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What is the meaning of what philosophy tries to tell us? There are cases where it wants to tell us the true meaning of a concept. Maybe this is always what it wants to do. It then uses argument to tell you why a certain version of an concept is the case. When someone finds the argument agreeable they at least partially (or maybe wholly) become an agent for that system. Heidegger identifies this issue as the question of being. What is the being of something and hence what is the being of being?

The satisfaction that we feel (upon finding something that seems to answer an issue) has two potential explanations. One is that we drift into camps for different philosophies. This is what I wrote about by the notion of manifestationism. This is the idea that, owing to the irrefutable nature of the philosophies, the competing ontologies cannot outcompete each other; rather the agents (philosophers) only choose to adhere to different philosophies based on conscious or unconscious biases.

The second is a more radical conception. This is that there is a correct version. However the correct version is not necessarily one that alligns with an external reality, rather one that aligns with a deep bodily unconscious cognition (as Hayles would call it). In this version, the bodily unconscious already knows what is the meaning of for example, photography. It knows what photography is to the organism, the impact of it, how conceptual interaction interacts with the flat surface and the metaphysics drawn out from this. These exist. Philosophy (or non-philosophy) is trying to access these unconsious bodily understandings that we already have to produce an actually possible true answer. This will not appear in the sense of something proved correct, but rather only with a sequence of argument will give a ‘feeling of correctness’.

The satisfaction we feel in successful philosophy is a kind of almost catharsis at aligning our conscious intuitions or logical processes (either could find the right spot) with this bodily understanding which is already there. This is interesting, as it does not guarantee any particular a priori about reality as such, but it does suggest that a kind of anamnesis is possible, is real. This knowledge would be human actual philosophy. There is a kind of a hint as to difficulties of establishing such knowledge by argument. That is, the philosophical arguments would only be paths that lead you to this harmony with the bodily knowledge, not to be mistaken as abstract procedures that could definitively lead you there. They could be followed badly.

Two consequences seem to appear. One is that the manifestationist issue of multiple ontologies could re-appear through the failure to tread the corrrect paths appropriately, and thus also the failure to find the same places. These issues could be compounded by too much emphasis on seeking the validity of paths, using abstract systems i.e. logic. The second would be that different bodies have different realities within them. That is, deeply encoded in different organisms are quite radically different ways of treating the world (this would then re-align with the manifestationist position). These differences then mean that different cathartic satisfactions must be found to obtain the correct remedy. In Wittgenstein’s terms, there may be different shaped bottles for different shaped flies and different methods to escape them.

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I don’t know what’s going on with any of it any more. That’s not to say I ever did, but somehow it all seems maybe more pointless, I’m not sure. Purpose may be what’s missing, but what is purpose? Is it not just a kind of ego desire for someone to read and take note? Take note for what? Creativity is its own end to a point. There is a sense of wanting to have the cake and eat it. That is on the one hand, it is so clear that by an large the agent/accretive theory is generally (give or take an ontology here and there) correct, so I am nothing but an agent for certain informational powers that act through me (we all are). In this sense I cannot author anything as it, in the sense of the old CEO term NARP, I am just a regional processor. On the other hand getting the central accretion of self to understand this such that it can act without desire to have the sensation of production or failure is difficult.

Philip K Dick has a theory of time moving backwards communicating from the future. He manages to crowbar a teleology into this that I am less sure of, however the backward flow of time has some sense of truth about it. There is a Landian flavour to it, though the Landian version is more sinister. In Dick’s it is the holy spirit that is the backward time flow. This backwards time flow is perpetual and may be tuned into; we experience this as ESP etc.

Like myself Dick talks in terms of a pure informational substance that interacts with a kind of material reality. Weirdly like myself, Dick also talks of accretions, a term I thought was singular to myself. He may not mean exactly the same thing but the coincidence of terms is clearly synchronicitous and the usage similar. The backwards flow is clearly an ontological feature that I never particularly took into consideration, though I can see it makes a valid manifestation of possibility that could have agents adhering to it. In my terms, this would be a backwards projection of accretions from the future; why this would happen though is outside of the scope of my phenomenology. Dick must adhere (I think) to some sense of pneuminous interference with putative materiality. Either that or the information is all already present in our experience and it is simply our attuning awareness that perceives or does not perceive it.

Then there are numbers; it is also strange how Dick focusses on 2-3 74 as a thing. Surely he was aware of the whole 23 phenomenon -though there seems no mention of it. 74 is also highly significant as it suggests 47, the number that has been part of my own guiding thread. Indeed 74 is just as relevant in a sense as the two numbers form an oscillating pattern at the heart of base 10.

And then there are the bases, and how base 10 is a filter through which we see reality. Land knows this too an performed an unusual decoding that crosses the pneuminous-vector barrier with considerable potency (the numogram). An in the bases, in the arbitrary months and years and institutions we exisits. We exist in the pneuminous layers of conceptuality. This is the demiurge. Jehovah or Yahweh, an old Israelite war God sits smack in the centre of endless accretive layers of mad Godhood.

It might even want to be giving real reality, but all it can give its pneuminous accretive reflection. If magick is real and accretions can affect reality on a transcendental pivot, then the mad God is bending things to its image. The layers are all its allies, or most of them. The months are real as accretions, the letters are real as accretions because accretions are ontologically effective not simply psychologically passive.

What is the hyperqabalah? It is nothing but the desire to reaccrete the demiurge. To show it’s contingency and align it with the primal power of 23 and 47, whose numerical realities transcend base 10.

Joe Hoover is everywhwere. He is so omnipresent we cannot see him.

This is the second centre that closes down on itself and creates self consistent reality. I don’t know any way out as such on mass but I think one thing the occult type practices do is innure one to the power of the accretions. That is, the silencing of the mind and the raising of awareness.

But this is very very hard and has to be understood as a particular kind of liberation.

Do I mean all of this?

Maybe.

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A driving force causes the essential pairing that is only disclosed to the Canaanites. A hole lot of sense it will make to you to comprehend this line of reasoning. It is well known that the inhabitants of Sirius have knowledge of Joe Hoover. One may legitimately wonder if this is indeed a divine sphere. When the ambiguous figure that is defined is imbued with a strong desire to do something we must paye a ten shun. A Loki figure is suggested, even enforced as a cooking utensil. Fabrication is doubtless a present. Cloth is knowledge or so they say. These hints try hard to bring us closer. This is literally a path. There is nothing here-hare. A white hare? A coarse hare being chaste. Givods this day. Speed is time and time is a line.

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So now Alex knew where the troll (or rather troll wife) was; but what to do now? Should be try to sneak into where the troll wife lived? Should he try to defeat her? Should he try to befriend her? Alex realised he would be rash to run to the door right now, so satisfied with his findings he went back to Well.

Well was stacking a trolley for shelving. ‘Well!’ Called Alex, who raised his head to greet him. ‘I found the troll, or rather as she turned out to be, the troll wife, she lives in the disabled patrons toilet on the first floor!’ ‘You’re quite sure?’ ‘Oh yes, I followed her and saw her go in. I think she saw me too.’ ‘This is exciting Alex, now here’s what you must do next. Tomorrow night, when we are as sure we can be that she is back in there, you must knock on the door. She will not answer at first, but then you will say ‘Troll wife, troll wife come to the door, a lad seeks work, a lad who’s poor’. When you say this, she will open the door and you must repeat your request for work. Then she will complain that she cannot pay you wages, but you will say (despite what you said about being poor) that you will pay your own wages and you will offer her the coin you have carried with you the whole time. Then she will laugh, and take the coin from you. After this she will give you a job. More than this I cannot say.’ Alex fingered the silver coin in his pocked in excitement. ‘But we cannot do this tonight?’ ‘No Alex’ Well replied, ‘You must wait until tomorrow.’

So on the following night, Alex waited in his best clothes, on the first floor, just out of sight of the disabled toilet entrance. Sure enough, by and by along comes the troll wife, glancing around her to make sure no one has seen her. With a last furtive glance, she enters the toilet and the door shuts behind her. Now fair trembling with nerves, Alex walked towards the door and gave a loud rat-a-tat upon it. Alex stood and waited, but no one came to the door so at length he spoke as forcefully as he could ‘Troll wife, troll wife, come to the door, a lad seeks work, a lad who’s poor.’ Then there came a great thumping noise that got closer and closer until with a terrible crash the door was flung open. There in front of Alex was the huge troll wife, looking down upon him. ‘Who knocks and shouts and asks for work?!’ says she. ‘I do mistress troll wife, my name is Alex and I would work for you if you will have me’ ‘Well Alex’ she boomed ‘I would indeed let you work for me, for there’s plenty to do, but how to pay you wages, there’s the trouble, and without wages there is no job.’ ‘If you please mistress troll wife, I can pay my own wages’ and in saying so, he produced the shiny silver coin from his pocket.

Was the troll wife amused? I’ll say she was, she laughed and laughed and took the coin gently from his hand. ‘Very well Alex, very well’ she rumbled through her laughter ‘You may work for me and this shall be your wages, I will see that you get it, if you do a good enough job.’

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So Alex worked in the library and shelved the books. He shelved them well and shelved them quickly and soon became a favourite amongst the head librarian. But there were other assistants and operatives who were jealous of Alex’s success and favour. Now in the past the head librarian had had a book of great power that had been taken from him much to his sorrow. So with this in mind the jealous assistants and operatives went to the head librarian and said: ‘You like the new assistant well do you not sir?’ ‘Yes I do!’ replied the head librarian ‘Then sir, you should know that Alex has been boasting that if he wanted to he could retrieve your book for you if he so wanted to.’

This gave the head librarian pause for thought about Alex, and he had him summoned to his office. ‘Alex’ he said ‘I hear you have been saying you could retrieve my lost book if you so wished!’ To which the astonished Alex replied ‘Oh no sir, not me sir! I never said such a thing!’ ‘But how’ replied the head librarian ‘did it come about that people said this if you did not say it?!’’. To which Alex replied ‘I can only guess at how this can have come about, and I have not said it, but if it pleases you then, though I do not know how, I will retrieve your book.’ Well, at this the head librarian was overjoyed, so much so that Alex rose still further in his favour. This maddened the jealous co-workers still further, yet their ire died down as they saw that Alex must still perform the task, a task he had clearly no idea how to achieve.

As the days went by Alex pondered hopelessly how he might even begin the task, so the head librarian’s patience and high esteem began to wane as the precious book did not return. One day Well saw Alex shelving slowly and sadly and asked him what was the matter. ‘It is a sore mess I have landed in Well,’ said Alex ‘for the head librarian has bade me retrieve his lost and precious book and I but no clue how to even begin to seek it.’ At this Well was silent for a moment. Alex waited nervously; at length Well began to speak ‘Ah yes the Libra Codex, it was taken many years ago.’ ‘But who took it?’ ‘No one’s too sure but there are rumours that somewhere in the library lives a troll, like as not it was him that took it.’ ‘A troll in the library! You’re joking with me Well.’ ‘That I am not Alex, for in truth it is not rumour but fact; I have seen this troll on the third floor. I’m fairly sure he comes out when he thinks the other folk have gone. On this occasion I was working quietly amongst the journals when I heard the main floor doors open. I assume naturally it’s a patron or staff member, for though the building was quiet, there were a few of us around. Anyway, I glanced up across towards the door and there he was, 8 foot of troll, stooping as he went. Where he was going I do not know for I quickly lost track of him, and that Alex is all I can tell you.’ ‘If there’s a chance this troll has the book I must find him.’ ‘I daresay that’s true Alex, but how? There’s the question. He could be anyway where in here, he might not even still be here! What’s more trolls are cunning, if they want to hide, they can hide and if they have a mind they can be vicious too! Like as not that troll eats the odd student that goes missing.’ ‘Students go missing?!’ ‘Yes they do Alex, not too infrequently either. It may down to them running away, or drowning, or disappearing into the walls (like you appeared from the walls) or maybe they end up a troll’s supper. Who’s to say?’ ‘Well, will you show me where you saw the troll walking and where he must have come from.’ ‘I will that Alex, follow me.’

So Well showed Alex where he had seen the troll. The track ran from the ancient stairwell hall of the third floor, through the heavy black doors that lead to the floor itself, and round the side of the dusty, hoary journal collection ‘After which I lost sight of him’ said Well. Alex looked at the way, and Alex pondered. After a time he says to himself ‘I’ve nought better to do here than to watch the same track and see if the troll won’t return the same way, so that’s what I’ll do.’ So Alex set himself a place on the third floor, from which he could comfortably watch where the troll had been seen. He also had to think, how he was sat, so he might arise to follow with mininum noise but also how he might stay comfortable, for surely he had no idea how long he might be in this place. Well of course Alex must work too, so he resolved himself to this, when he must work, so he would, but when he needn’t he would sit (this was his solution) on a chair, positioned as best he could to see the walkway of the troll and yet be obscured from it, for he reasoned that, from a chair he could raise himself quite noiselessly and be ready in a position to follow the troll.

Alex sat and he sat. He sat for a day between work and not troll appear, he sat for another day and no troll appeared, but on the third day, just as he was despairing that he would never catch sight of the troll, he heard the soft thumping of feet coming from the stairwell. Now Alex had heard the sounds of many peoples feet come and go in this time, so he knew well enough what a human approaching sounded like; this however was quite different and immediately drew his attention. Alex waited still as a mouse and peered cautiously through the bookcases to the path where he thought the troll (if it be he) might pass. Then there clear as anything passed down the same way as Well had described a huge Troll, treading, Alex thought, extremely lightly. Immediately and silently Alex rose from the chair and moved to keep track of the troll. He passed behind parallel book cases so the troll would not see him, and peering through these he managed to continue his pursuit.

Troll moved round the edge of the floor, looking at this and that as it went. Then when it reached the corner it bore round to follow the wall to its left. This lead the troll to the other stairwell, which it opened to the door to and descended. Stealthily as he could, Tom continued to follow, opening the stairwell door as silently as possible. He just rounded the bend of the stairs to see the troll exit the stairwell two floors down. Determined to not lose it, with the doors closed behind it, Alex fair leapt down the remaining stairs and swiftly opened and checked the floor (it was the first floor) hoping he had not lost it. Luckily for him he just caught a glimps of it going right down the edge of the first floor. Alex knew he must take a chance here or lose it. He leapt from the stairwell door way, across the walkway to behind the bookshelves. His only chance was to gamble on being able to cut off the trolls probably direction, which should mean it would reach the end of the floor and turn left. Alex wove in and out of the bookshelves, trying to diagonally beat the trolls trajectory. At last he found himself in a central corridor between two sets of shelves, looking down an arcade. In this unthinking exposed moment Alex stood central in the arcade looking down, however before he had chance to re-conceal himself, the troll walk past at the end of the floor, paused, and looked back up the path at Alex. The troll definitely saw him and now Alex could see it was not a troll as such but rather an old troll wife, huge, stoney and fierce looking. The troll-wife looked at Alex for only a moment, before —did he imagine it?- giving him the smallest of grins and continuing on her way. Alex sped down the arcade to keep sight, spun round the corner to hear and see the door to the toilet for disabled patrons click soundly. No further sign of the troll wife could he see.