Every few days some online p*ker bots post a sp*m ad for themselves as a c*mment on my bl*g.

I use some free blog ware based on PHP, whatever that is.

Rooting around in the blogware, I find a file called comments.php with this function, written in, I guess, javascript (script type=”text/javascript”):

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Question Anyone know how to edit this so as to reject any theform.blog_text.value or theform.comment_name.value that includes the string “p*ker”? (I don't want to use the actual word here as I don't want to provoke the bots, watchful as mind parasites.)

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Ever since Big Sur, I've been playing with this idea that just as it is, our world IS perfect. That's my new slogan, it could be the conclusion of the novel. They start in another Earth and go throgh a series of them and they meet God, who happens to be a giant jellyfish, and they end in God's profoundly considered and much pondered best of all possible worlds, and they in fact end up here. Where we live.

This is a picture I'm trying to paint of myself among the Micronesian jellyfish. (It's not done.) And here's another movie of me looking at stream eddies in Big Sur, it's an unconscionable 33 Meg. Click here to view movie. As before, the sound is a bit blown out, and you have to let it run jerkily once and only then can you click and play it at normal speed. Yes, I'm a geek, but I'm a happy one.

Sur obviously being the spot where I got the notion of our world being perfect. You or I are little universally computing eddies in the flow of it all.

Synchronistically, I found a passage in Borges to the same effect the day I got home. Here's a picture that Pearce took of me in a tree at Sur.

“We are not in paradise,” the young man stubbornly replied. “Here, in the sublunary world, all things are mortal.”

Paracelsus had risen to his feet.

“Where are we, then, if not in paradise?” he asked. “Do you believe that the deity is able to create a place that is not paradise? Do you believe that the Fall is something other than not realizing that we are in paradise?”

— from Jorge-Luis Borges, “The Rose of Paracelsus,” in Collected Fictions, Viking Penguin 1998, pp. 505-506.

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Yes, you may say, but if this world is perfect, what about spammers? What about Iraq? What about the Chimp?

These things are unavoidable information-theoretic occurances. Turbulence of a certain type that has to occur. Any river has ripples in it.

Easy to say, of course, living in peace, I admit, and perhaps borderline fatuous. But how much does the daily news matter, really, compared to reality's rich computation? What if you just decide to think that everything is perfect, at least for a day? And if it works, try it for the next day too.

There was a lovely moonrise over the El Sombroso hill east of Los Gatos last night. Perched on the ridge, the moon looked almost like a big ball the size of a baseball stadium that could roll down. Look out! Actually, it would be kind of bouncy, I imagine, resilient enough so that if it rolled over you, it wouldn't be a disaster. But you'd never get over that the first-hand glow. They used to say that if you slept where the full moon could shine into your face, you'd wake up a lunatic. I had moon on my face all night in Big Sur, though screened off by mosquito mesh. Hope the “orbs” didn't get to me.

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Mac Tonnies alerted me to the existence of so-called “orbs” which are regarded by some as alien craft captured in digital photos — which happen to be more prone to light flares than old-school film photos.

And that is indeed a fine specimen spotted next to the seething brain of Professor Pearce. A bit of zoom and image enhancement reveals an alien face riding within the orb, evidently peering in at us through the mouth of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Perhaps its even seeing out through the screen of your computer! “Haaah, gaaahs.”

I camped in the Andrew Molera walk-in campground this weekend at Big Sur with my friend Jon Pearce and his daughter and some of her friends.

Molera used to let an unlimited number of people camp there, which was nice in terms of going there, but the rangers came to feel the site was getting overused. Now there’s only 20 or so sites, no reservation, which is nice for those of a more spontaneous bent, just first-come-first serve. For the weekends, you pretty much have to show up by two or three in the afternoon on Friday; week days is usually easier. This time of year is nice in Molera, the meadow is still green, and the ground squirrels aren’t so ravenous as they are in, like, September when the ground are pretty much naked hard clay. I had a site right under this enormous old poplar tree, in the night the stars hung in it like lites. It’s so great to wake up and already be in Big Sur.

Jon didn’t show up till the second day I was there — I went early on Friday to secure a site — and Saturday morning I went alone to Pfeiffer Beach, thinking about the ending for Mathematicians in Love. I got a nice offer for it from Tor Books just the other day, and it's time to be wrapping it up and trimming it back. You're paid to do a mural, then the mural has to fit the wall. I pretty much figured the whole ending out at last; here’s a table that I drew in the sand.

The three rows are the three characters, the three columns are the three versions of each character (there’s three Earths), and the cells correspond to where that character-version ends up. As I’ve mentioned before, my characters are Bela, Paul, and Alma, and they go to another world called La Hampa by surfing through a “gate” that’s at Pfeiffer Beach. I remembered the gate as being wider, well, it will be in my novel which, after all, starts out on a different Earth and only ends up on ours. Here’s me and the gate.

I made a little 3 Meg MPEG movie of a wave coming through the gate. Click here to view movie.

I worked my way up along the beach and found this great creek running into the ocean; by walking into the gully where the creek comes out, I could get out of the fierce Big Sur beach wind. “Where the pine meets the brine.” It was a very beautiful spot.

I always like taking pictures of gnarly water, clouds, fire. Someday maybe I’ll make a long movie of gnarl.

Meanwhile I’m making MPEGs. This next one is 25 Meg, so don’t think of viewing it unless you have broadband and a few minutes to kill. It’s of me singing to some eddies in the stream. I'm very happy here. Click here to view movie. By the way, on the first run-through, a downloaded MPEG will be jerky, you have to then click the replay button to see it run smooth. The mike noise is air eddies hitting the unshielded holes on my camera. Maybe I'll tape some foam rubber over that spot.

Back on the beach, voila, God a. k. a. the Divine Muse had brought Bela, Paul and Alma to the beach to go out next to the La Hampan gate!

A bit hard to see them in the big picture, so here’s the zoom. Ready for the surfin' hampajump!

In the usual nature of magical apparitions, they disappeared after two or three minutes — they weren’t there when I walked back. They were in La Hampa.

Back at Molera with Jon and the young people, I was struck by a sunset view up the Big Sur River. It reminded be of being at the same spot in late August, 2004, right when I was finishing The Lifebox, the Seashell, and the Soul and being momentarily struck with the fact that, deep down, despite what I argue in the book, I don’t really believe that everything is a computation.

As I write in one draft of the Lifebox book, “It was a hot day, that August, and I had the chance to stand in the cool clear flow of the Big Sur River, up to my neck in a big pool that accumulates right before the river flows across a sand bar into the Pacific. Standing there, I closed my eyes to savor the sensation of water and air. My arms were weightless at my sides, my knees were slightly bent, I was at perfect equilibrium. Each time I exhaled, my breath would ripple the water, and reflections of the noon sun would flicker on my eyelids. I was all there, fully conscious, immersed in the river. And I became powerfully aware of a common sense fact that most readers will have known all along: 'This isn’t a computation. This is water!'”

But, as I’ve mentioned on this blog, I had a follow-up vision in Micronesia when I decided that yes, maybe even water is a computation.

Sitting around the fire this weekend with Jon and the others, I was digging the computational gnarl of the flames, and for the first time tried photographing them.

Oh, one more cool thing. Friday I walked along the incredibly windy beach at Molera, and I propped a stick on a rock to see it balance. I’ve been thinking that as well as photographing gnarl, it’s interesting to photograph native or created bits of order in the wild, as Andy Goldsworthy does.

And then, oh joy, the stick started rocking wildly in the wind. I made a 6 Meg movie of that. Click here to view movie.

I’ll be performing with Phil Curtis at a small-scale event called ELSA, that is, ELectron SAlon #11, on Friday, June 3rd , starting at 8 PM .

I’ll read my story “Ain’t Paint” which appears in my forthcoming The Lifebox, the Seashell, and the Soul. Phil will create some appropriate heuristic electronic music on the spot, and for video, we’ll use live demos of nine of my CAPOW software Zhabotinsky scrolls; the guys shown below.

This makes sense as “Ain't Paint” is about a kind of wall-paint that looks like Zhabotinsky scrolls…

Phil and I will go first, so if you want to see us, you actually have to be there at 8. Usually at ELSA events there’s some free wine and food. It’s almost like a party.

Set 1: Rudy Rucker and Phil Curtis

Set 2: Run Return, an electronica duo with Kevin Dineen and Tommy Fugelsang

Set 3: The inimitable DJess and mixmaster, Ms Pinky, a. k. a. P. Minsky, with friends.

The venue is Next Door, 1207 Soquel Avenue, Santa Cruz, CA 95062, 831-429-1596. Next Door is next to the Rio Theater, see map.

And here's a slightly outdated page about ELectron SAlon (as of today, it doesn't yet mention our event.)