Fantasy - An Abstract Tale
In the Groove or Descent to the Orchestra
(Denne fantasy-historie fra fremtiden er foreløbig tilgængelig på engelsk, indtil jeg finder frem til den første nedskrivning, som er på dansk. Jeg har den i en skuffe, men kan ikke huske hvor lige i øjeblikket.)
   We are slowly descnding into the huge information spiral. The time is now 3244 after the year Zero which was the year when History turned upside down, and the Masses won the Future for themselves. Since then everything has been  quite the opposite of the situation of the past: it was the Great Revolt.
   We have to seek downwards as we have this yearning in our blood, inherited from our ancestors, all the way back to the Apes which were first to seek down, from a higher state than our earthbound farmland, from the high trees, in the green light in the treetops, close to the sunshine which gave everything life. They too have been forced to seek another level of existence, for a reason unknown to us, because some of them actually stayed behind and were intelligent enough to stay there and profit by it. They avoided the accusation of being the main cause to war which had never taken place until there were cultivated fields to conquer with our first tools, arms.
   Those still living on top of the green world are peaceloving creatures, in harmony with their surroundings, as in the Grove of Academe where life was platonic, full of hope and expectations.
   Around us we have the long, winding Hydra of Our Time, consisting of projects which are ideas that we only touch as tangent to the circular work on the computerized drawing boards. Rainbow herrings, shells falling from our eyes like skin cells from our bodies every moment while we are disappearing and growing. When everything is calculated thoroughly, through and through, we will always, with no exception, understand, even before the project is finished, that it must be just as incomplete as we ourselves are, with our incomplete premises - compared to what it could be if we were corrected, infinitely. One never gets away with anything that way and is never finished but we are not lost or sorry after all. Great Progess happens in Small Things.
   Anyway, the basis for the established machine and distribution culture has been organized so well by now that no reason is to be found supporting the view that enything should be changed.
   Neither is there any reason to leave the really good inventions to the past. Changes can only become improvements, not changes. If they were changes, the result is not better but worse. So one should never have made them. You can try as much as you want to change the technique of Leonardo´s paintings but you will not succeed in getting a better picture from that state of mind which is present in a Leonardo picture, causing the Hypnosis and your appraisal, accompanying your perceptions. One cannot really copy it. Well, you can try to do it once more but the result will only be a copying. The price every individual has to pay to do this to any greater extent can be very high because it requires so much work for such a long time that a strange feeling which is permanent may occur, a feeling that one has lived vainly in a time already worked out without having lived in one´s own time, during the span of time in which one was imprisoned by the hypnotic influence of the past. (Does überwältigung der vergangenheit mean being overwhelmed or conquering the past? Defeat or victory? Who can tell? Especially when History is over). There may be a melancholy beauty in such a feeling, like Leonardo´s, but who knows in the future? If there is any future without past.
   But the Norm is abnormal in a Standard, an Ideal. How it must have confused some aspiring pupils of the Great Masters that those Geniuses who were elcted to be the Norm of their Time and thus Eternally Valid, were so often so special and Unattainable in the wholeness of their work or its Division, sometimes called Split. Holism as most readers will know by now is seeing how the whole is present in every little part of what´s created. Nevertheless each part is different from the whole.
   Some stand as solitary figures. Like the British master printer John Baskerville who let himself be buried standing in his own garden. It seems frightening to most people to think of standing erect forever but not to John Baskerville - on the contrary it must have been attractive to him. He was special.
  We acknowledge this, and moreover we simply know too much to dare touch any of those factors which have given us the security we know and enjoy. Or believe we enjoy, or have. And we do not want to be swallowed by our own ideas; we place ourselves beside them without letting us be tied to them. That we consider to be our privilege. Compared to other ages we are super-privileged.
   Nevertheless the number og animals and men has shrunk considerably. That the population shrinks is simply due to the fact that nobody is conscious of it. We do not notice that a smaller population is a problem when the need of children in agricultural work is no longer persistent. There is no scarcity - but how should that be a problem? No need of having more.
   The following will show that it will not be possible to move people around any more to create new, different needs and thus new scarcity.
   Everyone thinks a lot, draws and has excellent ideas, one must certainly say. They are circulating in clubs in which they are discussed and evaluated. Everybody learns from one another. All of us are pupils, and all of us are teachers.We are, both as pupils and as teachers, constantly training to learn learning, and to teach about renewing ourselves. As if such a need exxisted.
   But the last flowering of the Silicon crystallization in Society has diminished again because chips had become so perfect, or at least almost so perfect, that no one cared to change something which was so unchanging. They go on working in their circuits, functioning as a synthetic brain without us, Industry´s own head, and they steer the Robots, their hands and feet. If conditioning had been continued for any considerable time with us as actors and co-actors we might have been dead by now.
   We are superfluous. We have made ourselves superfluous.
   The intellectuality we cannot stop cultivating is Pure Art, and as such of infinite worth. It can never attain the Usual Value deriving from Usefulness; therefore it can only be measured by its Beauty, the Quality produced by Being in spite of Usefulness.
   Like a beautiful woman (and now sex discrimination begins again because no one knows which woman is beautiful and which is ugly, in any absolute sense) as a representative of all women who together definitely are beautiful if anything is beautiful and moral. And all men, including women, girls and boys should be, or at least may have been.
   Or rather a type. A figure, a wax figure, a mannequin, a Pygmalion. As long as it is not a machine it can be beautiful. If it is ugly or beautiful depends upon the appraisal of the different times, that is, of tempora et mores which by some are together called morals. Or morale. Or point. Meaning. It is meant to be that way. In that fashion. Fashion. A model.
   The maelstrom is the anti-historic history in which Ideal is living. History as such has been brought to a stop which means that it is Itself History and no longer History. Only the Stress of Impossibility is still standing. "It is impossible!", we must say about everything we invent. Because it is unnecessary. Superfluous. Rationalistic fellow humans tell us with pleasure if we are forgetting. They too are superfluous.
   Long ago we arrived at Utopia, the best of all world. The world which is Nowhere. We cannot aspire in any material sense as we are in full control over all the universal goals which our aspiration is touching at the present - a fact we have considered and consequently dwelt upon as the fact it is. We cannot any longer set a ladder to the Moon in a dream; we have reached the Moon Itself long ago, as far behind us as the Chinese wall was to our ancestors when it was first discovered. It can never become a real Moon ladder any more. Only an Iron Ladder. Or a Fact Ladder! In a Factory. But that, of course, can have its charm too!
   The step is taken, it´s done. Factum est!
   Affluence: the River down here runneth over. But the Plateau up there above the Canyon in which the River has cut itself a bed during all Time, it stays dry.
   Civilization gathers down here while the Level up there stays desert dry even if it in any practical sense is under cultivation to feed us. Feeding isn´t a problem any more, therefore it doesn´t mean anything to us mentally. In our bubble world it is desert up there as it was to the cities of the Middle Ages outside the protecting Town Wall. Shunned from the thoughts of the Right Thing To Do.
   The method of further investigation cannot be calculated any longer towards it s end without going to pieces in internal contradictions. Concepts alone are hurdles we cannot cope with intil the scouts have charted all positions in the Universe, and we have acquired facts. Billions, trillions, myriads of them.
   This is the reason why it is here on Earth, and perhaps the Moon and Venus, that we during the next 100 years are still going to work, in order that the next generations can live and go on.
   That much we know. Conscience is accompanied by melancholy!

   The sides of the Maelstrom consists of pitch-black, shining thought plasma. Like a drop of water we glided down them in a spiral, listening. Along a mass of frozen ideas which are like music on tape and notation, music which is not  being played, matrices which shall never feed new objects, almost like a recording from the good old days, not suited for modern record players. Nevertheless essential stuff.
   There is absolutely no use for them. Of course the Maelstrom is an image only - if one does not possess concrete imagination. To those - very few - with such a faculty to imagine thoughts as figures (of speech and pictures, even three-dimensional and dynamic) in a real space and  with real movements, perhaps even thoughts and words being spoken, and in conversation with other figures in a changeable and dramatic world or universe, a spatial-material forming ability, existence must be somewhat of a Hell.
   We, however, do not think ourselves  into the massif behind the spiral wall. We stay in reality, and with our feet on the ground. In the ground, actually, deep down in it. Working on it.
   Fantasies of Hell are consistent with the sense of space, and with fears of space, mostly about falling. Falling to the ground is not nice,  because of the gravity. But falling into space is even worse as there is no limit to the falling. Or rising, one should probably say if it were in scientific terms. This was not done before the Great Change.
   But we cannot fall as we are gliding along the spiral wall of our recollection, in a spiral we ourselves are creating, leaving firm beliefs behind.
   Nothing can happen to this drop of water on the green leaf of the world; the leaf is lying along the bottom of a bowl. It is a cultivated leaf, cut off from nature and put inside our civilization. It is a little cold, and must soon be substituted by a new green leaf, to remind  us of the natural world up there. It is an artificial situation but naturalistic. It could be the painter´s imagination of a leaf with a raindrop had it not been for the fact that it is the opposite: what the painter has to show of reality in time. Our moment in this painted reality is the only living reality. Everything above us is only a sum of stages in the past. A necessary condition but bygone.
   We are the Explorers of Depth, the Implorers.
   Human beings of the past could dream and think that the world would necessarily advance, ascend and improve. They were right, and maybe they were even so happy to see it until the Explosion became absolute and changed into Implosion.
   We, on the contrary, have a long time ago reached the level where everything functions faultlessly, in which more and more of us simply do not care to think of the fact of the good coditions we possess in the perfect a-historical time after  anti-historical, that day when one day will be exactly like the other day.
   No news, because there are no news of a real nature, only news from science, the premises of which must always be the same. The usual, the used out, common surface of the Earth, is congruent with those premises and the laws of Nature but we cannot make them once again, and cannot find news there.
   The Weather is there, though! We can observe it on television. Physically it does not touch us in the living bubble below the plexiglass dome. The one in which we glide downwards as in a snailshell, very s-l-o-w-l-y.
   We let ourselves glide down the deepening cone. One day, or one night, there may come a point in this, otherwise endless, journey towards our own life´s evening, and its reddening darkness, and its deep tone in Our Mind. SOMETHING which may be able to turn development into Evolution.
   If we are hoping it is doubtful. But we do not fear it! While we draw nearer to the 'dreadful' about the still stage in the lowest point we tend to become less fearful.
   It is our philosophy to go deeper while we remember the good about the dreaded old times when one still had to hope. We remember them as a good time.
   Deeper into Universe, deeper into Matter, deeper into Emptiness, deeper into Consciousness the Order of which we have found to be consistent with ourselves. We know inside ourselves that Inner and Outer are One, and that is enough. More than enough to us.
   But should it happen that something  unexpected after all did occur, something entirely new - that there was still something we were not able to foresee, we would cry out a unanimous Hallelujah and plunge into the new problem, like babies with their eyes gleaming in the light of falling stars reflected in the glassworld and the glass birds on the tree of life in winter called the Christmas Tree which is Evergreen. A real problem, what a sight! Fantastically real! That is the sight we long for as the best we know thinking of.
   Till then we live to see and know the necessary harmony that can be recognized in ourselves and in one another. The harmony that ought to be in the World right NOW. That which is actually present here even if we do not see it. The World exists. Yes, it is good to be down here!
   We have skipped the digging-in-complex of former ages. Now when we know the whole story of History, its beginning and its end, and our own a-historical Time, NOW, which contains its not-being anything at all. We do not fear anything now when we are aware that we are at any Time close to the bottom of our own Situation.
   Nothing has to be feared but fear itself, and we do not fear it any more.
   Does the reader think that such thoughts seem whirling? If that is the case, the reason is that the Universe and the Order are of a whirling nature. One has to follow the laws of Nature, and remember that the end result which astronats reached each and every one of them on the long journey of their life, actually was the toy for children rigth now, that it was their Meaning as the fruit is the Meaning of the Tree. Golden Apples.
   One must follow the law of Nature if one wants to attain Harmony in the midst of Confusion, the confused spaces between words and inside them. Uncertainty, unlike the measurable meeting a definition, most evident in the not-mathematical words but present in quite as high a degree in the mathematical terms compared to their real goal, that of the entire Universe.
   The coming generation will build on facts flowing out of the data banks. With our new words and their own. An example:
   We unite the Meanings of the words Supervision, Outlook, Horizon, Watching, Insight, Greatness, Comprehension, Perspective, Face Awareness, Space Awareness, Body Awareness, Space Suit, Space Station, Station, Stationary, Dynamo, Dynamics, Dynamic, and many others, in a rounder and more faceted word, a more 'useful' (in a linear connection as growth culture for new ideas), a more beautiful, more expressive, singing, more invoking or more picturesque word:
                            BIRD´S  EYE
BRIAR, too, acquires a new meaning, like RECORDING in its time.
   Thus there are words which have for a long time possessed the special ability of swallowing incredible amounts of meaning and giving them back again, in smoke and sight. Magic! Unexplainable:
                           "THIS IS NOT A PIPE"
   Our life began in the Cave in pre-historic Time - when we aspired to the Sun and Life, the life we wished to take as our own, acquire and acknowledge as prey, instead of just giving it away for the sake of others. The Sun behind the Shadows on the Wall. Now we know the Light (at first we were scared of it as Nature, then learned to fight Fear and think for ourselves from doing that) because we are in the possession of a mnemotechnique enabling us to free thought from the place where we are right now without causing it to lose the connection it has with the Present, and thus we circumscribe everything mentally.
   The human being of the past had to live more unprotected. They used their condition for the same purpose; that is why we are able to remember more and still more. They are also our recollection now, inside us as our memory. In this Hand, in this Script of Shadows which the coming generations will look at and through.
   As long as they remember there will be something to remember, to cling to, in the whirling abstraction we call the World.
   There is no cold wind coming up from here. Peace is no dream. It is only a little Silver River which has cut itself though massive rock - and then ourselves, infinitely farther from certainty and direction.
   A small pang of envy: it must have been exciting to descend into the crater of a volcano when you once cherished and worshipped Nature in the most intense way, in the original form of Pantheism.
   When we still did not know everything.
   And a worry which would have suited a politician of former times: imagine if one of our descendants breaks the enchantment and materializes the ideas! If so, it might happen that everyone would suffocate as from lava.
   The old prohesy would then be realized: "Everything will once upon a time be used against you!"When Judgment, as always, comes from up above. We cannot do anything but wait for it to arrive, so much has been done.
   Our life is artistic. Our Destiny is tied to the Muses. Those who live on the Mountain.
   Life down here in the Cone is our Scene. From here the Song ascends.
   Above everything it turns into Light. We see it reflected from the shining stars. As in the beginning when we saw animals and humans, gods and heroes, in the constellation of the stars.
   After all we have begun again.

                          ONLY MUSIC MEETS THE DEMANDS OF SPACE

(The End)
The Ideal Theatre from Antiquity where all ears are receiving the words from the stage below the Amphitheatre, Orchestra. It still is an Ideal but what did it mean before it was made into Reality?
A propos ophobning af nyheder
Forestillingen om den enorme spiral af informationer uden om udgravningen i nuets Grand Canyon bekræftes af en artikel i Berlingske Tidende 4. december 2011: Retrospektive nyheder

The image of an enormous spiral of stored information around the implorers in History´s Grand Canyon is confirmed by an article in the daily newspaper Berlingske Tidende december 4. 2011 called: Retrospective News.
"The present - and the future - is burdened by an enormous block of indigested history.Information, words, pictures binding politicians to the past but without the merciful filter. Source reliability seems to have vanished when news are fabricated based on old snapshots, loose quotes and funny tv cuts.
Jack Keruac
Fra Best Life Advice from Jack Keruac citeres her specielt dette: "The only truth is music".

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15.07 | 16:21

Om man kan være helt sikker på, at Albert Borgaard er født i Holbæk på Djursland, spørger du. Jo, det kan man, men famieskab er måske en anden sag.

15.07 | 09:29

Hej jeg ledte efter oplysninger om Albert Borgaard og havnede her. Jeg vil gerne vide hvordan man med sikkerhed kan sige at han er født i Holbæk Jylland.

04.11 | 13:29 og tlf.65325018

03.11 | 19:38

Hej jeg har arvet et kunstværk af Anette Lind og vil gerne have lidt info om værket. Er det muligt at få hendes tlf nr eller mail.

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