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.
The cat heaves her bigger sigh.
Looking at the window.
I notice the siren.
She just hears noise pollution.
Suddenly the wails reek like klaxon
Doppleganger effect.
Sound waves flailing over time and space.
Distortion becomes further distorted.
Something or someone near is a gauche.
She puts her nose back to the quilt.
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.
Interesting use of percussion production.
Lovely story telling.
“I’ll be working for somebody else until I’m in my grave.”
Artists shudder.
Until she brings us full circle.
Round and round.
Spiral it out.
Continuing reflections of 1980’s music: Tracy Chapman’s self-titled 1988 release must be mentioned.
Everyone remembers Fast Car. What an effing lovely lyrical pop song.
The album was subjected to the 1980’s drum production.
In this case, forgiveable.
First track of the record here.
Great opening. This revolution sounds positive. Joyful. Honest.
Hooked for the rest of the album right away i was as a kiddo.
Still am. Cuz ima post another song off this album.
Go buy her record. I did.
The reason you turned around;
The reason í pan-kicked;
at the sound of a child
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
He saw how Joseph was annealed by the fire…[and] felt the ordeal more than Joseph. P241
Sounded overwrought to me. Then I bothered (sic. concerned) myself with actually looking up
/annealed/
I was being educated on several levels. I first read the sentence such that I thought I knew more than I did. I imagined /annealed/ to be some form of a bow or a kneeling position, a kiss the ring, smell the glove. A posture taken when the situation demands you take yourself seriously. If you can imagine such a thing! Or that you undertake to do something trivial quite meticulously. For the sake of the process itself. By your choice. You take part with and in. Or, when ritual, tradition, culture, bestows us a transcendental catharsis by allowing us to take very specific actions with others undertaking them alongside, as well. A hymn sung by a choir. Suddenly, lighting a candle is holy. Yet, lighters and matches abound. Fire is easy to come by but it was not always so.
Blind spot.
Shocking how much meaning we can contain. There are so many pearls that some readers start arguing over the appraising of an irregular pearl. It is all about finding, examining, analyzing, and drawing conclusions about the relative value. Waiting to find that big money shot pearl. A yup.
“awe, more valuable. made of pearl but unique, collectors edition. Gesture, essence. and articulation.”
“Worthless. It’s shape isn’t paradigmatic of the standard pearl. Misinformed. Monstrous, devalues the other pearls to even be in the same bowl with them.”
Who let the pigs out? Who? Hoo hoo?
Too much monkey business for me. We as a species have moved on. Or did I miss the train and am now out of joint?
The Glass Bead Game: Magister Ludi. 1990. First Owl Books Edition. $18.00 USD/$24.95 Canada. That seems really inexpensive as I think back on it now. At five hundred and fifty eight total pages, it is a trek but no death march. As with any trek, though there will be days. But, then there will really be days! Am I right, a hyuck, hyuck.
The length is not the deterrent. The printing of the book intimidates. At least my copy. That is why I bought it. It looked too heavy for a book that size. A thing that is larger than physics allows but your eyes empirically cannot deny. Your brain’s rational processors will fill in the reasons that ‘you can’t trust your eyes.’
A phone booth and doctor.
A House of Leaves.
A ship ever at sail on a foreign sea, the life of the house mouse lost.
S/he loses their position in the home.
You lose something you did not know could go missing. The notion of home? An ending spoiled. Don’t let the little ones hear. Something you cannot unlearn but surely there is room for doubt and maneuver. Doubt suffers where there is little room
Something you took for granted. Because there is so much to see and so many things vying for the pleasure of your (everone’s) attention at all times. We cannot process the amount of information we physically can conceive us. We get by and brains fill in the blanks. The way you discover your new car’s blind spot.
《《 》》
Crash. Ah, hell.
《《 》》
But what was to be done? Can you judge yourself for not knowing that your vehicle is afflicted with a blind spot? Sure, but where that at? If you want me I’ll be in the bar. Speculating on some dreamy nonsense. The thing you did not see in your rearview & side mirrors (electric-adjustable, I’d wager) as you merged lanes, was, by dint of optical physics, unseeable. You cannot adjust for and account for such a variable.
The publishers did not eff around. There is a deliberate concern for both style and balance in the margin setting and lettering layout. There is room to scrawl. If you are into that sort of thing. I am! The luxury of the thick white broadband’s conjunction into right angles about the four verticies gains further dimensionality by its opposing page.
The reflecting pool in the palm. Narcissus finally went mobile. Each page appears with its predecessor and/or successor in symmetry. Consider the leaf of the sheet itself. Two page numbers and each bearing letter matricies yet on but one page. One page in the book holds two pages. Think about that. There ain’t ya’ll entertained? If that is not magic, then ya’ll doin’ it wrong. I see gods contained and present amongst the multiform streams. IHS Bacchus first. Then as Janus. Holding us in the present, pressed fast between the past and the future tense. So the text on each side of the page gives rise to leaf between your fingers as you turn the page.
Let us say, maybe, five hundred and forty pages are geometrically identical in dimension, same squares, same squares. Matrix array with its vectors contained in those critical margins. Two koi ponds reflected about the same axis of symmetry. Simpatico. The more you read, the more the very confined area with unnecessarily tiny pt. font, single spaced. Tight, trim, orderly. And you are drawn in and held fixed in that little space. Rapt. Enraptured.
And then the ratio expands. The page does not seem so small.
The biggest hinderance to the book’s popularity in America was a poor original cipher of the German language. But translating the lyrical prose of Hesse is probably like trying to translate a Japanese character into ‘the English word for it.’ You can pull it off but the English Equivalence is questionable. Americans are poorly positioned to be strong readers of such heavy, often erudite, ultimately, ironic tomes. We do not get the geographical exposure to other cultures.
Hell, we didn’t get the joke.
It fell for it too! The joke of being so dreadfully stoic that the reader would not dare think you were givin’ a ribbin.’ This is a book; An effing long one; I found all these pearls. I’m rich. Made-man. This is a book of power not jokes for blokes.
Sigh. Now, your cracking me up.
The good news is, if you do ever get the joke, it makes you smile and laugh out loud. Then shake your head. Hold on.
Although, states are arguably the same as little countries.
From Sublime’s Sublime.
Subliminal
í before e except after c (but not always).
No rights owned. Paying homage.
All the colors.
Beck writes such innocuously infectious pop jams.
What is pop music, anyway?
Genres, huh?
Heard thru headphones Aka cans (big earmuff-lookin’ ones. Obviously.), this song is and is not the same song when it is heard through speakers.
Trying to learn about sound and light these days.
Speakers. My parents had two floor standing ones that were about three feet tall.
They made sound. Headphones make sounds. My portable CD player/Cassette Tape Player (deck?)/Radio made sounds. I also took an entire battalion of d batteries if you wanted to “go mobile.”
“A boombox, in its most basic form, is composed of two or more loudspeakers, an amplifier, a radio tuner, and a cassette and/or CD player component, all housed in a single plastic or metal case with a handle for portability. Most units can be powered by AC or DC cables in addition to batteries.”
Wikipedia (per my March 01, 2019 visit) this page was last edited on 24 February 2019, at 20:24 (UTC).
Citations, huh
Hey, how they do that?
How headphones work = How speakers work = x
x = using magnetism to turn electrical energy into sound.
Speakers = loudspeakers = electric sound-making machines.
Loudspeakers attach to tiny, earbud headphones (cased inside ear muffs or earbud headphones) and make sound we hear.
Loudspeakers play back.
Loudspeakers turn electricity into sound.
Polar plots of a four-driver industrial columnar public address loudspeaker taken at six frequencies. Note how the pattern is nearly omnidirectional at low frequencies, converging to a wide fan-shaped pattern at 1 kHz, then separating into lobes and getting weaker at higher frequencies[50] (Wikipedia)
Stellar site! www.linkwitzlab
A sequence of tests is presented below that should reveal to what degree a given stereo system achieves the potential that is inherent in the 2-loudspeaker reproduction format. (See also the more recent Accuracy, spatial distortion and plausibility of the auditory scene article)
Pink noise is a random process with a power spectrum that decreases at a 10 dB/decade or 3 dB/octave rate with increasing frequency. When measured with a 1/3rd octave analyzer, or constant Q filter bank, it has a flat frequency response. Since the critical bandwidth in hearing is approximately 1/3rd octave wide, pink noise tends to give an equal representation of all frequencies in the audio spectrum, from lows to highs. Thus it would seem to be a good auditory test signal, except that we do not have a reference for what it should sound like in an absolute sense. This limits the usefulness of pink noise to comparison tests of A versus B. Pink noise can reveal small physical differences between two sound sources, but it can be difficult to find the cause for those differences or to predict their consequences. Pink noise can drive you nuts, so be careful. Still, pink noise will point to flaws and errors in a sound system.
The tests use various 5 second combinations of L and R streams of uncorrelated pink noise. What I call Stereo here is actually fuzzy stereo and has no solid image, but is spatial like a cloud. In Mono the left and right tracks are identical. Left or Right means that there is sound only in one or the other track.
Download and save pink-alternating3.wav (12 MB). Then burn the file to a CD-R for convenient access and repetition of the 1 minute sound file.
| 1 | Stereo = L & R | 8 | Mono | |
| 2 | Left = L (R = 0) | 9 | Stereo | |
| 3 | Right = R (L = 0) | 10 | Left | |
| 4 | Mono = L = R | 11 | Right | |
| 5 | Stereo | 12 | Mono | |
| 6 | Mono | 13 | 3 Bursts, 10 cycles @ 3 kHz, -3 dB FS | |
| 7 | Stereo | 14 | 3 Bursts, 10 cycles @ 300 Hz, -3 dB FS |
Foucault’s Pendulum¤ = Asteroid of a book and author and both have coated me in spec(k)s of poussières d’étoiles forever.
Sister star to The Glass Bead Game: Magister Ludi°, at least in my little ol’ heart.
Trine. Zenith. Allegorical Syzygy?
Funny, for sure. Bless him for that because this book was heavy-wading for this gal.
Until,
I hit p.478 and read the text in the pic below. I, literally, Laughed out Loud; I, figuratively, was Rolling on the Floor Laughing.^
Mystical sumption of the syllogism, or modus ponens. But while this gal fumbles with wordsmithing, here are some juicy open secrets to for you more achievement oriented individuals to add to your trove.
Do you see the connection?
¤ Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data [ed. note: open secret x]
Eco, Umberto
[Pendolo di Foucault, English]
Foucault’s pendulum/by Umberto Eco ; translated from the Italian
by William Weaver—Ist ed.
p. cm.
Translation of: Il pendolo di Foucault.
“A Helen and Kurt Wolff book.”
ISBN 0-15-132765-3
PQ4865.C6P4613. 1989
853′.914–dc20. 89-32212
°Originally published under the title of Das Glasperlenspiel by Fretz & Verlag AG Zürich Copyright 1943.
^ Aka 🤣 FKA (original med. f/k/a) ROLF. This note is for my sister, with love.
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.
The Art of communication, huh?
A garter stalking both.
And the lady with forgetfulness
Oblivious until remembering the
Tresses of misses: one be model; one be tumbler.
A glass-looking to the star in the west.
A ladder Alice keeps handy.
A’Lateralus
That k/night of the encryption of all those cryptic Coptic scrambles.
Into the apparent innocuous steganography
Duplicitous, serving to conceal and
once concealed, serving hardly anybody
Cryptic.
(Brevity perplexing)
Ambiguity in meaning.
Employing cipher and code. Directory path unrecognized.
Cain and Abel:
Mystified mystics, huh?
Swan, iynx, ibis
Wrynecking at this cockchafer (May) doodlebug.
Khephra, my nighttime sun.
We witness the concluding clause of this instrument,
Writ as an English to Portuguese test.
The translated texts falling under the title of Book
With a keynote of ecstacy.
Marvel that it is just
The Beginning.
Barbarous Barber, oh! god of shears.
Shore them that be certain across their crowns.
Whilst I will show them their tears.
Pulling the tides of moons inside
making oceans bleed from their eyes.
With my lyrical vespers ecstatically heralding a wandering star’s return.
Harken, Venus.
Ariandte howls feral heat
Inviting Dionysus to the feast
Of Two Wandering under the Midnight Sun.
The Aura of Alice: Nikaia.
The model of an acrobat.
Circling tangled loops at the thought of a question as such:
If desire be not love; then what of feeling the desire to love?
Ecstatic coronating of this al-chymical betrothal
Lovers become beloveds.
Missives of purpose with intent embuing metaphysical eternal
While Elemental attendants runner it in a return back
To ward now.
Toward and from. Hither ampersand Thither.
But never former
Vows renewed through every flux of lung-moving breath need not be formally avowed at one big affair.
Mavericks each having Sun and Moon self-contained..
The quarrel of Aura to Artemis thusly resolved
Through electromagnetic absolve.
Twice born Dionysus with his lawful Ariandte resurrected.
The Hypnerotomachia of Poliphilo dreaming. Polia.
The Beautiful Dream of awakening to the mayor’s young daughter.
The dreams of Christian Rosenkreutz. Married indeed.
Are you not unbored? Then let me rub the fur of your fuzzy heart wrong.
The stimulant Irritate.
Irritating you up to
Irate.
I rate this meter, but am not its maid.
I am handmade anew everyday
Because I am dying to wake up and out my sleeping dreams.
Ae’ll not serve you potions of soporific words.
Funny how they seem so meek yet it is they who will rape you in your sleep.
Ae keep you awake to seek ‘the awful lucidity of insomnia’
where you will re-enliven in a world where heroines are no longer satisfied with mere men.
Wanting Pharaohs but no longer remembering
They had once created them with mere mortal men.
These are the blood tears the children of nations will so cry.
Just as Satan has been sleeping the whole time.
The blood of the lamb, replaced with lanolin.
Empurpling petals bloom inside.
As I gather your lips into mine.
Slow swaying to a band playing our saraband.
Gauzy dress of cotton becoming feathers beswanning me.
Ensorcelled by the pitch-black, starless hue of your suit
You wear the night sky.
And I am an unlit day.
It is now high noon for my midnight sun.
Silver corona glowing in plumes
As we change up the tempo. With more tempting teasing.
Humming: how pleasing it is pleasing.
Come to lose yourself in this sublime union,
Melting into the elation of sated desire.
Protect me from hubris.
Honor my ignorance.
Open me to revelation.
Let my magnetism defrag your mind,
Increase your flow, and
Remove your templates.
Show you how
your divine quintessence & corporeal body
Exist as
Unity not duality.
Hold fast.
Give ourselves permission
To feel without judging.
You stretch me,
My ability to tolerate
Ambiguity.
This is the true art of Mastery and Service.
Of when we dominate, handle.
When we worship, nourish, slave.
Enacting a ritual of control in our temple.
Our existential reality is a fantasy of control,
As we have very little compared to the forces we feel around us.
Even controlling the forces in our minds requires diligent practice.
So, I remember the organ that is my skin,
Separating me from everything else.
My container.
My flesh reminds me what is mine to control
And what is not.
I may influence what is not bounded by my skin
But I let go my grip.
I seek practices to experience and realize the numenous force of eros ever flowing through us.
Animating.
It requires our attention;
Our attention is sacred.
I have it bound within my flesh.
My skin and quintessence exist together as integrals.
Integrating my physical and non-physical bodies.
To have one without the other is to no longer be.
(At least not be what we now are)
A sack of meat,
a ghost possessing it.
I am nothing until animated.
Enlivened through that Force that enlivens trees, dogs, crystalline structure, lichens, cellular mitosis
anon, anon.
So I come to transcend myself with shifts in attention.
I try.
Ways of practicing how to notice the sacred everything,
Not by hiding away in isolation
But through a passion to engage
From across the world.
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.
As I research Parsifal/-zifal, I like to jot unexpected correspondences. Here is one involving the Sufi tradition. The quick quote below is included in a Sufi meditation manual that came into my possession a year and a half ago.
“The radiance of the streamers emanating from the shoulder blades has, when unfolded, often been compared by Sufi’s with a mantle of light. In the Parsifal legends, it was because there were holes in the mantle of Anfortas that the evil forces of the night were able to attack him.” Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan. The Ecstasy Beyond Knowing: A Manual of Meditation. 2014. p47
Anafortas: the wounded Fisher King who guard the Grail at Munsalvaesche.
[Perceval arrives at the Grail Castle, to be greeted by the Fisher King. From a 1330 manuscript of Perceval ou Le Conte du Graal by Chrétien de Troyes, BnF Français 12577, fol. 18v]
Below is the context in which the quote above is presented. The reader is being given meditation methods to enliven these ideas. Parsifal is not mentioned again.
The (life) energy fields includes the electrostatic and electromagnetic fields, the aura, called bioluminescence (light body?), the sonic field, and perhaps fields of other alternate forces (chi force; etheric body, which pulses with your breath; celestial body.) p46
“The energy in the human electromagnetic field flows in manifold ways. You may distinguish [sic. seven total ways including]…..vi) streamers (plumes of energy). ” p46
The concept of energy pluming from your body can be illustrated by:
1) Energy streaming above the head, like the Pentecostal tongues of flame
2) Energy flashing from the temples “as the winged thoughts of Greek Mythology”
3) Energy pluming out from behind the shoulder blades as winglike or cloaklike.
4) Plumes around the temples, included with the wings of the Seraphim.
5) Plumes around the shoulder blades and ankles, as the wings found in images of Hermes or Mercury.
Khan proposes that attributing validity to the existence of such “higher” fields that have so far not yielded to the measurement of science, enables the accounting for some of the uncanny bouts of energy to which contemplatives refer. Examples:
“Actually, we [sic. science & mysticism] have been going along with the assumption that the body emits these fields, but what if the electromagnetic field, in fact, all components of the life field, were the templates, the mold, in which the body is being formed?” p. 47
One related meditation practice is listed among other practices given in this section.
Cicero. Fetch him. Will he read to us, aloud, his Dream of Scipio?
Recall the nightmares of Nebuchadnezzar? His hope for Daniel’s talent?
Recall. He refused to heed the warning this soothsayer pulled.
Recall: The king lost his mind, to a strange psychosis lasting seven years, at which he regained reason.
So where are the temples erected to Aesculapius?
And, who also dreams like pharaoh Thutmose IV?
Hormakhu comes and goes now.
New forms. Uncovered the Sphinx.
Perhaps goddess Safekht took Serapis as hers.
The learned ones of the library of magic.
《《》》
So incubate. Sleep. Dream
Learn.
The Egyptians taught.
Hermes & Moses received. Others too?
Encrypted. Pentaeuch.
《》
Everything is already written in the very measurements of the dimensions of the Temple of Soloman; and even Paracelsus, so long ago, already said: The Earth is a magnetic body.
Concerned with patterns of currents’ change, they replaced menhirs with Gothic cathedrals.
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Transmitter-Receiver.
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Flow & Tensions
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