Monday, June 8, 2015
Suppose emergence of points in a space is like lives making their light in a field of Time, such that adjacencies tend to constellate like friends (or distant points network like “Friend”ing), so that connection—Meaning—is like a set of lights seen in line together or composing a region, perception forming a gestalt that can’t be traced to any few, like that Dalmatian. Now, think of a Jackson Pollock painting— “Convergence,” say. We know that “lines” in the drips result from Pollock moving over the field with a given dripping color (fleeting spaces belonging together in the same color—or being similar together), like a metropolitan distribution of topical tweeting—or like weather patterns once thought to show moving hands of gods.
Of course, we were the gods of Nature capturing our potential for painting authorship in the horizon. And a day’s TwitterVerse is a motley spirit of one inestimable commons.
But hey, who knows where one is, i.e., how The Center shows as our horizon.
And where is the distributed estate that shepherds that internal Peak,
that emerging Singularity?