How old is time itself?

 by shaun lawton 

    There was an evolution of imagery that began when I sketched an eyeball  with some oil pastels many years ago, and I ended up scanning it at a decent enough resolution to render a .jpg which I used online when I began my first blog which I called triggerdreams, and happens to be located at that domain in blogspot.  I also grabbed triggerdream in the singular so that someone else didn't occupy within too close of a proximity for my own comfort.  

     I've begun one blog in my expanding blogdom of thorns devoted to posting uncovered poems from the old days, but I can't recall offhand what I called it.  I'll find it when I go digging through the archives. For now I need to put an illustration in just to keep things exciting.  

    There's no accounting for the mechanism of time itself, for which we are indebted to on the off chance it operates in an unexpected, asynchronous and or with an aperiodic suddenness bestowing a surging sense of primality. A devotion to coming to terms with resting secure on the face of it all comes from seeing how far along the twisted continuum of time we've come. 

    We are all carried into the light floating on our backs like organisms pressed between two frames on an operating table examining a cross section of our cellular anatomy.  But I digress.

   I ran my eyeball oil pastel through deep dream generator with some qualifying text prompts. 

   The results came out in a startling hyper realism that captures a deeper level of reflection just perfect for the representation of what I'm doing with my poetry blogs and the freezine of fantasy and science fiction.  

   They both lead to my imprint plasma press which I fashioned in the forge of my reader's most feverish dream, a fantasyland comprised of the all the best elements which made up the adventures of Doc Savage, the arresting fantasy lands of middle-Earth, the swashbuckling romance of the many shades of an Eternal Champion as presented in the multiverse wrought by Michael Moorcock, aimed at and centered in the cross hairs of Stephen King's Dark Tower series, echoing the seven book installments of a template seemingly as old as time itself, which brings up the question . . . how old is time itself, anyhow? 

     If time itself could age at all, then what, exactly, would that imply?  Does time itself represent a fractal of a greater temporal whole?  These questions point a finger at the moon.  Itself an oblique symbol, or reflection if you will, of eternity's face.     

Synthographic evolutions

 

Time's Indigo Mystery Explained

by shaun lawton 

 universe  multiverse omniverse  reality 

never to be thought of as synonymous 

retrying time's indigo mystery explained 

extending the one map that is the territory 

articulating vines like fingers from a hand 

leaving behind nothing but clues telling a story 

I learned from other colonies of synapses like mine

trying again and again to recapture the glory 

you and I let slip through our fingers this time 

 

plasma press call to action

 we are on the cusp of delivering a series of perfectbound paperback books.  First with Ron Holbrook of Sahome Productions. We've got a four volume set coming out plus a stand alone book of sixty poems. 

   And we're working on another one currently for 2025 called New Resolutions.  A call to action is in order.  We need these books and we need them post haste. 

   Younger generations of kids need to understand the thrill of literary escape.  There's a history of childhood lit memories that we all have in common with a shared iconography of story situations and the odd fleet of characters. Well it's time for a whole new world of characters who populate the subPrime dimensions. These are worlds that exist in time we can get to if we follow the proper route. 

 

 

Outtake 27

 It cannot be stressed enough the residual dynamics hitherto  for rendered and permeable to another standard of interpretation can only gather an equivalence of reactionary stimuli whenever disparate groups or aggregates of colonies are interspersed with one another, and for enough time to make a difference it doesn’t even matter whether you can add it up in your mind or put it down on paper. Reality is always going to be a compounded of another disorderly magnitude of referential difference. This is not something that can be measured in coherent or pragmatic study. It’s simply the conclusive evidence of an institutionalized situation, a lot of people think of it as a tragedy but it’s an ongoing story. We’re all starring in. None of it makes any sense to the people reading it. It’s when you’re living it that you can just keep on going with what’s happening