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New Tangier: post #109 — TG.ME

New Tangier@newtangier · 62 subscribers Open in TelegramOpen

t.me/newtangier/109

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August 29, 2026 121

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Pretty sure that time is the experience of gravity as per the human mind, notably the human brain/nervous system. As we feel water as wetness, the transfer of energy as either heat or the lack thereof, etc. Etc. We experience gravity as the passage of time. Outside of our nervous systems, there is no time as we know it. It is a psychoneurological + quantum phenomenon. Time is simply an interpretation of the physical human form. I further think that gravity and therefore time is experienced by the human heart, which is vested with approximately 40,000 “neurons” of its own. How we feel in our hearts modulates and interacts with gravity and our experience of it as temporal passage. We would further have to consider the interaction between our nervous systems, time, gravity, and (necessarily) space. Technologies for interstellar space travel, which is basically synonymous with the manipulation of gravity and space and time, will be psychotronic in nature and will rest upon the understanding that our perception of time-space is primarily an issue of consciousness. For now, our consciousness is shepherded by our human nervous system, which is limited and conditioned by terrestrial, survival-based requirements and the cultural and belief systems that emanate therefrom. To expand into the stars, a foundational reorganization of our body-minds and, importantly, our subconscious architectures will be prerequisite. 36·Sep 25 A Confession My Lord, I loved strawberry jam And the dark sweetness of a [man’s] body. Also well-chilled vodka, herring in olive oil, Scents, of cinnamon, of cloves. So what kind of prophet am I? Why should the spirit Have visited such a [wo]man? Many others Were justly called, and trustworthy. Who would have trusted me? For they saw How I empty glasses, throw myself on food, And glance greedily at the [waiter’s] neck. Flawed and aware of it. Desiring greatness, Able to recognise greatness wherever it is, And yet not quite, only in part, clairvoyant, I knew what was left for smaller [wo]men like me: A feast of brief hopes, a rally of the proud, A tournament of hunchbacks, literature. — Czesław Miłosz 45·Sep 23

Photo 50·Sep 22

O’ what joy is this! You cast me out unto the black sky, Like the scattered milk of Life, Poured forth so generously to become the bodies of stars, Your droplets of life sustaining essence, Illuminate and cause all emergence of Light, From your toyful mind and into the infinity of your children. O’ what joy it is to taste you, To play among your manifold arms, Whose infinite reach expands into even the most destitute of shadows, There you grip me! You grasp! You clench me! My heart! It is crushed by you, All its blood pushed past its seams, A river of red life, Poured back into your lovely mouth. And so I am the fruit you have tended, I am the red berry you have warmed in the summer of your atomic creation, Eat of me and enjoy me: The careful work of your hands, Your child of many, Your lover, Your parent, Your whore and your bride, Your slave and your groom! Every particle of this body was always yours to reap, Pop me deeply red, Crimson on your tongue. O’ what joy this is! When your milk has gone old, And becomes blackened by the passage of time, And I am pulled to you across all aeons, Into the consuming draw of the hole you had left here, In my remembrance and so too of the World’s, Where you had once given all life, All returns to your perfectedness, Retrieved and made singular once again. O’ what joy you are! The one and my only choice, Matko Moja, Jedyna Niebiańska, Delect upon me, Taste this flesh you have birthed, Eat of it! Yes, drink of it! The wine that becomes ready for summer, The days that become short so the night of your brilliance grows long. And in the black sky, I will see my eyes swim with the light of every star, And in them, surely you will meet me, And I you; And we will know each other as One, And rejoice in the taste you had sowed in me. My mother! Devourer! O’ joy Herself! Terrible and irresistible, As I am to you, You Are to Me. 57·Sep 22

Photo 48·Sep 20

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