Im new to this, read it only today and i remain very skeptic but here are my questions as i understand cuils.
Are cuils used to measure relationship between objects, ones perception of an object, or ones perception of two objects in comparison to each other or is it just a way to measure coherence of language?
How many cuils do we typically live in? Im laying here on my bed typing, i press the "D" key and it shows on the screen, it seems rather absolute so -‽?
and how does one measure a cuil in daily life, there are examples on the site but no guidlines "they exist, here they are, but we will never tell you where to find them
as my name implies how do we know there is a reality to base any sort of measurement off of. to me it seems cuils are about as practical as earplugs to a bat.
anyone who lives in a high level of cuil accurately measure cuil? seemingly if reality is altered to them they would not be in the state of mind to give an accurate measurement of anything. Its as though you are asking someone who is drunk "how much has the alcohol impaired your jdugement" its just ironic.
however i accept that it is philosophy and i do find this interesting so id like to learn more.
ill try some cuil statement things, tell me how i did
1‽: I board the train, it flies away
2‽: I board the train, i fall from the sky my arms turn into wings
3‽: the train sprouts wings soaring deep into the cloudy ocean a parachute carries me out of the water
4‽: screaming in agony being sucked into a whirlpool of of steam, air sucked from your lungs so violently it turns you inside out into a balloon popped by the ferocity of a whistle
5‽: I board the train, the steel grating echoes with every step the metal moans, and the men who built the railway turn in their graves. The man with the watch shouts "ALL ABOARD" and the dead's hands protrude from their grave with a rigid motion. the disembodies souls step closer with every strike of the hammer, ever rail laid, every whistle blown draws them near.bound beyond death, to the ringing steel it calls their name. A tear mourning my own passing falls to the ground. it hisses turning into the steam only fueling the train like the blackened pieces of life i shovel.