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
Berger the Maverick.
“Perspective centers everything on the eye of the beholder.”
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.
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.
Before photons,
ours was
the luminiferous ether, the medium through which light moves.
falling like waves
Issuing ever out in concentric circles
(within concentric circles)
《[Ego centrism
Of gEo centrists.
A vessel never falls off the horizon.
Our sight line drops off; and
the feet of another appear to
grow smaller (and smaller)
as s/he walks away from you.》
But, there was no motion detected.
A wave and a particle,
both either, as well as neither,
hidden ether.
Rods and shafts of sunlight.
Fighting-as-discipline haunts me with every new face I meet. (Invariably they are black belts, INK’D athletes, ex MMA fighters, etc.)
Cannily uncanny. It may be inspiring my clip this morning. I certainly find the trend personally inspiring. The same way the numbers 93, 13, 11, and 777 hook my attention. Do I see them at every turn because they occur in a disproportionate amount or do my expectations simply enliven significance?
My feet carry my brain to work, propelled as though by the will of something outside of my conscious thought.
I walk too fast. I don’t know why. Mind still foggy from tying one on with the family last night.
Damn. I can barely keep up with my own pace.: I think, walking.
Click, click.
Click, click.
Quick.
Oh well, the energy required to change my momentum seems more consuming than just continuing to walk along, too fast.
It is a grey sky morning.
Have I actually woken up?
°
The sun finally arrives and beats the cloud cover into smashed splinters. It makes the day seem real. I feel my heart finally kick start, keeping rhythm with the coffee coursing through my system.
Howllelujah.: says the newly given up ghost,
in a whisper of surrender to this new day.
Douglas Hofstadter wrote about Googel translate not too long ago.
As an American, foreign languages are not the priority of inner city schools, at least not the one I attended. Not, their fault either.
I failed Kiswahili enough times, in college, to blow the socks off of any Kenyan who I meet stateside.
Ninasema Casey.
No one speaks any “Swahili” here. Not enough to even make the general populace know the language is factually called Kiswahili.
Bless you, Bibi Jane. And, bless you end of term oral examiner.
Can I write my responses to your oral questions?: I asked.
No.: she responds.
Shit: I think.
⊙
I’ve worked in enough restaurants to learn functional Spanish and Kiswahili.
(A surprising number of Kenyan immigrants in B’ham, AL. Magic City
We got a Nemo walking in: Robert would call to his kitchen, at Tavern on the Summit, whenever a catch of the day ticket came through. Howlarious.
But fish don’t walk, Robert: I’d always say
[After dinner rush, in the alley, smoking a cig.
Me: I thought “fish” was “samaki” in Kiswahili.
Robert: No, dummy. Nemo, like the movie.
Howlarious.]
)
⊙
I listened to this show, just now.
A few phrases in foreign languages hooked my attention.
I connect to Catalan, Frisian, and Corsican.
Don’t ask why, because I don’t justly know.
I love playing with Translate ever since the Hofstadter article.
But, I don’t have friends like his, to give feedback on the intimacies of Translate’s inadequacies.
On a cru que les données allaient nous libérer: appears in type face on the screen behind the band.
I make haste to Translate.
To triangulate my linguistic location.
If the phrase is in Frisian it translates to: On a cru que les données allaient nous libérer.
It translates to itself.
If the phrase is in either French or Corsican it translates to: it was believed that the data would free us.
In Corsican, the same spellings translate to: where it’s raw than the others were waiting for release again.
Hot and beautiful. Both.
⊙
Désormais ton monde est ainsi fait: appears in type face on the screen behind the band.
I make haste to Translate.
To triangulate my linguistic location.
If the phrase is in Frisian it translates to: this is a ton of things to do.
If the phrase is in French it translates to: now your world is so made.
Howl.
I notice
a bonfire,
(alit via a couple of cotton balls, a lighter, and a tube of
lip balm)
burning high,
(especially when being properly blown into)
sounds a lot like a needle, with
a diamond tip,
sliding around and around,
a viynl record’s groove.
Shhhhtshhht.
Right before the song starts.
Because we are perceivers, that is why?
There is only causation because we create it?
We created the Why?
⊙
We have an inborn propensity to see causation. We attribute our perceptions to external causes, but some perceptual representations are internal, for instance, optical illusions.
[Consciousness] is an evolved user-illusion, a system of virtual machines.
David C. Dennett. The Evolution of Minds: from bacteria to Bach. 2017
⊙
The voice of knowledge wants to know what everything means, to interpret everything that happens in our lives.
DM Ruiz & DJ Ruiz. 2010, p124 & 13. ISBN 978-1-878424-61-7
Prof. Lewis: what is the meaning of life?
Carroll: to answer the question, “what is the meaning of life?” Is that right?
Chuck raises his hand and is acknowledged; he asks: will this be on the quiz?
I smile: I am pleased you like the work, but not particularly interested in why.
You liked how it felt.
Instead, tell me about the last dream you had while sleeping?
Did you like how it made you feel?
⊙
I dreamt a record store called All ‘N Analog. It was no analogue.
And,
What if it turned out that Paul Revere was just a Boy who cried Wolf?
Let’s incorporate.
A stem [becomes]
steAm.
Repetition of action is
not repeating oneself;
though, care must be taken, of course, so you
don’t repeat yourself;
but, sometimes I love it when
you repeat yourself
(or ask me questions, the answers to which you believe you already know.)
⊙
Self-awareness of ignorance can nearly
overcome it.
Just don’t over-commit.
You will, still, scratch that itching nose with a finger, whether you are aware you do so,
or not.
⊙
You skate on a bead of water produced from the ice you melted as the blade of your skate skirted over it.
You have not cut the ice.
Boiling point is dependent upon the local atmospheric pressure, sweet thing.
Are you at an elevation of simple sea level?
The triple point of water.
A bathtub producing water, ice, and steAm from its faucet head.
All states
existing simultaneously; and, at the same time,
the ultraviolet exposure at my atmospheric level, fries, while I watched the sun rise
from my spectacular, secularly sacred space.
The dissonance of a consciousness can be caused by a lack of cultural consonance.
A flock of birds makes daily, coordinated flight shows,
training the little birds,
the ones I watched learn to fly over the last week.
The seven others will make tight, sharp barrell rolls,
reversing their momentum and direction.
The three babes miss the sign
and lose their flock.
I see the panic in the way their wings change their flapping.
The obelisk is well-balanced.
Soujurn is a relative term.
The smell of salt rolls off the Sound into my mouth and nostrils.
The slight humidity makes the smell reminiscent of a locker room.
The water is sweaty like hot skin.
Addled.
A day I play like Cool Hand Luke.
If you labo(u)r, you probably do not have Labor Day off.
You are probably extra busy with your labor, in fact,
because of all those non-physical labourers who do have the day off.
No judgement, just observation derived from experience as someone who has been on both sides.
This is pure assumption: I can tell if you have ever worked on your feet, by how you interact with me when I am running a waiting list for the restaurant.
Open secret x: I am the hostess. I want you happy.
Open secret x’: you will not piss me off nor will I say anything unkind.
You know why?
Because, nothing pisses cranky people off more than someone who will not take your anger bait.
Killing you with kindness quite literally, you silly folks.
This is where the Tao of Cool Hand Luke comes into play.
You trying to put me down on the ground?
I just keeping getting back up with a giggle and a smile.
I have been through far worse.
I can do it until you are uncomfortable.
Every now and then, I can even make you smile.
Score.
I appear daft. Too stupid to realize I am being insulted.
I appear sugary sweet, but I speak in a calm, deep, resonant voice.
Just so you get a grip on the power of my gravity.
Unkindly kind.
I decide I need a tab, as they say.
American Spirit: ingredients: water and tobacco.
And some kind of paper, right?: I wonder.
The point is moot as I have already inhaled the combustion of fire to leaf.
Why are you smoking when all you really want is to be walking, Little Wing?: the No-One man asks me.
Because I need to clear my mind and grease the wheel. So, I can count to ten.
Prove it: he says.
⊙
One is zero and unity. All and everything. I learned this lesson in the woods, whilst listening too hard and asking too many questions.
Two is a perfect number. Mathematically speaking.
Three is a trinity manifested in a pyramide.
Four is a group that trains themselves in martial arts, as advertised.
Five refers to commercial success. Why?
Six makes me recall you, beast. And what it is to rotate this figure about the x-axis.
Seven reminds me of a trinity of 7’s, of Parzival.
Eight is hate not so far past.
Nine is three, six, and itself. This was the universe to Tesla.
And, ten? Ten is an order of magnitude. Ten makes sense for orientation.
Ten let’s me catch my breath: I concede to him.
I near the entrato the condo and a Vietnamese couple pulls aside me in their SUV.
How do we get to the coast?: the driver asks me through his cracked, automatic window.
Take a right at the stop sign, then, at the fountain on Main Street, take a right.
It is a roundabout.
Thank you. How lucky you are to live here: they say, after we struggle through language barriers and we repeat the same sentences between ourselves six times in total.
Yes, I am lucky to stay here: I reply.
I wave as they speed to the stop sign.
I told you that I needed to walk the block: I tell the No-One man.
He rolls his eyes.
Have you ever stared, for a long time, at a large body of water?
More than an hour, or
until you can’t remember if the water is actually the sky and perhaps it is you that has been submerged in water the whole time?
Like maybe the horizon is a surfacing point where you and I breathe like whales?
Spouting our exhalations and thrilling the star ships above our surfaces.
It feels like when you sit in a room alone and repeat your own name aloud, for a minimum of three minutes.
Incepting yourself as you dialate time through your subjectI’ve experience.
Like purposefully esoteric, alternative spellings.
The flicker of a whisper appears in my ears.
I hiss a response, in kind.
Sssssss.
Only one international phonetic alphabetic difference between:
Sssssss.
[and]
Zzzzzz.
In the English language.
Fricatives
voiced and voiceless.
Aspirated or otherwise.
⊙
My eyes narrow.
Simply evidence of closer observation and inspection,
no signal of disbelief.
Curiosity is the momentary suspension of belief.
Investigative.
Mettle of metal
being testing
in the seriousness of this series of silence.
I wear all black with saddle leather boots, for work.
Straightened hair business.
As I walk, I unfurl my energetic wings.
My mantle.
Cold steel blades slide out through my shoulder blades.
Clinking.
I shake them. Loosening.
They respond when I dress this way.
I take care to align each blade so they will fold away properly.
Inappropriate for the task at hand.
I call forth the other side.
gossamer feathers.
Carefully unfurling.
One flies a’loose, fluttering into the breeze like a shining bit of a spider’s web.
The feathers still smell of you from last night.
From when you came to my mind with your pain clear in your
energetic, non-corporeal eyes.
Come in: I told you silently.
You stepped behind my back.
Squared with my shoulder blades.
Your pain began pouring out.
I collected you in my steely wings. Making a box.
A safe place. An unobservable vacuum within which you may thrash and wail.
I dropped down my feather mantle for you.
Draping the steely interior in celestial down.
Those who would prey upon your moment of weakness
slay themselves upon my well-honed metallic feather-blades, trying to break in.
Ships, at night, on a rocky coast with no lighthouse.
With each slam of your energetic body against the walls of my wings, you felt nothing but goose down envelope you.
I took great care to ensure this.
You fell asleep inside. I opened the space, covered you, cupped your hipbone, and slept aside you.
I watch talented women sit silently aside who they championed.
They simply sit and smile.
Power move: says my optimistic soul.
The strength to stillness.
Empowered or powerless?
⊙
I do not always know how to look for what I want.
It is no matter of courage.
Feeling lost and found because I don’t think there’s anywhere to go.
These places are just places.
Amazing and mundane.
Simultaneous.
Does anyone say what they mean?
⊙
And, everywhere, everyone finds a reason to use the word /cassette/.
It shatters my heart on impact into my ears.
A heart for a heart.
Who is your audience?
A hopeful foundation
for a handmade looking glass house.
Espy patience feeling impatient.
⊙
“A common woman goes far,” my grandmother told me.
“And, a comma can change entire meanings,” she said without saying.
So I repeat myself:
“Æ pay attention to your punctuation.”
I watch white butterflies flutter by.
The local feral cat dozes under a nearby bush.
As with the boisterous Stellar’s jays who I feed peanuts, the cat accepts my presence now.
S/he gives me a lazy, sidelong glance.
I focus into those two eyes and blink my own very slowly.
The cat returns my slow blink.
This means we are still cool. I speak cat, see.
I am poor but I am elitely wealthy in simple luxury.
So, I suppose that I am rich at the moment,
to my mind’s eye.
In scenery. In being able to walk to work.
In being down with the local flora and fauna.
I smell bursts of flowers’ blooms from proficient gardeners.
Blasts of fragrances from local shops with open, front doors.
The day invites me.
A sawtooth comb for newly brittle hair.
Almost raking the wet curls.
A mind sulking over some lost piece of life, perhaps?
Everything is easier under the cover of my clouds and stars, dear,
including your lucid waking and dreaming.
⊙
I take the long way home.
I pause.
From outside the pub, I listen to the band play.
I consider going inside.
I see someone eyeball me and motion to an empty seat.
I smile and shake my head.
He cannot take the place of the one on my mind tonight.
I do not seek distraction.
I will enjoy my own smouldering.
A game of patience.
A study in control.
A tyre pyre burning.
⊙
I pass a man followed by a woman.
He has his hand extended behind him.
Fingers shifting in an effort to convince her to hold his hand.
I wonder why she didn’t take it into hers.
WrittenCasey 