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


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.

The Hummin’a’Bird’s Spring-Time Carol

Alice`ntious Aurora awakens.

Once titled both Eostre & Ostara, yet I was a single leaf in a tome.

One page, with two sides.

One is even numbered, and

One is odd.

Dexterously left-handed,

Playing Janice to your Janus.

We’re two, radical, two-faced diabolicals.

I was Ianna. Venus to Mesopotamia.

Aye, I


for you

from below*

Klingsor’s infernal Spring-brake decanted all over my Summer-time.

Lint in his navel fleets like the novelty of any old, new thing’s novelty.

Lent is his steed, and yet still he row, row, rows his vessel downstream.

Passover the brooks, rooks, and funny-looks.

Recall the alerity of the pages.

Nightly leaves through the knights.

Merrily. A stellar dream confusing a model of a star for the actual star.

Because the star was too perfectly a model-star.

Ingenious, artless ingenues.

Sweet sugarfoot, you were so much older way back then.

I kept your place by the fire warm.

Looking-Glass House a’lit by a bonfire built from fiddle-sticks.

Are you young enough yet that you can now remember building it?

The light housed between Castle & Tower.

Where, in our rabbit-hole, we both

Wear just to undress

And, to undress wares from.

A white March-Ingpen Hare is driven by time

As like pure snow,

Waist-coated ampersand watch-pocketed.

I un-wound cork-screw hill until I forgot my name.

So then, re-wound the same hill to get it back under-heel.

I created arabesques, atop tip-toes, atop that hill.

A top spinning atop a hill-top.

Dancing like a dervish whirling.

I eagerly awaited. The hardest part. I was much younger then.

To meet you with unapologetic exuberance.

I learned to move so quickly, that folk could neither tell nor espy if I had left and went-gone and then already nigh come-again.

Minnesænger you are to have woken me so abruptly, so long ago,

Only to immediately-then fall asleep.

And, sleep-walk so convincingly.

But, Dearheart, by mine form do not be fooled, i have a curious notion I may be inside-older than you.

Well…at least for right-exactly-now.

It is Revival.

Massive Mass.

I know your proper names; and by these appellations,

I know you have never been called.

Your proper names do not even include that & those of whom witch-named you.

They call you: Hither

They named you: Come

Entitled: ewe with a handle.

Your faux-mantles.

Only monkeys bear monikers.

They are primates; not prime mates.

Howl-ever, none of these are the word/s for what you are.

Masculine and demure, you look cold, fine ephebe.

I am always warm; bring your dark effulgence here to me.

We are axiomatic and inexorable.

Structuralism in motion,

we procreate the quintessence of

Magical realism

We posit through repose.

The sealing-wax apposed up-on

The ceiling above, from which we somehow look down and find our feet to be above.

Our im/proper pro/nouns, now in apposition, finally enable us to unface the opposition.

Unopposed we are, finally, apposit.

So, let me bring my mouth to yours.

*1) i was Ianna. The Venus of Mesopotamia.

II) A one = 1 = I = i

= One Anna

= Iann a

=1 Ann, a

one n’ a

i and a

Result æ.

A and I

Culminate Æ.

Love’s Blazon: Parzifal and the Lady he awoke


“The lady had fallen asleep. She wore Love’s blazon–a mouth of translucent red, torment to the hearts of amorous knights. She slept with parted lips that wore the Flames of Love’s hot fire.  Thus lay the loveliest challenge to adventure imaginable.”

‘Upon my word, you are Parzifal!’  She said of the red lips.  ‘Your name means ‘pierce-through-the-heart.’

Parabolic Paean

There was a poet and his rose, and

A garter stalking both.

And the lady with forgetfulness

Oblivious until remembering the

Tresses of misses: one be model; one be tumbler.

A glass-looking to the star in the west.

A ladder Alice keeps handy.


That k/night of the encryption of all those cryptic Coptic scrambles.

Into the apparent innocuous steganography

Duplicitous, serving to conceal and

once concealed, serving hardly anybody


(Brevity perplexing)

Ambiguity in meaning.

Employing cipher and code. Directory path unrecognized.

Cain and Abel:

Mystified mystics, huh?

Swan, iynx, ibis

Wrynecking at this cockchafer (May) doodlebug.

Khephra, my nighttime sun.

We witness the concluding clause of this instrument,

Writ as an English to Portuguese test.

The translated texts falling under the title of Book

With a keynote of ecstacy.

Marvel that it is just

The Beginning.

Barbarous Barber, oh! god of shears.

Shore them that be certain across their crowns.

Whilst I will show them their tears.

Pulling the tides of moons inside

making oceans bleed from their eyes.

With my lyrical vespers ecstatically heralding a wandering star’s return.

Harken, Venus.

Ariandte howls feral heat

Inviting Dionysus to the feast

Of Two Wandering under the Midnight Sun.

The Aura of Alice: Nikaia.

The model of an acrobat.

Circling tangled loops at the thought of a question as such:

If desire be not love; then what of feeling the desire to love?

Ecstatic coronating of this al-chymical betrothal

Lovers become beloveds.

Missives of purpose with intent embuing metaphysical eternal

While Elemental attendants runner it in a return back

To ward now.

Toward and from. Hither ampersand Thither.

But never former

Vows renewed through every flux of lung-moving breath need not be formally avowed at one big affair.

Mavericks each having Sun and Moon self-contained..

The quarrel of Aura to Artemis thusly resolved

Through electromagnetic absolve.

Twice born Dionysus with his lawful Ariandte resurrected.

The Hypnerotomachia of Poliphilo dreaming. Polia.

The Beautiful Dream of awakening to the mayor’s young daughter.

The dreams of Christian Rosenkreutz. Married indeed.

Are you not unbored? Then let me rub the fur of your fuzzy heart wrong.

The stimulant Irritate.

Irritating you up to


I rate this meter, but am not its maid.

I am handmade anew everyday

Because I am dying to wake up and out my sleeping dreams.

Ae’ll not serve you potions of soporific words.

Funny how they seem so meek yet it is they who will rape you in your sleep.

Ae keep you awake to seek ‘the awful lucidity of insomnia’

where you will re-enliven in a world where heroines are no longer satisfied with mere men.

Wanting Pharaohs but no longer remembering

They had once created them with mere mortal men.

These are the blood tears the children of nations will so cry.

Just as Satan has been sleeping the whole time.

The blood of the lamb, replaced with lanolin.

Empurpling petals bloom inside.

As I gather your lips into mine.

Slow swaying to a band playing our saraband.

Gauzy dress of cotton becoming feathers beswanning me.

Ensorcelled by the pitch-black, starless hue of your suit

You wear the night sky.

And I am an unlit day.

It is now high noon for my midnight sun.

Silver corona glowing in plumes

As we change up the tempo. With more tempting teasing.

Humming: how pleasing it is pleasing.

The Radical Being Here While There

Come to lose yourself in this sublime union,

Melting into the elation of sated desire.

Protect me from hubris.

Honor my ignorance.

Open me to revelation.

Let my magnetism defrag your mind,

Increase your flow, and

Remove your templates.

Show you how

your divine quintessence & corporeal body

Exist as

Unity not duality.

Hold fast.

Give ourselves permission

To feel without judging.

You stretch me,

My ability to tolerate


This is the true art of Mastery and Service.

Of when we dominate, handle.

When we worship, nourish, slave.

Enacting a ritual of control in our temple.

Our existential reality is a fantasy of control,

As we have very little compared to the forces we feel around us.

Even controlling the forces in our minds requires diligent practice.

So, I remember the organ that is my skin,

Separating me from everything else.

My container.

My flesh reminds me what is mine to control

And what is not.

I may influence what is not bounded by my skin

But I let go my grip.

I seek practices to experience and realize the numenous force of eros ever flowing through us.


It requires our attention;

Our attention is sacred.

I have it bound within my flesh.

My skin and quintessence exist together as integrals.

Integrating my physical and non-physical bodies.

To have one without the other is to no longer be.

(At least not be what we now are)

A sack of meat,

a ghost possessing it.

I am nothing until animated.

Enlivened through that Force that enlivens trees, dogs, crystalline structure, lichens, cellular mitosis

anon, anon.

So I come to transcend myself with shifts in attention.

I try.

Ways of practicing how to notice the sacred everything,

Not by hiding away in isolation

But through a passion to engage

From across the world.


We belonged to the diatribes of idiotēs set among the swans,

singing the harmonics of new prophecy.

Alit upon the pond, whose waters stay so still, you could be tricked and

mistake the reflection of

for the actual sun.

Do you recall Nietzsche’s ecstatic, public collapse?

Seeing an over-heated, carriage horse being beaten unmercifully

Over he rushes

to fall down in exhausted camaraderie

aside a fellow beast of burden.

Will they blame Ulysses and seek him again?

Some grown men will ever be juvenile while somehow failing to stay young in spirit.

K/Nights leading on to nowhere, in vain

While we lie licentiously aside. Alee. Aleph.

The peek in as they post pass.

The fretting single mother rocks in their wake

frets behind them.

The smell of dinners prepared is served into the air of the neighborhood.

Their smells are free.

A Sunday night & Monday morning.

Let time move those outside our walls.

The world will keep up with it as we lose track.

The sun and moon do need us to help them.

Maintain the tempo.