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
Category: Words
Love’s Blazon: Parzifal and the Lady he awoke
“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.’
When you know you have made it “Tom Petty – Breakdown (Live 1985)” on YouTube
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.
[Title Here]
![[Title Here]](https://writtencasey.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/20190124_1559293816704622876311414.jpg?w=1200)
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.
Lunar Tire Fires
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.
Top 3 Pars/zifal Quotes
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.
Sleep Paralysis
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?
Too knight
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.
Spring Haunches
Leopard Branch grows a summer coat of kudzu,
Not yet claustrophobic
It will not be humid enough.
Not like in Bamaland.
His legs drape mossy of either side of the foreside.
Hips rested just so.
Tail winding round the trunk of his supportive tree.
Head resting.
Possibly but not necessarily asleep.
Overheard
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.
Pendulous
It is diabolical to miss the middle range
In favor of the radicals.
Come slowly.
The parable of the parabola
Is parabolic.
:Has Ended by Thom Yorke:
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
Watch “Black Pistol Fire – Oh Well / Where You Been Before (Live on KEXP)” on YouTube
¿Whatz thiz?
Itz whatz effin’ up & itz rock n’ roll! Howl yes, it is.
A tasty jam for your toast
Show them some love https://blackpistolfire.com
Buy their new album already*.
It’s called Deadbeat Graffiti.
*even if you don’t spend money, they’ll let ya stream their 2016 set at the Governor’s Ball.°
°you ain’t heard of The Govenor’s Ball before? So? Not surprised. It’s a pretty nifty affair.
Giggle.
It’s kinda like The Secret Policeman’s Ball^
^ Psyche- The Secret Policeman’s Ball▪ wishes it was The Govenor’s Ball. Eat your hearts out!
▪ [intertexuality steganography: here’s a personal rant. Giggle.]
#cut-it-out-Alabama
It really is a strange place. I got out of town & moved across country.
Timecapsule:
As long as it is not the Luv Gov.
What happens in Alabama and in Dirty South politics
The heroes keeping the the contentious citizen apprised and amused. Thank you al.com.
Words for free and transparency.
The Grain of Bacchus’ Barrels’ Wood.
Subliminal symbolism signals a system.
Æ am speaking to the diatribe diabolique: écoute et répète
The Magical Mythical Pantheon
that is comprised of we
who did so fascinate
the Fruedian’s preoccupation (with classifications)
such that he be’termed us the afflicted handle of
the polymorphous perverse.
But, hey-
T(he)y be sleeping monkeys. They pay for what they get. And they just come to get off.
Levy (one of Dionysus’ favorite lushes) best put it: I like the wine not the label.
You say:
I wasn’t going to ask
if you drink red, white, rosé et al., rose-cheeked dummy.
I’ve a wine for your tasting, if you like.
I reply:
For your offer, I thank you, kindly;
But,
is it a finished wine or unfinished
that you would proffer?
Blind tasting from bottle sitting uncorked behind the bar?
Or, a sip of the batching directly from aging barrel?
Illicit thrill of an invitation
to steal a sample
from a cask
down in
and
past your
your cellar
door?
Alliance of the invited Thief.
You tell me of
a wine undergoing Vintification.
Alchymícal process of Fermentation.
Al’chymical.
All chemical.
I tell you that
I’m no hard scientist.
But I do know the Tao of Wissen’s Chraft.
Oft mispronounced as wissenshcaft and mistaken for
(another way to refer, too)
western Science.
I’m no fellow-follower of the standardized scientific paradigm.
Because I cannot be; I tried.
But of Wissen’s Chraft I could give a master class.
So, for the purposes of this moment, so made by your offer,
let me endeavor to practice this art of oenology.
I will make -logia of vintner and the
Tao of his crafty method.
But hear me: I am no viticulturist.
Watch “Beck – Wow” on YouTube
Giddy up.
All the rules that you choose to use to get loose.
With the luminous moose.
It’s like right now,
Oh wow!
It’s so pine fresh.
It’s like…..giddy up.
I’m standing on your lawn doing jiu jitsu
Girl in the bikini with the Lamborghini shih tzu.
WOW! WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY!
Saraband
We belonged to the diatribes of idiotēs set among the swans,
singing the harmonics of new prophecy.
Alit upon the pond, whose waters stay so still, you could be tricked and
mistake the reflection of
for the actual sun.
Do you recall Nietzsche’s ecstatic, public collapse?
Seeing an over-heated, carriage horse being beaten unmercifully
Over he rushes
to fall down in exhausted camaraderie
aside a fellow beast of burden.
Will they blame Ulysses and seek him again?
Some grown men will ever be juvenile while somehow failing to stay young in spirit.
K/Nights leading on to nowhere, in vain
While we lie licentiously aside. Alee. Aleph.
The peek in as they post pass.
The fretting single mother rocks in their wake
frets behind them.
The smell of dinners prepared is served into the air of the neighborhood.
Their smells are free.
A Sunday night & Monday morning.
Let time move those outside our walls.
The world will keep up with it as we lose track.
The sun and moon do need us to help them.
Maintain the tempo.
Harlot to Freedom [disambiguation]
![Harlot to Freedom [disambiguation]](https://writtencasey.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/170626_r30182.jpg?w=767)
HARLOT
1. Lewd woman; prostitute
2. obsolete, a male servant; a churl
3. A woman in contempt
Per se: anyone, male or female of low birth.
[From Old French ‘herlot’, fellow. ]
CHURL
1. Low-bred, surly fellow
2. A sordid person
3. A peasant
4. English historical, Anglo-Saxon freeman of the lowest rank or without rank.
[From Anglo-Saxon ‘ceorl’, man.]
CHURLISH
Rude, hard to work or manage, intractable
LEWD
1. Characterized by lust, lustful; carnal- licentious
2. Provencial or Archaic, morally depraved, vicious, wicked
[See the Anglo-Saxon ‘læwed’, lay]
LICENTIOUS
1. promiscuous and unprincipled in sexual matters
2. Archaic, disregarding accepted rules, especially in grammar or literary style
Came into Middle English from the Latin ‘licentiosus’ from ‘licentia’, freedom.]
Funk & Wagners, 1943
Oxford English Concise, 2008
Terminology Mindmap: Parzifal
The Summer Sphere
Set amongst a group of a dozen bystanders,
I watched the boat burst into flames
Ten yards into the bay.
A man runs to the lapping shore.
Drives his body deeper, diving into a falling wave.
We were not sure why.
No one was aboard.
The sopping wet man returns to say:
I’ve ruined my phone.
While coming ashore.
Fire twirls on the water table worktop.
Contradicting.
Through an oil burning medium.
The invisible lucifermatch
White stick.
Head struck and aflame.
Hum.
The nearest bystander to my right:
Wow!
I continue saying nothing.
Again: Wow!
Again: nothing continued
Can you believe it, he said?
Well, I’m seeing it, but the question of that reality requires a lot of words.
Maybe we should get a coffee and watch this fire burnout? He asked.
How kind, of you. Metaphysically speaking, as we would be, it is arguable that we will if we have not already done so. So, in this timeline I decline, kindly.
There are whispers that Klingsor’s summer and spear is near.
Descriptive Despotism.
Scant and off-standish. I confuse for oscillation.
Busied with nothing, they are.
Ashade & alee, ally & algæ.
Predicated upon such a predicament.
Do what, now…
In/Transitive verbs. Inert momentum gave the other dog the upper leg.
I asked the CAT scan tech:
Can you have electric without magnetic?
Field/ed/ naught.
He grinned; I passed out.
Suzie Q got graham crackers.
She can still write in cursive correct.
They do not teach it anymore.
Skills being disvalued.
After being discounted
Only creating future demand.
We are no orthodox sun-dwellers, dear.
Such is a sweet thrill.
Pity the would-be achievers; they will never enjoy their achievements
Until they learn to love strangers.
My apprehension now apprehended.
Eyes narrowed and lips
Pursed. Spawning focus.
Now, your lips purse, pucker up, as you
Awaken into a dream, falling into sleep.
My sweet Poliphilio.
Your own right hand pressed to your cheek. The scratchy friction of just a bit of beard to the back of your hand.
Your fingers curl slowly.
Except your pointer. It alone rests atop the left shoulder, too.
A top,
The bend of a knuckle, the one next to the nail.
Holding until held.
Pucker ampersand purse. Your lips. Again. Deeper you fall.
Twitching tap of that
Pointer fingertip to clavicle.
Across pectoral, sternum, and pectoral.
I start my next sentence but we idle in the æyther and I recognize.
In our idyll. The approach.
An image, but not one of whom I recognize.
Encircled and fuzzy in capture.
Encapturing the same arm
To the same shoulder.
It will not be long now. This will drop.
My brow and focus unfurrows and
Then uplifts in honest realization and disappointed resignation to the moment.
My eyes no longer two half moons.
Becoming oval saucers.
Serving platters for huge dinner parties,
Big enough to hold the head of John the Baptist (aka the Revelator).
And, at the feast,
I see the eyes and hear the hush of the hushed. They peer in on this meal with faces stoic and smug.
Held in their voluntary vanity
That holds their faces involuntarily so.
I asked the Old Man. The who no one ever done met:
Does your mountain happen to be Sugar or Magic?
He grinned
And asked:
Have you heard of The Mountains of Madness?
I nod. I know. I read and read. Now.
Knotting and loosening.
Hand in hand.
No juxtapositing but aligning and allying periodicities.
The sacrosanct of a reluctant headliner.
He said: now you know a secret; man can fail.
I said: that’s only a revelation to your men.
Morgan saw detail.
Meredith saw the night sky.
Rachel saw in between.
Portrait. Picture perfect.
WrittenCasey 