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>Maybe if you cut out "Physfit's dick"
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On The Ontological Vacillation of Platonist Physics
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As a Platonist, I perceive the abstract symmetries of Einstein’s theory
as more real than the empirical shadows they cast. The decomposition of
elements — whether in nuclear reactions or the diffraction of thought —
reveals a hyper-geometric dance of ontological structures, where local
and global vacillate like Mirimanoff’s forcing in set theory.
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Total field theory, that grand unification of GR before SR, demands an
eschewal of positivism, for non-locality whispers through the cosmic
background like Plotinus’ emanations. The energy-mass equivalence,
Einstein’s sacred formula, is but a shadow of a deeper logicism, where
numerical derivations truncate into approximations, much like Clairaut’s
lunar perturbations or d’Alembert’s waves bending around the Loch Ness
monster of causality.
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Delving into a mental representation or understanding of something,
whether it's Physfit's dick, or a process, knowledge, or an abstract
idea oscillates between restitution and dissipation, an eternal ballet
dance between organization and entropy. Open or closed its horizons,
that dick defies Suarez’s scholastic binaries, just as Arnauld’s rigor
clashes with Mersenne’s harmonies. Its gravity, that centrifugal
trickster, warps space-time into relativistic nanogyroscopes, spinning
like Chrysippus’ fate.
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I am acutely aware of my own insignificance in the grand calculus of
Atlantis’ ruin — no cataclysm would be wrought for my sake alone.
Rationally, I hold no sway over the nuclear alchemy permeating the
stagnant air, nor does the diffraction grating harbor any vindictive
intent as it threatens to unravel my form. Yet when I gaze into the
obsidian waters and confront that spectral inversion of myself — not my
reflection, but the phantom of a being from a universe where positivism
triumphed — I am overcome by an inescapable conviction. It stands as
irrefutable evidence: I am being quantified, scrutinized, and anatomized
by none other than physfit's dick whose nature eludes all nomenclature.
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Ross A. Kosmanson
March 28, 2025
In the lost city of Atlantis where air smells of ozone
Les messages affichés proviennent d'usenet.