Dew Platt - Dewlogic - Immaculate Regeneration

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HOW TO BECOME HUMAN

Here is the hypothesis as I speak: to wrong the universe, you must be divine, to exist in it, sublime, to renew it, the victim of a blast, to rob it, human.

Dew Platt

It is against the natural order of events and succession of such that every time my enemy throws stones that block my path, my path I see distinctly. His endeavors lie a waste in his time and space. My true path illuminates my mind, time irreverent.

Dew Platt

 To stop a fight between Petroc and me, Detroc takes us to see Mr. Dahbour, the professor. and the professor's futile efforts at gethering and sustaining intelligence redefines knowledge in a way never done before.

READ MR. DAHBOUR, THE MIND ROBBING PROFESSOR.  

NOTES -

The article length note on this work is titled FOOLHARDY.

                                          READ FOOLHARDY

Alone, within the crowd, living life and wondering why, these shackles always near my feet, keep setting me free.

Dew Platt

 Perched on a hilltop on 4D Street listening to the wind, Patroc suddenly appeared beside me. “You’re back,” I said excitedly. “But why is it I can’t feel the weight of your presence?” I asked. “What weight may be of the mind?” he asked. I squinted. “Would that be yours?” I asked. “Hush,” he said, only to point me in the direction of something increasingly loud. Down the hill was a crowd of people, feasting and dancing, all dressed in military outfits decorated in swastika symbols. I frowned. “What is this? World War Three happened and the Germans finally won?” I asked him.

“Look closely Dew,” he said pointing in a specific direction. Puzzled, I stood. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. In the crowd was someone unmistakable amidst the rest. An old man stood out with a Kippah on his head and a swastika tattooed to his forehead. “A Jew in Hitler’s Paradise?” I asked, almost rhetorically. I turned to Patroc. “What’s going on?” I asked. “I will be your guide,” he answered. I rushed down the hill. “Bind them,” I said. Midway down the hill I stopped. The energetic crowd was wrapped in a foggy bubble. “They can’t see clearly,” I said. “They might as well be blind,” Patroc answered. “I can’t see them either, unbind them,” I said.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, the energetic crowd was active again. “Code them, that should shut them up,” I said. The crowd formed a huge sign. “That’s a swastika,” I said. “You wanted them coded,” he answered. I raised my eyebrows. “I meant the double helix sort,” I said.  “Are you sure,” he asked? I flashed him an indifferent expression. “Okay,” he answered. The scene before me became that of a huge pile of loops that seemed to be on a never-ending string. “You should have thought about the uncountable number of cells involved,” Patroc said. I stared at the scene, silent for a brief moment before I said, “What the—” “Dew,” he called in caution.

“I can’t get anywhere with these,” I said, shaking my head. “The others are expected. The Jew is the specimen. Decode them,” I told him. The energetic crowd reappeared. “I won’t get anywhere with this either. Code them in the swastika form and isolate the Jew,” I said. I walked over to the Jew and found him wrapped in the foggy bubble. “Un-bubble him,” I said. Patroc raised his eyebrows before he smiled and tilted his head to the side. “Was that the word you intended?” he asked. I shook my head. “Unbind him will you Patroc,” I said.     

While the bubble was busted and the fog had cleared, the Jew continued to rob his eyes as if he could not see me. He was gray haired and gray mustache lined his upper lip. I frowned. “What’s going on with him?’ I asked Patroc. “He’s trying to adjust to new light. I call it fetal blindness. A baby can only see things clearly postnatal, in open light,” Patroc answered. “But he looks seventy,” I said. “Does he?” Patroc asked. When he finally opened his eyes, “what are you doing here?” he asked. “Who are you?” I asked. “I’m Mr. Baumrin. You’re not wanted here,” he said. I thought he was disoriented. “Do you know where you are? Are you in Hitler’s paradise?”

“Yes,” he answered. I squinted. “And you’re here of your own free will.” “Yes,” he answered. I couldn’t help the sarcastic smile. “Then I should now ask you why. Why?”

“Where Jews are not hunted, blacks are not wanted,” he answered. Puzzled, I frowned and turned to Patroc. “Is he kidding?” I asked. “He’s not kidding Dew,” Patroc answered. I retreated, scratching my head. ‘Something is really wrong,” I said. “Everything that should be right is wrong,” Patroc answered. “Worse, Hitler’s kind has evolved. The next question is how.” I said, retreated and began to pace. “Maybe he mutated, or one of Hitler’s army did, so do something with mutation,” I said.  

Patroc smiled. “I know you know better than that. Your curiosity is your scent but I need more than your scent here. I need specifics. I need the specific cause for this mutation you’re referring to, so I may be able to give you what you desire,” he said. I thought for a few moments before I exhaled. “I can’t think of one single cause or situation that will put a Jew willingly in Hitler’s paradise,” I said and stared Patroc’s way. “That leaves me with what,” I said and walked over to the Jew. “What—baby, shell or beast does he really look like?” I asked.    

“He’s standing before you,” Patroc answered. “Yes,” I answered, moving closer to Mr. Baumrin, “Is he?” I asked.  “You need a way around the mutation issue,” Patroc said behind me. “And so I do,” I said and rushed back to climb the mountain. On the hilltop I stared at the scene, thinking. When I came back down I faced Patroc again before I said, “What’s important is not what situation got him to be wrong. He is the what—he is that which is wrong with the situation. I can not isolate him and get anywhere with the what question.”

“He is?” Patroc asked. “He is,” I answered eyeing him suspiciously. “I need all of them this time, not just the Jew. I need you to code them the helix way, materialize and reflect them. Make the genetic string that is the Jew in Hitler’s paradise a single physical entity,” I continued. Patroc stood as he asked, “Are you sure?” I eyed him before I answered, “yes.” Rather than for what appeared before me to have me springing backward, it had me holding my stomach to sustain its content. He wasn’t a beast, but rather human, of decaying flesh and within him maggots thrived with activities. The nauseating effect of the maggot’s festivities and the magnifying effect of the mirrors that surrounded him got me on my knees. I tried holding back from puking. “What’s with the mirrors?” I asked. “You wanted a reflection,” Patroc answered.   

Patroc knelt beside me and said, “I was trying to get you ready for it. Taint the heart of the golden sun with a degenerative cell and watch it grow in darkness. While the darkness and the degenerative cell the sun may be able to purge, the cell can not purge itself of its essence. He did not make them stronger, he made himself weak. Amidst those he calls his kind, his brethren, he’s a degenerate.”  

Dew Platt

*Read the Note - MILLENNIA, BLEAK EVOLUTION

.In the border between 3D and 4D Street I met the handsome giant who stopped my progression. “It’s best you know the rules you break crossing worlds,” he said. Dressed in a brown blazer and white tie dotted in red, his expression was cool, his appearance charming. “To whom do I speak?” I asked looking up at him. “I am Patroc. You need my guide to master these realms,” he answered.

 I shrugged. “I don’t need your help. I can master things by myself.” He tilted his head, stared at me. ‘You can’t intimidate me,” I said. “Of course I can’t. In that case you don’t mind if I test your mastery.” He extended his hand and there was a pyramid standing with its base and apex divided between 3D and 4D Street. “Now ask a question as you may from that which you see,” he said.

 I stared at the apex of the Pyramid and asked, “What is intelligence?” “Is that your question?” he asked. I turned to him,” Yes it is. What’s the answer?” He shook his head. “I don’t give answers Dew. My trade is to guide your path to them. Now, which answer may you give, the skill to learn or that to reason?”  

 And for each world I gave both answers, and watched as the bricks of the pyramid came tumbling down to give a different shape, a different apex for each answer. After four different answers in two different worlds I felt conflicted. I faced him with a frown. “You should probably give me an answer,” I told him.

“I can’t Dew. You asked the wrong question,” he said.

As he turned to leave, “Wait! What are you, in which world may I find you?” I said. He smiled. “Again—” he started. “I know, you can not give an answer, so go ahead and do your guiding thing,” I told him.

He smiled and said, “What galaxy, what star, the sun or others, what planet of civilization can predict its own form or its life span? What can it say if its boundaries may hold its ends, that its doom may or may not be of its own making, or an accident of its cause? Bind a constant law to an unstable world and you have an existential variable.”  I frowned as I stared up at him. “What?” I asked.

He lowered his head and I saw that his iris was set in a beautiful but unpredictable shade of light grey. “I can not persist on transient laws but I exist in them.  You may or may not find me Dew, but if you choose, I shall be your guide in between worlds.” “I choose! I choose!” I hollered. In that instant, he was already gone.

*NOTES--How dare he deem our constant and universal laws as transient? But he's my creation so there is a reason for it. CHew on it. Use my contact page to ask me questions about my rants. But our discussions holds my discretion to be made public or not. Do fill in your email and your name (first name ok). Thanks.

Dew Platt

I closed my eyes and held a vision on Reality Street of the Tao of Cheat, a blooming green tree I had nursed for long. The tree towered strong over its bearings, droppings of rotten fruits none of which was healthy to eat. I opened my eyes to see him standing there, the one for whom I had kept the world on hold to have a moment true. But the too many trivial moments he craved depraved the moment of authenticity. My true moment unkind, though beaten by the pain borne of the passion of greed, I took an axe and took to cutting down the tree.  

Dew Platt

Where protein strands ceases to be primordial and life sustaining gases collide in conflict, all material earnings perished in accordance with the end. I saw all come to a still on 4D Street. But there remained a knowing as I felt the moral filth of a dead man’s mind come to be history.

Dew Platt

In my back garden on 4D Street, I saw a familiar insect carry pollen from stem to stem. This it did until two honey bees came upon it. “What are you?” asked one of the bees. “I am a bee,” the insect answered. “What are you doing?” the bee asked.

“Cross-pollinating,” the insect answered.

“That’s not how it is done. You carry it from stem to stem where no stigma may get to it.”

“I am only a slow worker. I will soon carry it where the stigma may be.”

“If you’re a bee it should come with ease. Where are your wings?”

“My wings are still growing.”   

“You give reasons for everything that nature may freely give. If you’re a bee you need no such pretext. You’re nothing but a roach!”

“My name is Ms. Smith. I am a bee!”

“Sure you can be one of us. You’ll be the empty prided fake ass bee.”   

Dew Platt

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In the bubble Benz of extravagant pride, the Hooded Songmaster drags around the wooden female figuring on the golden hood of his trolley. At every turn he makes, the female figuring chips, disfiguring the female form. Down 4D Street I ran after his bubble Benz and snatched the object attached to his hood. Separated from her, I watched his bubble burst. His pride is incomplete without degrading her form. Separated from him, she crawls back towards him, blinded by the worth of gold on his hood. If she could see on 4D Street, she’ll know she is already well contoured and golden.

Dew Platt

 

 

 

The becoming of man becomes a plague as it becomes difficult to accept that “before” and “after,” are utterances beyond human existence. Fragmented in between, with no witness to behold its creative majesty, incomplete evidences after the fact sustained by faith, self generating, self replicating, un-intellectual at prime, preexisting and supreme, the big bang becomes to the becoming of man, a god.  

 

Dew Platt

I closed my material eyes and saw the world in 4D. What a view this was—encompassing characters not in style but in tune with their personalities. There was the conservative dragger, dragging around dead carcasses in his mind. Dead cells fill his cerebral senses, degenerative material in touch with his brain matter, his brain cells absorbing decaying heat. Beyond the wonder of such existence, I wondered when he would realize that dead matter may be hidden but the smell of decay is capable of diffusion, can spill into the outside world. Maybe he would be able to contain it, so he can always be remembered sane.   

 

Dew Platt

Clarity holds little room for deception where illusions sometimes live amongst us an upright structure, a seeming impenetrable fact. Sometimes I strip to see my reflection where I must go beyond the smooth appearance of my skin to find illusory distortions. Death I hold dearer than the sanctity of a deceptive mind. My mind may sooner crawl of worms. Where is the inner worth of a liar who can never stay true to her thoughts, her reality she never owns?

Dew Platt

On the analytic table, brain matter sat in my mind's view with its three major parts intact, interconnected and exposed to the experimental world. It was still, composed, and rigid in formation. And I couldn't help it--took a shotgun and blew the brains out of the material mind. Spatters everywhere and there it was--the vision close to the nature of a realistic mind. The rigid mind is the most unstable!

Dew Platt

What need there be to haste to witness the reckoning of a company of fools who dare deny essence without its inspection in light? What fools they are! Whatever essence there is, is absolute in open light.

Dew Platt

It is there in the enchanted minds of some scientists that human moral personality can be measured in terms of milli-drams, milli-ounces, or through the coded synaptic exchanges between nerve endings.

Dew Platt

There is that poisonous tendency to a collective consciousness—that what’s of general consent could have a stitch of insanity. The individualist has the sanest society. 

Dew Platt

I crave a certain delusion-that every woman promising is not in the indecent view of another more or less so.

Dew Platt

I took two unusual oddities, stared at them with usual scrutiny, mapped them out on a human canvas, and lo, what was idiosyncratic lost its meaning-      Dew Platt