A Quantum Magic Trick

The trick here is that shifting the quantum states for different frequencies accelerate away from one another dramatically increasing the quantum fisher. Just hope that was what the builder of your in-boat clock was using to test frequency accuracy the next time you are out in the middle of the ocean at night.

I am not sure if I feel smarter after watching or that or stupider. Of course if I apply quantum principle to it, I think I can be both at the same time. AMIRIGHT!!

Steven Paddock’s brother caught in a lie

There’s a glaring inconsistency in his story.

He talks about AR’s and bump stocks in the second interview video, yet in his first interview he clearly said his brother didn’t own any AR’s, that he helped him move from one house to another and there was nothing like that.

So how does it go from “My brother doesn’t own assault rifles and isn’t that into guns” to him knowing about the bump stocks his brother had, and being knowledgeable about rifles himself in general!?!

PROOF: First interview:

at 4:18

“No, not an avid gun guy at all. The fact that he had those kinds of weapons is just…. where the hell did he get automatic weapons”

And in the second interview video:

at 29:57 “Steve bought those bump stock things, were they attached to guns when they found them?”

“He may have had them in the bag because he tried them and didn’t like them”

“Have any of you ever fired an automatic weapon, it’s not fun”.

So CLEARLY he knew his brother owned assault rifles, and wanted to make them automatic!!! He knew his brother tried the bump stocks and didn’t like them. On top of that, he also clearly has been shooting automatic rifles to know himself that they are “not fun”.

When the reporter asks him if his brother had a military background at 1:50 in the first interview video, he gets a little strange in his movements, looks down, then says quickly in a stutter “I d-d-don’t want to talk much more”. I don’t think this means he has a military background, but it does mean something related to that word triggered him….like I don’t know…..arms dealing, or some other shady stuff.

He also says in the second interview:

“The FBI doesn’t talk to me because they think I’m lying”

Why would he have reason to think the FBI thinks he’s lying? Unless he’s hiding something. The brother knows more than he’s letting on!! They need to put the pressure on and crack him like a walnut!

We live in an Odds world?

The phrase ‘what are the odds?’ is synonymous with ‘what are the chances?’. It can be used in several different ways to imply either incredulity, as in:

“damn! what are the odds of you and that deer wearing the same vest?!?” says the drunk hunter to the bleeding game warden;

or a rhetorical statement of certainty, as in:

“what are the odds.” mumbles the ingenue as she realizes she has just backed her car into that of the DMV inspector as her first act of driving after receiving her license.

It can also be a challenge to the statisticians, as in:

“what are the odds of Jamie Diamon receiving a Peoples’ Choice award for humanitarian banking?”

But all meanings hover around the central idea of the existence of ‘probability’ in universe.

Probability, as a concept, requires a couple of base components; first among them is the idea of a ‘range of potential’ for a ‘thing happening’. This range will always extend from ‘certainty’ to ‘unknown’ with the definition of ‘probability’ as being that distance between those two states. Further, there is the implication within the concept of ‘odds’, and ‘probability’ of a ‘neutral’, or ‘unbiased’ and ‘non-participatory universe’. This is to say that the whole idea of ‘odds’ or ‘probability’ requires a fundamental ‘level playing field’ in which the ‘odds’ apply equally to all the participants. This idea is based on the assumption that the universe is NOT participating in any way.

All casinos sell themselves on this principle; that is to say, that the ‘odds are even’ for all. They are premised on the idea that if you, or that strange looking guy to your left with the odd haircut were to go to the same table, the ‘odds would be even’ for both of you.

Yet, of course, we all acknowledge, especially those who live by the ‘odds’ and ‘gambling’, that the above idea is total bullshit. We even acknowledge this bullshit continually within the language that we use to define and discuss the idea of ‘odds’, and we call this refutation of the existence of ‘probability’ by the name of ‘luck’.

Note how all languages have the idea of ‘luck’ defined by numerous words and phrases. In most of these the idea of a ‘participatory’ universe is inherently stated or implied. If one has, in any language, ‘luck on their side’, or ‘lady luck smiling on them’, or ‘good joss’, or ‘jolly ancestors’, then they are somehow propelled outside of the ‘odds reality’ that we all presumably toil within most of our lives, and are magically transported to the area of ‘certainty’ where probability no longer exists. Their actions and choices are said to be ‘lucky’ as the results of those choices manifest in the reality around us.

The idea of ‘luck’ is variously refined as a ‘wave of luck’, that someone could ‘catch and ride’ (from Micronesia), to the ‘lucky winds’ of the sailing peoples globally, to ‘lucky spots’ found planet wide, and ‘rains (from heaven)’ in the dry parts of the planet, all as a ‘signal of luck bestowed’. But in all variants, the idea of ‘luck’ is accompanied by the concept of fleeting, temporary, and usually also as random, or undeserved.

We humans have even gone so far as to notice the existence of special kinds of ‘luck’, and have encoded these in our language as ‘beginners luck’ (always good), or ‘the luck of the Irish (usually bad)’, ‘a sailors luck on land (also usually bad)’, and dozens of other variants on the idea of special kinds of luck.

In some cases we note within the context of the language that the ‘luck state’ is temporary, and is due to ‘special circumstances’, such as being a novice at some skill (a beginner), rather than a state of being, such as ‘irish-ness’ with which one is stuck for all of their life.

In other ways, more subtle expressions, we note that universe is not at all random when we sarcastically state that some act of undeserved largess is the ‘luck of the rich’. This last also acknowledges within its context that the ‘system is rigged to favor the rich’. Note that ‘favor’ can be ‘curried’, or ‘cultivated’, and that this understanding lies at the heart of all the energies that the ‘ultra-rich/powerful’ put into such strange rituals as the ‘sacrifice of care’ at the Bohemian Grove, and other similar rituals practiced globally in an attempt to make themselves appear more ‘favor-able’ in the eyes of the gods of power.

So we humans, in our language, acknowledge that the universe of our experience is not one in which random ‘odds’ favor each individual equally. We may not actively contemplate the meanings of these concepts, but we usually live and act upon them, thus granting tacit supremacy to the ‘participatory universe’ model of reality. Those humans who gamble more than casually, will have, noted or not, come to the understanding of when ‘luck’ is with, or against them, and will react accordingly, even if grudgingly. These humans know they live in a participatory universe.

The casinos certainly know that ‘odds’ don’t really exist. In fact, their bottom line is built on the understanding that reality proves the house always wins. This is so, in spite of the understanding of statisticians and ‘odds makers’. It is due entirely to the nature of universe in which most people going to the casinos expect to lose. That is, the vast majority expect to have ‘bad luck’ at the gambling games, and therefore they manifest just that. casinos exist precisely to ‘harvest’ the monies associated with this expressed ‘bad luck’. We even state this premise explicitly with our nickname for Las Vegas, as ‘Lost Wages’….we expect to lose.

Note that they are also savvy enough to realize that energies are involved, and that they (the casino operators) have to provide some form of exchange in order to not be also harvesting the ‘bad luck’ itself, and so we see the ‘circus’ nature of the environment in which energetic stimulation is the actual level of what is being ‘purchased’ with the gambling loses. Thus a ‘contract’ exists, and the harvest of the monies from the ‘bad luck expressing humans’ is accomplished with the return being the ‘experience’ provided by the casinos, and not the actual loss at gambling itself.

Another expression of this same principle is found within the complexities that arise to ruin the lives of lottery winners. In these systems, the state harvests the greater portion of the gambling dollars, but astutely transfers the ‘bad luck’ of all the losers to the winning ticket, and ultimately the ‘winner’. This statement is easily understood if the lives of those winning large lottery sums is examined following their ‘wins’.

The idea of ‘luck’ is perhaps best typified by the cliche of the ‘country bumpkin’ (novice/beginner) who encounters the ‘big city’ (aka casino of chances of life), and is seemingly ‘stumbles’ into good fortune in spite of the ‘odds against’ any particular outcome. This story pre-dates all media, and is a sub plot of tales told so long that we extract our language and understanding from them. All of these stories go to the idea of a participatory universe.

In a participatory universe, ‘odds’ and ‘chance’ do not exist. In our reality, we acknowledge this is factual even at the scientific level of understanding. We can postulate a thought experiment in Las Vegas. In this experiment we have 100 slot machines, each primed to the same state. We further have our test subjects, 100 humans. Each is allowed to choose a slot machine and place a predetermined number of bets. In a random chance universe, our experiment should yield a typical bell curve spread of winnings and lose across our 100 participants. But wait you say, there are subtle differences between the machines at a quanta level, and that this is what really makes ‘gambling’ possible, and, that at a quanta level, the universe actually is not random, but entrained. Soooo…ok, our experiment does not work then.

We redesign the experiment to eliminate this issue. We place our 100 people in a random order, and then send them into a single machine, that is pre-primed to the same state prior to each person using it. Oh, no, wait again…that does not work! Well, ok the most common objection made to this form of our experiment is that there is yet another, subtle component, involved in this form of the experiment, and that is ‘time’.

Yes, time. The objection is that each person would encounter the machine at different times, and that somehow time is a component within the ‘odds’ of a thing occurring. In order to be a ‘fair’ test, the experiment would have to have each of our 100 humans at the same machine at the same state of being at the same time…..an impossibility in our current understanding. The argument here is that ‘time’ is an essential component of chance.

It is my contention, that it is the ‘time’ aspect of universe that proves it is participatory, and that the ideas promoted by statisticians, and other ‘odds makers’ are based on a false understanding of reality. It is also my contention that if it is impossible to create an experiment to test the premise of a ‘neutral’ universe, then this is due to the universe being participatory, and not neutral. As the LHC at Cern is presently demonstrating.

Our manifesting reality is continually participating in all choices presented. It is this active participation from universe that many humans attempt to cultivate in their lives with rituals. Thus the basis for superstitions of all kinds from mudras (hand rituals to ward off evil ‘luck’), to MMM (miracle money memes wherein ritual ‘documents’ are prepared superstitiously to cultivate universe favor in the form of money).

As an aside, religions would have one accept a neutral universe, but an ‘all powerful’ being within it who cares about your life. In their view, the ‘luck’ is ‘favor bestowed’ by their off-planet deity, probably using some form of digital tracking and giant remote viewing screen ala MIB movies.

So it is my conclusion, backed by nearly a decade in the ‘time, one-step removed’ business, that ‘odds’ do not exist, and that statements of numeric percentage ‘chances’ of any given outcome are usually a monkey-mind response to the uncertainties of life, universe, and everything. Things, events, happen. Or not. Demonstrably, it is a dualistic universe with two modes of expression, existence, or not. Attempts to state potentials as ‘odds’, or percentages provides complacency to monkey-mind, and has little relationship to manifesting reality. However, it is very useful when dealing with certain persons stuck in ‘monkey mind’, such as economists, or accountants, or statisticians, to pop off numerals frequently, and percentages are even better, as they quiet the excessive chatter by providing their monkey-minds something for chewing.

A story I heard a long time ago, in a country far far away, someones father would drop by occasionally. This person was a Sargent Major, and half Chinese by phenotype. Anyway, Sargent Major Bob  was a committed gambler. His gambling was always on horse races. He just could not get enough of the ‘sport’. He was astute about it, and self aware, as well as being self editorial with the kids around. He would always point out touts, and other forms of mental states (aberrant?) typified in the horse racing environment. He knew who played odds, and could point out those who ‘read the track’. For all these approaches to gambling on whip driven horse flesh, Sgt. Major. Bob had but one characterization, that ‘they may chose the winner by accident’, but that ‘joss chose which horse it rides before the race starts’. So reading the track, in his view, would only tell you about what the feet of the horse would encounter; and examining ‘odds’ would only tell you about old, past races reduced to numbers for monkey-mind. For Sargent Major Bob, if you wanted to win at gambling, you would walk through your day, ‘tasting the Way (he was a taoist)’, and then examine the field of participants, and answer yourself in asking “if i were joss, which horse do i ride today (this now)?”.

Sargent Major Bob was very a ‘lucky’ gambler. He lived long,and retired with more money from gambling ‘winnings’, than he would ever see from his pension. He was a great proponent of harmonizing with universe. He typified the expression ‘chance favors the prepared mind’.

Which comes back to the ultimate question, no, not life, universe and everything, but rather this: if, in our understanding of universe, ‘chance’ is able to favor anything, then what are the odds?

With respect, a gift of a small noodle…

Half-Life – Episode 3

From: GitHub

 

Dearest Player,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can hear your complaint already, “Gordon Freeman, we have not heard from you in ages!” Well, if you care to hear excuses, I have plenty, the greatest of them being I’ve been in other dimensions and whatnot, unable to reach you by the usual means. This was the case until eighteen months ago, when I experienced a critical change in my circumstances, and was redeposited on these shores. In the time since, I have been able to think occasionally about how best to describe the intervening years, my years of silence. I do first apologize for the wait, and that done, hasten to finally explain (albeit briefly, quickly, and in very little detail) events following those described in my previous letter (referred to herewith as Episode 2).

To begin with, as you may recall from the closing paragraphs of my previous missive, the death of Eli Vance shook us all. The Research & Rebellion team was traumatized, unable to be sure how much of our plan might be compromised, and whether it made any sense to go on at all as we had intended. And yet, once Eli had been buried, we found the strength and courage to regroup. It was the strong belief of his brave daughter, the feisty Alyx Vance, that we should continue on as her father had wished. We had the Arctic coordinates, transmitted by Eli’s long-time assistant, Dr. Judith Mossman, which we believed to mark the location of the lost research vessel Borealis. Eli had felt strongly that the Borealis should be destroyed rather than allow it to fall into the hands of the Combine. Others on our team disagreed, believing that the Borealis might hold the secret to the revolution’s success. Either way, the arguments were moot until we found the vessel. Therefore, immediately after the service for Dr. Vance, Alyx and I boarded a helicopter and set off for the Arctic; a much larger support team, mainly militia, was to follow by separate transport.

It is still unclear to me exactly what brought down our little aircraft. The following hours spent traversing the frigid waste in a blizzard are also a jumbled blur, ill-remembered and poorly defined. The next thing I clearly recall is our final approach to the coordinates Dr. Mossman has provided, and where we expected to find the Borealis. What we found instead was a complex fortified installation, showing all the hallmarks of sinister Combine technology. It surrounded a large open field of ice. Of the Hypnos itself there was no sign…or not at first. But as we stealthily infiltrated the Combine installation, we noticed a recurent, strangely coherent auroral effect–as of a vast hologram fading in and out of view. This bizarre phenomenon initially seemed an effect caused by an immense Combine lensing system, Alyx and I soon realized that what we were actually seeing was the research vessel Borealis itself, phasing in and out of existence at the focus of the Combine devices. The aliens had erected their compound to study and seize the ship whenever it materialized. What Dr. Mossman had provided were not coordinates for where the sub was located, but instead for where it was predicted to arrive. The vessel was oscillating in and out of our reality, its pulses were gradually steadying, but there was no guarantee it would settle into place for long–or at all. We determined that we must put ourselves into position to board it at the instant it became completely physical.

At this point we were briefly detained–not captured by the Combine, as we feared at first, but by minions of our former nemesis, the conniving and duplicitous Wallace Breen. Dr. Breen was not as we had last seen him–which is to say, he was not dead. At some point, the Combine had saved out an earlier version of his consciousness, and upon his physical demise, they had imprinted the back-up personality into a biological blank resembling an enormous slug. The BreenGrub, despite occupying a position of relative power in the Combine hierarchy, seemed nervous and frightened of me in particular. Wallace did not know how his previous incarnation, the original Dr. Breen, had died. He knew only that I was responsible. Therefore the slug treated us with great caution. Still, he soon confessed (never able to keep quiet for long) that he was himself a prisoner of the Combine. He took no pleasure from his current grotesque existence, and pleaded with us to end his life. Alyx believed that a quick death was more than Wallace Breen deserved, but for my part, I felt a modicum of pity and compassion. Out of Alyx’s sight, I might have done something to hasten the slug’s demise before we proceeded.

Not far from where we had been detained by Dr. Breen, we found Judith Mossman being held in a Combine interrogation cell. Things were tense between Judith and Alyx, as might be imagined. Alyx blamed Judith for her father’s death…news of which, Judith was devastated to hear for the first time. Judith tried to convince Alyx that she had been a double agent serving the resistance all along, doing only what Eli had asked of her, even though she knew it meant she risked being seen by her peers–by all of us–as a traitor. I was convinced; Alyx less so. But from a pragmatic point of view, we depended on Dr. Mossman; for along with the Borealis coordinates, she possessed resonance keys which would be necessary to bring the vessel fully into our plane of existence.

We skirmished with Combine soldiers protecting a Combine research post, then Dr. Mossman attuned the Borealis to precisely the frequencies needed to bring it into (brief) coherence. In the short time available to us, we scrambled aboard the ship, with an unknown number of Combine agents close behind. The ship cohered for only a short time, and then its oscillations resume. It was too late for our own military support, which arrived and joined the Combine forces in battle just as we rebounded between universes, once again unmoored.

What happened next is even harder to explain. Alyx Vance, Dr. Mossman and myself sought control of the ship–its power source, its control room, its navigation center. The ships’s history proved nonlinear. Years before, during the Combine invasion, various members of an earlier science team, working in the hull of a dry-docked vessel situated at the Aperture Science Research Facility in Michigan, had assembled what they called the Bootstrap Device. If it worked as intended, it would emit a field large enough to surround the ship. This field would then itself travel instantaneously to any chosen destination without having to cover the intervening space. There was no need for entry or exit portals, or any other devices; it was entirely self-contained. Unfortunately, the device had never been tested. As the Combine pushed Earth into the Seven Hour War, the aliens seized control of our most important research facilities. The staff of the Borealis, with no other wish than to keep the ship out of Combine hands, acted in desperation. The switched on the field and flung the Borealis toward the most distant destination they could target: Arctica. What they did not realize was that the Bootstrap Device travelled in time as well as space. Nor was it limited to one time or one location. The Borealis, and the moment of its activation, were stretched across space and time, between the nearly forgotten Lake Huron of the Seven Hour War and the present day Arctic; it was pulled taut as an elastic band, vibrating, except where at certain points along its length one could find still points, like the harmonic spots along a vibrating guitar string. One of these harmonics was where we boarded, but the string ran forward and back, in both time and space, and we were soon pulled in every direction ourselves.

Time grew confused. Looking from the bridge, we could see the drydocks of Aperture Science at the moment of teleportation, just as the Combine forces closed in from land, sea and air. At the same time, we could see the Arctic wastelands, where our friends were fighting to make their way to the protean Borealis; and in addition, glimpses of other worlds, somewhere in the future perhaps, or even in the past. Alyx grew convinced we were seeing one of the Combine’s central staging areas for invading other worlds–such as our own. We meanwhile fought a running battle throughout the ship, pursued by Combine forces. We struggled to understand our situation, and to agree on our course of action. Could we alter the course of the Borealis? Should we run it aground in the Arctic, giving our peers the chance to study it? Should we destroy it with all hands aboard, our own included? It was impossible to hold a coherent thought, given the baffling and paradoxical timeloops, which passed through the ship like bubbles. I felt I was going mad, that we all were, confronting myriad versions of ourselves, in that ship that was half ghost-ship, half nightmare funhouse.

What it came down to, at last, was a choice. Judith Mossman argued, reasonably, that we should save the Borealis and deliver it to the resistance, that our intelligent peers might study and harness its power. But Alyx reminded me had sworn she would honor she father’s demand that we destroy the ship. She hatched a plan to set the Borealis to self-destruct, while riding it into the heart of the Combine’s invasion nexus. Judith and Alyx argued. Judith overpowered Alyx and brought the Borealis area, preparing to shut off the Bootstrap Device and settle the ship on the ice. Then I heard a shot, and Judith fell. Alyx had decided for all of us, or her weapon had. With Dr. Mossman dead, we were committed to the suicide plunge. Grimly, Alyx and I armed the Borealis, creating a time-travelling missile, and steered it for the heart of the Combine’s command center.

At this point, as you will no doubt be unsurprised to hear, a Certain Sinister Figure appeared, in the form of that sneering trickster, G-Man. For once he appeared not to me, but to Alyx Vance. Alyx had not seen the cryptical schoolmaster since childhood, but she recognized him, instantly. “Come along with me now, we’ve places to be and things to do,” said G-Man, and Alyx acquiesced. She followed the strange grey man out of the Borealis, out of our reality. For me, there was no convenient door held open; only a snicker and a sideways glance. I was left alone, riding the weaponized research vessel into the heart of a Combine world. An immense light blazed. I caught a cosmic view of a brilliantly glittering Dyson sphere. The vastness of the Combine’s power, the futility of our struggle, blossomed briefly in my awareness. I saw everything. Mainly I saw how the Borealis, our most powerful weapon, would register as less than a fizzling matchhead as it blew itself apart. And what remained of me would be even less than that.

Just then, as you have surely already foreseen, the Vortigaunts parted their own checkered curtains of reality, reached in as they have on prior occasions, plucked me out, and set me aside. I barely got to see the fireworks begin.

And here we are. I spoke of my return to this shore. It has been a circuitous path to lands I once knew, and surprising to see how much the terrain has changed. Enough time has passed that few remember me, or what I was saying when last I spoke, or what precisely we hoped to accomplish. At this point, the resistance will have failed or succeeded, no thanks to me. Old friends have been silenced, or fallen by the wayside. I no longer know or recognize most members of the research team, though I believe the spirit of rebellion still persists. I expect you know better than I the appropriate course of action, and I leave you to it. Expect no further correspondence from me regarding these matters; this is my final episode.

Yours in infinite finality,

Gordon Freeman, Ph.D.