Category: Circles & Squares

Parçigal bemoans

Has Comte de Saint-Germain simply imitated Guillaume Postel, who desperately wanted people

desperately wanted people

to believe he was older than he was.

Why had the Maistre gone to Wilhelmsbad to sow dissension

You will change clothes and do as I say. Relent and give in to me.

Through sheer passion and devoted imagination,

I hope to draw you back to me of your volition.
Relent and give in to me.

That low throat voice, that angry sounding breath of desperate need and wanting posturing as powerful loudness.

and wanting posturing as powerful loudness.

So good, sweet thing. How i howl.
desperate need and wanting posturing as powerful loudness.

By my word I will you show your will that I am your mistress and also your mastered.

also your mastered.
I am your mistress and also your mastered.

God|dess to your God|head. I crown you and declare you divine. I show you what I see of your divine effulgence.

I show you what I see of your divine effulgence.

Your head bursts with creation.

My uterus becomes a mystical fire of muse, as well as bemused.
I show you what I see of your divine effulgence.

The Alchemy Feminine: Transmutation of the uterus to womb viz a viz the push of seed in the push for life.

viz a viz the push of seed in the push for life.
viz a viz the push of seed in the push for life.

An empty chalice found, earned, deserving of, and filled through ecstasy of passion coupling with

ecstasy of passion coupling with

romance, attenuates our attunement to become love’s incubator

of the burning flame that smelts away and disposes of impurities.

But without a reason to refine, love can flee and leave the incubator to entomb itself.

entomb itself.
leave the incubator to entomb itself.

A simple supplication to my nape, back, breasts will rekindle me; is taken in as prayer.

is taken in as prayer.

But my Mastery of Ecstasy flows from your oral obeisance,

dearheart. Your enjoyment and desire to

bury your face and lap and eat.

Watch me. Until my eyes narrow,

my smile becomes a pout of lips, my voice goes

deeper and the fry deepens.
will rekindle me; is taken in as prayer.

Let’s un-domesticate before their eyes. You are branded, but I am not.

You are branded, but I am not.

No mark torched my skin and

I usher you to the Maverick underground which

magically exists above ground.

Giggle. I do this for you only, because that is how this gal works:

on a one gent basis (remember punk, it doesn’t have to be you).
You are branded, but I am not.

You ask, “Won’t you ask me my second name? The name you want to call me?”

The name you want to call me?”
The name you want to call me?”

I laugh, “Dummy, that was me that asked you that question in a dream a month ago.”

you that question in a dream a month ago.”
that question in a dream a month ago.”

Your gaze drops as your head lowers.

Bit of a grin gives you away.

Lovely tough guy eh?

Confluence of a hostess.

After days of varying sobriquets

[Dimples, Goldilocks, Curly Sue, At the Bat]

Amber Eyes has become my daily moniker to Shelia and Don.

She grabs me, everyday, this intense mid-eighty year old lady.

Everyday, she grasps my face between her palms,

holding my cheeks to keep my head still.

[Serious(ly).]

She pushes her face inches from mine

and stares into my eyes.

As if to make sure that I am who I appear to be.

Are the eyes, in fact, amber?: I swear I cam intuit her asking herself,

before proceeding.

I take a deep breath, knowing what will follow: secrets.

Heavy ones. Ex-drama teachers seem to always have them.

It is 9 a.m. and I still force myself to meet her eyes and listen.

⊙

A man arrives.

Single diners can be sensitive.

Especially when a restaurant hostess says: just one today.

So, I do not say this.

Hi. Good to see you. How can I help?: I say.

He takes my hand as he removes his sunglasses.

He speaks with an accent I cannot identify.

I hear him say: I’d like a date.

Pardon?: I ask. Hand still in his.

I’d like to eat: he says motioning to his mouth.

I smile.

I can help with that. Right this way: I say, leading him to the bar,

hand still held by his.

There is one elder lady at the bar.

He sits five seats away from her.

She collects her things and leaves.

I think nothing of it.

“I love you,” server J. says.

I know: I tease: but what makes you tell me?

You made the racist leave: she says.

Huh?: I am confused.

That was the woman from yesterday. The one who I told you the story about. She took off when she saw him: she says with a big smile.

It was Mother’s day a year ago when this woman revealed her ignorance. Well before I started working here. The story was worse than any I had witnessed in Alabam’.

Point her out next time, so I can tell her we don’t serve her kind here. Many of these old white folks, all look the same to me: I say, not joking.

⊙

I get cut when the rush dies.

I stop by the hardware store to buy a pint. Jane is working. She is my favorite.

You must be done working. It’s good to get off your feet: she smiles.

Aww, you remember me. That means a lot.: I say and mean.

We meet so many people.: she says.

I smile.

Yup. Ya know I worked from a chair, in front of a computer, for many years. Turns out I’m better, happier, on my feet. Plus, I am a bit reclusive. It’s good for me to talk to all these people: I say.

We are all actors. You and I are good ones because we are authentic.: she says.

I freeze at her gravity. I look into her eyes. In silence.

You know me. I appreciate you. I also appreciate your help today.: I say.

She grins.

I exit and feel energy coursing.

Dream of a Watery Cavern

It was a sub terrain keystone cavern of cathedral proportions, carved out from the processes of semi-precious, conductive mineral excavations.

I dreamt I lived underwater, there,

in a little house on the floor of

the Sound,

it was filled with water.

It rained heavy droplets of oxygen,

pattering on the tin roof.

I drop my pen, it slowly floats downwards.

You catch it with your mouth, before it reaches the ground.

Your eyes look up at mine with pride.

I see you shiver.

I silently say: Come and let’s lie down together; you on your back.

I wrap my legs around you, and

slide my thighs and calves against yours,

rubbing limbs like how crickets sing,

until you are warm.

Satisfied sighs bubble from your lips.

You keep shivering well after becoming warm.

Permittivity

The story always flows inside. Now, outside, as well. Like JM says: I see something of myself in everyone; just at this moment of the world.

From the perspective of the Pendulum’s pivot point

From which we are all hanged.

So, I pace out a one-room prowl.

Cursed and blessed our we,

tethered by our high potential of permittivity?

They shalt not treat us unkindly,

but, we may ache further(,)

still.

These indirect aspersions haunt my southern plane,

remaining innominate.

I see you,

nearly combustible from that raw fossil fuel that burns out of your eyes as hot tears.

An enflamed emanation of emotion.

A diesel engine backfiring.

A vice-president shooting his friend in the face.

A murder that occurs on account of how hot it is.

A happy death.

A shadow.

A deal with the devil that you pray to god s/he must hono(u)r.

Push it along.

.:.

~Sometimes I wonder: what is there to write that cannot already be read?

⊙The difference between flowing from and flowing into?

~No. Those states occur, necessarily, in tandem. Like a rope, strung between two cans,

conducts the sounds that the speaker/s curate.

⊙A feedback loop within an open system.

~Why repeat yourself when you can simply read those notes your previous self left to your current self?

⊙On account of how forgetful you knew and know yourself to be?

~Especially when

you have been as long as Æ has been.

⊙Your stasis is my equilibrium.

~I am bespoke you are not beholden.

You are dear to me because you endeared yourself to me by virtue of you being precisely who you are, have been, and will be.

⊙ I think you are too short to push it.

~ You think too much. Plus, I am taller than many things.

⊙I think you talk too much.

~ Then shut me up. You know howl.

.:.

Ariadne Howls to Æ

How is it that, I, Ariadne, she whom gave you the string to trace your way out of this labyrinth, now finds herself strung along by it?

When did the slipped, sleeping pill take æffect?

Am I woke or lucid dreaming

Or sleep walking?

I came

from whence rhythm first flowed and then flew.

I return twice slain.

Yet, still

I return,

by choice,

hunting on my tip toes.

Collected Strands

Restless a.m.

I

Ayes running through my mind’s eyes like little cottontails scrambling into the brambles.

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Robins bobbling around for worms.

The only animals appearing sleepy are tethered. A dog walking a human.

⊙

A clot of hair collects about a nail head that is pounded into the railing.

I suppose it is mine.

Strands tugged a’loose like feathers, after the daily ritual of:

arrive home, sit outside, and, let the waves down.

Like little feathers lost only to be reassembled into

a new configuration.

A merkin for the metal.

The Undercutters: A Banana Nut Muffin Introduction.

“You look ridulous.”

“What? I’m in all black. Scarf for my face. A colorful leotard beneath.”

“Scoff. The Undercutters use bandanas, not scarves. You look like a server.”

“It is my day job. Quite similar to yours. In fact, I have seen you wear that top and those pants at work, girl.”

“Well, girl, all will become clear. We will probably end up running from the police. Now, here. Take this bin of banana nut muffins and hide in the alley while I set us up in front of the bakery. They open in fifteen minutes.”

“What the fuck are we doing here? Where did you get these muffins?”

“I stole them from this very bakery’s dumpster last night. It’s what they didn’t sell yesterday. Idiots even collected them up in the box you now hold, before throwing them out. They aren’t even dirty.”

“Per se.”

“Oh shut up and do what I asked you to. We are gonna be legends.”

“Only cuz I am curious. Also, no legend begins with a box of banana nut muffins.”

“Yeah. This will be the introduction to The Undercutters.”

“Like a prologue?”

“No. The prologue was yesterday’s conversation.”

“No one likes a story with too many opening vignettes. Especially ones about banana nut muffins.”

“Yeah, cuz they are gross. Thank god you wore such an embarrassing leotard under your cover. Stripping off the black clothing to reveal a leotard? That will become legendary when you run from the police.”

“Why are we worried about cops? That’s a bit distressing. Especially since you keep calling us Undercutters.”

“Oh stuff it dummy. And, please, we are The Undercutters. “Undercutters” just sounds stupid. Let’s get set.”

“I need to know: have we brought muffins to a knife fight?”

Ways of seeing.

Forward and up.

A tightrope walker knows to not look down

when toeing a path

across the line.

When nothing makes sense

Abandon yourself to the terrorifically awful awesome.
Control and compliance, there is a

subtle difference in

Ways of Seeing.

Berger the Maverick.

“Perspective centers everything on the eye of the beholder.”

A Coy Pond

A

Deritive is an infinite difference.

An

Integral is an infinite sum.

That’s why they are

Inverse operations.

The difference between contrived and derived

can be found in the [con] of poor artistry.

Decoy or coy?

I am not unlike a koi pond: he responds.

What, swimming in your own shit under bridges you may not cross?: I challenge.

Everytime with this one: we both think

but, we do not say.

Can you cross the zigzag bridge over my fish head: he koi-ly bubbles.

Oh howl you want to know if I am a demon, hum huh?: I think.

Yeah, I can. Many times have I crossed the eight branches of an iris-strewn river. You are merely a pond, doll. Turning left, turning right? Not problematic to a whirling dervish. A modern ballerina. Do you, sweet koi, have the tenacity of a salmon?: I say.

Can you cross my moonbridge?: I ask

Do you have the potential energy required to achieve the kinetic momentum required to overcome the archway: I wonder.

~

An enlivening of a skin abrasion.

A salmon swimming upstream.

Bears with fish scales stuck between incisors.

~

Rub it til it bleeds, said PJ Harvey.

Clears my crown and your heads.

You wait seven days.

It keeps you, freshly.

It keeps you integral and not derivative.

Mountain presses sky

A rising reddening mountain

set against my pink sky.

States of matter change.

Snow returns to the peak,

with the seasonal shift.

Dripping downwards.

More will follow,

like bulbs remembering how to

burst forth in full bloom,

after being held back in a hard

petal enclosure.

Dream of a rude awakening

A pair of legs splayed to show well placed snaps.

“Undo them.”

That’s what he said.

I do.

“You want to feel the rise of my serpent up your spine’s

base.”

I roll over for this rude awakening.

Æ whispering to Parçigal

You want me to write right now, right?: I ask.

Yes: he says.

Well, I want you to stay hard; and I want to talk to Maplethorpe. So…you win because I am tip tapping. Here’s my hangup. These housemates of mine are always here. In the living room. I am trying to read/-a-just to being around people. Where can /I/ make My noises? Where do /i/ do my movements? Their energy is perceived by me as invasive. Encroachment on my energy. They feel like hungry animals. I let it oppress me because all my energy is focused on not regressing. I think I have achieved this ability, to not let myself regress. I now move to the next challenge of not having my energy allowed to be oppressed. Because this feeling is what leads me to want a beer. Taking drugs is taking sacrament to me. Purposed and not medicine. I am now able to recognize when I drink to sedate and when I drink to take sacrament. This is step one. I move to the two step now. Giggle [cuz giggle is the way I get by, {h/owl} ].

I gave everything to my metaphysical considerations because why the h/owl else do we keep on keeping on? I found treasure so I try to be patient with myself as i face the consequences. Even if I had found nothing, I would be patient with myself. But, reliance on the others in my life seems more for their peace of mind. But, such a statement is on me. I wilt figure out how to make manifest the opportunities available to me.

And, you need to buy shoelaces, so you can walk more: he kindly whispers.

Thank you. The difference between a chastisement and a kindly reminder.: I say: I must like you.: I say in honest exhalation.

Have you eaten?: he asks.

Kind. No. Only beer. I am not hungry; but I want to eat. What do you make of that?: I ask.

Oh, just like the good old days. I know what you mean.: he says but guesses.

Thank you for telling me what you think about that which you do not know: I groan, wet now: ewe make me smile. I wilt reward you for this, in my way.

(My eyebrow arches; because I like it when you say:

She cums.)

What if this is all one, big lucid dreaming experiment?: I conjecture, in fantasy.

What does that mean?: he quietly, quite justly asks.

Good question. Ask me again in a day and I can say it better. Rumination.: I say.

You said you could tell me about one of your three triple embodiment experiences.: he reminded.

I can do that. Be patient. I have been virgin, mother, and crone in body and mind between the last five years. Virgin to the sulky, sociopath, mother to the recovering addict, (I re enlivened him thru his will), then I became single and rekindled by the other one. I gained 60 lbs as mother, but have not ever become pregnant. I lost 60 becumming virgin, Artemis, despite having slept with men. I am the she Archer and some hunters chose to fall with me.

I thought you were Parçigal: he says.

I am many things and my head hurts: I say.

You drank two pints: he replies.

Uh hum, huh. Water. Hummus. A ham sandwich with mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomatoes.

Liquid Breezes

The curls of my hair,

a kelp forest waving in the currents

of the jet streams and trade winds.

I deal in oxygen as well as molecules of water.

I may suspend myself in the watery depths,

adjusting my buoyancy.

I may crest your foaming waves to reach the sky,

propelled by the energy of

the momentum of your surface tension,

; and, catch the breeze with my fins

which, repurposed, are now little wings.

Dream of vulpes vulpes & serpent

I dreamt I was a sweet, sly serpent.

I wrapped myself around you, into a möbius strip.

Eating my own tail.

Skin ceaselessly shifting

and sliding against yours.

We wrestled playfully in the numina of everywhere and

know-where.

Your face flowed like magma, between two appearances: the face of a man burning into that of the red fox.

My infinite sliding scale skin tethered your temporary

states of flux.

Fall for the Fool.

There I was in the sunny shine shiny.

Apposite the Alps, wearing my best burlap, with berry and leaf applique.

Knapsack number eleven over the left shoulder, loosely slung.

Greyhound, red eyes, nipping at the ankles of my bare feet.

Onward, onward.

Stepping over the cliffside.

Behind me to the right, the foal of a chestnut mare looks on,

intently,

at the journey of

This Fall,

Or perhaps, s/he was just eyeing the ten and one, white lillies to my left:

I think

whilst falling,

yet still, and

looking up upon.

Daily duality of scents

I watch the water mist itself seamlessly into the sky.

The ferryman drives his cargo across the water

to my c shore.

I espy your spies and I show them kindness as

you cannot

show yourself.

In black velvet with a white silk tie

necked,

I bought the garb earlier today. It smells old.

It smells like the previous owner.

Trading Tigers.

The pink votive, colour of my heraldry,

burns oily shadows into the chilled airs.

The intermingling of the scents tricks my nostrils

into sensing you.

And, the last sip of water from this glass tastes like salt

off the thinnest part of your skin.

It invokes the duality within.

Ariadne and Artemis.

Postures

I have a low tolerance for intolerance; and it can

deplete me.

We know from experience;

We assume in theory.

Our time-cost scale.

In response to my own question:

Yes, it is true.

My power is my prize.

Energetic consent up my salmon ladder is not costly, necessarily, but

is required.

An ability to articulate makes a piece of game

highly prized.

You want to fell a lioness?

Good.

Then, take down the two lions, knelt at

the left and right sides.

They were not asked to attend.

No compulsion.

They are here because they wilt to be.

Unnamed but not inane.

And, you shalt deal with them,

should you choose to confront with an affront.

《

Out through the nose: 1.

In through the nose: 2.

Out through the mouth: 3.

In through the nose: 4.

Out through the nose: 5.

In through the mouth: 6.

Out through the mouth: 7.

In through the nose: 8.

When you can walk and repeat this breath cycle

three consecutive times,

let me know.

》

Did you drink that bottle of water? Yes?

Good. You will lose it.

Did you bring a sweatband for your brow? No?

Good. The salt will sting your eyes.

Tight lips and all.

There is nothing I would imbibe to dull this edge,

but memories of you which I may use, spurning future potentialities.

You help me project myself into the future.

I lay-line.

Silly, sad boys abound, but I see depths in your aged eyes.

Your crows well-footed and begging,

leaving their foot tracks below your lower lids.

They are just as fine when you smile as when you frown.