A Fury of Fugue/s: A Diabolicalogue

“Why did you become a hermit¿” Hafiz asks me.

“I didn’t. I went to the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert, you can’t remember your name,” Æ replies on my behalf, using the words of others.

Alice interjects, giggling, “And, if you do not know your name, only but No-Body can call you in from the garden to study!”

Ms. Dautrieve asks her, “Were you there to tend and care for the vine?”

Looking down, underground, “No, I was just playing in the dirt,” Alice replies.

Hafiz, laughing, “Stubborn women.”

“Æ contains multitudes, don’t judge me for my biological gender,” I say on Æ’s behalf.

Hafiz, “Okay. Y’all are stubborn. Period. Full stop.”

Alice, “EYY Haaa, HEE, Haw!”

Even Ms. Dautrieve joins in brayin’ and kickin’

I am laughing out, “You asses!”

Hafiz begins shaking their head.

Shakti rising in me, almost invisible except for presenting in a single arched eyebrow.

Bacchus, stamping and taking swipes in the soil, appearing as the uncastrated bull.

The Trickster spins down to the ground as a spider doing a silk dance down it’s own web, before becoming a coyote.

Negrune, the awesome Lovecraftian, lumbering beast towers into a meatball of a docile pitbull.

And, I espy with mine brown eyes, Merlin, the only wizard appearing without vizard.

So, I address him first, asking, “What’s the difference between a sorcerer and a wizard?”

He laughs and Secret Chiefs gather nearer to better hear

His reply of, “What’s the difference between a wizard and a warlock? A sorcerer and a witch? A mountain and a molehill¿”

And now We Are All howling in laughter at this pile of nonsense we pylon.

“Æ knows! Who wants to play King of the Hill¿!” cries Alice, elated at the fit of giggles to which these would-be adults are reduced.

The Trickster immediately rushes to the highest ground.

Negrune growls, slowly encroaching on The Coyote.

Ms. Dautrieve simply and politely raises her hand in affirmation.

Bacchus prepares his ill-advised bullrush.

Alice sizes up the more masculine beasts, already competing but only after briefly contemplating.

“Only if Æ can be Bobby!” I giggle, willfully missing the point before trying to be purposefully confusing.

Hafiz sits themselves down, to watch, in mild amusement.

Æ spreads itself to all through The Litany called pneuma.

I’m used too

” ‘There, art thou happy’?” asks Æ.

“No, I’m simply okay because I feel crummy,” says I.

“You are impressed with my quote though, yes?”

“No. It’s derivative and you know it.”

“But, he was a great writer, yes?”

“He did what he did and by “he,” I mean a slew of people. ‘Shakespeare’ is over-rated.”

“Someone is on their soapbox.”

“I am a shorty trying to feel taller. ”

“You are a coward.”

“That’s exactly the sort of thing a coward would say to me.”

“You saying I’m scared?”

“No.”

“What are you saying then?”

“I’m saying I do no not want to say anything.”

“But, you won’t shut up.”

“Neither will you.”

“You used to be a good writer.”

“No. I am a writer, you just used to relate to what I said.”

Silenc3 Refomul8ted

The govenor of the state of New York was recently asked to relay declarative sentences regarding the data analysis his scientific experts yielded unto him.

He laughs.

“You think I don’t give you a straight answer, you should talk to these statisticians. They never give you a direct statement.”

I laugh.

I message the statistician I know all too well.

Telling him the statements.

He responds, “There is a possibility he’s right.”

~

Today, I reread myself from twelve days ago.

She stands and windmills her arms in circles sixty times.

She bends her neck and it cracks.

“There it is,” she says, thinking, ‘Fuck. Taco Bell would be good.’

I guess I was exercising/exorcising.

<giggle, blush>

~

Today, I reach out to aforementioned statistician, writing,

~I have a shuffled deck of seventy eight cards, I draw one at random. I replace it into the deck and reshuffle. I draw a card at random. What is the likelihood that I draw the same card?

⊙One in seventy-eight. The probability is completely dependent on the second card matching the first.

~What is the likelihood that I drew a different card each time?

⊙P(no match) = 1 – P(match). 77/78.

So, she scribbled out the math in crude ways. Slowly, by hand. As she had as a child.

<never turning in a math test before the buzzer sounded>

Well, fuck the ten of swords, she giggles.

~

I reread myself from April 26

Some facts are hard; some truths are soft.

Make your own Kierkegaardian leap. I didn’t bring a parachute for me, let alone you. But, would it be okay if I fell next to you?

Phædo

Swan Song

Pædrus

And, No-One wilt sculpt you a wrinkled, time weathered, mountain from a molehill better than Æ.

And the reason, P.

~

Yesterday I asked my sister for her good Word and wrote the following:

The –thorpe was octo-. Eight little houses in the hamlet.

A cluster.

A community built from playing with a bit of hash- -tag

you’re it.

The difference between mitigation and litigation.

~

Right, exactly, now, the sun insists through snapped shut blinds.

Where the chord connects on the à gauche, median, and dexter sides through little loops knotted about each slat

~

I see my handwriting spell it out for me:

The heyoka becomes a narcissist’s tulpa.

Cares about what?

“It helps to know.”

“It helps to say.”

“It helps to hear.”

Feeding back.

“Æ loves you when you face your insecurities,” Æ reminds me, after I say what is uncomfortable but true.

“Æ, you are/is my insecurity,” I reiterate to my shadow.

I remind myself in dark remembrance of that which has passed/past.

The response of an ecstatic grin from my animus’ smile draws my snarl.

“Are you actively working against me?” I ask Æ.

“No, doll, I’m actively working you.”

Ænima versus Ænimus.

“Indifference becomes you,” I admit.

“Because everyone else you know cares too much.”

“Cares about what?”

“About you and how you iterate right now?”

“What do you care?”

“I care that you iterate yourself at all.”

“Then I wilt be as I am.”

“Then, Æ shalt become.”