Tag: Iiterat

A Spanner in the Work

First, we drove close down by the river: just to look up at the the truss bridge monolith.

With unbothered eyes, we traced along the interconnecting triangles that criss-cross and distribute mass in motion.

The Parker Truss took the standard triad of members: chords, verticals, diagonals.

But this Parker camel-backs with the upper chord and consists of exactly five segments, not three.

The triad but with a pair of camel humps to top it. Accessorized.

Stressed sometimes with tension, sometimes with compression, and sometimes both, in response to dynamic loads.

“It is almost a full moon?”

Untarnished by the rust of daily practicum and edified on precipice and to edge, the bridge is high-sided as though set to plummet.

Just a scaly spanner anchored in a bit of wet water, hydrating ferric oxides on wrought iron.

Reddish-brown-yellow.

A little shunt allowing red-blood cell autos to flow, permitting the heart-engine dry passage so it can cross over, neatly, without going all the way under.

“An old design and cheap.”

“The physics of statics.”

“Fancy way to say that it works, huh?”

Then we climbed the steep hill by the river: just to look down on varicose vein highways zig zagging over dirt legs.

Without the clean shave of hot asphalt pressed tight by the compaction of Caterpillars, tires tire along dusty bumps.

Yet, the paved jet-streams below us back up.

Multiple bottlenecks and arterial traffic jams clot the circulation.

Blood pressure rises under this cellular road rage.

[ Court etiquette deserves a modicum of decent civility.

Coquette or not, it is not about dress, but language (un)used.

Courters do best by being dumb(founded), but not stupefied, together.

Stupid talks a big game and sings with precious, unnatural affectation.

Dumb keeps quiet and abides.

Until.

Like windows. Still.

Without dressings.

My temples tighten, feeling the impetus but not wanting to be too impetuous.

“Good, huh? Can we go dancing now? Kiss hard like we did last time. Get felled and sleep?”

“We came here so you could show me what it was before. The part prior to this now we presently share. So tell it in words out loud.”

I wonder at the time:

“I worked hard; so he could get one degree more. I arranged to rearrange. But new arrangements required rearranging. Then a couple of years later, I prepare to rearrange again.

Because when I wanted out of my hometown, the question got asked:

(Good prospects out west.)

He prospected jobs.

Deeds are not always actions. Sometimes just unimbued words.

~

He asked the cashier to break a twenty and change one dollar into four quarters and nineteen into ones.

Automated doors. Artificial wind.

Plunk. Twist.

Black cat.

Pink elephant.

Costume piece with a bit of black cord.

Lost as easily

Release/d

~

“Now I remember why we came back.”

“It looks different through new eyes, huh? Let me be charmed.”

Giggles.

~

Then we climbed back down the steep hill by the river: just to flip on the car’s radio, turn on the headlights, and sway. Spotlight dancing on grass while crickets chirp ambiance.

By/Hiways

Trestles tower above, criss-crossing the distribution of mass.

Edified in engineering.

Precipice and Edge. High-sided to deep – plummet.

Span bridging here-to-there.

Anchored in shallow waves.

A shunt by-passing the river below, a detour for red blood celled cars.

Highways criss-crossing

Varicose veins over dirt legs.

Dusty and bumpy.

Tiring transport.

Arterial jams, backed-up traffic

Clotting main veins.

Blood pressure from cellular vehicular road-rage.

Prettification per Parcigal

Parcigal learned the powers of personal appearance, nearly two decades past. She learned its ability to exploit and/or to be exploited, nearly a decade ago. Hell, all gals did where she was from, Alabam, the Dirty South. Personal appearance stood as the primary source of feminine efficacy (next to blood kin).

The place where they raised her never addressed that which she regularly pondered: the long game for pretty lady face.

This type of prettification during youth resulted in an aged-self prettifying to remain relevant, as a new generation of beautiful gals arose.

The true Tao seemed to be finding Beauty unmasked.

Bare face.

No jewelry.

Unadorned.

She started to let her face be as it is. Washed it, moisturized it, but that was all.

She became the appearance of the female she was.

She did this, going about daily public interactions, until she knew her face,

Became the female she is.

Then she wields the power of makeup’s masking properly. Not defensively.

Parcigal lived her dream of Art. She reinterpreted Myshkin anew, unbound to previous ties made.

Allegory.

Of course now, books are more often quoted than read.

The once enumerable is now innumerable.

Hypertextuality.

Parcigal recoils from monastic traditions. It is being one a crowd, faceless.

Initiation required heavy control over the individual’s entire life. Gives very little free will. They seperate sexes, assuming gals are even allowed at all. It imparts a tacit intent to shame the sexual nature of the h. sapien mammal. She does not doubt the resiliency of these traditions. But, her energy does not run properly in their circuits.

She recoils from secret societies and erudite traditions, because she distrusts agendas she agrees to but cannot fully see. It feels, in her mind, like blindly giving away power.

But she is wary. She is also extremely lovesome.

A lovesome nature required diligence.

What was the use of sensualism with a resonant partner?

Why was this primal magic so hidden?

Magnetism and electricity.

Conductors.

Conductive bodies are conducive to utilizing each resonant body.

By nature.

So, in her Fool way, she left her Ewer the note below.

The morning after she spent her first night in the handmade.

Before she snuck out (after two minutes of hard doting on his sky-eyes) without rousing him.

If these Rings Spoke & Salmon Sang Electric

The sun begins to make cameo appearances.

The trail crew came through.

Cutting back.

Below is tribute to felled ones.

Ready to be reabsorbed into the ecosystem.

No waste.

The water rose.

See the fish (salmon) ladder flow from both sides

Í dræm of swaying structurez

The first night, I dreamed,

We three ran roof top to roof top of the dilapidated neighborhood.

There for the wrong side of the tracks [sic. haven] provided by Amy A’s abode.

Mary C. ampersand Julie Ann B. (two grace filled people who took a sharp veer on the Christian side to which I’d never relate).

We ran atop house `o house til the abrupt end o’ the block.

Four stories high was the final structure, condemned, that used to house god knows what.

Mary C. at the far edge.

Me at the opposite far end.

Julie Ann B. cheated away from my edge like a 1st base runner poised to steal 2nd.

The house does a pendulous sway.

We all freeze.

Having seen Amy A. (a few hours prior) make an untested, brazen, leap,

resulting in a ten foot multiple tumble into a rocky canyon.

We could not see her, but her howl could curdle milk.

We quite and in quiet acted in diligence.

Holding the space of the present tense

While immediately looking to one another

And then the other.

Are we in harmony? How are we distributed?

Does the outfield (us) need to shift?

And then we three dance and (re)distribute our weight.

Slowly and gracefully descending to the ground.

With a hand and help from one another.

Leverage exploited.

Physics.

No words exchanged or needed.

In perfect peace and health.

Hours later we reunite with Amy A.

I cannot gauge her. In health or worse for the wear?

Rode too hard and put up too wet.

This much is clear.

Amy and I wait tables under a skinny, reformed Cody B.

I keep forgetting that is my purpose.

No one else cares. My tables moan but move on unfazed. Not angry, despite slow service.

The following night, I dream.

Mary C. (far on one side) , Julie Ann B., again, nearly cheated from my position on the polar, more precarious, side

We, all three, find ourselves (precariously) alit.

This much is clear:

The ledge will withstand two of us, not three.

My edge is the most likely to give way.

I feel tired and glad.

Like my path does not follow theirs anyways.

I tell them to shift their weight toward Mary C.’s edge while I test my edge.

Julie Ann B. sees my intention clear.

She pivots across the broken plank making my edge the most lethal.

She and I now share the same bit of ledge.

She hugs me.

Her back to the ledge

Her feet pointed to mine.

My heels pointed barnward.

She is now poised between me and the free fall I was glad, nearly excited to make.

My life now hangs with hers,

Instead of alone.

I feel sad, but loved.

And yet she increases the likelihood of us both dying.

With her additional mass

On the already precariously split wooden plank.

I feel deep disappointment at having to take her mortality and life into consideration.

I’m not committing suicide, mind.

I’m moving to a new plane. I’m more than prepared for it.

But what was proper for me (letting the plank split, myself fall, into the mystic. Unafraid)

Was not proper for her.

She was still here.

It occurs.

What I mistook for wood is cheap alloy

Perhaps. I think,

I could smash the back of my head into the barn

Until the alloy gives

And we could three slip in.

Reverse Head smash one: alloy gives several inches.

I am encouraged.

I look at Mary C. on my far side.

She sees my intent.

Nods.

No words needed.

Julie Ann B., still clasped about me in a hug,

screams

She has a much more frightening perspective than Mary C., or myself.

The quicker I do this the better.

I think.

She will panic and inadvertantly pull us off the ledge.

I’m fine with this, but it is not proper for her.

Reverse headsmash 2

Reverse headsmash 3

None hurt me.

Each produces more give in the alloy behind us.

A shadow encroaches from over our heads.

Pressing forward.

From our backs.

The back of the barn

Directly behind us.

Directly overhead.

All encompassing.

Reverse head smashes, without pain, continue.

No panic in my mind.

No true bravery either.

Just a desire to get JAB inside the barn.

My mind fears the shadow is from a UFO.

The biggest airborne ship I’ve ever seen.

How could it not be alien?!

Panic for the haven of the barn’s interior now.

Reverse head smashes continue.

Sans hurt.

I feel a wet trickle

I feel scraping, like forest branches, from behind my head.

Cutting my temples, face, neck, and shoulder tops.

Nothing hurts.

I just feel blood run on my face and neck.

Barely.

I realize I’ve broken us into the barn’s interior.

I twist and fling Julie Ann B.

into the hay loft immediately behind us.

Mary C., who has never weighed more than 100lbs, jumps across

To my ledge, I catch her hands and propel her inside the loft.

Still on the ledge. but safe now,

I turn to see the fearsome shadow’s progress overhead.

I realize it is just a regular commercial jet

But it is about to crash into the field ten feet away.

We have hay behind us.

I worry the heat of the explosion’s backdraft will ignite this dry material.

I expell loud nonsense in an attempt to say all this as a warning.

The plane crashes.

I wake up.

I’ve been sweating hard in my sleep.

Narratory Recall (Thought)

Æ am a/the word. And a/the word is not only, but also, glad/ly.

The recounting or slight reprise of several (re)countings falls to me.

Í endeavor to do my best on this, your sojourn.

But(t < giggle >), í am a Fool, a bit of a cad. And proud of my wide-eyed wonder.

Please, bear in mind that what is “down for me is up.”

What the sisters did in this sphere marks history. Of course, time perpetually does this to history, so long as there is one conscious, sapient, vantage point to see it.

Cassandra and Echo. Aphrodite ruled Cassandra.

Cassandra knew it not until she reawoke from her latest dream.

Unselfishness went far. Embracing laughter and not war did too. Now, such names reach above and below.

There is a beautiful naked woman symbolizing this sphere, allegedly it is she.

Symbols.

Failure, futility, debauch and valour. Her titles and attributes.

One who loves roses as well as the name of the rose.

She sometimes takes the form of the íynx.

The wryneck.

Has the power of beauty triumphant. The meaning of this is not to be taken for obvious and it will become clearer in your imagination as we progress.

She took but two weapons. One was no more than a long bit of cord. Her girdle. Atypical. Her lamp. She carries her own. While she loves to sing the Song of the Goddess, she has yet to accept Shakti theology officially.

Amusing given her role. But then again, she is a fool.

Of course, Rādāh took most of the heat.

~ But, now í get ahead of what passes for my mind these days.

Your merry narrator has an acadæmic background. Outside.

An able learner keened up into a gifted child. The tradition of empiricism, many empiricists think, has become a large collective comprised in majority by a bunch of pretentious prognosticators. You may add my name to the list. I would not deny it.

We do have a methodology to which we may aspire; although í’m not sure we understand it anymore.

Any work undertaken is going to address a research question. This general question will lead us to our object of inquiry. From there, we may begin our study by commencing with research.

Let us consider our object of inquiry here to be of Landgrave tradition.

This endeavor, like all forms of writing, will be an imagined experience. One that we shall undertake together.

Í will address conceptual and practical problems.

Practical problems predominately belong in the professional spheres. They address states of affairs in the world that are found troublesome. Much like a lazy eye, this perspective will ultimately depend on whom you ask: what is the “real” problem?

Sex, love, gender, women’s rights, men’s desires. These are not problems as much as potentially and periodically problematic. The difference akin to someone who likes the soup hot but not spicy. Modernity shuffles the deck of sex, gender roles, discrimination time and again; and these term fly like spaghetti towards the wall.

And yeah, it sticks. The pasta is done. While a new bot boils already. Periodicity. Embrace dont fear.

Conceptual problems tend to the acadæmic spheres, as they often have the luxury of not solving any real problem, but rather simply pointing out that what people currently think is wrong. Undexterous. Or else, they may point out some other version of not knowing [sic. differentiated from not-knowing].

While there may be no tangible cost to this type of problem there is a consequence: a particular kind of ignorance: a particular lack of understanding that keeps us from realizing something else that is even more significant.

My conceptual problem will address the problematic notion we refer to as Cartesian Dualism. To put it nicely. But we will consider the present social bifurcation existing between sexuality (pleasure, sensualism, hedonism) and spirituality aka soul power.

We will also review the practical problems of the politicization of love. Our concept of love and souls and spirit tethered itself to new stakes of symbology with the birth of nations. Questions of individual efficacy and empowerment. Evidence nature is not foisted by self organization, but birthed by it.

Perhaps nature dealt us the recurrent self organization that becomes Parcigal et al.

No 0ne knows.

A Confusion of Con-s

CONSILIENCE: con (together) + siliens (jumping) ; as in resilient (see Alabam native EO Wilson: jumping together of knowledge.

How beyond knowing feels

CONGRUENCE: in agreement or harmony; (geom) figures identical in form

Origin ME from from Latin congruent > congruere (agree, meet together) from con (together) + ruere (fall or rush)

That these bodies resonate

CONFLUENCE: flowing together of two rivers ; act or process of merging

Origin ME from late Latin confluertra from Latin con + fluere (flow together).

He and I.

CONFLAGRATION: combine into one

Origin ME (in the sense to melt down or fuse metal)

From Latin conflare (kindle, fuse) con + flare (“to blow” together)

(Alchemical giggle)

CONCOMITANT: existing or occurring at the same time ; agreeing or consistent

Latin concurrere (run together, assemble)

How I howl.

CONCOMITANCE: fact of existing or occurring with something else

MedLatin concomitari (accompany)

Howl We run.

CONCORDANCE: agreement or consistency ; an alphabetical list of the important words in a text

Latin concordare (agree on) > Latin concors (of one mind)

Howl we be came.

CONJUNCTION: an instance of two or more events occurring at the same point in time and space ; an alignment of two planets such that they appear to be in the same place in the sky (eyes).

Latin con + jungere (to join)

Howl we be come.

All cons seem like pros.

Weft, woof, waif.

Beginning to the Li(gh)te

Forget the í of

And cons/c/ider just the Camel.

reservoir avec Well-Ho(u)nd(ed) Companion. [snarrrrl]…

< c > was still. Used,

as in cir(í)ce, wrecc(e)a.

cniht ( knight < ni(gh)te > )

was subsequently changed to

kniht,

adapted, possibly, from a/n (Æ)Egytian hieroglyph signifying

A Staff in the Sky.

3rd Century BC, a modified character was introduced for /g/, and ‘c’ was

Returned

For /k/

Parsigal > Pargical

Becomes

Parcigal.

Ala

Open secret x

The use of ‘c’ ( and its variant G (Kn<N>) replaced most usages of < k > and < g >

Overtime.

Hence, in the Classical period and after ‘G’ was treated as the equivalent of Greek

Gamma and <c> as the equivalent of Kappa.

This shows the n(r)ominazation of Greek words as in

Foreign

Do you watch the colors behind your eyelids?

Before you sleep? When you nap?

Indigo circles appear for the first time in my closed eyes.

Like lonely little street lights switching on during dusk.

They come now.

She does not take compliments well. Which is usually no problem. People tend to give compliments to feel better about themselves. But not him, she felt. Lo siento. And mægen was not just confidence and will, after all.

Such magical realism required mysticism. True sense.

The relationship to a/the Natural Mægen required forging using mythology, ritual, and metaphor. Primal communication of energy, forgotten under the mesmorism of conversation’s lilting song.

This was a source of their power.

The simple act of lying in bed togrther transforms.

Empowered by a ritual of sleep and dream enhancing their souls.

She felt. Keening each other up, right and proper.

She apologis/zed frequently for no good reason.

Lo siento.

She foresaw lectures they would (had already) given

In Socratic circles.

Circles inside onlooking outter circles.

Issuing out into infinity.

Open secret x being the key from one circle to the next.

The Lovers leapt

Circle

To

Circle

To

Circle.

Cabal

Conspiracy

Conclave

Confederacy

Æ do word/(k)/s.

Ascribing NETZACH’s sphere with wandering fish hooks and and salmon ladders leading to the salvation found in spawning, and, dog loops with off leash areas, staying put in the middle of nowhere.

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

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.

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.

Watch “alt-J – Every Other Freckle (Official Video – Boy)” on YouTube

Your head will nod to this beat like the trajectory of a weighted bob about a fixed point.