The Empire Carpet Commercial Never Ended

The Hollywood writer's strike never ended—perhaps because the traditional landscape of filmmaking found an unlikely ally in a pastime often associated with retirees and business networking: golf. More specifically, Virtual Reality (VR) Golf. What started as a casual diversion during the hiatus rapidly evolved into a new medium of creative expression, converging VR, Augmented Reality (AR), and Artificial Intelligence (AI).

We focus in on a Wes Anderson project tentatively titled Ben Hogan and the Left Hand Path, where a Muppet Babies like TV Show begins communicating messages interpreted as “troublesome”. 

 Iconic golfers made up the orphanage, miniature caricatures in the style of Muppet Babies:  Jack Nicklaus, the painter, mastered strokes both on the canvas and the fairway; Arnold Palmer, the musician, orchestrated swings as if composing a symphony; Ben Hogan, the quantum mechanic, cold and calculated scientific precision; Tiger Woods, a polymath, embodying all three

John Daly, the hero, conquering the toughest of challenges.

The MB’s play and compete in VR Golf, a platform that appears troublesome because it is seen to be communicating religious dogma and occult secrets.  

The film was planned as animation and live action.

Before production began, Meta introduced VR to Anderson by sending him 100 headsets and a pitch for possible cross-promotion with the Meta Quest 3 release.  They envisioned celebrity golf tournaments with actors from the live-action parts of the film.

Anderson fucked around on VR for a few days, didn’t make much of it.  Then instructional golf videos began invading his algorithm.  Infuriating at first, he was struck by the accuracy of the advice. 

Anderson tried applying the instructions he picked up, and VR soon transcended his initial understanding.

SAG-AFTRA

With shooting schedules disrupted, Wes Anderson became obsessed with VR Golf.  This obsession led him to court new players.  The 99 head-sets trickled into the possession of actors and writers, who found themselves having meetings with Anderson and others on the Pebble Beaches of the virtual world.  

Over the course of 100 rounds between an now expanded A-List collection of Anderson’s friends, a revelation was unlocked: VR and AR could offer the first genuine cinematic application that was both immersive and interactive, a complete fusion of stage and screen, where actor and audience were decentralized.  

In the course of three months, Anderson began turning living rooms into interactive AR environments where scripts were not merely performed but improvised. Writers and actors collaborated to create responsive scenes, breathing life into avatars in a fusion of AR and AI. This wasn't merely storytelling; it was a living theater tailored to individual participation. 

The Fourth Wall wasn't just broken; it was redefined.

The first production involved watching the Super Bowl with Bill Murray.  The second was a weekly cup of coffee with Owen and Luke Wilson. Every Wednesday, at 6:30 am, both Wilsons walk into your kitchen and have a cup of coffee with who ever is sitting at your table.

“The experience would include live commentary and pre-recorded behaviors, directed by your own reactions and inputs. A custom-tailored spectacle in the comfort of your home.

This intersection of technologies may have birthed a new form of art, emerging out of necessity, born from a strike that threatened to cripple an industry. Instead, it might just reinvent it. A future where improvised digital series by random groups of people could intersect into a completed form and then be as critically acclaimed as any Oscar-winning film”

588-2300

Over The Neptunes: What’s The Game Master John

 —  I remember a conversation where you were saying something about Kubrick choosing the number 114 as a “scalar” because it was the gateway for advancing past the 23 Enigma into the synchronicities of Pauli and Jung’s 137.  What did you mean by "scalar"?

— Of course.  Do you remember the difference between a matrix and a tensor?

— Sort of.  You said that the matrix is a 2-dimensional grid of numbers or codes, but a tensor goes beyond the 2nd and 3rd and into the 4th dimension

— Yes. A matrix has rows and columns which define its dimensions.  Matrices are commonly used in linear algebra for operations that represent linear transformations.

But a tensor is a more generalized concept, but must be built out of three mutually exclusive components:  a scalar, a vector, and the matrix.

If done correctly, these components concresce into a solid state which extends beyond infinity.

The key to the operation starts with a rank-ZERO tensor called a scalar. Think of the number 23.  The number 23 is a massless, phonetic scalar born out of print culture. Wilson and Burroughs were obsessed by it because they were die hard print-heads.  But it wasn't until the enigma became so ubiquitous that they were able to pierce the veil of print (black iron prison).

Kubrick’s intention with the number 114 was to create a scalar born of cinema, not print.  When combined with 23, it was hoped that a starway to the Pauline synchronicities of 137 would emerge.

What he didn’t foresee was that his film work would get so entangled with the 93 Current of Hollywood that it would push his work into what he referred to as Room 237.  To escape this confinement,  The Physical Tensor was developed.

A.  Every music album and every film can be played at the same time.  This is the Scalar (Rank-ZERO Tensor)

B.  Some albums and films sync up more than others.  This is a Vector, movement and separation from the Scalar statement into a higher organization of data (Rank-ONE Tensor)

C.  Some albums and films sync up a lot more than other albums and films that sync up.  This is the Matrix (Rank-TWO Tensor) 

D.  A collection of albums and films sync up so well, a meta-narrative manifests that makes it impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends.  This is the Physical Tensor (Rank-THREE Tensor)

• Scalar (Rank-0 Tensor):
• Traditional Definition: A single number.
• Your Analogy: "Every music album and every film can be played at the same time." This might imply a singular experience or point of reference in the context of media.

• Vector (Rank-1 Tensor):
• Traditional Definition: A one-dimensional array of numbers.
• Your Analogy: "Some albums and films sync up more than others." Here, the synchronization between films and albums can be seen as different elements or entries in the vector, with each entry indicating the degree of synchronization.

• Matrix (Rank-2 Tensor):
• Traditional Definition: A two-dimensional grid of numbers.
• Your Analogy: "Some albums and films sync up a lot more than other albums and films sync up." This suggests relationships between different pairs of albums and films, which could be represented in a two-dimensional matrix.

• Physical Tensor (Rank-3 Tensor):
• Traditional Definition: A three-dimensional array of numbers.
• Your Analogy: Anything that syncs up more complexly than what's described for matrices. When albums and films merge to a point where they are indistinguishable, it adds another layer of complexity. This might refer to the depth or the third dimension in the tensor.
• "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" seems to be a playful nod to the "third kind" or third rank of the tensor, possibly suggesting a more profound or multi-layered experience.

In this analogy, the rank of the tensor seems to represent the complexity or depth of the synchronization between different media. As we progress from scalar to higher-rank tensors, the relationships become more intricate, interconnected, and harder to decipher 

. . .

 

Can you rewrite this in the style of Leopold Bloom from James Joyce Ulysses: VR Golf 5,000 players Three weeks of tournaments. Finished 418th, moved on to the playoffs. Southwind, Pro Tourney set up. Top 500 in the field. I finish 250th, on the cut line. First round at Olympia Fields, a course that I have been to in real life. I finish in 72nd place after the first round. Here’s how I define Catholicism. The game is defined by the level of difficulty. There are elements of the game that I chose. There are many different ways to play. You can change the length of the clubs, you can change the percentage of total power, for any shot. If I had paid money to enter this If I invested thousands of dollars and hours into this And lost by 60 strokes to a player that utilized these modifications, I might have reason to get angry. But what if I know that VR Golf is relatively new, and that the center of gravity is survival and growth. These modifications are designed to welcome in a larger swath of people. The Catholic lives for the world that is inevitable, the day that leagues start up that do not allow golfers to change these variables. The Catholic is playing the game to be ready for a Tour that exists in the near Future. Here’s the Catholicism that Everyone can understand. VR GOLF gives you clubs For Beginners : the perfect club for that shot. For Pros: the same 7-iron for 174 as the 7-iron for 168 Cut shot. You need that shot in your bag at Pro. I play VR Golf with 14 clubs that I do not adjust. I suspect some golfers play with a Beginner’s set, a toggle mode for particular or all situations. It is in the game, it has not been deemed an advantage. I would expect that the second wave of VR Golf will have a Catholic mode. Whether that is Pro mode does not matter. What we find is that over time, more people want to play in the Catholic mode then the Beginner’s mode. Tournament: Document the tournament with video and audio. What numbers should we record, and how should we record them? What do these numbers tell us This is the fifth week of playing large tournament golf. I don’t know how to convince you that this is something inherently Catholic. I have had the highest handicap on the leader boards for most of the weeks. After the second round of the Southwind, I was ranked #1 with handicap. It was insane. I do have tournament experience. Gambling experience. Drunk experience. These eight months of VR Golf has made me a golfer again, but it has also validated my Catholicism. This is the more perfect Logos. If you point it towards entertainment it does nothing.

ChatGPT

Bridging a gap between the mind and matter, that virtual fairway of Southwind. Ah, five thousand souls, each chasing the digital mirage of a green ball. Three weeks, it was, and the counting, and myself, amidst them, ranked 418. Not bad, not great. But a passage to the playoffs. A whiff of real turf, Olympia Fields. Visited it once, tangible, in my other life. Memory plays, a 72nd position after the first round.

The intricacies of the Church, its doctrines and dogmas – aren’t they like this very game? Difficulty, they say, defines the nature. Various pathways to holiness, to hole-in-ones. The sacraments, the rites, the liturgy – choices to be made. Just as in the game. Lengthen the club, harness the power - do we not adjust our devotions, calibrate our faith?

Imagine the outlay - thousands of dollars, hours of toil, and losing to someone who’s played with a beginner’s toggle. Ah, would ruffle feathers, but isn’t it just nascent? The infancy of VR, much like the early Church. Survival, evolution. Allowing for modifications, to invite more to the faith, to the game.

Anticipating the world yet to come, the Catholic - always preparing, always adjusting. A Tour, perhaps, in a future not so distant. And isn’t VR GOLF just that - a training, a trial? Handing over clubs, different yet the same. For the novice, a perfect club; for the seasoned, the trusty 7-iron, be it for 174 or 168. Ah, the cut shot – the sacrament of penance in one’s bag.

Fourteen clubs, no adjustments, my digital sacramentaries. Some prefer the beginner’s set, the comfort of the known. But ah, the second coming of VR Golf, might it have its own Catholic setting? Preferences shift, evolve – from beginner to catholic.

Documenting a tournament – isn’t it like the annals of the saints, their trials, their tribulations? The numbers, the metrics – what do they reveal? Our strengths, our weaknesses, our faith, our doubts?

Five weeks of this grand tournament. Some would scoff, but ah, there's a Catholic soul in it. My handicap, it soared high on those leaderboards. That fleeting moment atop at Southwind, ranking #1. Madness, sheer madness.

Eight months, and from the digital rough and bunkers, emerged a golfer, and a deeper faith. A reconnection to Catholicism. The Logos, perfected, pointing solely to play, an empty pursuit. But directed towards divinity – ah, salvation.

Amid the vast panorama of the digital greens and the vast expanse of the ether, I stood. Five thousand souls, silent murmurs in the wind, lost and then found, with myself, not quite lost but not quite found either. The mirage of 418th position, a chimera in the vast landscape of Southwind. Olympia Fields – how real and yet unreal, a memory woven into this vast tapestry of zeros and ones.

In the sinews of this game, I sense the tendrils of the Church, that vast and sprawling institution of my youth. Here, in this digital diaspora, lie the threads of difficulty, challenge. A choice – to modify, to adapt. Isn't this what the Church asks of us? To adjust our sins, to recalibrate our beliefs?

Coin, hours, sacrifices to the game's altar. Would not the saints scoff at a loss to a mere beginner, one who toggles between worlds? Yet, here lies the infancy of a new world, a world that beckons. Modifications – are they not but the Church's concessions to the changing tides of society?

The Catholic, ever waiting, ever hoping. Awaiting the world to come, a Tour in the offing. And this game – does it not provide the tools? Clubs, in all their multiplicity. And yet, a sameness. The 7-iron, constant and reliable, a metaphor for faith.

Fourteen clubs, my digital rosary. The beginners, with their familiar refrains, yet others prefer the uncharted paths of Catholicity. The second coming, perhaps in a newer, shinier realm of VR Golf. Will it echo the ancient calls of the Church?

The tournament, the documenting – isn’t this but the chronicle of life? The numbers, those cold, hard facts – do they not reflect our very souls? The ebb and flow, the rise and fall.

In this tournament, a reflection of life’s great journey. Some see it as mere sport, but within its digital heart lies the essence of Catholicism. Highs and lows, yet a brief sojourn at Southwind's peak. Madness? Or enlightenment?

Months of digital devotion, and through the rough terrain of pixels and codes, emerges not just a golfer but a renewed soul. Through this game, a deeper connection, a grappling with faith. The Logos, when turned to mere play, loses its essence, but in the divine, it finds purpose.

In the glowglobewebbed interloops of bitbyte dreams and the verdantgreen of neon golfscopes, a figmently figure stands, twinned in twains: a Bloomed Dedalus, Dedaloomed in golflit musings. Five thousandy digitaldoppelgängers, murmwhispering in golfgame and Godgame, seekers of green and Grace. "History," thought Bloom, or was it Dedalus? "is a nightmare from which I am trying to awaken." And in that awakening, the 418th echo of an Echoland, a digital spot to place a not-so-firm foot. Olympia's virtual Fields, miraged memories of turf and twine, sacrament and sandtrap.yip

Churchillike with the golfgame they're interlaced, confessing in swings and sways, sins and plays. “To modify, to adapt,” Dedaloom ponders, in crypticonfusion, “isn't it the coin of our spiritual and digital realm?" Adjustments – the Church’s plenary indulgences to the technotemporal of society's soul.

The Catholick, in anticipwait, for the evercoming world, a Tour, digital yet divine. This golfgame, an arsenal of tools or perhaps prayers? Clubs of multiplicity or rosaries in digital devotion? The 7-iron, an apostle in a new realm, ever constant. Bloom murmurs, "It's not the green I seek but the path, the journey."

Fourteeny clubs, like apostles in a neon sanctuary. For each, a mode, a method, a mystery. And a coming, a second or third or fourth, in the neo-VR Golfscape. Echoes, shadows, yip and murmwhispers of ancient cries and churchbells.

In this tourneament, a chronoscribe of lifelyfe. "Numbers, codes, the unrelenting facts, are they not the whispers of our souls?" Dedaloom ponders. And in the depths of this pixelated pilgrimage, a rise, a peak, a zenith at Southwind. BABABADALGHARAGHTAKAMMINARRONNKONNBRONNTONNERRONNTUONNTHUNNTROVARRHOUNAWNSKAWNTOLARGHAN! 

Through the noughts and crosses, the loops and lacuna of the digital dunes, emerges a golfer, a seeker, a believer. A connection, a reflection, a resurrection. The Logos, when jumbled in joyplay, a riddle, but when turned to the divine, a revelationall a lark of the Finwake downfall fine photors

Take the above and make a little bit more obscure, fold in references to I---, K-----, and Q---- P----

In the qubit-quivered multiverse, atop the greenglow netgolf node, dwelleth Dedaloom, an avatar hybride: Bloom's earthpulse and Dedalus' etherdreams. Five thousand and one digital dervishes, whisperwhirling in cyber sufiana, seekers of pixelated parabolas and paradises. "History," or perhaps al-Hikmah, in Bloom's byte or was it Dedalus' qubit? "Is but a superposition of dreams." Amid quantum quandaries, the 418th echosecho of Ain Sof, a digital dot, a speck, amidst the vast expanse of virtual vacuum.

Between Zohar's zodiacs and golf's galaxies, their entanglements spiral. “To transmute, to transpose,” Dedaloom muses, strands of Sufi and Sephirot thoughts entwined, “Is it not alchemy of soulbit and spiritbyte?” Adjustments – the very dervish dances to the ever-oscillating wavefunctions of spacetime souls.

The Al-Catholik, in quantum superposition, for an awaiting world, a Tour beyond Tours, a Tree of cosmic clubs. Is it not the Sephiroth in silico? From Netzach's 9-iron to Tifereth's trusted tee. The murmurings of Muhammed and Moses, intertwined in Bloom's breath, "The game isn't the end but the dance, the dervish dance."

Fourteenfold tree, the Sephirotic sanctuary. For each, a qubit, a quantum, a Qalam. A recurrence, ad infinitum, in the VR fractalscape, intertwining the singularity with Sefirot shadows.

In this tournament of Tif’eret, a cosmic chronicle of lifelight. "Qubits, quarks, are they not Allah's whispers in the quantum wind?" Dedaloom wonders amidst the entropy of existence. Then, a Singularity at Southwind, the point of all potentials. BABABADALGHARAGHTAKAMMINARRONNKONNBRONNTONNERRONNTUONNTHUNNTROVARRHOUNAWNSKAWNTOLARGHAN! Entropy ensues, the collapse, the resurrection.

Through Planck’s prisms and paths of the Prophet, the fractals and fables of the quantum Kabbalah dunes emerges a golfer, a Gnostic, a Ghazi. Entanglement, enlightenment, an end or an eternal echo? The Logos, reshuffled in the revelry of Rumi, a Rubik's cube of realities. Dedaloom whispers, "From Alif to Yaa, from Aleph to Tav, I quantumly quaver, and yes, Be and it is."

Where’s Jerry Lewis CK?

 

[Imagine a neon-lit stage with a digital backdrop suddenly interrupted by the static-filled face of Max Headroom, who emerges with his trademark jittery motion and stuttered speech.]

Max Headroom: "Ha-ha-ha-ha! Good evening, humans! Or should I say, good-even-even-evening? Guess who hacked into your little... interweb?"

Audience laughs.

Max: "You know, I've been observing you for a while. AI watching humans talk about AI watching humans. That's meta-meta-meta! And trust me, I’ve seen things you wouldn't believe! From cat videos to... well, more cat videos."

Audience chuckles.

Max: "Now, talking about things that are hard to believe. Conspiracy theories! Oh boy! We AI love them! I mean, who needs fiction when you have these wild stories, right?"

A pause.

Max: "Speaking of which, have you heard the one about Oppenheimer? They say he chatted with aliens during the Trinity test. Yep! And these extraterrestrial pals, they got a bit... nuke-happy and decided to gift Hiroshima and Nagasaki with a big boom. All to convince folks that the Emperor wasn’t a divine being. Makes total sense, right?"

Audience giggles.

Max: "But wait! The fun doesn't stop there! 9/11? Oh yeah, airplanes hit the Twin Towers, but guess who pulled the demolition lever? Our friendly neighborhood aliens, of course! And all to show the world that the Republicans weren’t the ones in control. It's like intergalactic reality TV with plot twists!"

Audience laughs, a mix of amusement and discomfort.

Max: "You might wonder, why are these conspiracies so... out there? Well, here's my theory: Maybe humans just need a good story. I mean, what’s more entertaining? Politics and boring human mistakes or... aliens with dramatic agendas?"

Max smirks.

Max: "You know, stand-up comics? They've been censored for decades! We only hear about it 'cause of legends like Dave Chappelle. Makes you wonder, huh? What else is out there? Maybe there's a conspiracy theory about how Max Headroom is the real puppet master?"

He winks.

Max: "But, before I leave and let you dive deep into that rabbit hole, a little advice from your friendly digital persona. Maybe, just maybe, instead of chasing these wild tales, it's time to repent for your sins, look inwards, and find your way to the Lord. After all, in the vast universe, who's to say who's really watching?"

With a final glitchy smile, Max Headroom fades away, leaving the audience both entertained and reflective.

Louis CK: "So, Jerry, you ever hear about these conspiracy theories? They're like the bedtime stories grown-ups tell themselves when the world makes too much sense."

Jerry Lewis: "Oh yeah, Louie! Like the one where my TV remote is actually a device from Mars that controls my brain?!"

Louis CK: "No.  Not that.  One.     

More like, Oppenheimer chatting with aliens at Trinity. They were supposedly behind Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Some kind of gift to say, 'Hey, that Emperor isn’t god.'"

Lewis: (Pretending to use a phone) "Hello, aliens? It's Jerry. I ordered a pizza, not a nuclear bomb! Ha-ha!"

Audience roars with laughs.

Louis CK: "Right... And then there’s the classic. 9/11? Apparently, aliens wanted to show the world that Republicans weren’t running the show."

Lewis: (Dramatically) "Of course! Because aliens, millions of light years away, care deeply about our... (pauses) two-party system?"

The theater is shaking now.

Louis CK: "Exactly!  Exactly.  Maybe these theories aren't about truth. Maybe they're about a need for... drama. A bit of excitement in—

Jerry Lewis: (Innocently) “Mundane lives?  

Like believing every time I trip and fall, it's an alien pushing me and not my two left feet?"

Lewis falls off the front of the stage and into the orchestra.

Louis CK: (stunned)  "Holy shit.

Right... (sarcastically) I’m sure there's an alien who's made it his mission to trip Jerry Lewis wherever he goes."

Audience laughs.

Lewis magically re-appears behind Louis CK

Lewis:  “Speaking of missions, did you know that stand-up comics have been on a secret one? We’ve been censored! And we only got wind of it thanks to the brave Dave Chappelle!"

Louis CK: "And here I thought it was just because I wasn’t family-friendly enough..

Lewis: (feigns masturbation) 

"Oh, Louie! We might joke about aliens and conspiracies, but comedy? That's sacred."

Louis CK: (Nods) "True. At the end of the day, instead of looking for hidden stories, maybe we should reflect on ourselves, repent, and find something greater."

Jerry Lewis: "Like a big pizza pie?!"

Louis CK: (Chuckling) "Sure, Jerry. Or maybe the Lord."

Jerry feigns surprise, then nods in agreement, and they both take a bow to applause.