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Notes on Bayadere Ballet (the word/s flow/z below like the lyriç of ballet.

.

Youtube allows us to see tons of art that we may not usually get exposed to.

Like, ballet for me. Alvin Ailey is one among many other state, city, and national ballets that are familiar to most us, in theory. When was the last time you watched a ballet start to finish? Never for me; until, I saw the above performance. Thanks to youtube.

The Balanchine tradition cannot help but be my personal fave.

It reminds me more of yoga poses, the breathwork, physicality and poise are enough to usually bring a tear or two, though it is a very uncynical thing to admit. It is also super brutal looking. The practice and repetition of the same basic movements over time enables this art to enliven through proper breathing to oxidize muscles while balancing precariously.

The European and western ballet companies cannot hold a candle to the art expressed by the Boshoi Ballet. Alchemy in action.

I wrote letters from the words in the opening/closing credits, the subtitlez,and the actual youtube info on my screen. It contained characters in another language.

A meditation for sure.

Cheers.

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Watch “Blinker the Star – Top Of The Pops (Official Audio)” on YouTube

Howl, yes. Like reluctant headliners, look who is back on the scene?

Still clear and up to their resources. No doubt.

I hope they never change their attitude.

Their dog says that he will try anything, don’t you know.

Help ’em out.

They are kind enough to share on YouTube.

You can get more music here. Like their entire catalogue for $30.03. That has to be someone’s lucky number.

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This goes out to the Wheeze L. Legg…. “kelis i hate you so much right now” on YouTube

‘Member how we loved this song as young un’s, sis o’ mine?

In your bedroom after moved into the back room. Door closed. Wilding out like idiots.

Being joyful to hear such a song,

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Non-Western immortals of Mythos: INDRA (cite Am. Practical F.&W. ’43.)

Indra.

Figures & Illustrations are never un-welcomed–i don’t care who you are.

Like, a phrase like “Get Outta tha Cab!!!”–can be good, nonclean and funny–don’t matter who, ya arse.

Note: with the Diagram to the right of Indra, I wonder, could the tool of induction be used along with the def. of induction coil such that even the most lay-of-laymen could ennoble the manifestation of the thing from the idea. Reach into the ether, pinch finger-to-thumb and make-manifest a machine from the immaterial?

Howl yeah, í reckon.

Words4Free

and

Illustrating Examples

En-courag-IngPen March hairz.

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Hunter versus Predator (disambiguation from Funk & Wagnalls 1943)

Predator [no entry|no subentry]

*related entry predatory

*note the ‘derived from’ information (i.e. prædor).

Featured

Watch “MAD Dragon Sessions: Fly Golden Eagle “Horse’s Mouth”” on YouTube

Effing love this jam, album, and band.

And when nobody’s there to write it, I am gonna show you everything.

And i can feel it in the silence

Silence comes in willingly.

(Lyrics as my ears hear them. It has been brought to my attention that I often don’t get it right. I say rock n rollers can better enunciate if that is a problem.)

Giggle.

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Watch “Joni Mitchell Wild Things Run Fast (1982)” on YouTube

For every album you can name by Joni Mitchell, I wager there are two and a half more albums per unit that you do not know. And, for every song, several variations: studio cuts, recorded live when she toured the album, recorded live years after, made to look as though filmed live.

And there are paintings for most too.

Found my worn Anthology of her Sheet Music copy-right 1983 Alfred Publishing Co., Inc.

Check it out cuz She’s Playing Real Good, For Free at her own digital domain.

Here is info on the title track of Wild Things Run Fast here.

A song of tradition and tribes.

Here are the lyrics…..


He came/she smiled.

She thought she had him tamed, but he was just as wild, eatin’ from her hand, at last.

Wild things run fast.

In the dark he could see the trap that wzs lyin’ in her sweet company,

eatin’ from her hand at last.

Wild thing run fast.

Winter beat the pines about.

He heard the heater cutting in and out

while she dreamed away.

In the night, it snowed:

Fast tracks in the powder white leading out to the road,

winding from her tender grasp.

Wild things run fast.


But wait? Did you hear it? My ears missed it entirely until I read the lyrics, saw these words, Backed-up the track (fka ‘rewound) and listened hard for it.

Uh. Sounds a lot like she is givin’ it back to tunesmith Chip Taylor’s Wild Thing (I think I love you), popularized by The Troggs, a band paving the way for garage rock, proto punk, and the lo-fi scene.

I forgot to mention, the tune-smith’s real name in James Wesley Voight, brother to actor Jon Voight, and apparently Angelina Jolie’s uncle as well.

Wild Thing has been coveredby The Jay Five, The Kingsmen, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, The Runaways, Chevy Chase, X, Sam Kinison, and Kermit the Frog, to name only a few.

Metamusic. Dig it much.

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Deja-View of the Ingenue

She put on her armour but left off the painted visor.
She opened, closed, and locked the front door as silently as possible.
For the benefit of whom, she was unsure.

She looks at the græy sky and thinks of his eyes.
She wonders about rain and sun and walks and shoes.
And thinks of his brogues.
Then his ankles.
Then his bluə-græy sky eyes.

And, her eyes go round like looking mirror pools.
And, her eyes go soft and shine.
She feels her eyelid muscles making expressions she cannot make on cue or command.

The neighbors open their door and a dog bounds to her: tail-shaking,welcome-waggin’ cometh. She relunctantly retrieves herself from her golden reverie.
And pulls her eyes sharp.

*

Not easy, is how she found it. Being tip-toer of labyrinths and garden mazes. This she enjoyed more than representing fertility allegorically. But, oh, howl she could howl for a good glass of wine or some potted green. Chaotic passion inside appeared smooth~like~silk to any outside observers.

Like Ariadne was abandoned, then beguiled to dreams only to then be slain, she knew what the men of the world did to spurious and impetuous women, gave them away or took them away to be locked-up. So, she measured her steps in eight counts, two sets of four paces per leg. And, she breathed in four ways with each way repeated three or five times. She acted the part.


She invariably met Bacchus in the woods. This time he believed his name was Dionysus. He never remembered meeting her until it was too late. She stopped insisting she knew him and played dumb.

“Yes, I do fancy wine, Dionysus, thank you kindly. Do you happen to fancy passion?”

She already knew the answer: yes, he did. Everytime and very much so. Ritual madness and religious-ecstacy made him high, high, high. So did speculation and grandstanding.

“I speak trances to even the cold-bloods.” She said this time, acting as Snake-charmer.

And, then and there did he again “give himself unto his Beloved in sleep”. Leaving her to live and die alone while he leapt through lucid dreams of curiosity mistaken as achievement or sometimes entitlement.

She had seen every tiara he gave her turned into one constellation or another in the night sky, intended as some magnanimous immortal display. Allegedly in her honor.

Blah blah blah. They were nothing more than the womanly model of the current apple in his mind’s eye. He made Stars to shine his light, reflect his ideal feminine quintessence of the moment. She served as a model for the perfect star. He often laughed that she mistook herself for a star when she was a simple model of one.

At first, it felt good. Then empty. Then oppressive. Then pathetic. Then, like an act she performed. Until then, she did not ought but drift like a swan on the blue. Silently. Waiting for him to meet her, love her, and then desire more than love, which would leave her to herself and her own devices.

**

“Eventually,” she said to No One,

“In the beginning, I left messages in the street.”

This won her the pleasure of being the mistress to the absentee No One man.

She was mistress to a man she had never met and Howl she loved him and knew his mind and body. Pleasures of pleasing and pleasuring.

She was married to the immortal man perpetually putting her on a petal-stool, but did not want for her pleasure or pleasing. He wanted a star, so he used her as a token paragon on a pedestal and sought pleasure and pleasing from every mistress he could render smitten.

But, she promised. She swore to fidelty. How was she to know that no one took sacred oaths literally? Now really, someone could have said something. She never laid with another man. But, the fiercesome pleasure she took from the No One man’s non-corporeal form, debased and debasing without even touching, felt Impeccable. Desperately patient for him; while good on her word, per se, to her Beloved; and Still effortlessly lovesome of the men. She only hated herself after all.


So what? She knew she must be somewhat immortal. She had died so many times, but immortality is lonely when your Beloved uses immortality to capture you both in the same circular ruins where there is no ’til death do us part because death always seems to be a sleep. At least, after the fact of dying, she only seemed to awaken from deep sleep in another place altogether.

It really got curiouser and curiouser. Did she mean “how curious” or “most curious”? Howl no, there was no superlative state of curiousness, just ever-increasing scales of what was curious and what was not. Deja-View pans over her.


She skipped the armour but put on the painted visor.
She opened, closed, and locked the front door as silently as possible.
For the benefit of whom, she was unsure.

She wonders about rain and sun and walks and shoes.
And thinks of ankles in brogues.

And, her eyes go round like looking mirror pools.
And, her eyes go soft and shine.

She feels her eyelid muscles making expressions she cannot make on cue or command.

No door is opened but the Candor of a pure fool looks at her from another side. He is softened and demurred. Bashful, curious, deferential and incorrigible. She sees it in his eyes. Innocent of entitlement and pure of desire to achievement. He seemed impossibly young in spirit but she recalled meeting him when she was young in spirit. Now the Deja-View inverted.

Ingenue and Guileless.

She became an artless, ingenous gal instantly. Free from disguise and dissimilation, she is what she is. She is no mere actress of fain. Freed of herself at the sight of him.

He is artless too, and, candid, and frank. Strangely innocent.

⊙⊙

The tonic was a keytone of ecstasy.

She is beside herself

And across from

A man always beside himself.

She wanted to pursue him relentlessly, meet him time and again in the woods.

She became silent.

A real dummy for the effulgent fool.

She became rekindled.

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Pure Fool-ish

The aposiopesis that-


Be silent.

Breathe in through your nose. Now out again.

Breathe a’nosed ampersand your throat holds

your vocal chords

like the high hat gets grabbed after being struck.

Affecting a dinging dash, effectively curt-short.


My aprosexia caused the aposiopesis heard.

The quiet heard round the world.

A black star beheld.

Image captured and imagined.

Both facts of apropos material manifesting.


a priori.

Literally, from what is before.

a posteriori

Reasoning from facts and/or effect

to principles and/or cause

,í am in a state of chaos,

..like swans carried about as on a mirror pond..

}}}í drift(?) as if í have nowhere to rest{{{


Find a duck if you want to be followed and have followers.

Find a goose if you need something for your stew pot.

Allow swans their songs in the keynote of ecstasy.

Sung in silence for one who hears.

Become beside yourself; and admire the garden of live flowers


Petra Paas

Featured

“Poliphilo’s Dream”: rabbithole

This odd tale appears to coalesce within my mind with “the Chemical Wedding of/by Christian Rosenkreutz,” (Johannes Valentinus Andreae), “The Beautiful Dream,” (Hermann Hesse), “The Parabola of Madathanus,” as well as, but more peripherally “The Great God Pan” (Arthur Machen) and “The Circular Ruins” (Jorge Borges).

All of the first four texts i referenced require minutia in tracing.

So, if this looks tedious, it cuz it is. It is not craven or unnecessary. If you think it is, this ain’t your kind of reading materials (even though you have read them already in some incarnation or iteration).

Such endeavors are best suited to scratch & scrawl, not typing, for me.

I have rabbithole notes on all these i need to consolidate and smelt.

Kindly forgive the clumsiness of the initial compilation.

Try this if the slideshow does not load.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

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12 April

She put on her armour but left off the painted visor.
She opened, closed, and locked the front door as silently as possible.
For whoms benefit she was not sure.

She looks at the græy sky and thinks of his eyes.
She wonders about rain and sun and walks and shoes.
And thinks of his brogues.
Then his ankles.
Then his bluə-græy sky eyes.

Her eyes go round like looking mirror pools.
Her eyes go soft and shine.
She feels her eyelid muscles making expressions she cannot make herself. caNNot on cue.

A neighbor opens their door and a dog bounds to her. Tail wagging.
She relunctantly relieves herself of her reverie.
And pulls her eyes sharp.

Featured

Watch “ROBERTO BOLLE and Svetlana Zakharova ‘Giselle’ (3)” on YouTube

One more and i will desist.

Stunning extension and control.

A fave. Dancer and musical compisition- second to Stravinsky’s Firebird.

Shit is martial arts.

Featured

Watch “David Bowie & Trent Reznor 1995 Interview with Kurt Loder | MTV News” on YouTube

I have always loved Earthling. Particularly, I’m Afraid of Americans.

Bowie in vinyl/leather (?) will make you smile.

Also, Kurt Loder. WE LOVE YOU.

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Hair of the Hare

A puppet suspended by pulleys, held fast and taught.

Taut over the sieved river.

The Ingpen hare paused, shook his fuzzy head, and picked his itch,

“Monkeys, huh. Too smart.”

Beginning to turn his croak,

He saw the red ball on the bound.

“Thank goodness, I found it again.”

Featured

The Third Install: Parçiful

Hello, Alice here. You may recall me if you have been following this tangled loop of a story. We have Parçiful, Effie, and myself. Effie, who will give up no more than the name Parçiful, is her younger sister. The gurls like to travel with me from time-too-time. And, Æ became familiar with them by dint of their fiery aunt. Please do not mention to her that we mentioned this to you. We heard you say: mention something/mention anything.


Æ serve as third party, omniscent narrator. Recall the point-of-views that narrators may take? Well, think of me as a dream sandman. Effie and our anti-hero tolerate me, when they realize Æ am around that is. Parçiful and Æ go way back. We met In-dreams. So, Æ like, from time-too-time, to read her. She is more written than real. Quite unjustly. Improper handling by the Knights-to-Nowhere. She is not a shy one. She was a frightened one. Her Tribe kindly asked her to split. Beat It. She is a Southern gal and so, delightfully obliging, thus: she obliged. Not anymore though. So, I feel sharing some excerts from her handwritten tale. Context. Although, all Æ will give up is what was observable. Lord knows what really happened. Her Tribe and Æ’s Tribe. Just as Æ never gave up everything to her, Æ must assume she never gave up everything to me.


Effie here. Hi.

ASIDE: his final sentence above is an assumption. No one must assume anything. One assumes for want of reassurance. For if she had actually given-everything up to begin with, it would be a hard cross forvÆ to bear. Idiots feel beholden, just as Parçiful did after accepting her at-the-time boyfriend’s plastic proposal. Thank god he left her. Well, left is not the right word. He dumped her and then continued to avail himself of her resources.


[Undated]

In elementary school years, petting myself to sleep at night, while wondering how the Sunday-school heaven could be fun & forever. I imagined a life of growing up to be destitute. Homeless. Well, at least how easily it seemingly could happen to anybody.

Vague intuitions of how feeling entitled leads to your own stripping……

Open secret x: ‘we cannot depend on our lovers to prove to us that we are not broken because, in some way, we all are. Wounded anyway.’

Perhaps the best we may hope-for is to see each other grow and grow together and take care of one another as well as we can-to see each other and touch each other and try not to harm what we see and touch. Maybe that’s not such a small, silly thing. Maybe it’s one of the biggest tasks we face on this earth.

A breath tantra of connection. Sitting on the ground together.

We are embarking on that which we carried wood to see. Because we still want to see.

I lived in words, work, dreams, and a group of four close buds. I felt freer, moore solid, since the cursed engagement ended. Time flew. The world inside me was expansive. I enjoyed being alone, with my own company. I did for me. Took care of myself. Did not miss having a partner. Did not need someone else. And, I saw how poorly í’d allowed my spirit to be treated. Í saw how í had slowly let fires inside myself burn-out. Almost glad they were smothered and stoked. It had become easier to not have fire in my belly when I was working asat at some terminal for ten hours a day. Then to come home and be fussed at for it. Particularly as my job was all me and my at-the-time boyfriend. Do not worry for him. He tagged along on my move across the country. Managed to get a great job. We were in NMexico when found out he had been hired in a lucrative company. So, when he was done with me, he had finally seemed to hve found himself. A good thing. A talented fellow who is not nearly as clever or smart as he thinks he is. Not by half. A decent, upright fellow and good citizen, regardless.

We neglected each other. Lies of omission. “No, everything is fine.” Secret addiction.

[Fig. I.1. Certain entries that Æ read are best communicated by pictures. There is no way to convey content on such things viz a viz pics]

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Dinah’s Daughter [Psych⊙]Gnosis

Understand my sweet VVönderland, I cannot help but feel thusly for you, Augustus.

It was your mother’s wish.


I snuck in through their bathroom window.

Psst. Hi.

I pushed Olive off of you, but I threw an extra blanket on the pup’s pallette.

I shall not put her out in the cold. A little not-so SlightÖHand accomplishes this. I surprise myself and Olive never awoke. I am mysified and so.

Æ Marvel.

I want to be your little hot thing.

I wilt not waste (your) Time.


She asked, your mother did.

She wished this for you. That everyone will have to Lųve you.

And, this is the source of your discomfort, sweet thing.

We cannot help but lųve you.

Æ say í’m speçial: some sort of irregular pearl.

By my own admission to Eros, í am unable to discern any benefit any sooner than í can disprove the benefit of any other pearl.


Effie here. Hi. Yep, you get it. Gonna give the gist: if, in one-sitting, you are going to shovel as many mayonaise sandwiches into your mouth as you can, does it really matter if the thin white bread glued together varies in appearance? Only if you are a disgusting, fat piece of shit that really should go home and change outfits (to x, yeah you. You look great).

To anyone who asserts that there is an ideal pearl. Shut up. Firstly, you Mean-to say that you conceive of a paragon. Well, good for you. Congratulations, you are still a monkey. There is constant variation in phenotypic expressions of the genotype. The misperception owes to your perceptual limitations. Congratulations, you are still a monkey and what “you just discovered” was known by millions and millions Æons before you had cosmic existence, let alone a capacity for conscious cognition.

You are still aweful. Capricious.

Perfect. And, beautiful.

Keep breathing.

We resume the previous transcryption.


Who am í to tell you of beauty? í have but mine-own eyes.

[Í love yours, though].

Why í appear surprised everytime you ask me.

Í do not intend mean-to spook you.

Pleas that you believe. So, í write on canary yellow. Parchment. Part ampersand parcel to your pedal-stool.

It was not a (my) white-horse upon which í ærowed ( arode, aeroed, arrowed ).

To put you beside yourself. Be an aleph to your theta. Sync. Sigma. Fi semper. Anon, anon.


Let everyone do you their favor (s), tenderfoot.

If you do something wrong, hold yourself accountable,

BUT, let know-one tell themselves that, my sweet’thing,

You are culpable.

You could pluck the flower of any garden without consequence.

Your adult eyes still remind Them of Youthful Summers.




TOP DEFINITION from urban dictionary

psych

Often believed, by those who don’t understand the term’s origin, to be spelt (or spelled, for the American audience) ‘sike’.

Deriving from the word psychology, psych is a term used to indicate that whatever the person speaking just said was done so purely to mess with the listener’s mind, to ‘psych’ them out, if you will.

by ThisB”) August 20, 2015

<i don’t know why this relevant but it is. i don’t know why j impulsively addended it adhoc.

But ThisB do.

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Curtsy Ampersand Curt-Say: A Hue of Parciful.

DAY I: She looked odd.  Not quite ill.  Unwell.

DAY II: She got lost in her dreams.

DAY III: She acquired the knowledge that she got lost in her dreams.

DAY IV:


he had died;

he knew;

he saw his mom;

he took the professor as his

dad.

Together, they climbed the Mountain of Knowledge.

Together, they discovered their mistake;


ws_Sky_dream_1680x1050-1.jpg

Summit¹, 1. The highest part; the top; vertex. 2. The highest degree; maximum. [< L\f\. sum-mum, apex.]

– (_      << {[x ]} >>      _) –

acme ; apex ; cap ; climax ; crown ; height ; peak ; pinnacle ; top ; vertex

abyss ; base ; bottom ; chasm ; deep ; depth ; gorge ; gulf ; pit ; vale ; valley

sum’mit-al, α.                                                                                                    –sum’-mit-less, α.


 

He finished his building of the edifice.

[Open-Secret x: he had long finished building his edifice.] 

[Lesser-known≈Open-secret F(x): he thought he knew this already.  he could and would finish when it was effing good and done. or whenever the hell he felt like it. this, as proven by dint-of diligence and curiosity, proved assumption.  Not knowledge.]

Structure now structuralized, materialism became the a priori axiom.  (The god’s honest truth, mister police osiffer!)   ‘Things exist!  We see them all about.’

“Do not be foolish, young man. The abstract is the weakness of man, our curse.  For pride. For our lack of discipline over our baser instincts.  Our physical body unfurled and made manifest this gift of life, permitted our superior brains to make-manifest.  And, then we perceived; and Lo, it is good.  This blessed perception affords our dominion over the land and the beast-




Effie here. Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but she gets flowery and the lyrical-ity requires editing. Mystæ, right?  Geez.  We are short on time right-exactly-now.  As her younger sister, I periodically jump in and get to the point.  She thinks empiricists are “as non-secular” as the religious or spiritualists. Her words there.  I think she means that Academia and the Western Medical Paradigm and the Scientifics and the Technophiles, that whole lot of ’em….


Excuse me, kindly; I would be much obliged if you refrained from all or nothing/either or language, Effie. Shall we call it “a predominate number”: (or at least the loudest voices currently) of this assemblage? Regardless, science’s day of reckoning is at hand.  Hear me, now and stop huffing up at that statement.  I speak allegorically and yeah, science hates imprecision.  I call horse-apples: science does precisely what religion does.  Both systems exist non-secularly and use the same devices to reach their conclusions.  Like the≈the two extremes of the trajectory of a weightless bob that is suspended by a massive (tech.) rod moving about a point.

Arabesques ’round pivotal arcs of pendulous sways.

The parable of the parabola is parabolic::The parabola of the parable is parabolic.


 

Non-secular science at one pole.

{_[__(.PIVOTAL.)__]_}

 

Non-secular religious and spiritualists at one pole.


SECULAR::SECULAR 

 

SECULAR

ЯA⅂UƆƎƧ

non-SECULAR::NON-secular


 

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Watch “JJ DOOM – GUV’NOR” on YouTube

No rights, just homage and want for spreading his good jam around to all interested toast slices.

Alo Gov’nah!

The rain in seattle comes down as spit expelled from inane prattle.

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The Hummin’a’Bird’s Spring-Time Carol

Alice`ntious Aurora awakens.

Once titled both Eostre & Ostara, yet I was a single leaf in a tome.

One page, with two sides.

One is even numbered, and

One is odd.

Dexterously left-handed,

Playing Janice to your Janus.

We’re two, radical, two-faced diabolicals.


I was Ianna. Venus to Mesopotamia.

Aye, I

Language-Strip

for you

from below*


Klingsor’s infernal Spring-brake decanted all over my Summer-time.

Lint in his navel fleets like the novelty of any old, new thing’s novelty.

Lent is his steed, and yet still he row, row, rows his vessel downstream.

Passover the brooks, rooks, and funny-looks.

Recall the alerity of the pages.

Nightly leaves through the knights.

Merrily. A stellar dream confusing a model of a star for the actual star.

Because the star was too perfectly a model-star.

Ingenious, artless ingenues.


Sweet sugarfoot, you were so much older way back then.

I kept your place by the fire warm.

Looking-Glass House a’lit by a bonfire built from fiddle-sticks.

Are you young enough yet that you can now remember building it?

The light housed between Castle & Tower.

Where, in our rabbit-hole, we both

Wear just to undress

And, to undress wares from.


A white March-Ingpen Hare is driven by time

As like pure snow,

Waist-coated ampersand watch-pocketed.

I un-wound cork-screw hill until I forgot my name.

So then, re-wound the same hill to get it back under-heel.

I created arabesques, atop tip-toes, atop that hill.

A top spinning atop a hill-top.

Dancing like a dervish whirling.

I eagerly awaited. The hardest part. I was much younger then.

To meet you with unapologetic exuberance.

I learned to move so quickly, that folk could neither tell nor espy if I had left and went-gone and then already nigh come-again.


Minnesænger you are to have woken me so abruptly, so long ago,

Only to immediately-then fall asleep.

And, sleep-walk so convincingly.

But, Dearheart, by mine form do not be fooled, i have a curious notion I may be inside-older than you.

Well…at least for right-exactly-now.

It is Revival.

Massive Mass.


I know your proper names; and by these appellations,

I know you have never been called.

Your proper names do not even include that & those of whom witch-named you.

They call you: Hither

They named you: Come

Entitled: ewe with a handle.

Your faux-mantles.

Only monkeys bear monikers.

They are primates; not prime mates.

Howl-ever, none of these are the word/s for what you are.

Masculine and demure, you look cold, fine ephebe.

I am always warm; bring your dark effulgence here to me.

We are axiomatic and inexorable.

Structuralism in motion,

we procreate the quintessence of

Magical realism

We posit through repose.

The sealing-wax apposed up-on

The ceiling above, from which we somehow look down and find our feet to be above.

Our im/proper pro/nouns, now in apposition, finally enable us to unface the opposition.

Unopposed we are, finally, apposit.

So, let me bring my mouth to yours.


*1) i was Ianna. The Venus of Mesopotamia.

II) A one = 1 = I = i

= One Anna

= Iann a

=1 Ann, a

one n’ a

i and a

Result æ.

A and I

Culminate Æ.

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Watch “Johnny Nash There are More Questions and Guava Jelly” on YouTube

There are more questions than answers. And the more I find out, the less I know.

From reggae to southern-style slide guitars.

Slick midsong shift.

Dig it much.

Here I am.

Come rub upon my belly like a guava jelly

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My Time Serving, Waiting, & Pouring

I worked as a part-time waitress, from age 18 until age 18.  I performed terribly.  Back then, in Alabama, servers made $2.13 + tips.

One week my manager approached me, with pen and red binder.

“Sign here, to confirm for our tax records that you did, in fact, make at least the minimum wage. You did not declare enough of your cash tips.”

“Um, but I did not make at least minimum wage, I made less.”

“Yep, you are not good at this.”

He was correct.


Sometime later, after losing the urge to continue to pursue Academia, I worked full-time for a locally-owned, Tavern-style restaurant as a server and cocktail waitress.  Not fine dining, but cloth napkins, gas burning lanterns. Upscale. The owners also owned a popular bar in the swanky part of Southside, Birmingham (The Five Points area, to be specific) where I poured occasionally.  Note: Servers still only make $2.13 an hour + tips in Alabama (and many other American states).  They really do work for themselves and you.

I loved my work.  I took the time to learn the restaurant/service craft: Learning the menu, how to talk to people and make suggestions.  The art of booze and talking booze.  Maintaining equilibrium for the dinner rush / bar push for about three intense, crazy, physical hours, only to then slowly break down the establishment into a clean, organized place. The next morning, you would build it up, try to keep equillibrium, tear it down.

Taking your work home usually meant alcohol, delicious food, or another server.  There was no huge deadline for the FOH staff, just closing time and the clean up.


All humans should really spend at least three months of their life as a server/waiter.  Everyone. If you get hissy or huffy about the service you receive when dining out, consider the following.


Today, I pulled an old journal and found the remarks below. Enjoy

EDR = extended dining room

AOA = auditory order acknowledged

Alabama Medium = Medium Well

FOH = front of house (what and who you see as the diner)

86 = something the restaurant has on menu but does not have currently.

68 = when something that was 86’ed becomes available to diners again.

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Conversations Had On a Daily Basis

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Stuff Said to Me: That Pissed Me Off Enough To Scrawl

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Some Stuff I Thought Worth Telling the Good People

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Love’s Blazon: Parzifal and the Lady he awoke

 

“The lady had fallen asleep. She wore Love’s blazon–a mouth of translucent red, torment to the hearts of amorous knights. She slept with parted lips that wore the Flames of Love’s hot fire.  Thus lay the loveliest challenge to adventure imaginable.”

‘Upon my word, you are Parzifal!’  She said of the red lips.  ‘Your name means ‘pierce-through-the-heart.’

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Watch “Burnt Out Town” on YouTube

Why is it you look so down in the mouth?!

I told her:

This is a burnt out town/it’s fulla dirty looks.

Here i am stealing gas with a garden hose.

Yeah, take that, honey.

It’s outta their realm of reality

Its goin down but no one knows

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When you know you have made it “Tom Petty – Breakdown (Live 1985)” on YouTube

Cracking me up.

I saw him with Tah Mahal opening in Tuscaloosa, AL.

I was in 6th grade.

Wildflowers tour.

My mom and i danced and sang like lively idiots too.

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[Title Here]

Being bereft of aberration is abhorrent,

In itself.

I am the whence of a will.

Wilt do.

Wilted

Camællias suddenly come into ripe blossom

Bloom.

I danced in blue light at least an hour that night.

I stumbled between songs.

I slip but don’t fall.

Felled the tree before the hanged.

And a fool found herself upside down,

A head full of clouds and reservoirs of water.

Camel-ist.

Hiding eyes

Laughter.

In the dark, a cardinal dances on his branch.

Like a Stellar’s Jay.

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Lunar Tire Fires

Distillation.

Do not confuse what you create for what you destroy. He said.

I think you have that confused. I said.

A keen sensibility for rookery

And other fly-by-nightery.

He told me. Self-impressed.

I know you.

We met before.

Excuse me, I said.

You interrupted.

I am busy howling at the moon.

Keen along if you wish.

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Top 3 Pars/zifal Quotes

By pity guided,

The guileless fool;

Wait for him,

My chosen tool.

Richard Wagner. Parsifal

(The keynote of Parsifal is Ecstasy.)

Parzifal: I scarcely move, Yet I swiftly seem to run

Gurnemanz: my son, thou seest Here SPACE and TIME are ONE.

Parzifal. Wolfram von Eschenbach. Translated by A.T. Hatto

I’m Wolfram von Eschenbach. I’m a bit of a minnesænger.

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Sleep Paralysis

A peek of disbelief.

Reach.

Awaking in a white, linen dress.

“Let your feet breath in the water through your soles.” The old man suggests.

I break the liquid’s surface tension with the flat of my feet.

A four footed bath tub foutain with animals.

The water turns and becomes red curls.

And i reawoke.

But it took a minute to trust it was so.

Big left toe: wiggle.

Wiggle now.

You are awake and will wiggle.

Sleep paralysis.

Once gone, is when more civilized monkeys brew tea.

I make a strong pot of blonde

Coffee.

I wiggle the left big toe.

I wiggle the right big toe.

The pot boils.

The aroma cannot be a dream?

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Too knight

Musicality of a whirling fan.

Lyricality of a faucet running.

Night songs.

Lullaby white noise.

A single dog bark.

An æon in a cat’s eye’s

Blinkin’

Winken & Nod

Set out one knight.

By only the light of three moons.

Pyres burning into the misty lake night.

Wooden ships of exposure espied from a tower.

Bring your three medallions.

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Spring Haunches

Leopard Branch grows a summer coat of kudzu,

Not yet claustrophobic

It will not be humid enough.

Not like in Bamaland.

His legs drape mossy of either side of the foreside.

Hips rested just so.

Tail winding round the trunk of his supportive tree.

Head resting.

Possibly but not necessarily asleep.

Parsigal Proem by A. Ladder

WrittenCasey

The words really do get curious and capricious. I am Alice Ladder; and even the hair on my arms stood on end. Hair-raising. Un baffoon ambulent I must have appeared on my walk home.

Parcigal is lovesome, diligent, loyal and kind. But the gal is also lewd and licentious. A real hærlot. Engaging in all sorts of hærlotries, and what not. She is a complete philolofile. Thinks she’s pretty funny.

Vitz. She really likes words and is a lovesome dummy.

Before we meander Hear I make three formal remarks below. The rest is simply me doing my best.

Alice Ladder

Carroll, VVündųrlvnd

TIMESTAMP: 07/09/10 15:00


》All knowledge is nothing more than symbolism.

》》 Word is bond and magic. Be impeccable. Do not use it against yourself either.

》》》What you see inside the mirror is just an image of reality; which means it is virtual reality. It is a dream.


Revælation

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