Until I reach my own ration of irrationality, I remain, yours truly...
With some rare exceptions, we all are vast repositories of unused, unexpressed thoughts that come to us at inopportune moments, moments when pen and paper or keyboards are either unavailable or inconvenient. Thoughts that prey on us as we lie in bed or as we drive from one place to another are often lost to the conscious mind. These are thoughts that warrant expression but remain locked in the shadowland of our individual cranial undergrounds, personal catacombs we maintain deep within our amazing computational expanses.
We write to get our thoughts out to where they might be noticed by other organisms who, like ourselves, carry their own burden of unexpressed expression smothered within their own singularities giving them the ability to appreciate the screamings of another similarly burdened creation.
The science fiction concept of "the Borg" is intriguing in its approach to reality. The question of how to tie together one to another in a mutual intellectual internet operating over the pathways given us even as they are hidden from us is one that warrants serious scientific inquiry. Many of us believe the pathways are there. They enable us to communicate as though through intuition. We find ourselves thinking of another at the precise time when something which may remain undone is being thought of by the other person sitting or working alone at quite a different location. Moments before the phone rings, we think of the caller. Thousands of miles of separation are insufficient to prevent these communications, slight though they may seem. How then might we discover and learn the code and the means to access this mode of information transfer? Must the other person be thinking of us for the communication to happen? Might we be able to learn to utilize another's internal database from afar?
I believe there is a way-- the question is how might we find it.
Sven (an occasional nom-de-plum given to me by my friend Ricky Wallace)
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