Category: Writing

Parsigal Mind Meanders

His company she found scintillating. The bits of brilliance she saw have been addressed in reference to his effulgent nature. One that will gladly take the piss out of someone with a wit. He does woo a gal. Effing howl.

Wooed naturally.ìA broad is a abroad to come? At least to feel at his scene and situation. And return the favor. Thus, might they be put out of their lovesome misery; that is known as ‘you can look but you cannot touch.’

This seems prudent but is actually diligence. Parsigal is no prude. She circled and sniff long and deep. No rushing to be a direct object of the action of his verb.

Then she wonders.

Wandering abroad, as a broad. She would keep seeking her home. Perhaps it was in that incredibly Old World with its bewitching tales and colloquialisms. That would sure explain why she had never seen/scene it. If not, process of elimination gains one more thing to knock off its list.

The integral was aside.

To be. Aside him.

It re-sounds like fun. Honeybones and giggles.

If it sounded fun to him.

She sometimes knew that she was under the impression this was not her best-face.

Well. That is, she thinks she knows her own face. But none can look at their own face. She could stick it out. Without taking much too. Perhaps talking to much.

The ever-replenishing Fountain.

Effortless and endless demonstration of flow mechanics common to liquids. She could fill/disarm the emptiest vessels with a grin. But always they filled with her. Or did she insist it be that way? She could no longer remember. She sometimes called herself Alice Ladder in those days. Dogs knows why, so you would have to ask them. But if they are sleeping just let them lie. Please and thank you.

She was the Beauty Triumphant in gist. But not the iconographic one. Not the dewey rose expected. Prettification processes domesticated men and women in much the same way conversation conceals reality.

Pretty confounded beauty.

Arch

Arched

Eyebrows

She was long-winded as well. Oftentimes? Anyways.

She could use mustered beauty to show others themselves as she saw them. She could finger someone’s (lack) beauty immediately if not sooner.

Quiet.

Quite a discerning perception.

But hark. Listen for the re-sound of Echoes.

Then she read him.

Then she wrote him.

The s/he wrote, each two, to each other, too.

And vice versa.

They came together.

They want to come together.

Wanton to.

Be held and beheld.

Aside.

How?

Probably in an aeroplane over the sea. At least one of us, right?

She thought she was funny. Fool and jester over knight right exactly now. Spark and drought field situation. She can work. To afford herself. She works. Well and glad. She does feel like a ghost in the PC. Outlook: tedium.

But remember, she could carry wood. She could run with wood for intervals. But, it was not easy. To rush and balance. Rush and balance. But efficacy and efficiency right? This is America after all. And she grew up in the Dirty South.

But she learned through sheer happenstance and fortunate misfortune that drugs while fun are best not best left for partying. But who doesn’t love two fingers of whisky? On occasion being the unspoken axiom. Moderation was movement between small changes. A beer after work. A smoke every couple of days. Communion wine (sold by the case don’t you know-just like discs, tape, and cassettes). Some people get drunk on the communion wine. Aw howl, I think I did that a couple of times. But it was a party, ya know?!

I do not w/ritely k/no/w. But would like shared experiences and shifting the attunement of my attention. Goals of glad. Goals of Tao. Way in method. Mystical magic.

‘Drugs’ are not the method for. Most.

But adepts. Diabolicals, Idiotes.

Most others are Posers. Seen therefore they are.

Of coarse “drug” needs disambiguation. It was too many connotations and denotes too much.

Catharsis is what is sought and received. In varying degrees.

It occurs in the mind first, seemingly, before issuing out and over the body like concentric rings displacing water. But the mind. The body. This is the same. The mind and body. Vessel and channel/ed. They travel together. Bond. Unbound.

The Empty Plenum and the Settes and Echoes that fill it with vibration, sound, and song.

Waves falling. Felled. Endlessly. On loop. On pointe.

She can work it. Methodically.

To the hithers.

She had this one previous engagement but ended up being released. Let go. That is more apt. That one took no care of her spirit or herselfhood. But she was unspirited at the beginning when he swooped in and smited her with an arrow from the Archer. St\r\uck. Working harder on his account ultimately. He did not have the silicon compulsion at first either. Then came the television escape. And another secret one. He feels in love with the feeling of himself feeling good; and he fell for it. For dealer markup. For a chance, I presume, to feel that spiritual quintessence that many users seem to refer to when they say ‘high.’ As a bit of a cad, I feel qualified to speak of this matter of usage. My hometown being a veritable black hole from which very few escaped, and within which everyone drank and smoked. In backrooms and backyards and backs of trucks.

She felt relieved to escape all the things above, but still felt constrained and unsure in which way her life would take her nor in which ways she might take her life into the future of now. She took time for self. Because even now it feels as though this place is tethered to ghosts of a life skipped completely and ‘put in a pocket’. Everything she did felt as though done before. She felt deadlock with the familiar scene.

So many times this strange sensation akin to deja vu seemed to wash over her, and yet to her seemed no more numinous than the little toenail on her good foot. The good one. At times, it felt like a show. That must go on.

Why? For whom’s benefit? Says who? Philosophically she disagreed with inexorable, but if this was what it is and it refused to relent, she could lay down. Lay it down.

Her family often seemed like previous versions of themselves. Who they used to be, to her, at least. She was the lodestone about which to concern and worry were poured. Bless her little heart. For her (and her little ol’e precious heart’s sake), out of sight generally kept others out of her mind. Energy walloped her unyieldingly; she felt. Panicky at it. Heavy with it.

But he was well-honed. He was keening her up too.

The Silicon channel finally found something worth airing.

She felt frenetic and unstill/ed. Rash/ly enpursuit for some intangible goal. As life hectates things can/may vary/very well seem absolutely bizarre. Pan had come to her. Heard her ripe energy waves vibrate his eardrums with the jaggedy ends of their streamers. Shaking her scene.

He would instill. In stillness and stillness still.

S/he remembered how badly botched the effed results came in last. The time before now.

The times before.

Woo. She thought.

I’m smitten. She thought.

These are incongruent.

She thought.

Rapt. Wrapped in Rapture’s gossamer.

~

She wanted love. With great wantonly lovesomeness. A dreamy love. A diligent and efficacious love. An honest to god head over heels love. But she also felt a strange sense of embarrassment at this desire. Like a dormant muscle, asleep or atrophied. The heater smell created the first time you turn it on and run iìīLove. What metaphysical integrity remains with this exploited word?

He made her heart swell. Her stomach warmed. She ran wild and fast from him.

Found him terriying. A real beast she wanted to sniff out. Friend or foe? Fight or flight? Dance? Two-Step the Danse Macabre.

But he k/new how to pitch woo. Without striking a blow.

Some shot arrows. At the gal they took to be there beloved. The gal defeated. Conquered valiantly. Like an animal that was hunted down like prey. And she just really loved animals, you guys. Cupid and Arjana, huh?

To boot, such a method of felling a love lead to rapture. vb and n.

A paltry one. That seizes. Overwhelms.

If I am smitten have I been smited? That is some creepy old testament god shit. Not reminiscent of the erotic to this Parsigal.

But I was the one that said I was smitten.

And he woos. Thank god he had not come a’courtin’.

Courters. The worst. They’d sue her into affection for the purposes and ends of being married.

Woo from him solicited and entreated, but with no particular importunity.

She finds this exhilarating and enfuriating. What did he want to have come to her?

What was his angle of inclination? The inclination of the needle?

Was he trying to bring about something? Wooed to what end?

A bit fat swoony swoon.

A faint.

Afaint.

A faint pair of silhouettes tip-toeing from dream to the next.

Jumping across two shores of consciousness like they were puddles and they were playing. Suspended by the same node of pivot.

She was aware of the difference between providing someone a favor and giving someone a treat. It could be expressed in the difference between the following two sentences:

Glad to help.

Happy to help.

She considered the difference/s between the following ways to sign off the end of a letter you will post to someone to read.

Thank you,

Casey

Thank you.

Casey

The top is a statement. And the current stylistic standard of ettiquette. It thanks Casey. I thank myself. Thank you, Casey. Absurd? Foolish horseapples.

The bottom version says and

Reads. Thank You.

Parsigal Sketching

Perhaps the point eludes still.

The complicating neuroses of this day and age are illness. Cultural malady: part of our Civilization and its Discontents. Certain psychological “maladies” or tendencies have not pervaded all civilizations, just the increasingly modern ones. Or were perceived differently and not in the context of illness. Certain psyche-related phenomena do not qualify as illnesses anymore than the influx of pubic hairs at that-age does. But low-level, often chronic psyches that feel listless (depression), those in rapture and the enraptured (anxiety/panic disorder), those than that suffer overarousal through cascades of chemical reactions eddy in both members of the pair of nervous systems. Fight of Flight modus operandi. PTSD. Shellshock. Trauma.

Fight or Flight is a sign of good health. Exhausting. Yielding enraptured dreams behind closed eyes. Certain strange magic. Disorienting your relationship to the world. A la any number of means: light sensitivity, panic induced by loud abrupt noises, increased heart rate, vertiginal dizziness.

Vertigo. Choclear imbalances.

Aringing in the ear/s.

Powerful memory recall and impactful imagination.

Rationally irrational for a year or two (if not longer for many others) keens you in on how to wrap one’s head around it. Remember: realization of the irrational confederacy of elements which have rewired your mind, does not restore or correct the new wiring.

It can increase the symptoms displayed, both self-reported and observed. Emic and Etic.

Until you figure out

How to w/rap your head around it.

W/rap your head around it, bind the craven and the whinging and the pitiable with your head.

W/rap your head around the the idea of

W/rap/t.

Rapture. Transitive verb forms only exist.

So shall we characteris/ze as a noun, adjective or adverb.

Rapture is the Experience of

Whatever wavelength resounding back to another resonate body.

We shall dismiss outright the Christian allegory from our discussion. We shall also not use it by example frequently as this handle grows inflamed. This does not say that this narrator does not have the utmost respect for the traditions and ways of Christianity Your narrator does not dig ecclesiastical anything, really. No disrespect intended.

One way is to remain on the quiet side and attempt dispassion in actions. When you are a spark near a drought field know why you take to action or move to a new scene.

The Key and The Kingdom.

The King and Realm.

Symbiotic experience of a relationship.

Give and take. A rope tug of war. Required well-honed suitor to make the earth to him bespoke. Parsigal preferred impeccable. Used infrequently to describe the character of things, but a word frequently used when she found it so suitable to do so. To excess. Tiresome and demeaning to the intended integrity of the word to act as a meaningful descriptor at all. Our gal played the long game too. In an effort to live cleanly per se. The trick was that ten or fifteen years down a stretch of road often made people forget the glad moments. But upon hitting a rough patch on that highway, those memories catalyze the emotional content of our psyche and mind.

Catharsis through a sweet remembrance. She could do worse if this was worst case. Make him remember himself then.

By being a bit annoying about it now.

She argues this untangled mess began with Descartes. The very notion of Cartisian dualism is awkward, yet intuitive. Confounding. Body and mind.

Being. Howl, a cultural chemist might argue that we are nothing more than the balance of our pH. Should that even be what it is? Of course not, it (already) is what is.

Even so, modern science often mistakes visionary and engenius for morons, weak, prone to, indigent et al.

Misanthropes, fuzzy and fidgety creatures of mystery, fell (enbetweened)

somewhere.

Parsigal reads. Words. Transcribes written words and scratches n’ scribes out new ones. (Well k/new to her pen is.) Number system & written language. With occasional oral communication should requisite it provide.

Parsigal writ: Written words and verbal explanations reveal the mechanics of mathematical proofs. You cannot “read” mathematics without first reading its principles in words. Or hearing them.

When Parsigal was playing as Iynx, she learned from stalking her mother about the little green house how men fell in love with the words stirred in their own minds. Echo related her experience with Narcissus, in small snippets, with death and the lover. She learned from Pan the power of sensual, music, and the Impromptus.

Iynx was a nymph and a Parsigal was a bit of a cad.

Spirited. Enspirited of the mountains and the pastures by nature. She knew the word ‘panic’ derived, ultimately, from Pan.

She knew Zues liked to play with mortal lovers, despite having taken Hera.

Goddess and godhead. She knew her mother tried to shield and protect Zues.

After he commanded it of her.

But Hera learned of his triflings and used Echo’s intended, Narcissus, to hurt her.

In response, as Iynx, Parsigal cleverly made Zues fall in love with the Moon. The moon reflects the sun’s light. Zues surely loved a good reflection if ever a sentient thing did. This is where Iynx resonates: in her metaphysical reaction to the injustice Echo and Narcissus suffered.

Parsigal passed time. Contemplating lists such as this:

Consilience, congruence, confluence, concommitance, conjunction, concurrence, conflation, concupiscence, concordance, and contiguous.

With this matter addressed we accede to procession.

To proceed again.

Our Outréness & Control (disambiguation: outré)

OUTRÉ adj

; not confirming to traditions of:

; behavior ; customs ; style ; Usage

Outré adj ————————–(current English usage above).

,Strikingly-odd, Bizarre, Extravagant, Exaggerated,

Outréness n, [pl/sing] ——————-(Eng usage).

,Strikingly-odd, the Bizarre, the Extravagant, the Exaggerated,

Outrér v, [past participle]——————-(French usage-specific)

,To carry to excess,

Outrance n, [pl -s] ——————————(Eng usage)

*proper prepositional pairing = ‘at’ or ‘to’

,the last extremity,

Middle English: outré

not confirming to traditions of behavior, customs, style, usage

Middle French: outrer

to pass by and over come. SURPASS

Middle French: outre

BEYOND

Middle English: outraunce

À outrance

àloutrance

Outrèr.

Our

Router

reroute

tour, out

Rote

Ore [amper-sand] Orer

Consider “R.E.M. Crush with Eyeliner”: Southern punk

Keep in mind these boys was outta Georgia (pronounced gee-or-ja).

Slick ass song. Knowledge of the band’s backstory qualifies this song for punk status.

Impressively apt, sardonic, and nonchalantly bold given the socio-cultural setting from which they emerged.

The Dirty South (american) ain’t so famously hospitable to its own if they don’t act right.

REM helped begin to open minds.

~

In areas with strong currents of cultural homogeneity…

(places where like-minded people have political control, religious influence, and both the financial and social currency to back these up), places like all places, places were regular, good people generally try and think that they are doing their best. like you. and me.)

…outliers are not well-tolerated.

Much like the way statistics may choose to formulate its treatment of those non-standard members of any given data set (sic. matrix).

If you record the result of the same experiment being repeated over and over a statistically significant number of times (iteration/Law of Large Numbers), and then note that on one occasion the result the experiment yielded was way, way dissimilar to the other results, you may then designate it as a statistical anmoly.

Termed an outlier: A member of the set that qualitatively and quantitatively appears alien when viewed in contrast to the uniformity of the character (standard distributions about a bell curve) of all other set members.

It is not uncommon to simply dismiss outliers from your analysis of the data. Just pretend their correlative relationship to the other data points insignicant.

Not affective. Like not even there. Incapable of producing change. To Unaffect.

To alienate the affection/loyalty of ; to fill with discontent & unrest. To Disaffect.

Unaffected.

Disaffected.

Perhaps the issue is that the mathematical formulae chosen and applied to the data set (in order to yield analysis and enable analyization of that object we study) are improper.

e.g. trying to explain a nonlinear system using linear mathematics: results will (always) be yielded when math is applied, but how useful are they and what do they ignore?

The phrase is “the outlier’s effect on our object of inquiry is statistically insignificant (aka mathematically negligable) so we will not include it when we analyze our data with math formulas.”

Statistical Insignificance.

Foreward to a Rude Awakening

She saw the purpose right away. The ritual had efficacy. The elegance of movement indicated carefree, nonchalance. Something had been done a million times throughout the years. A habitual action that the young woman reenacts through time and time again. Simply slipping her keyring onto a finger while the other hand unclasps the handbag on her arm, the young woman then drops her keys in the purse and reclasps it closed. This she did without looking. Her hands knew the routine already.

Utter grownup magic to the eyes of the kindergarten girl.

She suddenly cannot wait to have keys of her own. One to this place. This one to another. A big black plastic capped car key would provide variety. The more keys the better. And also, she would have a small collection of essential stuff, so many little things. A purse would be needed to carry all her little stuff. And for her keys too.

She would need a phone with her always; and perhaps a piece of important paper that she may be called upon to present. It would be kept, neatly folded, and handy. The bag would have both zipper and clasp closures. Hands with painted fingernails made a difference too, the little girl noted. She would remember this for when she got older, she thought.

This was the height of adult culture, maturity; the pure glamour of young adulthood to very young children.

She would be sure to throw in a mumbled gripe (I just have got to clean this bag out) said to no one in particular. This acknowledgement of her faith in cleanliness and organization showed she was always looking for more that could be done.

Yes. She would grow up to be a busy lady, she decided. Be one who juggled keys and bags without looking. Her hair style would be on point and her makeup would be on too. She would be pretty and only wear lovely clothes, like high heeled shoes that click on hardwood and sidewalk and lanolieum. Everything would make her smile at people. She would speak with her hands, using animated expressions that were almost but not quite panto.

She would always remain put-together and successful at whatever came her way. She would know what the other ladies were all doing too, the stuff she’s supposed to do, like be the best. Act like someone who gets it, you know?

She would be no weak-willed, lazy type who needs to just get over it already. There was no artistry to their keyring handling. No one admired their not nimble fingers as they shoved keys into bags.

They did not smile nearly as much as the other lady grown ups. They must be miserable and have sad lives.

She thought to herself: I mean, smiling means you are happy. Right? The other ladies have to be happy, yeah? Otherwise, they would not smile. Or is that just the face lady grown ups wear?

No, thought the girl. They must be happy. Just look at their keys! Their purses came to smell like sticks of spearmint gum. They were always on the go. I’ll never be still, thought the girl. I’ll always need to be somewhere. I’ll always know an interesting thing to say. My reactions will be adorable and cute too.

Like people on screens, she saw how she would act and pose to play the part of lady grown up.

What a strange dream of childhood from which to awake.

Underwriting Hypertextuality

Your lodestone enchants. I become your apposite:

Your loadstone.

Beloved in the three syllable (not two) sense.

My candid roses still bloom this winter;

Ruby flower petals reveal from buds;

A damsel draped in folds of purple silk.

A white horse under a blue silk saddle cloth.

A man adorned in vermillion,

caped in green silk.

Such is the mysterious experience of my soul. In catharsis.

Diabolical. Not good or evil. Beyond.

Strike your lucifermatch.

I can smell smoke as the head burns off of its length of woodstick.

Elemental and erudite. Enough already.

We need jesters not warriors.

We need simple fools in love.

Idiots both humble and at ease.

Affined anew.

Concupiscence becomes more about accompaniment than being accompanied.

Aged like a fine thing, and

Still

Ripening like a quickening.

Alephic aview.

Space and n-touples

You came from when. Not where.

You are what you is.

Not what you have been.

History’s circus tent contains three rings:

x (the lengthy ring)

y (the girthy width ring)

z (the ring of deeply depth)

From three dimensions we derive volume.

Adding the presence of an audience under the big top

yields tesseracts.

Formed by the eight lines connecting the verticies of two cubes:

representing a single dimension in the unseen fourth dimension.

Our vectors show us single spots as though they naturally situate in 4D space.

But without the conscious observer, what connects one cube to another?

Four dimensions.

Precense

1. the fact or condition of being present :

the state of being in one place and not elsewhere :

the condition of being within sight or call, at hand, or in a place being thought of

the fact of being in company, attendance, or association :

the state of being in front of or in the same place as someone or something

2. the part of space within one’s ken, call, or influence :

the vicinity of or the area immediately near one:

the place in front of or around a person

7. something (as a spirit, being, or influence) felt or believed to be present

Inverting Bodies in Motion

What happens if inertia, itself, becomes inert?

Does this mean then that the tendency of matter would be to embrace acceleration?

Displacing a disposition to remain inactive with a

novel propensity for motion?

Latin inert-, iners

unskilled ; idle ; motionless

Abject and supine.

Sounds harsh.

But synomously we find base,

A supporting or carrying ingredient

The bottom of something considered as its support

It is from here we may erect initially.

It is at base where we find the tendency of inertia rendered inert.

Holding Fasting 2.000000

Logical proxies placehold, like insignificant digits to the right of a decimal.

Acting on behalf of an other.

The symbol of a variable: replaceable by any element contained by a set.

Subbing for an unknown, thus necessarily generic in form,

denoting a place for something to come.

Anticipating.

Parsifal: PreFace

When we last left off the Great Work of story, Parsifal went it alone on the quest shared by all. Parsifal was unaware, unsure of the quest itself, of that being sought.

The first secret herein reveals the Green Knight and Parsifal are one and the same; or, perhaps these are the two faces comprising our protagonist. Two lives lived in parallel.

You have heard the name ‘Knight Templar’ and assumed it referred to a man,

The second, open secret: Parsifal is a broad. A simple wench, to use the modern subtext. A gal.

A gal questing but for what holy grail? She worried about it not. Journeys become. Destinations are a drag. She spun infinity effortlessly. She worked her method. Her method was the achievement not the means to achievement.

This was her Tao, her manner and way of being:

learned from Elder Brother in secret;

thanks to Knecht;

apologies to his Shadow, still wandering alone;

And no regrets coyote.

[Verticies. Ways of being. (Berger’s Ways of Seeing).

Multiple levels of discourse take time to discern.]

But our Parsigal remains.

Our Parsigal is a tangential elaborator.

(S)he is something new: the contention made (here), at least.

One is left to presume.

Hurumph and hazaa.

Herald this return from the heavens and hells.

Ringing in the peals of bells and pounded from the skins covering drum heads.

Issuing forth in the drone of electric strings plucked and amplified

In stereo.

The return may come before the end of next summer.

It is not good when it is done.

It is done when it is good.

Parsigal struggles here, locked in the struggle box. Feeling like an empty empath.

Some comment: that is okay, she is pretty (enough).

Never. Pretty is never enough. Work. Absurd. Always.

Multiple primary sources note her propensity for laughter and love of comedy.

“No one laughs like….”

“Genuinely funny…”

Multiple romantic partners:

“You are comfortable,” whispered with serious gravity.

Well, the pretense of gravity. They needed something basic. Parsigal was simple but never basic. Basic exists in limited misery. Simple is elegant methodology.

Stars are everywhere.

Most come out during the day.

It is hard to see the stars of the day.

And hard to understand the night stars so easily seen in the dark.

Two stars become a planet with the application of the function of a

Goddess/Godhead. One : another.

So came Ae.

S(he). Cloaked. Parsifal.

Oft confused.

Jade eyes that turn amber and brown when upon looked.

Only the Grail knows this:

Morning and nightly star.

She is a knight hand-made from a handmaid.

She will sow. Sew.

A she-chevalier for he.

True amateur. Feminine anew. With masculinity imbued.

She wears all the colors of Joseph’s coat. The one the Argonauts eventually obtain, no?

Ha, some dummy thought her a witch who turned the men to swine like legion running off some cliff, like clumsy wildabeasts rushing in a herd towards their own demise.

The lesson she meant to impart in these old epics is: never cast your pearls before swine. Never haggle over the price of an irregular pearl, either. Is it more valuable in its uniqueness? A snowflake impeccability of form. Or is it grotesque? Ill in uniform. From an uninformed maker? A non- artisan oyster? What crass and craven questions could one scratch if not these?

Circular questions.

Improperly tangled loops.

Emergent, epiphenomenon of complex systems.

The third law of thermodynamics misinterpreted.

Her name has been spelled too many ways.

She cannot rightly recall her writeful name;

Her dexter handle;

The a droite moniker (not the a gauche one).

All titles have power. And to have is to hold.

All titles can be reduced to words of language.

Not all titles can be expressed with words of language.

Collared without collaring. Maverick whose brand is a lack of brand.

Feral gal child, spirit undomesticated.

No tags.

This is our Parsigal.

This is the story.

Not Alee Presently

The grain grew. Became rough. Hard to go against.

A backwards shave;

A cat petted the wrong way.

A glance back over shoulder, surreptitious and noticed.

Paint dried; while grass grows; watching weather change.

All happening so quickly in slowness.

Such. Slow.

Ness.

All this static equillibrium ages me.

Still.

Too quickly.

I try to move.

I move too fast.

My metabolism disallows stillness, to my chagrin.

The coarse grains leave red rubs on skin as I run through and past.

Like Indianburns kids give one another.

Quickly, I could try, yet again, to slow.

Stop the friction.

But the mind remains in motion.

A moving mind turns its gears smoother when the containing body,

Itself, takes to motion.

A walk ; a pose held ; breathwork on tip toes.

Lubricating mental wheels as well as nicotene used to.

But the condition of Past is of coarse kind, immutable but in memory.

The potential of Future is, of course, smooth like young skin.

Ripe for wrinkling.

The current Present separates the two

-The coarse and the smooth-

-The rubber meeting the road-

Past and Future create Now

Contained infinitely.

Always it is Now.

Presently.

So present me as I am and wil’t.

Here ampersand Now.

Rallying for the Return

I hope this returns. I wanna see. I wanna see and scribe and speak it.

Like a couple of hyperliterate binary stars (astronomy def) discovering each other, their system, already hand made by them without their awareness.

I whisper things in the middle of night.
Things that used to only be explicit and carnal,
things that grew such that they could barely stand under their own weight.
Irreducible things expressed by the difference between a breath and a moan.
Aspirated.
Pallatted.
In and out.

The Words are the poetry

are the art.

The order does not even matter if you hold the proper reverential in the mind’s I.
The meter is not content.
Content is ecstatic output.
Undirected.
Scribed at the tempo by which it arrives.
And I wonder that we would-be American poets dare call it ‘meter’ at all. Hacks.
Hackneyed.
Need.
The secret that emerged from KBL was and is still regarded as cabal.
There is no secret.
Only Tao.

This is my medium for mystery.

(An open secret)

The letter is to be overwhelmed by the spirit.

This is the Tao of KBL.

This is how we transmutate letters to art.

This is why I can scribe for him.

This is what it is.

Points of reference.

They decide again and again.

Free write

Hesitation and distillation.

Partners in crime.

Thrive.

Inaction is not to be under-rated.

Indecision is/not suspension.

Suspense is suspicion of freedom?

Gaspar and Balthazar eat from sister’s window now.

She sings for them.

They crashed into her rocks.

2nd time dream

2nd time this plot occurs in my dreams this week.

On university of al quad. Working.

I work for the school.

There is an event to prepare for.

I want to be spending the time in other way.

N appears to my surprise.

The dream is now in bold font (?)

Each dream I then proceed to write two pieces of poetry for N.

One is called Settes and the other Echoes.

These are clever names but I can’t remember why

phōs is Greek for light

And,

I make 3 black dots bounce. A kid flashes a flashlight in his bedroom. His friend sees it blink from two houses away. A lighthouse mirror revolves and reflects. A ship doesn’t wreck. The friend from two houses away thinks: is 2 blinks yes or no? I can make 3 black dots.

An encrypted message to anyone who cares to de/cipher: I think of you right, exactly now. No response expected. All responses welcomed.

Coquette Get It

Coquette: n.

1 a flirtatious woman

2 a crested Central & South Am. Hummingbird [Lophornis is one]

Coquetry n. ; coquettish adj. ; coquettishly adv. ; coquettishness n.

ORIGIN 17th century: from French (of course, right?) feminine of coquet ‘ wanton’, which is the diminutive                     of coq (in other words ‘cock’)

Flirtatious ORIGIN C16: originally used in the sense ‘give someone a sharp blow’; the earliest noun senses were ‘joke, gibe’ and ‘flighty girl’

Apparently symbolic in etymology, composed of the elements fl- and –irt (both suggesting sudden                                movement. Cross reference FLICK

Flick: make/cause to make a sudden quick movement ; propel with a quick movement of the fingers

Flick through ; a flick through ; the flicks ; give someone the flick (casually reject) ; flicky

ORIGIN: MIDDLE ENGLISH: symbolic (like flirt) of fl- frequently begins words denoting sudden movement

Wanton: immodest ; luxuriant ; promiscuous

ORIGIN MIDDLE ENGLISH wantowen ‘rebellious, lacking discipline’, from wan- ‘badly’ + Old English togen ‘trained’

What Writes Who?

Writing that is read will necessarily be personalized by the reader. It seems arguable that writers could also personalize what they write as coming from from them, when it might be coming through them. A radio does not create the music it amplifies. The radio is not the origin of the music it amplifies. The radio converts sound waves in the air into vibrations our ears perceive as music thanks to our ear drums.

Both writer and reader engage writing and written language through the process of meaning-making in the same way an individual exploits patterns s/he perceives to make sense of the external world. While we can speak of the transmission of info via written language as a technical and biological process (occuring systematically in brains), this is not the same as saying the reader or writer will have any awareness of their own mechanations of thought.

I am told electricity traces routes in my brain, firing bells and whistles that lead me to feel and think. When I have a thought or a thought occurs to me, I am not conscious of the biological nor the physical mechanics enabling or spawning that thought. My consciousness of the text I create enters once I’ve personalized it – made it relevant to myself? Just like a computer is not aware of it own processes and algorithms, so we could be too with our words?