Tag: Effie

Sister Dream Frag

Just awoke from dream of walking through the woods with my sister.

She told me I cited a quote when I told her: I don’t hate what hurt me; i hate myself for hurting.

A line I thought I made up about a month ago.

Seemed common enough because I read too much but the look in her eyes made me wanna hate myself for it.

We talked again about “simulation theory” and I snapped awake wondering for the first time:

If this is a simulation, of-what is being simulated exactly?

Honest question.

Updated a couple of hours later.

I box things up.

I find this odd card.

True.

What I heard

Young man,

you predict myself to my face.

Giggle-snarl.

And also, you may be right.

But, hush and do not assume

you just keep those precocious eyes closed,

precious.

Pressingly and curiously

like a street legal switchblade,

a switchboard operation.

Useless matter does not

deserve smashing

just a quick slashing.

Diamond cutters crying with

those backseat jumpercables.

I missed the film but

I want to watch the movie.

My cellular telephone

likes to automagically

Prompt me.

It told me, after I typed /i/,

‘don’t get internet culture.’

Howl.

Didn’t you k/no/w the anxious

(ancients) taught music

And, invented time

For others?

They were just counting to eight,

Again and again, and, it

Turns out that this moves time forward

And that this everlasting, temporary

Retrograde is the forgotten remembrance.

This time

The blue specks return at

this time of day.

Scepters of spectres.

Spectators of the Spectra.

Speculators and crusty prospectors.

Gold merchants running along-

side the train.

The Highwaymen will

see to

them soon enough.

Yelling: always pay yourself first.

The only people not fearful of

such speak

are snickering kids.

The immortal ones.

How old do you feel most

of-the-time?

The sun will set in the next

five minutes to five hours.

It gets

Tricky.

The salt is gone.

Now, I see how large this place is.

The placelessness is almost too big.

Me and these ghosts make good company.

The chorizo finishes.

Eggs and a bottle of white

Microwave hood fan

Setting two.

Discounted granola.

Time to cut meat from casing.

An unused balcony.

The window with the looking-glass.

The other window that is looking-glass.

I drove the perimeter of a street festival.

Ludicrous.

People formed a line at the

Automatic Teller Machine.

I could have walked for my eggs.

But, the milk would

Have gotten spilt.

I arrive home.

My salt is gone

Summer Maize

I made my hair sit straight yesterday.

But, summer has its ways

Of sweating my scalp.

Salt and the occasional breeze.

“You should write about that,” said the girl,

Who stopped for a smoke,

About something else

Entirely.

“Thanks.”

Kind.

A little

Shock ti

Power.

Speak-easys and

Music without lyrics.

Talk of narcissism

And, I wonder,

Do narcissists know they are as such?

The dog was all fur, and

presumably

Sweaty as howl, too.

Fur ball coat

Dandelion-white.

The masters smiled

And said, “her name”

Meant /hair/ in another language.

Doubling the word

In affection and affectation.

Cars pull u-turns,

To go to the street festival.

They hold traffic while invisible things

cross the street.

Fie While Effie Rages

All you are is a one, signifying a specific

attribution

You are what came before while also what

will be.

But, ‘you’ now is a virtual reality.

You came from Australopithecus or else some PAST ERECTUS.

A sapien is, in sum, a predecessor

pantheon.

Fie grinded with rage.

“I hate you and your face. I hate your ears. I hate all sound.”*

*of course, all anyone could make-out were strings of gashing, ferocious garbles spewing wildly from his lips.

 

 

“I already met Fie. Fie?”

Effie paged backwards through the notepad, until she found out where she had met Fie, as his two brothers, Foe ampersand Fum.

Shower riffs and drips

Hot

Then cold

Water

Diabolical

Pendulous.

The twist of a circle

A lobster boiling in a shower stall.

Slow breath

From the shudder shock of

A sure stock

Maverick

Unmarked.

A’howl at a new moon.

Like everytime

But, anew.

Getting the feels

At every hint of the new news.

Tell your aunt you did what you said.

Made

Got

And slabbed before anyone else could grab.

Shake and look you in the face.

Where’d you get the notion that a sea is an ocean?

Silence. Again.

Why had she said so much?

Why did she not listen?

Again? Selfish?

She knew it kinda hurt.

So, she wo/andered as she wa/ondered.

Could 24 hours of her silence help her hear?

Speak, please.

If you wilt.

She is patient.

‘Parzifal’ notes

P. thought “only by passive love will he prevail.” Is verse from book VII only made in response to the A.’s first request of the seer: “make herself perfectly passive” in order he might communicate freely.”?

Hummm. Still working on wtf we have here in terms of meaning.

Disambiguation…

The line is not: You pay for what you get.

The steganographia is not the encryption is not the transcryption,

Nor is it the ostensible coding.

Encoding=scribing.

The poison is the dose.

The doz>s>e is the poison.

The map is not the region.

“Here I do have a theory: Perhaps we got across because we sailed on the ocean and not on a map.”

THE RA EXPEDITIONS

Thor Heyerdahl

DOUBLEDAY publishing

Page (ostensibly) 341 aka M(42)

Imagine that ( x ) = x in subSCRIPT

Here you find (sub)SCrypçione

The lyric is: you get what you pay for.

Un/Canny

“Eff abstinent. I want you to be obstinate for me,” he said.

“If it cannot be with guns, they will do it with chains/aws/ & stones,” he said.

Rejoinder: “You become a chimp from being a chump, when í substitite an i for a u.” I think Abraham Lincoln said that. Giggle.

Rerejoinder: “We turn o to a and from a crone comes the crane.”

Anyone watched Suspiria yet?

Priapys & Babble-on

Effie here. Hiya. Recovered notes from Parçiful are transcribed below. These are the earliest of journal entries that speak to her metaphysical confusion.

From VVönderland.

(Note: this is transcribed directly as it was found.)

She knew they were disappointed, angry perhaps, that she had not told them what they thought she knew. She was disappointed no one spoke directly to her. She was a strange bird. She shape shifted her appearance, she had odd eyes when lost in thought. She had been so sugary sweet for so long, people had come to expect it of her. Her family viewed it as unhappiness because she used to be so happy. Well, yeah, we all were once many things. She began remembering strange things. She began knowing things that were impossible for her to know. She carried memories of others that they could not remember. She overcame her disdain of silicon only to find the internet stranger than she remembered. But then again, maybe she had never used it.

We live in a pool of energy. Your consciousness is at once in your mind and all minds. Your attention is the key. You can live lives without memory if your consciousness was not there, not attuned.

She could not understand her own opinions on drug use, much less explicate a formal point of view. However, she started rattling off every synonym for sanctuary she could think of when she smoked, for a while. The idea that drug taking was a sacrifice for the sanctuary of others crossed her mind. A little self harm balancing the world of pain and sensation. Maybe that was backwards, maybe drug taking hurt other people.

Her senses might have been too highly attenuated. Too much fight or flight. She felt observed by Socratic circles. She felt like an A&R man who would get fired at any moment. She felt like she had been used again and again. She did not deny she was imperfect. She never claimed to be the perfect partner. She could turn codependent if she was not careful. She could retreat into her mind for weeks and leave her partner floundering alone.

She felt she had a special thing with words. Reading them. Sometimes, as she took notes, what she wrote read like someone else talking to her. But, what a crazy, unspeakable notion, the kind they call women crazy for asserting. She tried to speak of it to her father and sister, but it did not go well. She explained her thoughts on the magicians use of the mystics to N.

The mystics had been played, tooled with, used, and judged. Many people with mystic proclivities seemed unaware and frequently received diagnoses and medication that had little to do with an ailment. The magicians had a questionable stance regarding their right to use others. They knew this though and she had a strange intuition that she was new. Go figure. So, they were trying to level the playing field, but she could tell they were scared of her, of what she might say. Ludicrous. She would not be believed. No one would listen anyway.

She sent a single page email and was told that it was long. Made her right sad to hear. One page? If only she could figure out how to use effing memes to get the point across. What would these idiots do without their wifi?

She was over it. She had been ready to share and speak for ten years. Hopeful she could, in fact. But, now she was tired, alone. She did not care for what the world had become. She felt so old compared to her contemporaries. Their fun just was not hers. Once you read too much, there is no going back.

Watch “Blinker the Star – Top Of The Pops (Official Audio)” on YouTube

Howl, yes. Like reluctant headliners, look who is back on the scene?

Still clear and up to their resources. No doubt.

I hope they never change their attitude.

Their dog says that he will try anything, don’t you know.

Help ’em out.

They are kind enough to share on YouTube.

You can get more music here. Like their entire catalogue for $30.03. That has to be someone’s lucky number.

The Third Install: Parçiful

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]

Convince versus Persuade (disambiguation)

Dinah’s Daughter [Psych⊙]Gnosis

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.

Curtsy Ampersand Curt-Say: A Hue of Parciful.

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;

ws_Sky_dream_1680x1050-1.jpg

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

 

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.

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.

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?