Last month we revealed the first details of a project involving the large hadron collider. Those details were admittedly sketchy, but something resembling full disclosure will be made public here at foolishpeople.com after we convene in New England at the end of this month. In the meantime it is our great pleasure to present the completed manual for building and operating a Newcomen II type hyperdimensional engine. (Julia’s notation: The manual as stands is more of a third draft, but is the first version complete enough to be of any practical use.) The Newcomen II is, as some of you may recall, a hyperdimensional machine whose existence was revealed publicly for the first time here at foolishpeople.com. The purpose of the machine is the creation of artifacts used to construct hyperdimensional ley lines.
Julia and I built the first Newcomen II many years ago. Whether that's many years in the future, or the past, or some other more sideways distance of time is anyone's guess; likely it's a bit of all them. A hyperdimensional machine is not built in a string of linear moments. The pieces, by the very nature of the machine, must be spread out through various dimensional spaces, times, and places. When all the pieces are set in place the machine goes live. The bulk of the engine sits outside of time; only ever breaching our temporal universe when it is set into motion. To our flawed perception this can sometimes make it feel as though the machine had beem completed even before work had started on it.
Constructing the Newcomen II was not a very complex endeavor; in truth we've always disdained overly elaborate ritual, preferring instead the beautiful and brief explosions of intensity one finds in a perfect punk rock song, or a really good orgasm. Each piece of the Newcomen II was constructed through a series of simple but highly intense ritualized experiences. For the sake utility we will attempt to place the construction of each piece in a linear framework. In order to avoid the sort of gigantic text block that turns minds high on the internet to mush, we will be breaking this up into several pieces which will be posted over the next several weeks.
We encourage you to build each piece as the instructions are posted instead of waiting for the full text to be posted. Each step will be accompanied by personal accounts of our own construction process. This will hopefully illuminate the process as well as inspire would be hyperdimensional tinkerers. These recollections are not simply historical documents however. They are potent artifacts of the memories and experiences used to build the first Newcomen II. With this in mind, Cell 144 will take all the credit but none of the blame for any hyperdimensional shifting resulting from exposure to these documents.
The Assembly And Operation Of A Newcomen II Type Hyperdimensional Engine
A Newcomen II is not strictly speaking a physical machine; unlike like your car you can't go buy parts for it. The machine's pieces are built from experience, memory, and a created narrative which binds them all together. This narrative is like nuts and bolts; while vitally important it is not the machine itself and should not be the most engaging part of the machine. For example, the narrative which will hold your engine together is this instruction manual. The machine you will eventually create exists because of what you're reading right now.
You can thank us later.
Step 1: Creating The Temporal Engineer
For those of you who have no experience with hyperdimensional engineering, certain aspects of this project will seem confusing no matter we try to simplify them. This is because, as a wise person once noted, the map is not the territory. Once you begin construction a degree of clarity otherwise unattainable will settle in. While it's entirely possible a future or past version of yourself is responsible for your decision to build this machine, it's still up to the you reading right now to do something that will pass for a beginning.
Tomorrow you will be someone else. Though you will remember the person you were when you read this document, that version of you will become increasingly unfamiliar as who you are right now becomes a story passed down through various temporal iterations of yourself. The Temporal Engineer breaks that cycle by creating a version of you so specific and so defined by function that you'll forget your first love before you forget The Temporal Engineer.
While drawing up the blueprints for the first Newcomen II Julia said to me, "The day we start we have to be like pieces of a machine, not like people." I understood exactly what she meant; I was like that when I was skating. I became an extension of the board. I did not have hopes or dreams in those moments because only the next line, the next trick mattered; in those moments I was not a person, I was an experience. Most people have secret places they go to cast off the detritus of the world and after a time emerge a new person. Those of you who have no such place will need to find one before you can continue. When Julia and I were building our machine, my secret place was an abandoned incinerator building in Framingham Massachusetts. (Julia’s note: I have decided not to make the details of my involvement in this part of the process public.)
Many nights had been passed in that building, usually drinking with friends, but being there alone always seemed to make it an entirely different place. I spent the week leading up to the project start date sleeping there. Every daylight hour was spent in an altered state of consciousness, turning myself into a piece of machinery. (Julia’s notation: There is no proscribed length for this stage of the process.) Each night I laid out my blanket and rolled my clothes up into a makeshift pillow. That summer had been brutal and those nights were no exception. Sleeping completely naked was the only thing that made the hot, still air in that place bearable enough to lose consciousness. Laying in the darkness I would imagine myself standing on my skateboard before a park of endless possibilities, and struggle to push away any other thoughts until at last sleep overtook me.
The appointed day broke like lightning; a flash of consciousness, and a sense of alertness that had not had to wind its way through the labyrinthine corridors of dream. A brassy light filtered through broken windows casting shadow sigils across my pale skin. I looked around at the hollowed out building for the first time consciously understanding how perfect it was that I had chosen an incinerator building as the place I went to rise from my own ashes. I was sticky with summer by the time I finished dressing and collecting my things but the juju of that place, conjured by my own memories of it, energized me with a sense of purpose normally unknown on days ruled by summer sun and black asphalt. I was no longer a man with a past or a future; I was simply the man who builds the machine.
(Next up, Step Two: Creating The Temporal Anchor, likely to be posted once I’ve recovered from esoZone)