recluse slides across with gleeful momentum. Fairy blossoms weep happy pearls onto the noses of passersby. The pensive shroud lifts and the sweet nectar of spring spills in gumdrop showers upon the dappled meadz.

Serene

New York, circa 1900 The hermit wonders if only he adores this era so. Such naive musings suggest an innocence in this berserk wild man that others lack, and that may, at first, surprise. He is far from crowds and cities, and far from those who would strut around in period attire, given the chance. Were he amid the rash and mire that is civilization, the madman would quickly see that there are endless thousands who love this age. There are those who envision the iPhone as a perfect accessory to a frock coat. There are others who want to telecommute from their book-fragrant studies. However, the teeming universe bubbles in and out of the orb that is consciousness, cluttering his thoughts with random images and impressions. Imagination? Compulsion? The recluse is unable to discern. Is that a UFO flickering across the sky, a floater in the gelid optic sphere, or perhaps a random visitor to his psyche? When old age shall this era waste, the beautiful eremite will remain amidst endless glimmering, dribbling, showers. He will dazzle the grays and cause the elves to swoon. Then he will flee to the waters and the wild that is his home in order to bathe in brook, sleep on hilltop, and read by ancient fireside.

'Tis a golden age of gadget wizardry and novelty... The Chumby is an example of gadget novelty. The hermit adores ambient features continually drifting by in the atmosphere, available for the occasional glance, the thorough read, or that which falls between. He displays something similar on his notebook: a slideshow of recent photos, artwork, news headlines, blog updates, annual best of theoretical and applied science lists, and random informative articles on various aspects of technology. Ferocious roars punctuate the stormy night. The wild hermetic creature hobbles about the flattened moors. The nearby keep fears him still, not realizing that he is engrossed in his dreaming, his browsing, and only shrieks when his clattering gizmos malfunction or operate at less than optimized rates. Soft, golden craftmanship sings to perk the nodding recluse.

Gluttony for Drowsiness The hermit lives this but does not grasp it: That those times of giddified hunger are to be contrasted with times of overstuffing yourself with oils, cakes, and vegetables, to the point of drowsiness, for optimized health. Lounging about, half asleep, staring at the sky, drowsed with gluttony, the hermit and companions drift off to deep sleep. They wake 16 hours later and are invigorated and bolt down the hillside in sport and frolick. It seems as if warm days will never cease, so perfected is their lifestyle of happy hunger and sleepy gluttony. Flushes of renewal pulsate from within to the skin's surface, brightening, reddening, washing, and ultimately rewewing the face. If disturbed during the drowse, the psyche and its fine balance will careen off to tangential and unpredictable outcomes. The lolling torpor must be uninterrupted. Then, after the stupor passes, and the flush recedes, leaving a refreshed, happy, dreamy countenance, and a mind awakened for clever fun and brisk strolls, from giddified hunger to deep sated snoozing, an ideal is attained.

CCIE, IQ, SPF, MIT, CR, and TNS Societies, principals, lifestyles, validations, geniuses, methuselahs, selenophiles, visionaries, and forward thinking quacks, countlessly congregate on the hilltop and plot the infinitely complex dietary future of humanity. The snow white minerva showers them with glitter and raindrops. The cellular automata that must be plotted and tabulated strain the hypersonic intellects and the bleeding edge creatives. The protein dot, passing through cell #AAA000F and popping out of stormy shore loop #G0TH1C, trips off harmlessly into the ocean and recycles itself in the carboniferous ether. Vast wedges loom overhead with tie fighter squadrons ready to assail. The world is a fire star. The sunny dale and the starry glen wildly fuse and disentangle in the same sphere as the populous but untetherable, WIMPs. Before placid serenity returns, broken waves must batter the rocks until satisfied, and heat must be channelled harmlessly, through insulated conduits, out of the metasystem. The sleeming eremite is roused, but gently, and is soon again softly sleeping.