News stories and memories colliding around rollercoasters, circuses and empty church buildings. Outrageous, glorious, both?

The Trinity is like a cloverleaf, I was told. Really? I thought, and proceeded to teach a lesson on hamsters.

The kinds of questions around mystery that end up drifting because they're not allowed to land — in this lifetime — without permission.

The unfolding of Chapter Seventeen's architecture and approach feels compelling. I’m thinking aloud here about potential areas of research.

Anguish and tuxedos. As if they make sense together. (Horrible.)

Just notes on certainty and hearsay, as I thnk aloud about how artificial intelligence shows us more than we wanted to see about what we're full of.

…Blip. Oh. Well, that's the power gone. And I don't just mean electricity. Where's a techie when you need one? He's no good now. At least he has his dramaturgy to fall back on.

I'm thinking aloud about Chapter Seventeen, but you're welcome to listen or read, climb in or create, write or study, collaborate or unplug — and carry on doing all the same things in the real world…

How can I say this loudly enough. There are sites that get the job done, and there are sites that don't think that was the point.

You get knocked over by a wave. It was 5ft. No, sorry, 50ft. No, sorry, 50,000ft… or like Job. At what point is the hurt such that the scale isn't the point. Oh, and AI.

About the origins of the Chapter Seventeen experiment. It all comes down to hyperlinks, which, when you think about it, are the technological equivalent of walking through walls. Or something about an Ethiopian eunuch...

Fork handles. Scaffolding poles. Metal things and metaphors that might be in a box out the back, but I'll have to look. Was this what they meant by theological imagination?