Parçigal wants attention from Æ

~The lunar new year approaches. We could celebrate at the temple.

⊙No, let’s celebrate under the night sky, just us.

~Lay down in my bed, please. Warm the sheets.

⊙The boy in ridiculously baggy pants, with straps hanging, at the grocery store, had BDSM tattooed on his fingers, but he couldn’t define the difference between a sadist and a masochist.

~Why do you care?

⊙Because, he looked like he was full of shit and needed to know it.

~We all are, dear. Most of us feed our guts everyday.

⊙Well, he should develop a kombucha habit.

~You should read a book.

⊙Listen to me read aloud?

~Why do you ask when you could just read aloud? You are hard to ignore.

⊙Because, it pleases me when you say it back to me. Also, consent is important.

~Dear lord, please read aloud. If you’re gonna yammer at me either way, then other people’s words become you better than your own, right now.

⊙Very good. Pluck a book, any book. I’ve got it nice and warm under the sheets, here.

Parsiçal giggles to Æ

“You have told me nothing that Æ do not already know,” Æ tells me, sternly.

I grin, with closed lips, then

I say, “Oh howl. Is that what we were doing? Let me have another go at it.”

I do panto like I am a junkyard bitch barking and straining her neck against an invisible chain tethered to an imaginary spike.

I smile broadly, with both decks of teeth bared.

I suddenly spit out, “I once lit a candle that burned for two days straight despite there being not enough wax left.”

“Ostensibly,” he shrugs.

I cock my head sideways like a curious animal.

“Be quiet. When you try so hard, you always get in your own way,” Æ mutters.

“Oh howl. I thought that was the point of what we were doing. To let me stumble against the obstacle of myself,” I giggle snort, a bit bratty.

“Are you as confident as you seem,” Æ asks, seriously.

I howl in laughter.

“I did not know I appeared confident, Æ. I’m confident that life will render me unconfident often. If I am properly challenging myself.”

“How do you think you appear?” Æ asks me.

I reply, “Great question. I’m confident that I have no idea how I seem. Because, I am inside me, and cannot ever perceive myself. But, I’m the one that gets to experience myself as I am, regardless of how I appear. It used to be ‘I think therefore I am.”

“But, now?” Æ obliges me.

“Now, it’s, I’m seen therefore I am. It’s a real narcissistic shift.”

“So, then, what do you know?” Æ asks.

“All I know is that everytime I ‘think,’ I do not know.”

“And, when you don’t think?”

“I know I am.”

“How are you then?”

“I’m super, thanks for asking,” I giggle snort.

Æ rolls both eyes.

I smirk.

“Hey! I just made up this joke for you, Æ! Do you know it?”

“Tell me.”

“What’s the difference between feral, spitting of saliva and enunciated speaking?”

“…..”

“An audience!”

Æ smiles coyly. “Æ do like it when you spit your seemingly inane nonsense into the hole between my lips.”

My eyes go hard.

Held(,) dear.

Rip me from the spotlight.

The show is ended.

The backstage scene now begins.

My knees and legs unable to support my dizzy delirium.

Help steady my body.

The depths below begin churning as strange sediments begin to arise.

Let me.

I want to mine this precious mineral vein,

to see what visions will come.

Hold me(,) dear in my spelunking.

I feel weightless.

Perhaps, if you wrap yourself around me, we may float together.

{in the subterranean ether}

I fly off this edged state easily into deep space.

Tether and balance me.

I always seem to land safely

because I can exercise control.

Let me exorcise a lack of control and cushion me when I fall.

I will coo into your ear and call forth trembling, hopeful, goosebumps from your salacious, salted flesh.

{darkly hushed whispers}

I could remove some of your dreadful readiness; but, to do so would be to denigrate the events within your human condition: Æ says to no-one, in particular.

Speeding along another dissolution of ego through hard knocks followed by unseen but well-heard giggles in the darkness.

Æ said you wanted kindly unkindness: I whisper to no-one, in particular.

Spurning me forward, as I spurn you.

You drew the five of swords, sweet sap of sorrel.

Æ said to tell you that death is a mercy you do not deserve.

How dare you?!

I dared to accept this personally æons ago, dear. Thusly is how I dare.

Tears spring from his eyes.

I begin seeing bleeding horizons, bloody in the sinuous, poet trauma symptomatic of a new birth.

It feels like a backyard, handmade, waterslide, whereupon you sweetly play, dripping;

And given you remain unconcerned about getting grass burns on knees from all the slipping and sliding,

you may have a real devil of a divine time.

You may be rewound, house proud, town mouse.

Let your prise punish you;

you mashed my berserker button.

Teutonic fury arising between my lower limbs.

Never try to take a medal from Muttley the Magnificent.

S/he has many sharp teeth.

So many keys to nothing.

Fifty two envelopes each with a key.

But, only two unlock the door that

you keep trying to break open.

A gamble you take with ecstatic desperation.

A gamble you hate loving to make.

Whose rapture is whom’s ecstasy?

Wrapped and rapt.

Have you ever wondered who’s the slave and who’s the master?

And remember this.

Keep your boots clean.

Bite a thumbnail from a pretty petty pouting mouth,

Remembering a horrible dream wherein you made an exchange with the devil,

only to remember it on waking,

and be so terrified at what you promised that

You pray to god that

the devil be made to make good on the words,

knowing full well

god and the devil may not care what you want.

So, let me interfere with your energy extraneously and

show you yourself as

you know yourself naught.

A peckish rhythm

I could tear you apart with teeth shredded like snapped, over-fretted guitar strings.

But, I’d rather simply look upon you quietly and plot the upcoming delicious demise you already seem intent on ensuring.

But, first, just a little something to chew on…

Are you peckish, skittish one?

What do you call this rhythm?: the independent music journalist asked me.

I call it punctuated equilibrium in syncopated time; and, yes, it will induce sleep paralysis.: I respond with a coy grin.

I snake his fingers between mine, before your eyes.

I saw your invisible snarl at his aura bursting forth in surprised, physical response.

Did you know that I abhor playing zero sum games?: I ask, aloofly, to No-Body.

Our thoughts are linear, strung out on a line

to hang, mid-air, and dry.

But, Nature is a volume encompassing.

A space within which you find.

Our eyes see at the

speed of light coming.

My ears hear at the speed of sound resonating.

Waves lapping at the sea shore.

The mind perceives its thoughts more slowly.

Your skin already feels heat well before your mind realises

you have already been burned.

This I knew before you showed me.

Here are petals to serve as your flesh’s exfoliant.

Æ plays my favorite game

Æ dreamt of Blue House, with its strangely angulared architectural

In the tiny library, we saw sharp, slanted writing on every inch of the walls.

Covered in sigils unreadable, sentences ineffable,

Interjections conjuncted with exclamations.

An indifferent, yet, energetic-ally aggressive atmosphere

devoid of hostility.

From there, last night,

I wrote to you :

Will you halt me with your mouth

and show me your mind?

I wonder as

a coquettish muscle spasms in my left foot.

Musculature malefactors.

I love the almost-pain of it.

Malediction, subliminally decried, to inoculate.

What is the difference between chaos

and the constant state of affairs?

Is there one?

Or, does that inclination follow the declination of the earth’s disposition?

A punk band called No Vigil

battling

A punk band called No Sigil.

I dreamt I held back the masses of an audience

, for you,

by making them wait on me

while I was waiting on you,

according to some malfeasant line of time.

Æ asks me: shall we play your favorite game?

What is the difference?

Yes, pleas.

What is the difference

between hidden and secret?

between esoteric and occult?

A cabaline cabal, prancing, at Sette’s auction.

It made you giggle when

my response to your heady sentence was:

Oh my, I do like your phrase “operative formulæ.” How are you spelling it?

Does it make a difference?

Your forehead wrinkles show a perpetual proclivity for a quizzical, lopsided expression of interested curiosity.

You made yourself the background and

predicate to my subject;

and, in doing so,

you taught me to make others the subject against my background,

the positive space to my negative space,

And, to invert.

Where the web traps, there does To-Be

become

the difference between to deceive and duplicity.

A copy of the copy of a copy.

What is the difference between revealed and reveiled?

A ‘I’.

“The thraldom of imagined existence.”