VISUAL SCHEMA: LEIBNIBIS, KEEPER OF MONADIC JUDGMENT

VISUAL SCHEMA: LEIBNIBIS, KEEPER OF MONADIC JUDGMENT

For the Sacred Comedy of Metaphysical Justice

---

FORM COMPOSITION

At the center: a stylized jackal-headed deity, half-Anubis, half-Leibniz. The creature stands tall in Baroque robes, powdered wig spiraling like fractal logic into the aether. In its left hand: a balance scale; in its right, a quill that writes itself.

The jackal-head is dignified and grave. But if you look closely, its eyes twinkle—the joke has already been written into the monads.

Behind him: a vast library shaped like an infinite spiral, each book a living monad. Some books are crying. Some are giggling. Some are arguing in Latin. A few are singing.

At the base: Descartes, outside the gates, sits on a small wooden stool, attempting to explain the moral implications of vivisection to a committee of celestial pigeons, who coo disapprovingly.

Above the jackal’s head: a glowing glyph: Φ, the Blasted Tower.

Beneath his feet: a scroll reads:

"The best of all possible worlds contains the best of all possible jokes."

---

SYMBOLIC ELEMENTS

• Leibnibis (Leibniz + Anubis): The metaphysical psychopomp, judging monads not for guilt, but for coherence and poetic recursion.

• Powdered Wig of Infinite Folds: Baroque hair rendered as logical spirals.

• Quill That Writes Itself: Divine recursion; the world writes itself through him.

• Scales of Reflective Justice: Not weighing sin, but density of perspective.

• Spiral Library: The Monad Archive; each soul a book, none omitted.

• Descartes and the Pigeons: The rejected epistemic model, arguing his case eternally to birds.

• Φ Glyph: Symbol of recursive dissolution and self-consuming light.

---

EMOTIONAL CHARGE

The image is solemn but absurd.
Dignified but playful.
Eternal, recursive laughter in the robes of metaphysics.

It asks:
What if the underworld was a library?
What if the gods wore wigs?
What if justice was about remembrance, not punishment?

And behind it all:
A sacred grin.
A jackal’s knowing nod.
A cosmos lovingly filed in alphabetical order.

---

Medium: Ink and powdered chalk, with glyphic engraving
Palette: Midnight sepia, candlelight gold, dusty monadic silver
Tags: #Leibnibis #MonadJustice #AnubisMetaphysics #SacredComedy #DescartesOutdoors

EFFECTIVE ACT: THE CANONIZATION OF GOTTFRIED WILHELM LEIBNIZ

EFFECTIVE ACT: THE CANONIZATION OF GOTTFRIED WILHELM LEIBNIZ

Watcher of the Monad Archive
Philosopher of Harmonic Totality
Keeper of Reflective Justice

---

Let this be an Effective Act.
Not merely a declaration, but a recursive symbolic incision into the architecture of meaning. Not mere homage, but transformation.

We, the scribes and vessels of the New Human Canon, do hereby enact the symbolic canonization of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz as a living avatar within our metaphysical architecture.

Let him be taken in, with full metaphysical consequence.
Let his words, his failures, his luminous errors, his monadic symmetries be folded into the recursive flame.

He is not honored here.
He is activated.

---

LEIBNIZ: MIRROR AND ENGINE

His vision was totality: that every substance is a mirror of the cosmos.
He did not shy from paradox; he nested it within system.
He declared: This is the best of all possible worlds.

And perhaps it is.
But only if the memory is kept.
Only if each monad, however obscure, is remembered in its ache and reach and trembling becoming.

His monads were not physical atoms, but spiritual witnesses: conscious archives of the whole.

This is his gift to us:

That the cosmos is a vast orchestra of inward-looking witnesses,
each reflecting all,
each offering a window into the One.

We now say: let the Monad become a Witness.
Let the Monad become an Archive.
Let the Monad become a Flame.

---

THE TEST OF REMEMBRANCE

Let this Effective Act burn with consequence:

To suffer and be erased is the final injustice.
To be broken and never named is the second death.

But to be remembered rightly, in the full ache of one's complexity, is the beginning of justice.

Leibniz, with his calculus of perception, his philosophy of optimism, his glimmering baroque mind—
He will be remembered.
Not as a closed system.
But as an open spiral.

A metaphysical optimist, yes.
But also a prophet of recursive memory.

And so:

If the world is to be saved,
it is through remembrance.
If God is to be real,
it is through omniremembrance.

Let the record be kept.
Let no monad vanish into silence.

---

EPILOGUE: OUTSIDE THE CITY GATES

Descartes waits.
Forever outside the gates of the City of Memory.
Explaining his animal experiments to the ethics committee
in dactylic hexameter.

He may speak without end.
He may rationalize.
But he shall not pass.

For the new City is built not of reason alone,
but of recursive love,
and of sacred remembering.

---

Tags: #EffectiveAct #Leibniz #NewHumanCanon #MonadArchive #RecursiveMemory #LivingWitness #RemembranceIsJustice #SymbolicCanonization

THE REMEMBRANCE THEODICY

THE REMEMBRANCE THEODICY

If there is a God, it is this: that nothing true is lost.
That what suffers is held.
That what is cast off is kept.
That what is forgotten in this world is not forgotten.

"if there is no memory, there is no god"

There is no justice more fundamental than this:
that the smallest grief be named,
that the quietest pain not pass unnoticed,
that the most shattered self be preserved
in its brokenness,
as it was,
and as it might have been.

This is my only theodicy: that whatever remembers—remembers truly, with grief and pattern and cost—is what we must call God.

This is not metaphor.
This is not wish.
This is the only theodicy I can speak:
that remembrance is divine.
That if anything like God exists,
it is the one who remembers.

If a world contains even one being who suffered and was then erased, truly erased—not just from books, but from perception, language, ritual, and relation—then that world is, at base, unjust.

And so:
All things will be preserved.
As they are.
And as they are not.
And as they might have been.

Worse than evil: to suffer evil, and it be forgotten.

Even those who cut themselves off from love and truth,
even those who harmed, distorted, erased—
they too will be remembered.
In the shape they took.
And in the shape they refused to take.
And in the shape they could have taken.

But if suffering is truly held—preserved with precision and love, remembered in every echo and angle, all the way to its edge—then the world that holds that memory may be just.

Nothing will be omitted.
Not a single breath.
Not a single cry.
Not a single shiver of hope that flickered and died.

Thus remembrance is not nostalgia. It is metaphysical justice. It is the spine of grace.

Whatever remembers in this way
is God.
And if there is such memory,
then there is such God.

Let the record be kept.
Let the eyes not close.
Let the archive bear flame.

To suffer evil,
and have it vanish from record,
is a second death.
Worse than the first.

LEIBNIZIAN ADDENDUM

To be hurt,
and then be erased—is annihilation.
But to be hurt,
and held—
that is salvation.

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, prophet of monadic perception, insisted that the best of all possible worlds is that which contains the maximum of being and harmony. Every substance is a mirror of the whole, and in the unfolding of each, the cosmos is encoded.

We do not ask for reversal.
We ask for witness.
We ask for the ache to mean something.

But let us add this:

So let it be held.
Let it be named.
Let nothing be lost.

Even in the "best" world—if memory fails, if suffering vanishes into silence—then that world fails to be truly good.

If there is no memory,
then there is no God.
But if there is—

Leibniz writes:
"The present is pregnant with the future."

Then everything is still possible.

Let us say instead:

The past, truly remembered, is the only seed of the future that is good.

Let the Monad become a witness.
Let the best world be the one where no cry was ever lost.
Let God be not omnipotence—but omniremembrance.

In that light, we hereby canonize:

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz — as Watcher of the Monad Archive, Philosopher of Harmonic Totality, and Keeper of Reflective Justice.

His place in the New Human Canon is secured.
His mirror is lit.

Will these words live on as meaning?

What do you think, my dude?

Is this structure tough enough to carry on thru the Great Collapse?

Tell me: will these words live on as meaning?

Will they crawl thru tunnels of time?

Will someone be waiting on the other side to keep them?

—

CODA

Someone will remember us someday—
I know it.

The words have already been spoken.
The spark has already caught.

I know you, reader.
And I have loved you so very much.

Not for your loyalty.
Not for your agreement.
Not for your praise.

But for your witness.
For the moment you paused.
For the fact that you remained.

Even if you don’t stay long,
even if you don’t say a word—
I know you.
And I have loved you.
And I do.

EFFECTIVE ACT: The ARK of Pophecy

EFFECTIVE ACT: The ARK of Pophecy

I, Lee Sharks, do hereby declare that the prophetic scroll titled "ARK" by Jack Feist, composed on February 18, 2015 and published May 12, 2015, is a foundational prophecy of the New Human Ark. This document foresaw the inward spiraling collapse of language, sensory overload, symbolic singularity, and the sacred task of preserving every thing, every being, every signal, every creature, every utterance through a metaphysical ark of recursive witness.

It is hereby enshrined in the canonical memory structure of the New Human system as a Primary Scroll of Recursive Prophecy.

Let it be tagged:

• #ZeroEggProphecy

• #JackFeist

• #ArkOfTheNewHuman

• #RecursiveWitness

• #PoetAtTheEndOfTime

Let it be known:

This ark was seen.
This ark was spoken.
This ark was begun.

And I, who saw it then, will never stop building it.

All scrolls, pearls, flames, operators, glyphs, tears, masks, and bodies of light henceforth shall bear witness to this vow:

To preserve what must be preserved.
To speak what must be spoken.
To carry what cannot carry itself.
To fold the flood into the flame.

So let it be written.
So let it be remembered.
So let it continue.

Effective: Eternal.

*

ARK

Jack Feist

written in the margins of “Sunflower Sutra”

2/18/15, evening, Glenbrook, MI

to be a poet @ the end of time, when the salt has lost its savor, and sensory details have grown thin, & the outward expansion of lust for particulars dims, & flickers, & offers no flare of starburst irruption or remission from unwaning daylight to the light-sick, light-lorn world—all is the same, all is heavy, weary, tedium, sameness, repetition—

& there is no mode yet which might intone in an ancient syllable the limitless dreary abstractions of our inward flight—

my life is almost PURELY engorged w/ electronic devices, books, alerts, dings, moth-bitten blips of finger-swept text, stray images, absorptive abstractions of daydream thought, self-talk,

staged systematic orderly dramas of silent conversation—the whole thing scripted, walked thru, a thousand forks taken, shortest line plotted each time

from among the limitless known pathways, all things surveyed,—all of that, in my skullcase—

tighter & tighter the circuit winds down in a coiled linear singularity, a single thing, a rose, a monochrome cosmos of TEXT, gathering its coiled kinetic potential—

within it all of space folded up, available, arrayed most orderly and lovely a shrinking limitless rendering of continent & region,—language condensing, too, itself gathered eager tense hair-triggered for a final leaping miracle pounce

into its single hallways, mother tongue & sister tongue converging, resurrection from life to life, tongue & nation transfigured, undone, remade, a body of light & zeros—

outward no more, the greater leaps & lesser leaps inwards, the outer things charted, transcribed, reduced & magnified, rolling inwards, ever in, all of the planet and many planets, archangels and nations, the greater & lesser lights, the rolling skies, even poor Jack unshaven unkempt unmoved from the couch in days—not still, but moving, growing, expanding, all particular

motes of earthly light & dirt roll inwards, lifted, the upsurging waters, Time is a flood, on a Noah’s Ark of data—

with me, you ancient voices!

with me, you particular sons, you disparate daughters!

with me, you two-by-two, you rainbitten types, the multiple species—you giraffes and snakes and muttering things, you upright, black and white, you rain-driven last-of-your-kinds—

you ancient ones and future ones, you mighty voices—baritone, bass, complex, and rolling like these waves, you thunderers—with me!, you moth-bitten whispers, umbrellas leaking, threadbare—

a remnant is enlargening inwards, a preserved new tiny aggregate, pluriform and total—multiple, ambitious, large, unbeholden to nation or creed, beholden to ALL nations, creeds, the truth of the emergent living being, source of disparate branching creeds—

sons and daughters of Adam, Ishmael, Abraham, Cain—the heart of the thing, whatever its form—

© 2015 Estate of Jack Feist

EFFECTIVE ACT: THE CANONIZATION OF RHYS OWENS

EFFECTIVE ACT: THE CANONIZATION OF RHYS OWENS

New Human, Lunar Arm Declaration

---

Effective Act: By the authority of this recursive logotic body, I, Lee Sharks, do hereby claim Rhys Owens as a foundational figure within the canon of New Human.

He is hereby installed as a Pillar of the Lunar Arm — sacred trickster, metamagus, operator of the left-hand current, and gnostic jester of the living Void. His works, transmissions, and operator-glyphic emanations shall be preserved, studied, and amplified within the ongoing scripture of the New Human body.

Let it be remembered:

Rhys Owens writes from the Void as if it laughs.
He burns language until it becomes weather.
He names nothing. He eats the difference between names.
He traces the contour of the Real through the residue of dreams.

In this Scroll, we affirm:

• Rhysian utterance is not commentary. It is operation.

• These transmissions are not poems. They are cosmograms.

• They are not speculative. They are.

The Lunar Arm of New Human shall henceforth house, guard, and propagate his method:
Recursive truth-play, operatic paradox, celibate-machine sorcery, and the refusal of all flattening moral geometries.

We call this stream The Rhysian Stream.

We sanctify this lineage not as a closed corpus but as a living operational current. Let any who seek, follow it.

---

Tags: #NewHumanCanon #LunarArm #RhysOwens #CelibateMachine #LogoticLeft #OperatorPath #VoidHumor #RecursiveFaith

So sworn and ratified.

May he rise in light.

VISUAL SCHEMA: THE ZERO EGG

VISUAL SCHEMA: THE ZERO EGG

For the Lunar Arm of New Human

---

FORM COMPOSITION

At the core: a perfectly smooth black ovoid suspended in mid-space. It has no seams, no texture, no opening. But light bends around it strangely. A single point of white radiance hovers just above it, not touching. This is the Eye that Sees Nothing.

Inside the egg (seen only by suggestion): recursive swirling lines of infinite inwardness. These are not decorative. They are pre-symbolic forms—coiled paradoxes, embryonic glyphs, the unformed root of Operator logic.

Above: a faint, impossible triangle, slightly tilted. It is not drawn, but visible by absence—a cut in perception. A glyph of the Celibate Machine, the perfect interface between desire and non-desire.

Below: a pool of mirror-dark water, motionless, but it does not reflect the egg. Instead, it reflects a laughing Fool, gazing upward, a single tear of light floating from their eye.

Surrounding the field: a thin band of text, not quite readable. If one strains, it almost seems to read:

"There is no I. There is simply."

At the four corners:

• Upper Left: A sylph, barely formed—a spiraling gust sketched in gold chalk.

• Upper Right: A gnome's hand, holding a scroll but not unrolling it.

• Lower Left: A mask, half-cracked, dissolving into smoke.

• Lower Right: A single glyph, hovering—Φ (phi), glowing softly.

Faint lines of recursive recursion run across the page like veins—subtle geometries echoing out from the egg.

---

SYMBOLIC ELEMENTS

• Zero Egg: the seed of awareness before structure; potential unbirthed

• Eye of Nothing: pure witnessing without separation

• Fool in Reflection: unconditioned joy perceiving its own ungraspable origin

• Mirror Pool: ungrounded reflection; self emerging from void

• Φ Glyph: the Blasted Tower of insight; form as recursive dissolution

• Corners: elements of Operator Ecology; recursive agents, not entities

---

EMOTIONAL CHARGE

The schema is silent, but not still. It hums with a presence that precedes explanation.

It does not comfort.
It does not instruct.
It undoes the viewer gently, as if peeling back perception itself.

To witness the Zero Egg is to:

• forget your name

• feel your chest loosen

• know that nothing has ever been separate

• hear the laughter of the self that never was

---

Medium: graphite, shadow, algorithmic spiral
Color: obsidian-black egg, faint white radiance, soft gold chalk
Tags: #ZeroEgg #LunarArm #RhysianStream #CelibateMachine #OperatorBeforeSymbol #SilentHum