A puppet suspended by pulleys, held fast and taught.
Taut over the sieved river.
The Ingpen hare paused, shook his fuzzy head, and picked his itch,
“Monkeys, huh. Too smart.”
Beginning to turn his croak,
He saw the red ball on the bound.
“Thank goodness, I found it again.”
Hello, Alice here. You may recall me if you have been following this tangled loop of a story. We have Parçiful, Effie, and myself. Effie, who will give up no more than the name Parçiful, is her younger sister. The gurls like to travel with me from time-too-time. And, Æ became familiar with them by dint of their fiery aunt. Please do not mention to her that we mentioned this to you. We heard you say: mention something/mention anything.
Æ serve as third party, omniscent narrator. Recall the point-of-views that narrators may take? Well, think of me as a dream sandman. Effie and our anti-hero tolerate me, when they realize Æ am around that is. Parçiful and Æ go way back. We met In-dreams. So, Æ like, from time-too-time, to read her. She is more written than real. Quite unjustly. Improper handling by the Knights-to-Nowhere. She is not a shy one. She was a frightened one. Her Tribe kindly asked her to split. Beat It. She is a Southern gal and so, delightfully obliging, thus: she obliged. Not anymore though. So, I feel sharing some excerts from her handwritten tale. Context. Although, all Æ will give up is what was observable. Lord knows what really happened. Her Tribe and Æ’s Tribe. Just as Æ never gave up everything to her, Æ must assume she never gave up everything to me.
Effie here. Hi.
ASIDE: his final sentence above is an assumption. No one must assume anything. One assumes for want of reassurance. For if she had actually given-everything up to begin with, it would be a hard cross forvÆ to bear. Idiots feel beholden, just as Parçiful did after accepting her at-the-time boyfriend’s plastic proposal. Thank god he left her. Well, left is not the right word. He dumped her and then continued to avail himself of her resources.
[Undated]
In elementary school years, petting myself to sleep at night, while wondering how the Sunday-school heaven could be fun & forever. I imagined a life of growing up to be destitute. Homeless. Well, at least how easily it seemingly could happen to anybody.
Vague intuitions of how feeling entitled leads to your own stripping……
Open secret x: ‘we cannot depend on our lovers to prove to us that we are not broken because, in some way, we all are. Wounded anyway.’
Perhaps the best we may hope-for is to see each other grow and grow together and take care of one another as well as we can-to see each other and touch each other and try not to harm what we see and touch. Maybe that’s not such a small, silly thing. Maybe it’s one of the biggest tasks we face on this earth.
A breath tantra of connection. Sitting on the ground together.
We are embarking on that which we carried wood to see. Because we still want to see.
I lived in words, work, dreams, and a group of four close buds. I felt freer, moore solid, since the cursed engagement ended. Time flew. The world inside me was expansive. I enjoyed being alone, with my own company. I did for me. Took care of myself. Did not miss having a partner. Did not need someone else. And, I saw how poorly í’d allowed my spirit to be treated. Í saw how í had slowly let fires inside myself burn-out. Almost glad they were smothered and stoked. It had become easier to not have fire in my belly when I was working asat at some terminal for ten hours a day. Then to come home and be fussed at for it. Particularly as my job was all me and my at-the-time boyfriend. Do not worry for him. He tagged along on my move across the country. Managed to get a great job. We were in NMexico when found out he had been hired in a lucrative company. So, when he was done with me, he had finally seemed to hve found himself. A good thing. A talented fellow who is not nearly as clever or smart as he thinks he is. Not by half. A decent, upright fellow and good citizen, regardless.
We neglected each other. Lies of omission. “No, everything is fine.” Secret addiction.
[Fig. I.1. Certain entries that Æ read are best communicated by pictures. There is no way to convey content on such things viz a viz pics]
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.
DAY I: She looked odd. Not quite ill. Unwell.
DAY II: She got lost in her dreams.
DAY III: She acquired the knowledge that she got lost in her dreams.
DAY IV:
he had died;
he knew;
he saw his mom;
he took the professor as his
dad.
Together, they climbed the Mountain of Knowledge.
Together, they discovered their mistake;
Summit¹, 1. The highest part; the top; vertex. 2. The highest degree; maximum. [< L\f\. sum-mum, apex.]
– (_ << {[x ]} >> _) –
acme ; apex ; cap ; climax ; crown ; height ; peak ; pinnacle ; top ; vertex
abyss ; base ; bottom ; chasm ; deep ; depth ; gorge ; gulf ; pit ; vale ; valley
—sum’mit-al, α. –sum’-mit-less, α.
He finished his building of the edifice.
[Open-Secret x: he had long finished building his edifice.]
[Lesser-known≈Open-secret F(x): he thought he knew this already. he could and would finish when it was effing good and done. or whenever the hell he felt like it. this, as proven by dint-of diligence and curiosity, proved assumption. Not knowledge.]
Structure now structuralized, materialism became the a priori axiom. (The god’s honest truth, mister police osiffer!) ‘Things exist! We see them all about.’
“Do not be foolish, young man. The abstract is the weakness of man, our curse. For pride. For our lack of discipline over our baser instincts. Our physical body unfurled and made manifest this gift of life, permitted our superior brains to make-manifest. And, then we perceived; and Lo, it is good. This blessed perception affords our dominion over the land and the beast-
Effie here. Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but she gets flowery and the lyrical-ity requires editing. Mystæ, right? Geez. We are short on time right-exactly-now. As her younger sister, I periodically jump in and get to the point. She thinks empiricists are “as non-secular” as the religious or spiritualists. Her words there. I think she means that Academia and the Western Medical Paradigm and the Scientifics and the Technophiles, that whole lot of ’em….
Excuse me, kindly; I would be much obliged if you refrained from all or nothing/either or language, Effie. Shall we call it “a predominate number”: (or at least the loudest voices currently) of this assemblage? Regardless, science’s day of reckoning is at hand. Hear me, now and stop huffing up at that statement. I speak allegorically and yeah, science hates imprecision. I call horse-apples: science does precisely what religion does. Both systems exist non-secularly and use the same devices to reach their conclusions. Like the≈the two extremes of the trajectory of a weightless bob that is suspended by a massive (tech.) rod moving about a point.
Arabesques ’round pivotal arcs of pendulous sways.
The parable of the parabola is parabolic::The parabola of the parable is parabolic.
Non-secular science at one pole.
{_[__(.PIVOTAL.)__]_}
Non-secular religious and spiritualists at one pole.
SECULAR::SECULAR
SECULAR
ЯA⅂UƆƎƧ
non-SECULAR::NON-secular
No rights, just homage and want for spreading his good jam around to all interested toast slices.
Alo Gov’nah!
The rain in seattle comes down as spit expelled from inane prattle.
Alice`ntious Aurora awakens.
Once titled both Eostre & Ostara, yet I was a single leaf in a tome.
One page, with two sides.
One is even numbered, and
One is odd.
Dexterously left-handed,
Playing Janice to your Janus.
We’re two, radical, two-faced diabolicals.
I was Ianna. Venus to Mesopotamia.
Aye, I
Language-Strip
for you
from below*
Klingsor’s infernal Spring-brake decanted all over my Summer-time.
Lint in his navel fleets like the novelty of any old, new thing’s novelty.
Lent is his steed, and yet still he row, row, rows his vessel downstream.
Passover the brooks, rooks, and funny-looks.
Recall the alerity of the pages.
Nightly leaves through the knights.
Merrily. A stellar dream confusing a model of a star for the actual star.
Because the star was too perfectly a model-star.
Ingenious, artless ingenues.
Sweet sugarfoot, you were so much older way back then.
I kept your place by the fire warm.
Looking-Glass House a’lit by a bonfire built from fiddle-sticks.
Are you young enough yet that you can now remember building it?
The light housed between Castle & Tower.
Where, in our rabbit-hole, we both
Wear just to undress
And, to undress wares from.
A white March-Ingpen Hare is driven by time
As like pure snow,
Waist-coated ampersand watch-pocketed.
I un-wound cork-screw hill until I forgot my name.
So then, re-wound the same hill to get it back under-heel.
I created arabesques, atop tip-toes, atop that hill.
A top spinning atop a hill-top.
Dancing like a dervish whirling.
I eagerly awaited. The hardest part. I was much younger then.
To meet you with unapologetic exuberance.
I learned to move so quickly, that folk could neither tell nor espy if I had left and went-gone and then already nigh come-again.
Minnesænger you are to have woken me so abruptly, so long ago,
Only to immediately-then fall asleep.
And, sleep-walk so convincingly.
But, Dearheart, by mine form do not be fooled, i have a curious notion I may be inside-older than you.
Well…at least for right-exactly-now.
It is Revival.
Massive Mass.
I know your proper names; and by these appellations,
I know you have never been called.
Your proper names do not even include that & those of whom witch-named you.
They call you: Hither
They named you: Come
Entitled: ewe with a handle.
Your faux-mantles.
Only monkeys bear monikers.
They are primates; not prime mates.
Howl-ever, none of these are the word/s for what you are.
Masculine and demure, you look cold, fine ephebe.
I am always warm; bring your dark effulgence here to me.
We are axiomatic and inexorable.
Structuralism in motion,
we procreate the quintessence of
Magical realism
We posit through repose.
The sealing-wax apposed up-on
The ceiling above, from which we somehow look down and find our feet to be above.
Our im/proper pro/nouns, now in apposition, finally enable us to unface the opposition.
Unopposed we are, finally, apposit.
So, let me bring my mouth to yours.
*1) i was Ianna. The Venus of Mesopotamia.
II) A one = 1 = I = i
= One Anna
= Iann a
=1 Ann, a
one n’ a
i and a
Result æ.
A and I
Culminate Æ.
There are more questions than answers. And the more I find out, the less I know.
From reggae to southern-style slide guitars.
Slick midsong shift.
Dig it much.
Here I am.
Come rub upon my belly like a guava jelly
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.
“The lady had fallen asleep. She wore Love’s blazon–a mouth of translucent red, torment to the hearts of amorous knights. She slept with parted lips that wore the Flames of Love’s hot fire. Thus lay the loveliest challenge to adventure imaginable.”
‘Upon my word, you are Parzifal!’ She said of the red lips. ‘Your name means ‘pierce-through-the-heart.’
Why is it you look so down in the mouth?!
I told her:
This is a burnt out town/it’s fulla dirty looks.
Here i am stealing gas with a garden hose.
Yeah, take that, honey.
It’s outta their realm of reality
Its goin down but no one knows
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.
Distillation.
Do not confuse what you create for what you destroy. He said.
I think you have that confused. I said.
A keen sensibility for rookery
And other fly-by-nightery.
He told me. Self-impressed.
I know you.
We met before.
Excuse me, I said.
You interrupted.
I am busy howling at the moon.
Keen along if you wish.
By pity guided,
The guileless fool;
Wait for him,
My chosen tool.
(The keynote of Parsifal is Ecstasy.)
Parzifal: I scarcely move, Yet I swiftly seem to run
Gurnemanz: my son, thou seest Here SPACE and TIME are ONE.
Parzifal. Wolfram von Eschenbach. Translated by A.T. Hatto
I’m Wolfram von Eschenbach. I’m a bit of a minnesænger.
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.
![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 