Jack & Effie

Doping up our heroine, Jack is on a roll again. Five times in three months, she has been inexplicably incapacitated to the point of babble.

He should rest & shave.

He should do a lot of things. If he had finished that sculpture a decade ago instead of leaving a half-beast still frozen in marble, he would have been a million-air and taken over the Hisem (Cawlings secret organization). As it turned out, leaving town immediately became much more important.

Had he not doped up our female hero, leaving town would not have been the thing to do.  But, he did and now everything was on fire.

The relics knew.

The intuitives knew.

The floaters knew;

and, the world would soon know if he did not get water on the pyre and his ass out of town.

She was just too fun.


It was the sensational poster that he saw that made him realize what he had done. It was for the release of an album that should have come out in 1962 and today was 10/12/08.

The only thing weirder than seeing an ad for an album that has already been released is being the only guy who thinks that is weird.

Some birds just were not meant to fly?

Dodos? Zeppelins? And, her? And, maybe some cats should be kept in-doors.

But, Pet Sounds would be released next week.


All this esshit and after the chances he had effed up. He could have been the angel of justice if it were not for rock n’ roll. It was after the arm that should have been broken during his second punk show that had made the lord decide that he had had enough. This was supposed to be the next Jesus.

Besides, no son of his dyes his hair.

He could have been Cawling’s apprentice. No one ever wanted a fallen son of god more than that guy; but, then the whole beast/marble debacle happened and he was out;

and Pet Sounds would be soon, again.

Up he had effed, the cardinal rule.

He misused his power and now time was out of joint. The key had been exposed and it was his fault.  His dad had been right after all these years.


Jack sat outside of the mini-storage unit where his friends’ bands were practicing. He had collected funds; and, between them, he now had $43.79 USD.  His usual trips did not require cash, per se.  Being in the diving family has the benefit of a gas station attendant believing he owes you $36.75 USD in change after you paid him in monopoly money.

But, now he needed to stay under the radar.

No miracles today. Just a non-shaven, white guy who appeared about 35 and was currently wearing bunny-ears.

“You should probably take those off…”



Carol was about 15 years old when she started getting the feeling that she did not get something.  While 90% of adolescents seem to feel this way, Carol’s situation was unique in that she was justified in her paranoia.

Said feeling was brought to a-head with Jack;

and, he hated that foolish girl for it.

She was the reason this ridiculousness had started.


To say that Carol had that paranoid feeling may be misleading. It was her whole family that felt this way.  And, Jack’s dad had made this blood line for this purpose. Anyone with blood from the matrilineal side of Carol’s family had this feeling.  The reason for this was that they were prophets.  But, prophets that did not know they were prophets.

Having visions and knowing esshit in advance is commonly considered quite a psychotic feature.  As they were not psychotic, they were aware of the stigma associated and their own propensity towards appearing this way. Also, not being sent angels or anything for reassurance about these feelings could leave one feeling quite confused and alone.

Like there is a joke that everyone else is in on. The thing was: only no-one else was in on the joke.  It was like figuring out the end of a movie before the second act.

They just sort of always knew how things would turn out. They did not know why they knew; they just knew that they knew (at least in there in their more lucid moments). But, none of them ever told anyone else that they felt that way, for fear of the straight-jacket.

The same way most people do not say things like, “I think I am a prophet,” for instance.  Nor does saying, “you’re gonna die from stomach cancer,” help ease the weirdness.

Why would you tell someone something like that?

How did they know something like this?  Don’t ask them. They just got feelings that, from their mind’si, always seemed to be proven thusly.

Slapped By The Sun in the Forest

The sun shocks the forest today.

What looks like white flowers turn out to be hard rays of light slapping against the greenery.

Just dots of rays slicing through.

Strange yellows descend into the green haze.  White Light.

Heat of the summer begins.

 

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Before

(The shaded stele.)

After

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Someone wore a white sox.

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Bugging flowers.

Buzzing flies and humming bees.

Hiss and Hush

and you can creep right up and observe.

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Who went here? I w/o/ander.

The visual heat of the light makes it easier to see a thing by the shadow it is

casting.

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Roots reaching.

Balling out and into.20190611_1143126097203433938437498.jpg

Creating

A lee.

Shelter and cover.

Shade being thrown over you.20190611_1143295143255687532570050.jpg

The cottonwood graces those spiderwebs which are so finely spun they are only indicated by the cottonwood snow.

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Flight caught from above and below.

 

A containment of water.

A o O 0

A circle almost completed.

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Ferns shade a shallow empoolment of liquid.

The evaporation will be affected.

Effect of dissipating one state of matter

into

another one.

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Water Moving.

 

Water Still.

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Re-

fleck-

ting.20190611_1130525249225905770649695.jpg

A very tiny rabbit hole, unless you are tiny.

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Light falling on water

Hidden in the corner.

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Glassy separation not frozen.

Inching.

To the edge.

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These are the chambers.

There are levels.

Of a ladder.

Alice says.

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Four out of five days a new mole surfaced only to fall asleep

Again.

Again.

Again.

Not-again.

Again.

 

It does seems delightfully inane

It does not make sense, giggle.

As much as it does not make sense to…

…ask if the metric is true & the imperial system/s fake.

If the Cartesian (Descartes had strange experiences with letters on a train) coordinates are true and the polar coordinate systems of geometry that are non-Cartesian are false.

One geometry can not be truer than another geometry.

It (one over the other) can only be more convenient.

AND

There is nothing wrong with a bit of convenience.

Fie While Effie Rages

All you are is a one, signifying a specific

attribution

You are what came before while also what

will be.

But, ‘you’ now is a virtual reality.

You came from Australopithecus or else some PAST ERECTUS.

A sapien is, in sum, a predecessor

pantheon.

Fie grinded with rage.

“I hate you and your face. I hate your ears. I hate all sound.”*

*of course, all anyone could make-out were strings of gashing, ferocious garbles spewing wildly from his lips.

 


 

“I already met Fie. Fie?”

Effie paged backwards through the notepad, until she found out where she had met Fie, as his two brothers, Foe ampersand Fum.

Exceptional Notebook Nonsense: Install One.

ALL RULES HAVE EXCEPTIONS.

ALL RULES ARE EXCEPTIONAL.

ALL EXCEPTIONS MAKE THE RULE.

THE RULE WITHOUT EXCEPTION IS EXCEPTIONABLE.

[it is an exception to the starting rule

that all rules have exceptions]


You die a voodoo death because everyone else expects it of you.

The uncommon tragedy of the commons is that there is nothing anyone cares to do.

Contagions of group expectations afflict your field of view.

A cursed question put on you–

Would you die if no one

thought you would?

  Or, could.

Authority instructs you to confront mortality.

You are part of the totality,

but individually, you are

also, a triviality

What I may be is the value of a binary threshold function.


Insert the prefix ‘looking-‘

to ‘-glass house’.

Suddenly, and without warning (giggle-howl) a hypocrite becomes a stranger in a strange-land.

Forest Down: It snowed Cottonwood

Canary-ied.

A yellow monarch on

bloom flutters-by.

That is not random light, it is a worm

suspended by a satin string.

Spinning mid-air.

Center-stage

of the path.

Is that a good or a bad day for the creature?

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Hanging by a plant,

pint and a praeter-prayer.

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One branch a’loosened. Snapped. Remaining.

The bark of a

tree’s tread. Rubber meeting road-air.

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Veined loam.

20190610_135552700335058920421122.jpg Detritus.

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Vitriol.

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A feather/s lost is no

clipped wing but

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Bird might have gone

down-y.

I well-aged pair of companions.

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Purple seeps in.

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Light hangs in

almost-rainbows.

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Gone before you can even blink.


Driven snow around and on the ground.