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


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.


Conversations Had On a Daily Basis



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


Some Stuff I Thought Worth Telling the Good People




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.’


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


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.


[Title Here]

Being bereft of aberration is abhorrent,

In itself.

I am the whence of a will.

Wilt do.


Camællias suddenly come into ripe blossom


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.


Hiding eyes


In the dark, a cardinal dances on his branch.

Like a Stellar’s Jay.


Lunar Tire Fires


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.


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.


Sleep Paralysis

A peek of disbelief.


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


I wiggle the left big toe.

I wiggle the right big toe.

The pot boils.

The aroma cannot be a dream?


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


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.


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.



The cat heaves her bigger sigh.

Looking at the window.

I notice the siren.

She just hears noise pollution.

Suddenly the wails reek like klaxon

Doppleganger effect.

Sound waves flailing over time and space.

Distortion becomes further distorted.

Something or someone near is a gauche.

She puts her nose back to the quilt.



The sun finally met spring in full.

Several day delay after an hour exchange.

Neither seems impressed to see the other.

“Foot-gazing, bird-watcher.” Said spring.

“Overly stylized hipster in faux-cigarette cut denim.” Said sun.


Watch “Childish Gambino – This Is America (Official Video)” on YouTube

No rights, just homage to a young star.

Comedian in addition. First? Artist, regardless.

Took me a minute on this one, but damn.

His drop in is intense.

Brutally hip bumping.

Much love for Childish Gambino and Donald Glover.

“Contraband, contraband, contraband……get down!”

Interesting video.


Watch “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” on YouTube

Continuing reflections of 1980’s music: Tracy Chapman’s self-titled 1988 release must be mentioned.

Everyone remembers Fast Car. What an effing lovely lyrical pop song.

The album was subjected to the 1980’s drum production.

In this case, forgiveable.

First track of the record here.

Great opening. This revolution sounds positive. Joyful. Honest.

Hooked for the rest of the album right away i was as a kiddo.

Still am. Cuz ima post another song off this album.

Go buy her record. I did.


:Has Ended by Thom Yorke:

Has Ended by Thom Yorke mazon Music

Give it a listen at 2x playback. It sounds equally good, I’d wager, at any number of playback speeds, not hard to convince our ear drums.

it is still music. It does not turn to noise.

it falls from fashion, critical regard.

But even terrible songs are songs. If they were not, you would not have termed the noise music.

The wholly original, genius of Sun Ra put it best: we work on the otherside of time

Space is the Place is what’s up.

Poussières d’étoiles

Dwans their lumin

It is what is though. Like everything and all.




Sea Changes

Middle C

Belle Curves

When stars fell on alabama,

There was no moonlight slow dance

They thought the The End was




But is you can talk about The End in the past tense.

At least you are


A Knecht a’kneeled Before Flame

He saw how Joseph was annealed by the fire…[and] felt the ordeal more than Joseph. P241

Sounded overwrought to me. Then I bothered (sic. concerned) myself with actually looking up


I was being educated on several levels. I first read the sentence such that I thought I knew more than I did. I imagined /annealed/ to be some form of a bow or a kneeling position, a kiss the ring, smell the glove. A posture taken when the situation demands you take yourself seriously. If you can imagine such a thing! Or that you undertake to do something trivial quite meticulously. For the sake of the process itself. By your choice. You take part with and in. Or, when ritual, tradition, culture, bestows us a transcendental catharsis by allowing us to take very specific actions with others undertaking them alongside, as well. A hymn sung by a choir. Suddenly, lighting a candle is holy. Yet, lighters and matches abound. Fire is easy to come by but it was not always so.

Blind spot.

Shocking how much meaning we can contain. There are so many pearls that some readers start arguing over the appraising of an irregular pearl. It is all about finding, examining, analyzing, and drawing conclusions about the relative value. Waiting to find that big money shot pearl. A yup.

“awe, more valuable. made of pearl but unique, collectors edition. Gesture, essence. and articulation.”

“Worthless. It’s shape isn’t paradigmatic of the standard pearl. Misinformed. Monstrous, devalues the other pearls to even be in the same bowl with them.”

Who let the pigs out? Who? Hoo hoo?

Too much monkey business for me. We as a species have moved on. Or did I miss the train and am now out of joint?

The Glass Bead Game: Magister Ludi. 1990. First Owl Books Edition. $18.00 USD/$24.95 Canada. That seems really inexpensive as I think back on it now. At five hundred and fifty eight total pages, it is a trek but no death march. As with any trek, though there will be days. But, then there will really be days! Am I right, a hyuck, hyuck.

The length is not the deterrent. The printing of the book intimidates. At least my copy. That is why I bought it. It looked too heavy for a book that size. A thing that is larger than physics allows but your eyes empirically cannot deny. Your brain’s rational processors will fill in the reasons that ‘you can’t trust your eyes.’

A phone booth and doctor.

A House of Leaves.

A ship ever at sail on a foreign sea, the life of the house mouse lost.

S/he loses their position in the home.

You lose something you did not know could go missing. The notion of home? An ending spoiled. Don’t let the little ones hear. Something you cannot unlearn but surely there is room for doubt and maneuver. Doubt suffers where there is little room

Something you took for granted. Because there is so much to see and so many things vying for the pleasure of your (everone’s) attention at all times. We cannot process the amount of information we physically can conceive us. We get by and brains fill in the blanks. The way you discover your new car’s blind spot.

《《 》》

Crash. Ah, hell.

《《 》》

But what was to be done? Can you judge yourself for not knowing that your vehicle is afflicted with a blind spot? Sure, but where that at? If you want me I’ll be in the bar. Speculating on some dreamy nonsense. The thing you did not see in your rearview & side mirrors (electric-adjustable, I’d wager) as you merged lanes, was, by dint of optical physics, unseeable. You cannot adjust for and account for such a variable.

The publishers did not eff around. There is a deliberate concern for both style and balance in the margin setting and lettering layout. There is room to scrawl. If you are into that sort of thing. I am! The luxury of the thick white broadband’s conjunction into right angles about the four verticies gains further dimensionality by its opposing page.

The reflecting pool in the palm. Narcissus finally went mobile. Each page appears with its predecessor and/or successor in symmetry. Consider the leaf of the sheet itself. Two page numbers and each bearing letter matricies yet on but one page. One page in the book holds two pages. Think about that. There ain’t ya’ll entertained? If that is not magic, then ya’ll doin’ it wrong. I see gods contained and present amongst the multiform streams. IHS Bacchus first. Then as Janus. Holding us in the present, pressed fast between the past and the future tense. So the text on each side of the page gives rise to leaf between your fingers as you turn the page.

Let us say, maybe, five hundred and forty pages are geometrically identical in dimension, same squares, same squares. Matrix array with its vectors contained in those critical margins. Two koi ponds reflected about the same axis of symmetry. Simpatico. The more you read, the more the very confined area with unnecessarily tiny pt. font, single spaced. Tight, trim, orderly. And you are drawn in and held fixed in that little space. Rapt. Enraptured.

And then the ratio expands. The page does not seem so small.

The biggest hinderance to the book’s popularity in America was a poor original cipher of the German language. But translating the lyrical prose of Hesse is probably like trying to translate a Japanese character into ‘the English word for it.’ You can pull it off but the English Equivalence is questionable. Americans are poorly positioned to be strong readers of such heavy, often erudite, ultimately, ironic tomes. We do not get the geographical exposure to other cultures.

Hell, we didn’t get the joke.

It fell for it too! The joke of being so dreadfully stoic that the reader would not dare think you were givin’ a ribbin.’ This is a book; An effing long one; I found all these pearls. I’m rich. Made-man. This is a book of power not jokes for blokes.

Sigh. Now, your cracking me up.

The good news is, if you do ever get the joke, it makes you smile and laugh out loud. Then shake your head. Hold on.

Although, states are arguably the same as little countries.

A discussion of the rather interesting history of this book finding expression in the English language


Loud Speakers: Watch Colors & Read Sound! “Beck – Colors” on YouTube

No rights owned. Paying homage.

All the colors.

Beck writes such innocuously infectious pop jams.

What is pop music, anyway?

Genres, huh?

Heard thru headphones Aka cans (big earmuff-lookin’ ones. Obviously.), this song is and is not the same song when it is heard through speakers.

Trying to learn about sound and light these days.

Speakers.  My parents had two floor standing ones that were about three feet tall.

They made sound.  Headphones make sounds. My portable CD player/Cassette Tape Player (deck?)/Radio made sounds.  I also took an entire battalion of d batteries if you wanted to “go mobile.”

“A boombox, in its most basic form, is composed of two or more loudspeakers, an amplifier, a radio tuner, and a cassette and/or CD player component, all housed in a single plastic or metal case with a handle for portability. Most units can be powered by AC or DC cables in addition to batteries.”

Wikipedia (per my March 01, 2019 visit) this page was last edited on 24 February 2019, at 20:24 (UTC).

Citations, huh

Hey, how they do that?



How headphones work = How speakers work = x

x = using magnetism to turn electrical energy into sound.

Speakers = loudspeakers = electric sound-making machines.

Loudspeakers attach to tiny, earbud headphones (cased inside ear muffs or earbud headphones) and make sound we hear.

Loudspeakers play back.

Loudspeakers turn electricity into sound.

Es_spk 300px-DynElement


Polar plots of a four-driver industrial columnar public address loudspeaker taken at six frequencies. Note how the pattern is nearly omnidirectional at low frequencies, converging to a wide fan-shaped pattern at 1 kHz, then separating into lobes and getting weaker at higher frequencies[50] (Wikipedia)

Stellar site! www.linkwitzlab

Testing a stereo system for accuracy

A sequence of tests is presented below that should reveal to what degree a given stereo system achieves the potential that is inherent in the 2-loudspeaker reproduction format. (See also the more recent Accuracy, spatial distortion and plausibility of the auditory scene article)

A – Pink Noise

Pink noise is a random process with a power spectrum that decreases at a 10 dB/decade or 3 dB/octave rate with increasing frequency. When measured with a 1/3rd octave analyzer, or constant Q filter bank, it has a flat frequency response. Since the critical bandwidth in hearing is approximately 1/3rd octave wide, pink noise tends to give an equal representation of all frequencies in the audio spectrum, from lows to highs. Thus it would seem to be a good auditory test signal, except that we do not have a reference for what it should sound like in an absolute sense. This limits the usefulness of pink noise to comparison tests of A versus B. Pink noise can reveal small physical differences between two sound sources, but it can be difficult to find the cause for those differences or to predict their consequences. Pink noise can drive you nuts, so be careful. Still, pink noise will point to flaws and errors in a sound system.

The tests use various 5 second combinations of L and R  streams of uncorrelated pink noise. What I call Stereo here is actually fuzzy  stereo and has no solid image, but is spatial like a cloud. In Mono the left and right tracks are identical. Left or Right means that there is sound only in one or the other track. 

Download and save pink-alternating3.wav (12 MB). Then burn the file to a CD-R for convenient access and repetition of the 1 minute  sound file.

1    Stereo = L & R 8    Mono
2    Left = L  (R = 0) 9    Stereo
3    Right = R  (L = 0) 10    Left
4    Mono = L = R 11    Right
5    Stereo 12    Mono
6    Mono 13    3 Bursts, 10 cycles @ 3 kHz, -3 dB FS
7    Stereo 14    3 Bursts, 10 cycles @ 300 Hz, -3 dB FS



The Cheek Of You, Eco!

Foucault’s Pendulum¤ = Asteroid of a book and author and both have coated me in spec(k)s of poussières d’étoiles forever.

Sister star to The Glass Bead Game: Magister Ludi°, at least in my little ol’ heart.

Trine. Zenith. Allegorical Syzygy?

Funny, for sure. Bless him for that because this book was heavy-wading for this gal.


I hit p.478 and read the text in the pic below. I, literally, Laughed out Loud; I, figuratively, was Rolling on the Floor Laughing.^

Mystical sumption of the syllogism, or modus ponens. But while this gal fumbles with wordsmithing, here are some juicy open secrets to for you more achievement oriented individuals to add to your trove.

Do you see the connection?

¤ Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data [ed. note: open secret x]

Eco, Umberto

[Pendolo di Foucault, English]

Foucault’s pendulum/by Umberto Eco ; translated from the Italian

by William Weaver—Ist ed.

p. cm.

Translation of: Il pendolo di Foucault.

“A Helen and Kurt Wolff book.”

ISBN 0-15-132765-3

PQ4865.C6P4613. 1989

853′.914–dc20. 89-32212

°Originally published under the title of Das Glasperlenspiel by Fretz & Verlag AG Zürich Copyright 1943.

^ Aka 🤣 FKA (original med. f/k/a) ROLF. This note is for my sister, with love.


Watch “Black Pistol Fire – Oh Well / Where You Been Before (Live on KEXP)” on YouTube

¿Whatz thiz?

Itz whatz effin’ up & itz rock n’ roll! Howl yes, it is.

A tasty jam for your toast

Show them some love https://blackpistolfire.com

Buy their new album already*.

It’s called Deadbeat Graffiti.

*even if you don’t spend money, they’ll let ya stream their 2016 set at the Governor’s Ball.°

°you ain’t heard of The Govenor’s Ball before? So? Not surprised. It’s a pretty nifty affair.


It’s kinda like The Secret Policeman’s Ball^

^ Psyche- The Secret Policeman’s Ball▪ wishes it was The Govenor’s Ball. Eat your hearts out!

▪ [intertexuality steganography: here’s a personal rant. Giggle.]


It really is a strange place. I got out of town & moved across country.


As long as it is not the Luv Gov.

What happens in Alabama and in Dirty South politics

The heroes keeping the the contentious citizen apprised and amused. Thank you al.com.

Words for free and transparency.


The Grain of Bacchus’ Barrels’ Wood.


Subliminal symbolism signals a system.

Æ am speaking to the diatribe diabolique: écoute et répète

The Magical Mythical Pantheon

that is comprised of we

who did so fascinate

the Fruedian’s preoccupation (with classifications)

such that he be’termed us the afflicted handle of

the polymorphous perverse.

But, hey-

T(he)y be sleeping monkeys. They pay for what they get. And they just come to get off.


Levy (one of Dionysus’ favorite lushes) best put it: I like the wine not the label.

You say:

I wasn’t going to ask

if you drink red, white, rosé et al., rose-cheeked dummy.

I’ve a wine for your tasting, if you like.

I reply:

For your offer, I thank you, kindly;


is it a finished wine or unfinished

that you would proffer?

Blind tasting from bottle sitting uncorked behind the bar?

Or, a sip of the batching directly from aging barrel?

Illicit thrill of an invitation

to steal a sample

from a cask

down in


past your

your cellar


Alliance of the invited Thief.

You tell me of

a wine undergoing Vintification.

Alchymícal process of Fermentation.


All chemical.

I tell you that

I’m no hard scientist.

But I do know the Tao of Wissen’s Chraft.

Oft mispronounced as wissenshcaft and mistaken for

(another way to refer, too)

western Science.

I’m no fellow-follower of the standardized scientific paradigm.

Because I cannot be; I tried.

But of Wissen’s Chraft I could give a master class.

So, for the purposes of this moment, so made by your offer,

let me endeavor to practice this art of oenology.

I will make -logia of vintner and the

Tao of his crafty method.

But hear me: I am no viticulturist.


Watch “Beck – Wow” on YouTube

Giddy up.

All the rules that you choose to use to get loose.

With the luminous moose.

It’s like right now,

Oh wow!

It’s so pine fresh.

It’s like…..giddy up.

I’m standing on your lawn doing jiu jitsu

Girl in the bikini with the Lamborghini shih tzu.



Parabolic Paean

There was a poet and his rose, and

A garter stalking both.

And the lady with forgetfulness

Oblivious until remembering the

Tresses of misses: one be model; one be tumbler.

A glass-looking to the star in the west.

A ladder Alice keeps handy.


That k/night of the encryption of all those cryptic Coptic scrambles.

Into the apparent innocuous steganography

Duplicitous, serving to conceal and

once concealed, serving hardly anybody


(Brevity perplexing)

Ambiguity in meaning.

Employing cipher and code. Directory path unrecognized.

Cain and Abel:

Mystified mystics, huh?

Swan, iynx, ibis

Wrynecking at this cockchafer (May) doodlebug.

Khephra, my nighttime sun.

We witness the concluding clause of this instrument,

Writ as an English to Portuguese test.

The translated texts falling under the title of Book

With a keynote of ecstacy.

Marvel that it is just

The Beginning.

Barbarous Barber, oh! god of shears.

Shore them that be certain across their crowns.

Whilst I will show them their tears.

Pulling the tides of moons inside

making oceans bleed from their eyes.

With my lyrical vespers ecstatically heralding a wandering star’s return.

Harken, Venus.

Ariandte howls feral heat

Inviting Dionysus to the feast

Of Two Wandering under the Midnight Sun.

The Aura of Alice: Nikaia.

The model of an acrobat.

Circling tangled loops at the thought of a question as such:

If desire be not love; then what of feeling the desire to love?

Ecstatic coronating of this al-chymical betrothal

Lovers become beloveds.

Missives of purpose with intent embuing metaphysical eternal

While Elemental attendants runner it in a return back

To ward now.

Toward and from. Hither ampersand Thither.

But never former

Vows renewed through every flux of lung-moving breath need not be formally avowed at one big affair.

Mavericks each having Sun and Moon self-contained..

The quarrel of Aura to Artemis thusly resolved

Through electromagnetic absolve.

Twice born Dionysus with his lawful Ariandte resurrected.

The Hypnerotomachia of Poliphilo dreaming. Polia.

The Beautiful Dream of awakening to the mayor’s young daughter.

The dreams of Christian Rosenkreutz. Married indeed.

Are you not unbored? Then let me rub the fur of your fuzzy heart wrong.

The stimulant Irritate.

Irritating you up to


I rate this meter, but am not its maid.

I am handmade anew everyday

Because I am dying to wake up and out my sleeping dreams.

Ae’ll not serve you potions of soporific words.

Funny how they seem so meek yet it is they who will rape you in your sleep.

Ae keep you awake to seek ‘the awful lucidity of insomnia’

where you will re-enliven in a world where heroines are no longer satisfied with mere men.

Wanting Pharaohs but no longer remembering

They had once created them with mere mortal men.

These are the blood tears the children of nations will so cry.

Just as Satan has been sleeping the whole time.

The blood of the lamb, replaced with lanolin.

Empurpling petals bloom inside.

As I gather your lips into mine.

Slow swaying to a band playing our saraband.

Gauzy dress of cotton becoming feathers beswanning me.

Ensorcelled by the pitch-black, starless hue of your suit

You wear the night sky.

And I am an unlit day.

It is now high noon for my midnight sun.

Silver corona glowing in plumes

As we change up the tempo. With more tempting teasing.

Humming: how pleasing it is pleasing.


The Radical Being Here While There

Come to lose yourself in this sublime union,

Melting into the elation of sated desire.

Protect me from hubris.

Honor my ignorance.

Open me to revelation.

Let my magnetism defrag your mind,

Increase your flow, and

Remove your templates.

Show you how

your divine quintessence & corporeal body

Exist as

Unity not duality.

Hold fast.

Give ourselves permission

To feel without judging.

You stretch me,

My ability to tolerate


This is the true art of Mastery and Service.

Of when we dominate, handle.

When we worship, nourish, slave.

Enacting a ritual of control in our temple.

Our existential reality is a fantasy of control,

As we have very little compared to the forces we feel around us.

Even controlling the forces in our minds requires diligent practice.

So, I remember the organ that is my skin,

Separating me from everything else.

My container.

My flesh reminds me what is mine to control

And what is not.

I may influence what is not bounded by my skin

But I let go my grip.

I seek practices to experience and realize the numenous force of eros ever flowing through us.


It requires our attention;

Our attention is sacred.

I have it bound within my flesh.

My skin and quintessence exist together as integrals.

Integrating my physical and non-physical bodies.

To have one without the other is to no longer be.

(At least not be what we now are)

A sack of meat,

a ghost possessing it.

I am nothing until animated.

Enlivened through that Force that enlivens trees, dogs, crystalline structure, lichens, cellular mitosis

anon, anon.

So I come to transcend myself with shifts in attention.

I try.

Ways of practicing how to notice the sacred everything,

Not by hiding away in isolation

But through a passion to engage

From across the world.



We belonged to the diatribes of idiotēs set among the swans,

singing the harmonics of new prophecy.

Alit upon the pond, whose waters stay so still, you could be tricked and

mistake the reflection of

for the actual sun.

Do you recall Nietzsche’s ecstatic, public collapse?

Seeing an over-heated, carriage horse being beaten unmercifully

Over he rushes

to fall down in exhausted camaraderie

aside a fellow beast of burden.

Will they blame Ulysses and seek him again?

Some grown men will ever be juvenile while somehow failing to stay young in spirit.

K/Nights leading on to nowhere, in vain

While we lie licentiously aside. Alee. Aleph.

The peek in as they post pass.

The fretting single mother rocks in their wake

frets behind them.

The smell of dinners prepared is served into the air of the neighborhood.

Their smells are free.

A Sunday night & Monday morning.

Let time move those outside our walls.

The world will keep up with it as we lose track.

The sun and moon do need us to help them.

Maintain the tempo.


Harlot to Freedom [disambiguation]


1. Lewd woman; prostitute

2. obsolete, a male servant; a churl

3. A woman in contempt

Per se: anyone, male or female of low birth.

[From Old French ‘herlot’, fellow. ]


1. Low-bred, surly fellow

2. A sordid person

3. A peasant

4. English historical, Anglo-Saxon freeman of the lowest rank or without rank.

[From Anglo-Saxon ‘ceorl’, man.]


Rude, hard to work or manage, intractable


1. Characterized by lust, lustful; carnal- licentious

2. Provencial or Archaic, morally depraved, vicious, wicked

[See the Anglo-Saxon ‘læwed’, lay]


1. promiscuous and unprincipled in sexual matters

2. Archaic, disregarding accepted rules, especially in grammar or literary style

Came into Middle English from the Latin ‘licentiosus’ from ‘licentia’, freedom.]

Funk & Wagners, 1943

Oxford English Concise, 2008


Parsifal/Sufi Connection

As I research Parsifal/-zifal, I like to jot unexpected correspondences. Here is one involving the Sufi tradition. The quick quote below is included in a Sufi meditation manual that came into my possession a year and a half ago.

“The radiance of the streamers emanating from the shoulder blades has, when unfolded, often been compared by Sufi’s with a mantle of light. In the Parsifal legends, it was because there were holes in the mantle of Anfortas that the evil forces of the night were able to attack him.” Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan. The Ecstasy Beyond Knowing: A Manual of Meditation. 2014. p47

Anafortas: the wounded Fisher King who guard the Grail at Munsalvaesche.

[Perceval arrives at the Grail Castle, to be greeted by the Fisher King. From a 1330 manuscript of Perceval ou Le Conte du Graal by Chrétien de Troyes, BnF Français 12577, fol. 18v]

Below is the context in which the quote above is presented. The reader is being given meditation methods to enliven these ideas. Parsifal is not mentioned again.

The (life) energy fields includes the electrostatic and electromagnetic fields, the aura, called bioluminescence (light body?), the sonic field, and perhaps fields of other alternate forces (chi force; etheric body, which pulses with your breath; celestial body.) p46

“The energy in the human electromagnetic field flows in manifold ways. You may distinguish [sic. seven total ways including]…..vi) streamers (plumes of energy). ” p46

The concept of energy pluming from your body can be illustrated by:

1) Energy streaming above the head, like the Pentecostal tongues of flame

2) Energy flashing from the temples “as the winged thoughts of Greek Mythology”

3) Energy pluming out from behind the shoulder blades as winglike or cloaklike.

4) Plumes around the temples, included with the wings of the Seraphim.

5) Plumes around the shoulder blades and ankles, as the wings found in images of Hermes or Mercury.

Khan proposes that attributing validity to the existence of such “higher” fields that have so far not yielded to the measurement of science, enables the accounting for some of the uncanny bouts of energy to which contemplatives refer. Examples:

  • The quickening of the Holy Spirit to Christian mystics
  • Ruh al-quddus to Sufi
  • The Shekina among Jewish mystics.

“Actually, we [sic. science & mysticism] have been going along with the assumption that the body emits these fields, but what if the electromagnetic field, in fact, all components of the life field, were the templates, the mold, in which the body is being formed?” p. 47

One related meditation practice is listed among other practices given in this section.

  • “Try to feel such streamers emanating from your shoulder blades. Envision them as unfolded and draped around your back, affording a kind of protection, or even as the robe investing the initiate into the Hermetic tradition. All the above practices will need to be extended to the aura of light.”p48

On the Currents of Dreams

Cicero. Fetch him. Will he read to us, aloud, his Dream of Scipio?

Recall the nightmares of Nebuchadnezzar? His hope for Daniel’s talent?

Recall. He refused to heed the warning this soothsayer pulled.

Recall: The king lost his mind, to a strange psychosis lasting seven years, at which he regained reason.

So where are the temples erected to Aesculapius?

And, who also dreams like pharaoh Thutmose IV?

Hormakhu comes and goes now.

New forms. Uncovered the Sphinx.

Perhaps goddess Safekht took Serapis as hers.

The learned ones of the library of magic.


So incubate. Sleep. Dream


The Egyptians taught.

Hermes & Moses received. Others too?

Encrypted. Pentaeuch.


Everything is already written in the very measurements of the dimensions of the Temple of Soloman; and even Paracelsus, so long ago, already said: The Earth is a magnetic body.

Concerned with patterns of currents’ change, they replaced menhirs with Gothic cathedrals.

< < > >



Power & Directions

Flow & Tensions


< >


Sleep W/Rites

Four nights ride at me like knightless horses.

Some of us may be dead.

Do not overreact, we shall (re)enliven to you, the dead.

And, if you feel restless,

Then stand.

And, if it lingers, walk.

But, you must (not) forget your breath.

The Stain of that tree;

the mark of that unknown paw.


The tug of leash.

Does it follow?

Machen to Helen.

Machen was guide. Weigh Station.

Chhinnamasta calls me fall at her feet.

With my love.

To feed her, so she may feed the mystæ.

Horrendous in image.

But not horrible when properly imagined.

Can you deserve without earning?

Leviathans are understandably underendowed.

Catastrophe revealing atrophy.

Missing. One star. Even though there is a sky full.

I walked through a field of green meadows, last night.

Fields of fantasy and feeling.

And, then again,

the singular black dot.

Tiny spec/k/.

I cannot enlargen it, but I

continue to try.

I did as I have done because the demand

upon me was greater today.

Clothed in bedsheets worn/draped as a


Imagine. Pitter patter. Socks on carpet.

The deer licked the derelict.

Feeling the parsimony of time in mind.


A long.

A longing.

A precious ore mine.

A veritable land grave possessed

by the fool hanging by one foot.

On a needle & thread.


Watch “Tears For Fears – Shout (Official Video)” on YouTube

1980’s music review continued:

It becomes apparent my heart has quite a soft spot for Tears for Fears.

According to Pop-up Video (VH1 circa 1990’s) this song relates to the idea of scream therapy. Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like.

Further, we the audience, receive bass and guitar solos.

An effing innocuously delicate percussive intro.

He tells us he is talking to us.

To you.

Can you list the things you could “do without?”

“In violent times, you shouldn’t have to sell your soul.

In black and white, they really, really ought to know,

Those one track minds.

They gave you life and in return you gave them hell.

I hope we live to tell the tale.”

/ Insert surprisingly painless synth jam. It grooves proper for pop /

Decent sax?!

If I could change your mind, I’d really love to break your heart.

An almost seven minute radio release?

Yes, please.

Thank you, kindly.

Much, obliged.


Watch “The Folk Implosion – Insinuation ( Album Version )” on YouTube

A slick little number from a favorite of my mine.

I sat awake all night listening to this album at age 17.

Working my tail off to prepare Girl State campaign propaganda. It is a rather eerie patriotic program. Two gals picked from each public and private school in the state.

To this day, I do not know how I was selected. A bit clandestine. I returned from my lunch period (the effing latest one of all— major drag) to find a printed invitation on my desk. I’d ask the Randall family: publishing impresarios. Highest of royalty that I have ever met in the South.

Underdog was my theme. My goal: Sanitation Engineer (garbage pick up, yo).

Hotly uncontested. Responsibilities included: making sure the dorm rooms, where us Girl’s State occupants stayed, received regular trash pick up.

That’s right. I didn’t even pick up. A paid grown up did. So, I spent the days unencumbered. Bored until night fall. A swarm of white moths would descend upon the light outside my window. Dizzying numbers. Vertigo.

My 17 year old self did not micromanage the paid adult. I did put a big black garbage bag, sloppy outside the door of my and dorm mate’s (she was not impressed) suite.

It has a formal sign next to it, bearing Underdog’s image.

It read:

1. Please do not remove; this is not trash.

2. Please file complaints about your garbage service on paper and put in trash bag.

it gained me friends and foes.
we ended up overthrowing the elections through a write-in campaign,
instead of voting for the winners of the primaries, like good gals.

the most qualified candidate for a top position did not make it thru the primaries.
so, we waged a covert campaign. messages were passed through the obnoxious, yet seemingly innocuous garbage bag.

one must not underestimate the aversion most southern ladies experience when it comes to the idea of poking about in a trash bag. even if they knew it is clean. this was a big, industrial bag. you had to shove your head and arms into it to get the paper notes. it sat loose on the ground. no supportive structures to help hold it up while you lean in.

underdogs and insinuations. make change happen.


The Summer Sphere

Set amongst a group of a dozen bystanders,

I watched the boat burst into flames

Ten yards into the bay.

A man runs to the lapping shore.

Drives his body deeper, diving into a falling wave.

We were not sure why.

No one was aboard.

The sopping wet man returns to say:

I’ve ruined my phone.

While coming ashore.

Fire twirls on the water table worktop.


Through an oil burning medium.

The invisible lucifermatch

White stick.

Head struck and aflame.


The nearest bystander to my right:


I continue saying nothing.

Again: Wow!

Again: nothing continued

Can you believe it, he said?

Well, I’m seeing it, but the question of that reality requires a lot of words.

Maybe we should get a coffee and watch this fire burnout? He asked.

How kind, of you. Metaphysically speaking, as we would be, it is arguable that we will if we have not already done so. So, in this timeline I decline, kindly.

There are whispers that Klingsor’s summer and spear is near.


Watch “Marvin Gaye – Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)” on YouTube

Top ten daydream involves being able to sing this well.

Hot damn.

What a man.

This song in particular. The harmonies, the percussive vocals.

Such a gorgeous song for such a serious subject matter.

Absolutely includes Gaye giving a scream to rival any rocker.


Descriptive Despotism.

Scant and off-standish. I confuse for oscillation.

Busied with nothing, they are.

Ashade & alee, ally & algæ.

Predicated upon such a predicament.

Do what, now…

In/Transitive verbs. Inert momentum gave the other dog the upper leg.

I asked the CAT scan tech:

Can you have electric without magnetic?

Field/ed/ naught.

He grinned; I passed out.

Suzie Q got graham crackers.

She can still write in cursive correct.

They do not teach it anymore.

Skills being disvalued.

After being discounted

Only creating future demand.

We are no orthodox sun-dwellers, dear.

Such is a sweet thrill.

Pity the would-be achievers; they will never enjoy their achievements

Until they learn to love strangers.

My apprehension now apprehended.

Eyes narrowed and lips

Pursed. Spawning focus.

Now, your lips purse, pucker up, as you

Awaken into a dream, falling into sleep.

My sweet Poliphilio.

Your own right hand pressed to your cheek. The scratchy friction of just a bit of beard to the back of your hand.

Your fingers curl slowly.

Except your pointer. It alone rests atop the left shoulder, too.

A top,

The bend of a knuckle, the one next to the nail.

Holding until held.

Pucker ampersand purse. Your lips. Again. Deeper you fall.

Twitching tap of that

Pointer fingertip to clavicle.

Across pectoral, sternum, and pectoral.

I start my next sentence but we idle in the æyther and I recognize.

In our idyll. The approach.

An image, but not one of whom I recognize.

Encircled and fuzzy in capture.

Encapturing the same arm

To the same shoulder.

It will not be long now. This will drop.

My brow and focus unfurrows and

Then uplifts in honest realization and disappointed resignation to the moment.

My eyes no longer two half moons.

Becoming oval saucers.

Serving platters for huge dinner parties,

Big enough to hold the head of John the Baptist (aka the Revelator).

And, at the feast,

I see the eyes and hear the hush of the hushed. They peer in on this meal with faces stoic and smug.

Held in their voluntary vanity

That holds their faces involuntarily so.

I asked the Old Man. The who no one ever done met:

Does your mountain happen to be Sugar or Magic?

He grinned

And asked:

Have you heard of The Mountains of Madness?

I nod. I know. I read and read. Now.

Knotting and loosening.

Hand in hand.

No juxtapositing but aligning and allying periodicities.

The sacrosanct of a reluctant headliner.

He said: now you know a secret; man can fail.

I said: that’s only a revelation to your men.

Morgan saw detail.

Meredith saw the night sky.

Rachel saw in between.

Portrait. Picture perfect.


The day the aerobarges arrived

The robbers hasten their liquor store evacuation, the day the sky barges arrived. Turns out, there was no need.


Effie was aset at the burled wooden desk, plate of blackberries, the culprits bleeding on her fingers. The barges drifted past. She heard them before she saw them. The cat had been fretting all morning. This reduced her surprise at the surprising.

She heard old music. Old timey. Pressed for phonograph. Tinny music. The kind men in fur coats would Charleston to, while drinking: alumnus attending the homecoming game of his alma mater. Girls twirl like it is the 1920’s. Reservedly untoward. The dance is all in the eyes.

This flashes in her mind, a daydream of orientation. Her curiosity piqued, she makes for the front room, with its huge picture windows, framed by newly painted, unadorned white walls.

Picturesque, but now the Douglas firs partially obscure her view of the aerostrocities. They move at a painfully slow knots per hour.

Ima grab those blackberries. They are not in rush and I’m hungry as eff.

She pops them ala popcorn into her mouth, watching. Her neighbors begin to venture outside. Some voluntary evacuation necessitated by a craving for speculation. The steely comfort of hearing someone else acknowledge the surprising, and then say, “I think it must be…”

Their words crackled like burning logs, the freezing air making every word they spoke become the smoke. Hazy veil from the heat source warming their fear. Tirefire.

Effie watched them, too. Actors on the stage.


To call a stone panther.

The braches on boughs broke.

Lying lifeless. Casualties of the white out.

Lost soldiers, abandoned by their unit.

Under the weight they could not withstand.

Only now revealed

Sheets melted.

Perfect circle encircling more circle.


There is a blackstone panther, she re-enlivens each night

A path of sprawling

Stalking prowl.

The little girl awaiting her bus told me so.

She tugged my coat and pointed as I passed: I see her at night.

Does she have a name, I ask?

She just nods and waves.


I smile and turnaway.


Exhausting Dreams

I’ve been consistently sweating in my sleep.
Dreams in the same neighborhood as the swaying structures
Only now we are not pedestrians.

Nor roof top runners.

The vans return.
Mass panic.
Drunk, drunk rednecks.
And, disenfranchised swarming points of public services.
No one seems rich.
Or perhaps the rich are unseen.
Alee and safe from our strife.

The previous night, the riots/disaster broke out.
Some truth revealed of which I discovered myself involved in
Through familial inheritance. clandestine.
Unaware until that moment.
Strange feeling of alienation.
Now that I know my involvement, my allegiance, must change.
My family has implicitly caused the suffering of many. With at least a bit of awareness.
<With too much intoxication?>

We leave a keg party in the woods.
A young man, Hunter

I went to high school with this blonde

Son of a politician [in the dream].
We were not friends.
He was in a higher clique, multiple levels.
That said. he was always kind.
I am by far the sober one.
But have the deepest of dread about driving the
Super drunken party.
As in, if we get pulled over by the cops (sic. American cops midst a crisis….DANGEROUS) it is more important for me to ditch the carload and make for this public center. That looks like the Tuscaloosa Library

(ed. note: before ‘tuscaloosa’, it was called Druid City. Point in case, the biggest hospital is known formally as DCH- Druid City Hospital. Quite magical considering the Magic City is only 45 min. NE.)

Hunter offers, kindly yet foolishly to drive us in his huge red truck.
Within two minutes we are clearly going to crash and hit a metal solid post. I think:
1. Hunter’s father has the sway and motive to save his son and the party to the crime. That is if we/they ever make it to trial. Which is questionable. The state of AL is in shoot first question later mode.
2. I will bail from the truck before impact IF impact is inevitable. I have great confidence in my ability to time and gauge this.
3. Amy is the only one in the truck I feel loyal obligation to. I fill with dread. We have not spoken in years, and she feels like dead weight that I am responsible for. And I intuit she may feel the same way about my own prescence.
People begin to reach up and try to snatch the wheel. This is ok by me.

Somehow we avoid crashing.

Amy bails.
I bail.
We freeze

And look at each other. We did not plan to bail together.

We apparently were just similar minded in how to handle the problem.
I indicate with eyes: I’m going my way. Do you want to come or go?
She crosses the road towards me.
Before she finishes, I’ve started running toward my destination.
She cannot keep up.
She arrives later and is pivotal in assisting me help the people my family

tacitly, indirectly, hurt.
(Ed. Note: she loves her family. They have never truly hurt her or even let her down in waking life).

We save the day after a protracted dance of:
She distracts and alludes the vanmen outside through camp.
I evade them inside while finding and sneaking people.
From this multiple story structure that winds horizontally.
It seems to grow ampersand sprawl.

The people often resent my help.
Some refuse it.
An armed faction of the people I’m trying to get outside decide me a hostile enemy.
Complicating my evasive action.
They change forms. An elite force.

At one point, í beat a crow to death, over and over it came at me, with a tennis racquet. When I looked on its lifeless body, felled upon the second step of a staircase, I fill with dread.
I killed it in fear it was a transformed enemy. In retrospect, I cannot be sure that I had not just beaten a confused, agitated bird to deæth. Maybe it was just a bird. Then the whole question stops making sense. I feel confused but on the run. Time, survival.
end: successful but incomplete.

Cut to last night.

Same place, same time.
Only, I embrace the role of driver.
My car.
Interstates flooded with water and cars.0
I dodge and weave impeccably.
But, I feel exhausted and stressed.
Then, I know when/that I should/ to

pull over and rest.

The panic inside me ceases.

The disarray outside continues.

I drive people in and out of the city all night

(I would not describe it as a nightmare. Not even as a bad dream.

Just a tiring, surprisingly self re-affirming dream)