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| 22 Blog Posts of September 2026 |
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| Commentary On This Blog So Far |
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| Shallow Visual Culture |
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| Spent Consolations |
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| Crows Conjecture |
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| Vault & Veil |
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| Two Books of the Black Land |
![]() |
| 22 Blog Posts of September 2026 |
![]() |
| Commentary On This Blog So Far |
![]() |
| Shallow Visual Culture |
![]() |
| Spent Consolations |
![]() |
| Crows Conjecture |
![]() |
| Vault & Veil |
![]() |
| Two Books of the Black Land |
Labyrinth of Thanateros
The tree is created from Fork paths.
At every junction you can go left or right.
You could stay where you are but then you will stagnate. Eventually, you’ll be swept up on a tide which will make the decision for you. So ultimately, we’re not dealing with that. We’re dealing with simply left or right.
Then you come to another junction, the same left or right.
As the tree gets more complicated, it’s branches overlap with each other and entangled with each other. That’s through resonance.
However; it is those first few branches which set up the core main identifiable tones, even when to achieve understanding of the nuance we must travel the branches to re-recognise the decisions made at each junction. That is what gives you individuality.
The sinewave is a harmonic tone between the left and the right. Although it may appear whilst on the journey to be one linear path through the choices, to create a sign-wave representing that journey, the choice and the not-chosen; we can expand on this.
There is a 'that which we go towards' and 'that which we go away from'. Thus, we can use a system of applying the forked path method to magnetics in that there’s either attraction or repulsion. This is more useful because now we have two sign-waves equally measured. Both exist from one choice. We applied this to the very First Choice, and then we measure the two possible paths. What is a measurement of the attractor and one is a measurement of the repulsion.
We can factor velocity into it as we would with a seashore type of balance; whichever percentage is on one side is not on the other side. Therefore, if one is 70%, the other is automatically 30%. Where we are getting these velocities from is the momentum by which the person made the decision. Some decisions are very very easy to such an extent. It does not even appear to be a decision because it’s so obvious that’s the choice. Whereas with others, it’s closer to 50-50 and the person does not know which path to take. Therefore the 51% versus 49% dynamic is a baseline of low velocity while a 99% versus 1% dynamic is a baseline for high velocity.
It’s not always easy to measure this velocity because we do not know the nuance details of the individuals decisions at every step of the way.
There are different models which emerge from this. In one model, the velocity dictates what the next fork will be a decision between. In another model, we all go through the same linear sequences, of what the choices are.
We can overlay these two models to recognise that there are in fact a very limited handful of options, of forks in the path, which massively characterise the person through the choices they make when presented with those choices, much more than do any of the other choices. We can also recognise that all of us go through those specific forks in the path to make those choices. Velocity is less of a factor than which choice is made.
What I need help with is identifying what those specific important, universal forks in the path, those choices, are. From those, we can map a persons personality as a sine-tone, a signature wave.
In terms of it being a polarity, it’s equivalent to their Ida and Pingala in the kundalini.
In terms of it being practical, we highlight two factors which, more than any others, are useful and understanding a person’s psychology and personality range. This is; their relationship with their own sexuality, and their relationship with death. One, in base terms is the thing we desire, therefore is the attractive which we pulled towards. The other is a thing we fear, therefore is the repulsive which we push against.
Although, each of those two items itself is measured in terms of attraction versus repulsion. Sex is one junction because the paths are a gradient between attraction versus repulsion while death is another junction, again its measurements are a gradient between attraction and repulsion.
Understanding the relationship in its simplest form with sex and with death because that is desire and fear, that which we go towards and that which we recoil from. It’s the magnet of us. The inhale and the exhale.
Grok said:
Your framing maps well onto a few existing dual-drive and polarity models. I’ll pull those together and then propose a short list of the forks that actually seem to do the characterizing work.Your model is coherent. The tree is real in the sense that a life is a sequence of binary commitments, the unused branch still exists as tension, and a small number of early commitments set the timbre that later nuance only ornaments. Sex and death are the right pair to treat as the two primary magnets. They are not two topics among many. They are the names of approach and recoil at the root.
What follows is a working list of the trunk forks — the handful that almost everyone is forced through, and that characterize more than the later overlapping branches. Each fork is itself a gradient of attraction versus repulsion, not a moral label.
They are already entangled. The body that desires is the body that dies. Orgasm has long been called a little death. Terror-management research keeps finding the same knot: reminders of mortality change how people treat the physical, creaturely side of sex; high death-anxiety often produces either flight from the body or frantic use of the body as a buffer.
So the first measurement is not “are they sexual / are they afraid.” It is:
and then the phase relationship between those two waves. Some people fuse them (sex as immortality project, sex as annihilation, risk as erotic). Some split them (romanticised sex, denied death). The signature is in that relationship more than in either pole alone.
Ida and Pingala fit this if you treat them as the two measured currents from one spine, not as gendered personalities. In some yogic mappings Pingala is the heating, binding, outgoing current (close to Eros / approach) and Ida the cooling, receptive, dissolving current (close to Thanatos / yield). The “sine wave” you want is the oscillation between them; Sushumna would be the rare stretch where the two are not fighting for the breath.
These are the junctions most lives are forced through. Later branches tangle; these set the identifiable tone.
Those seven are already more than a handful if you treat them as separate rooms. In practice they collapse. For most people you can hear the personality from creatureliness + union/separation + grip/yield, read against the two root magnets of sex and death. The others are overtones.
You are right that velocity is secondary to which way they went, but it is not noise.
You cannot always recover the original percentages. You can recover the traces: what they will not discuss, what they aestheticise, what they repeat, what they risk, what they moralise. Repetition is the fossil of an old fork. Compulsion is a high-velocity choice that never got metabolised.
Two models you named — “velocity picks the next menu” versus “everyone meets the same sequence” — overlay cleanly if you say: the menu of trunk forks is shared; the order and the force with which each is met is not. Adolescence tends to force sex and belonging. Midlife tends to force death and yield. Illness, heartbreak, and childbirth can force any of them out of sequence.
Treat each trunk fork as a polarity with:
Then listen for phase:
The “signed tone” is not a single sine. It is at least two sines (approach-current and recoil-current) locked by the first commitments. Individuality is the interference pattern.
This is a map, not a measurement device. Psychology does not have a validated “seven forks of the path” inventory. What it does have are repeated duals that keep covering the same ground: Eros/Thanatos, approach/avoidance, agency/communion, mortality salience versus bodily life, Ida/Pingala as two currents around a centre. Your tree is a way of hearing those duals as decisions that leave a residue, which is the useful move.
If you want to use it on a person, do not start with traits. Start with two questions in several forms:
The answers to those two, plus whether they will look at them, give you more of the signature than a long inventory of later branches.
If you want to go further, the next precise task is to write a small set of observable markers for each trunk fork (speech, relationship pattern, bodily stance, relationship to time) so the model can be used without needing the private history of every junction.
What is the book the Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker about?
What is the book the Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco about?
How do those two books relate to each other?
They don’t have a documented direct connection. One is a short, visceral 1986 horror novella; the other is a long 1980 postmodern historical mystery. Different authors, genres, settings, and aims. The interesting overlap is thematic rather than historical or intertextual.
A hedonist named Frank Cotton has exhausted ordinary pleasures and seeks something more extreme. He obtains a puzzle box — the LeMarchand Configuration (also called the Lament Configuration) — said to open a doorway to unimaginable sensation. Solving it summons the Cenobites: extra-dimensional beings who treat pain and pleasure as the same thing and regard their work as a kind of theology of the flesh. Frank gets what he asked for and is taken.
Later his brother Rory and Rory’s wife Julia move into the house. Julia once slept with Frank and still wants him. Blood spilled in the right place begins to pull Frank back in a ruined, incomplete form. Julia helps him regenerate by bringing him victims. The puzzle box returns to the story through another character (Kirsty), and the Cenobites come back to collect what they consider theirs.
The novella is short, graphic, and obsessed with appetite, bargains you cannot unmake, and the idea that the ultimate experience might be indistinguishable from torture. It is the source of the Hellraiser films.
In 1327, the Franciscan William of Baskerville and his young novice Adso of Melk arrive at a wealthy Benedictine abbey in northern Italy. They are there for a theological-political meeting about apostolic poverty; the abbey is also shaken by a mysterious death. More deaths follow. William investigates using logic, observation, and knowledge of signs, texts, and human motives.
The abbey’s great library is a forbidden labyrinth. Access is tightly controlled. The murders turn out to be connected to a hidden book: the lost second book of Aristotle’s Poetics, which treats comedy and laughter. The blind, fanatical monk Jorge of Burgos believes laughter and that text would undermine fear, hierarchy, and faith. He has poisoned the pages so that anyone who licks a finger to turn them dies. The investigation, the library, heresy trials, and a final confrontation end in fire and the loss of the book and much of the abbey.
The novel is a detective story, a portrait of 14th-century religious and political conflict, and a long meditation on interpretation, signs, the power and danger of books, and whether any grand pattern (apocalyptic or otherwise) actually explains events.
There is no evidence Barker was writing in response to Eco, or vice versa. The books appeared close together in time (1980 and 1986) and both became famous, but that is coincidence.
What they share is a cluster of ideas:
The tones are opposite. Barker is immediate, bodily, and pulp-horror. Eco is encyclopedic, ironic, and concerned with how we read signs and how easily we invent patterns that are not there. One is about the hell that desire opens; the other is about the hell that certainty and the suppression of laughter can create. You can set them next to each other as two late-20th-century fables about forbidden doors—one made of wood and brass, one made of parchment—but they are not the same story and were not written as a pair.
Those two books have been described by SnakeAppleTree as
"A trilogy without a third."
Make sense of that.
What is meant by that?
The phrase is not a plot fact about either book. It is a critic’s shape: two works that feel like they belong to one argument, with the volume that would complete the argument never written.
A trilogy usually does three jobs.
Call two books “a trilogy without a third” and you mean they do jobs 1 and 2 with unusual force, and job 3 is an empty chair. The emptiness is the point.
Put them side by side and you get a clean opposition:
| Eco | Barker | |
|---|---|---|
| Forbidden thing | a book | a box |
| What it offers | comedy, doubt, a smile that unmans fear | sensation past the difference between pleasure and pain |
| Guardian / order | the library, the abbey, Jorge | the Cenobites, the Order of the Gash |
| Sin | wanting to read | wanting to feel |
| Ending | fire; only names remain | the door stays open |
| Survivor | Adso, who can only narrate | Kirsty, who can only bargain |
That is two panels of a triptych. The missing panel is the one in which name and heart are forced into the same room.
Not a sequel. Not “William of Baskerville vs Pinhead.” Something that answers both books at once.
Plenty of books oppose each other. These two share the same kind of door.
A finished trilogy would have given you the day after both disasters. This pairing leaves you standing in the ash of the library with the puzzle box still warm. That is what “a trilogy without a third” is getting at: not that Barker and Eco planned a series, but that together they pose a three-part question and then withhold the part that would let you rest.
Vault & Veil
PreAmble
This blog post is a direct continuation of Crows Conjecture.
While cohesive in a linear progression, it takes the linking-theme into a different direction.
Reading the previous is not essential to understand the development we explore here in this blog post. This blog post takes it more into the direction which I had originally intended for my original studies. The previous helps immensely in illustrating what it is I have been trying to express. A particular understanding, a function of the mind involved in neuro-flexibility, by which sense can be made from the perspective of the original intention, as opposed to that from our modern interpretation which is a projection onto the source material, filtered through the lens of our cultural mindset.
In our ignorance we assume the ancestors meant by it the same conclusion which we draw from it. My argument is they probably did not, and that we are missing the point by not looking deeper into what they were actually talking about.
That a coherent understanding can be made from interpreting it 'their way' more so than 'our way' is one facet of my study (to teach the original meaning). In the process of exploring it in the way we have, we become aware of "the transitional perception" (to coin a term to describe that thing).
Some of this is loose notes. You'll see what I am referring to and with that insight, you will re-assess what a lot of other people are talking about, also. This is not a reinvention. It is the opposite. It is to look at 'the same old stale' with fresh eyes only to discover that 'the same old stale' was wrong in the first place and that our fresh eyes now have another level from which to view the world.
From this, we connect directly with our ancestors and, perhaps, if the lineage holds, with our descendants.
Uranus
I asked Grok:
Define the meaning of the planet we call Uranus under the logic of ura- (Jure) -nus
Grok replied:
The historical name is not built from Latin ura- + -nus. It is Greek Οὐρανός (Ouranos): sky, the vault, heaven. Best linguistic guess: an older worsanós from a root meaning to rain or moisten — the sky as what wets the earth. A link to Vedic Varuna (the binder, the watcher of cosmic law) has been proposed and is now generally rejected on sound-laws. That is the fact. What follows is the component-logic you asked for.
So ura- in your frame is not “sky” yet. It is the instituted thing: law as object, order as a finished vault, the bag after it has been set down.
Under your components, -nus makes a being out of that instituted thing: the one that is of ura.
Uranus = that which belongs to the instituted vault; the sky as law already thrown-together and named as a world.
That is why the god Ouranos is not a hero. He is the cover. He begets, then binds what he begot, then is cut. The vault is first a container; later it is a lid. Jure is the same shape: law as what surrounds and binds, not as what hunts.
Varuna — even if the names do not share a root — is the nearest function: the one who encompasses, who watches, who holds ṛta (the order that makes oaths and seasons continue). Water and sky as one enclosure. Your ura- (Jure) is pointing at that function whether or not the phonology allows it.
A body named for the vault, not for a warrior. Ice, tilt, a rotation almost on its side: the cover that does not sit the way the other covers sit. Far enough out that it was not in the old heap of “wandering stars” — it had to be added when the bag of known worlds was no longer closed.
So: Uranus, by your components, is the named result of sky-as-law. The -nus of an -ura. The dome you sit under and call the world, after someone finished throwing the fragments together and forgot they were fragments.
I asked Grok:
How does Egyptian goddess Nuit compare with this definition of Uranus?
Grok replied:
They occupy the same job in the diagram — the vault that makes a world by covering it — and then almost everything else diverges.
Both are the dome, not the spear.
Nut’s body is the sky. Hands on one horizon, feet on the other. Stars on the skin. One of her titles is Coverer of the Sky. She is the membrane that keeps the unformed water of Nun from falling in. That is your ura-: the instituted enclosure, the bag after it has become a lid. Without that lid there is no “inside” for earth, air, or law to happen in.
Ouranos / your Uranus is the same shape of thought in Greek: heaven as what stands over, what surrounds, what can bind what it has made. Jure as the binding cover.
Both are also what has to be separated from earth before life can exist in the gap. Shu pries Nut off Geb. The space that results is the world. Ouranos is pressed onto Gaia, then cut away from her. Same architecture: vault plus ground, plus a forced interval between them.
That is closer to conjection (the ongoing gathering) than to conjecture (the heap you sit on). Uranus in your cut is the heap. Nut is still gathering and emptying.
The Egyptian act that most resembles jure — the institution of order — is not Nut herself. It is Shu lifting her. Air as the law that holds the cover off the ground. Nut is what is held. Ouranos is the holding, until the son cuts the holder.
Crowley kept the arched, star-covered woman and stripped most of the Egyptian job. That Nuit is “Infinite Space, and the Infinite Stars thereof” — the container of all possible points, not the daily swallower of Ra, not the coffin-mother, not the wife pried off Geb. That version is almost pure carrier-bag: the bag as cosmos. It is further from jure (binding law) and closer to the gathering that never finishes becoming an object.
Egyptian Nut is stricter: a body with edges, a mouth, a womb, four points on the horizon, and a duty to keep Nun out.
| Uranus by your components | Nut | |
|---|---|---|
| Shape | Instituted vault; sky as law-object | Living vault; sky as body |
| Gender | Sky-father / cover-as-king | Sky-mother / cover-as-womb |
| Binding | Holds down what it begot | Holds chaos out; holds the dead in |
| Time | Named result; then mutilated | Daily swallow and birth |
| Violence | Castration of the cover | Separation of cover from ground |
| Death | Not her office | She is the lid and the second mother |
I asked Grok:
Nun is ignorance?
Therefore Nuit provides a contemporary working context.
Astrology and Zodiac are one meaning of these words - but the order of the day is another, the frame of reference we have using the information we have - the map based on the known. This is why in legal practise there is Due Process to itemise what is and reject why is not valid.
The same symbols and their basic definitions has application to different fields of knowledge / contexts.
Grok replied:
Nun is not ignorance. Nun is the unformed.
Ignorance is a local condition inside a world that already exists: you lack an item that could have been known. Nun is prior to items. No map, no edge, no “this” against “not this.” Water that has not been cut into river, sea, or body. In the Egyptian picture it surrounds the made world and would dissolve it if the vault failed. That is closer to undifferentiation than to “I do not know.”
The analogy you are using still works, if you keep the types distinct:
Without a cover there is no inside in which a fact can stand, a charge can be laid, a planet can be named, or a day can have an order. Nuit as contemporary working context means: this is the sky we are actually under — the map drawn from what is presently admissible, not the eternal sky and not the water outside it.
Astrology and the zodiac are one application: a closed band of names laid on the vault so motion can be read. That is a map of the known-as-sky.
The order of the day is the same operation in another office: given the information we have, this is the frame of reference we will work inside. Agenda, jurisdiction, what counts as a live question. Not the cosmos. The working vault.
Due process is the legal form of that operation.
That is Shu’s job wearing a wig: keep the vault off the ground long enough for a world (a case, a day, a chart) to exist in the gap. Nut is the lid of the file. Nun is everything that was not entered.
A symbol at this level is not a mascot for one subject. It is a shape of work.
Cover / contents / outside the cover.
The mistake is to treat the zodiacal reading as the meaning, or the legal reading as the meaning. Those are applications. The definition underneath is the same: a frame made from the known, held against what has not been made into known, so that action can occur without pretending the water is a document.
Nuit is useful now because she is not a dead sky-father already castrated into a planet-name. She is still a working lid: local, bodily, dated. Today’s order of the day is one of her arches. Tomorrow’s will be another. Nun does not go away when the session adjourns. The cover is taken down and put up again, which is the whole point of due process — and of not confusing the map with the water.
I asked Grok:
Explain Shu's role in Egyptian mythology
Grok replied:
Shu is the interval. Not the sky, not the earth, and not the water outside both. He is what stands between so that a world can exist in the gap.
Their children are Geb (earth) and Nut (sky). Those two cling together. While they are locked, nothing else can live in between. Shu forces them apart and stays there: arms raised under Nut, feet on Geb. Clouds were sometimes called his bones. At the four corners, supports — the pillars of Shu, often backed by Heh figures — help him hold the arch.
His name is written with the ostrich feather, the same sign that marks lightness, and that later sits on Ma’at’s head as truth. He is air that is dry and cooling, sunlight as it fills the space (not the sun-disk itself), wind, and the calm that follows when things are no longer crushed together.
Shu’s office is separation that does not destroy either side.
Egyptians treated that space as the condition of life. If Shu dropped the sky, the vault would fall, the earth would be sealed, and Nun would not need to flood in for the made world to end. The cover and the ground would simply become one mass again.
That is why he is compared, later, to Atlas. The comparison is only half right. Atlas is punished into holding. Shu is the first structure of the cosmos: the void that has a job.
He also makes duality usable: above and below, dry and wet (with Tefnut), light in the air versus dark when the air is not lit. Duality here is not a moral slogan. It is the fact that two things can exist without occupying the same point.
He is not only the furniture of creation.
He is sometimes called a mythic king after Ra. That is secondary. The image that does the work is the man under the arch.
Nun is the unformed. Nut is the lid. Geb is the floor. Shu is due process as a body of air: the standing interval that lets you itemise what is inside without letting the lid and the floor collapse into each other, and without pretending the water outside has been abolished.
He does not invent the known. He keeps a gap in which the known can be listed, breathed, and revised. The order of the day happens in Shu, not in Nun and not in the sky considered as a sealed object. If the session ends and the supports come down, you do not gain truth. You get two lovers crushing the space where a case, a map, or a life had been.
I asked Grok:
What we witnessing here is metaphysical meanings applied to existential elements. The context is not the world to be observed, hear the context is the applied context, what they mean in terms of understanding, what they mean in terms of meaning. The knowledge body. How the describes use the words is a separate meaning than how the basic meaning of them. In both of those, they are used to make maps, one of the physical environment and one of the conceptual environment.
Grok replied:
Yes. Two layers have been running on the same words, and they are easy to smash into one.
Basic meaning is what the pieces were built to do: ject- throw, ura the result, Nun the unformed, Nut the cover, Shu the interval. Existential elements: water, vault, gap, ground. Things that can be pointed at.
Applied meaning is what those same elements do inside a knowledge body: how a mind uses them to understand, to admit, to exclude, to keep a working frame up. That is not “the world observed.” It is the use of the world-words as tools for meaning.
Describers add a third layer: what priests, astrologers, lawyers, or we in this thread do with the words once they are already in circulation. That usage can drift far from both the physical element and the root sense, and still remain a map.
So there are two maps drawn with one set of tokens.
Nut arches. Geb lies. Shu stands. Nun surrounds. The sun goes into a mouth and comes out of a womb. This is a picture of sky, earth, air, water, day. It can be wrong in detail and still be a map of out there.
Same figures, different office.
This map is not a claim about weather. It is a claim about how a knowledge body stays a body instead of dissolving back into unmarked water or collapsing vault-onto-ground.
Metaphysics here is not a second universe behind the first. It is meanings applied to existential elements so that understanding has furniture. The context that matters is the applied context: what the word is doing in this use, for this map.
The error is to treat one map as the meaning of the other. Zodiac is not law. Law is not the desert night. The desert night is not “ignorance.” They share a shape of work — cover, contents, outside, interval — and that is why the symbols travel. The knowledge body is the place those shapes are applied so that meaning can be listed, revised, and held off the flood without pretending the flood has gone.
I asked Grok:
In Egyptian hieroglyphs there is a third layer of meaning, that which is explicitly to do with the soul’s journey through life and transmigration, how the spirit world interacts with the world of experience.
Grok replied:
That is a third map, and in Egypt it is not a poetic extra. It is what a large part of the writing was for.
Hieroglyphs are medu-netjer: god-words. A sign has sound and a classifier, so it can label bread or a boat. It can also be treated as an act. Written on a coffin, a wall, a bandage, the same sign is meant to do something for the one who has left ordinary experience and must still traffic with it. Physical map and conceptual map stay in force. The third map is the itinerary of the person across those two.
The usual Egyptian goal is not to be poured into a fresh baby and start again. It is to keep the parts of a person from scattering, then to become akh: effective, able to move.
“Going forth by day” is the name of the so-called Book of the Dead. The dead wants to go out and come in: visit the garden, receive food, assume forms, travel with Ra, return to the mummy at night. Spirit world and world of experience are not two sealed countries. They share gates. The ba is the commuter.
Rebirth is real in another sense: nightly swallow, dawn birth, the solar cycle the dead rides. That is cycling through Nut, not a new census entry on earth.
Nun, Nut, Shu, Geb, Ra, the feather — on the physical map they are water, vault, air, ground, sun. On the knowledge map they are unformed, working frame, interval, object of work, light by which a list is made.
On the soul map they become places you pass and powers you need:
The script is built for this. Determinatives classify. In tombs, dangerous animal-signs are sometimes cut or incomplete so the pictured thing cannot harm the dead. The word is not only about the crocodile. It can behave as one.
| Layer | What the word is doing |
|---|---|
| Physical environment | Names sky, air, water, earth, sun as they stand around a living body |
| Conceptual environment | Names cover, interval, unformed, admitted record — how a knowledge body holds |
| Soul’s traffic | Names the route and the tools: swallow and birth, going out and coming in, weighing, becoming effective among the stars |
The third layer is how the spirit world is applied to experience: offerings that feed a ka, a ba that sits in a statue or a garden, a dream, a ghost, a judgement that uses the same feather that marks dry air. Hieroglyphs sit on all three maps at once because the Egyptians did not treat writing as a picture of the world only. They treated it as one of the ways the two sides keep a gate open.
So your addition is right, with a tight definition of transmigration: not a new incarnation as the standard prize, but re-entry and circulation. The person, once made akh, moving between the made world and the world the made world was always inside of. Same symbols. Third use. The map of how meaning survives the body.
See: Two Doors of the Black Land