Literature
No rights, pure homage
To the sexiest female vocalist out there. Triphop innovators transcribing electronica to orchestration.
This is how the young ‘uns learn of the classical instruments.
Try not to sway. Try not to nod in agreement with the dj cutting.
Young ladies: feel her power and use it to feel your own. We are beautiful without being half naked and shaking (make ’em earn those goods. Giggle.)
Í speak in harmonies scaling octavial heights.
Centurians guard my air. Í breathe angels. Í exhale fire. Í burnish with every breath.
Breathless, noiseless despite despots.
The rows planted in keystone symmetry; puzzling eyes ampersand I’s in motion,
Like two horses dying of thirst beside a fresh water stream. The query of the quarry destroyed their shodden hooves. Chipping like fingernails opening soda tab tops.
Lone pylons.
Radio and cellular towers feigned as trees and the refrain repeated from which none refrained.
A bridge over dry dirt.
Í let the bonsai tree grow over one hundred feet. Held fast, bent and hobbled by wire wrapping extended limbs like the necks of Nubian queens. Clutching with cruel vigor the extension as though the feet of geishas.
Incidentally, í never cared for hearing anecdotal evidence, yet í sure evidence anecdotes as offerings to others.
To live and die in the service industry: this is the new Dixieland. Bereft of prejudice.
Barely. The meek shall inherit your tips.
A gnarled bonsai branch slaps me in the forehead as if to say, “oh dear, how could you not remember?”
We watched the weather change three times in ten minutes. He seemed unsurprised. This surprised me.
The rapeseed fields burned yellow like a terranean sun. My eyes nedded shielding, but í looked on and stared at the faux-star. Í beat a path by following the doppleganger affected bleating of sheep. Little lambs of woolen and warm like cherubs. They whispered, “If you jump the stone fence on the horizon, you will freefall forever.”
Í said, “You cannot see the ocean below for your clouds.”
Í stood on the slanting stone stele before slipping into a slide, my leg [em]purpled on impact like the time í slipped on the hotel’s hardwood. Í had had to leave an entire continent to find a bit of breathing space. But, í do breathe more deeply than many.
Vapor fume whisps from my nose with each burnished breath.
Í am the dragon called serpent-bearer. He stays my hand, wrapped around my forearm. He hisses, hides, and hides me. Protectors and protectorates in one. We laugh together in snarling tangles. He hangs like a tentacle. He hangs me upside down by my ankle, correcting the orientation of my perspective.
We appear cruel to the uncruel.
We are cruel to the cruel. Humiliating them unmercifully through unwarranted kindness. Adoration melting cruelty.
My eyes go hard.
My lips narrow and purse while my kindness cuts ampersand maims.
The behemoth bonsai bursts into flames. I howl in feral pleasure.
Mine is water; fire, the serpent’s.
Diabolical excellence arouses
Making ire irie.
The awareness to insert [i] pro/e/duces accordingly.
Silence cannot speak violence; violence never spoke in silence.
‘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,
Predator [no entry|no subentry]
*related entry predatory
*note the ‘derived from’ information (i.e. prædor).
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.
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.
VERBA ECLIPSATA INTENDE A DINSPIR
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
Has Ended by Thom Yorke mazon Music
https://music.amazon.com/albums/B07GZ9L24S?trackAsin=B07GZ9GSLC&ref=dm_sh_O8MIfrQqbeo0ltNOG2yEHOv6j
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.
Eclipses
Phases
Vectors
Sea Changes
Middle C
Belle Curves
When stars fell on alabama,
There was no moonlight slow dance
They thought the The End was
Nigh
Night
Knight
But is you can talk about The End in the past tense.
At least you are
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
/annealed/
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.
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.
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
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)
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 |
![Dinah’s Daughter [Psych⊙]Gnosis](https://writtencasey.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/20190329_135328.jpg?w=1200)
![[Title Here]](https://writtencasey.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/20190124_1559293816704622876311414.jpg?w=1200)
WrittenCasey 