No rights, just homage to a young star.
Comedian in addition. First? Artist, regardless.
Took me a minute on this one, but damn.
His drop in is intense.
Brutally hip bumping.
Much love for Childish Gambino and Donald Glover.
“Contraband, contraband, contraband……get down!”
Interesting video.
Continuing reflections of 1980’s music: Tracy Chapman’s self-titled 1988 release must be mentioned.
Everyone remembers Fast Car. What an effing lovely lyrical pop song.
The album was subjected to the 1980’s drum production.
In this case, forgiveable.
First track of the record here.
Great opening. This revolution sounds positive. Joyful. Honest.
Hooked for the rest of the album right away i was as a kiddo.
Still am. Cuz ima post another song off this album.
Go buy her record. I did.
It is diabolical to miss the middle range
In favor of the radicals.
Come slowly.
The parable of the parabola
Is parabolic.
The reason you turned around;
The reason í pan-kicked;
at the sound of a child
He saw how Joseph was annealed by the fire…[and] felt the ordeal more than Joseph. P241
Sounded overwrought to me. Then I bothered (sic. concerned) myself with actually looking up
/annealed/
I was being educated on several levels. I first read the sentence such that I thought I knew more than I did. I imagined /annealed/ to be some form of a bow or a kneeling position, a kiss the ring, smell the glove. A posture taken when the situation demands you take yourself seriously. If you can imagine such a thing! Or that you undertake to do something trivial quite meticulously. For the sake of the process itself. By your choice. You take part with and in. Or, when ritual, tradition, culture, bestows us a transcendental catharsis by allowing us to take very specific actions with others undertaking them alongside, as well. A hymn sung by a choir. Suddenly, lighting a candle is holy. Yet, lighters and matches abound. Fire is easy to come by but it was not always so.
Blind spot.
Shocking how much meaning we can contain. There are so many pearls that some readers start arguing over the appraising of an irregular pearl. It is all about finding, examining, analyzing, and drawing conclusions about the relative value. Waiting to find that big money shot pearl. A yup.
“awe, more valuable. made of pearl but unique, collectors edition. Gesture, essence. and articulation.”
“Worthless. It’s shape isn’t paradigmatic of the standard pearl. Misinformed. Monstrous, devalues the other pearls to even be in the same bowl with them.”
Who let the pigs out? Who? Hoo hoo?
Too much monkey business for me. We as a species have moved on. Or did I miss the train and am now out of joint?
The Glass Bead Game: Magister Ludi. 1990. First Owl Books Edition. $18.00 USD/$24.95 Canada. That seems really inexpensive as I think back on it now. At five hundred and fifty eight total pages, it is a trek but no death march. As with any trek, though there will be days. But, then there will really be days! Am I right, a hyuck, hyuck.
The length is not the deterrent. The printing of the book intimidates. At least my copy. That is why I bought it. It looked too heavy for a book that size. A thing that is larger than physics allows but your eyes empirically cannot deny. Your brain’s rational processors will fill in the reasons that ‘you can’t trust your eyes.’
A phone booth and doctor.
A House of Leaves.
A ship ever at sail on a foreign sea, the life of the house mouse lost.
S/he loses their position in the home.
You lose something you did not know could go missing. The notion of home? An ending spoiled. Don’t let the little ones hear. Something you cannot unlearn but surely there is room for doubt and maneuver. Doubt suffers where there is little room
Something you took for granted. Because there is so much to see and so many things vying for the pleasure of your (everone’s) attention at all times. We cannot process the amount of information we physically can conceive us. We get by and brains fill in the blanks. The way you discover your new car’s blind spot.
《《 》》
Crash. Ah, hell.
《《 》》
But what was to be done? Can you judge yourself for not knowing that your vehicle is afflicted with a blind spot? Sure, but where that at? If you want me I’ll be in the bar. Speculating on some dreamy nonsense. The thing you did not see in your rearview & side mirrors (electric-adjustable, I’d wager) as you merged lanes, was, by dint of optical physics, unseeable. You cannot adjust for and account for such a variable.
The publishers did not eff around. There is a deliberate concern for both style and balance in the margin setting and lettering layout. There is room to scrawl. If you are into that sort of thing. I am! The luxury of the thick white broadband’s conjunction into right angles about the four verticies gains further dimensionality by its opposing page.
The reflecting pool in the palm. Narcissus finally went mobile. Each page appears with its predecessor and/or successor in symmetry. Consider the leaf of the sheet itself. Two page numbers and each bearing letter matricies yet on but one page. One page in the book holds two pages. Think about that. There ain’t ya’ll entertained? If that is not magic, then ya’ll doin’ it wrong. I see gods contained and present amongst the multiform streams. IHS Bacchus first. Then as Janus. Holding us in the present, pressed fast between the past and the future tense. So the text on each side of the page gives rise to leaf between your fingers as you turn the page.
Let us say, maybe, five hundred and forty pages are geometrically identical in dimension, same squares, same squares. Matrix array with its vectors contained in those critical margins. Two koi ponds reflected about the same axis of symmetry. Simpatico. The more you read, the more the very confined area with unnecessarily tiny pt. font, single spaced. Tight, trim, orderly. And you are drawn in and held fixed in that little space. Rapt. Enraptured.
And then the ratio expands. The page does not seem so small.
The biggest hinderance to the book’s popularity in America was a poor original cipher of the German language. But translating the lyrical prose of Hesse is probably like trying to translate a Japanese character into ‘the English word for it.’ You can pull it off but the English Equivalence is questionable. Americans are poorly positioned to be strong readers of such heavy, often erudite, ultimately, ironic tomes. We do not get the geographical exposure to other cultures.
Hell, we didn’t get the joke.
It fell for it too! The joke of being so dreadfully stoic that the reader would not dare think you were givin’ a ribbin.’ This is a book; An effing long one; I found all these pearls. I’m rich. Made-man. This is a book of power not jokes for blokes.
Sigh. Now, your cracking me up.
The good news is, if you do ever get the joke, it makes you smile and laugh out loud. Then shake your head. Hold on.
Although, states are arguably the same as little countries.
No rights owned. Paying homage.
All the colors.
Beck writes such innocuously infectious pop jams.
What is pop music, anyway?
Genres, huh?
Heard thru headphones Aka cans (big earmuff-lookin’ ones. Obviously.), this song is and is not the same song when it is heard through speakers.
Trying to learn about sound and light these days.
Speakers. My parents had two floor standing ones that were about three feet tall.
They made sound. Headphones make sounds. My portable CD player/Cassette Tape Player (deck?)/Radio made sounds. I also took an entire battalion of d batteries if you wanted to “go mobile.”
“A boombox, in its most basic form, is composed of two or more loudspeakers, an amplifier, a radio tuner, and a cassette and/or CD player component, all housed in a single plastic or metal case with a handle for portability. Most units can be powered by AC or DC cables in addition to batteries.”
Wikipedia (per my March 01, 2019 visit) this page was last edited on 24 February 2019, at 20:24 (UTC).
Citations, huh
Hey, how they do that?
How headphones work = How speakers work = x
x = using magnetism to turn electrical energy into sound.
Speakers = loudspeakers = electric sound-making machines.
Loudspeakers attach to tiny, earbud headphones (cased inside ear muffs or earbud headphones) and make sound we hear.
Loudspeakers play back.
Loudspeakers turn electricity into sound.
Polar plots of a four-driver industrial columnar public address loudspeaker taken at six frequencies. Note how the pattern is nearly omnidirectional at low frequencies, converging to a wide fan-shaped pattern at 1 kHz, then separating into lobes and getting weaker at higher frequencies[50] (Wikipedia)
Stellar site! www.linkwitzlab
A sequence of tests is presented below that should reveal to what degree a given stereo system achieves the potential that is inherent in the 2-loudspeaker reproduction format. (See also the more recent Accuracy, spatial distortion and plausibility of the auditory scene article)
Pink noise is a random process with a power spectrum that decreases at a 10 dB/decade or 3 dB/octave rate with increasing frequency. When measured with a 1/3rd octave analyzer, or constant Q filter bank, it has a flat frequency response. Since the critical bandwidth in hearing is approximately 1/3rd octave wide, pink noise tends to give an equal representation of all frequencies in the audio spectrum, from lows to highs. Thus it would seem to be a good auditory test signal, except that we do not have a reference for what it should sound like in an absolute sense. This limits the usefulness of pink noise to comparison tests of A versus B. Pink noise can reveal small physical differences between two sound sources, but it can be difficult to find the cause for those differences or to predict their consequences. Pink noise can drive you nuts, so be careful. Still, pink noise will point to flaws and errors in a sound system.
The tests use various 5 second combinations of L and R streams of uncorrelated pink noise. What I call Stereo here is actually fuzzy stereo and has no solid image, but is spatial like a cloud. In Mono the left and right tracks are identical. Left or Right means that there is sound only in one or the other track.
Download and save pink-alternating3.wav (12 MB). Then burn the file to a CD-R for convenient access and repetition of the 1 minute sound file.
| 1 | Stereo = L & R | 8 | Mono | |
| 2 | Left = L (R = 0) | 9 | Stereo | |
| 3 | Right = R (L = 0) | 10 | Left | |
| 4 | Mono = L = R | 11 | Right | |
| 5 | Stereo | 12 | Mono | |
| 6 | Mono | 13 | 3 Bursts, 10 cycles @ 3 kHz, -3 dB FS | |
| 7 | Stereo | 14 | 3 Bursts, 10 cycles @ 300 Hz, -3 dB FS |
Foucault’s Pendulum¤ = Asteroid of a book and author and both have coated me in spec(k)s of poussières d’étoiles forever.
Sister star to The Glass Bead Game: Magister Ludi°, at least in my little ol’ heart.
Trine. Zenith. Allegorical Syzygy?
Funny, for sure. Bless him for that because this book was heavy-wading for this gal.
Until,
I hit p.478 and read the text in the pic below. I, literally, Laughed out Loud; I, figuratively, was Rolling on the Floor Laughing.^
Mystical sumption of the syllogism, or modus ponens. But while this gal fumbles with wordsmithing, here are some juicy open secrets to for you more achievement oriented individuals to add to your trove.
Do you see the connection?
¤ Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data [ed. note: open secret x]
Eco, Umberto
[Pendolo di Foucault, English]
Foucault’s pendulum/by Umberto Eco ; translated from the Italian
by William Weaver—Ist ed.
p. cm.
Translation of: Il pendolo di Foucault.
“A Helen and Kurt Wolff book.”
ISBN 0-15-132765-3
PQ4865.C6P4613. 1989
853′.914–dc20. 89-32212
°Originally published under the title of Das Glasperlenspiel by Fretz & Verlag AG Zürich Copyright 1943.
^ Aka 🤣 FKA (original med. f/k/a) ROLF. This note is for my sister, with love.
¿Whatz thiz?
Itz whatz effin’ up & itz rock n’ roll! Howl yes, it is.
A tasty jam for your toast
Show them some love https://blackpistolfire.com
Buy their new album already*.
It’s called Deadbeat Graffiti.
*even if you don’t spend money, they’ll let ya stream their 2016 set at the Governor’s Ball.°
°you ain’t heard of The Govenor’s Ball before? So? Not surprised. It’s a pretty nifty affair.
Giggle.
It’s kinda like The Secret Policeman’s Ball^
^ Psyche- The Secret Policeman’s Ball▪ wishes it was The Govenor’s Ball. Eat your hearts out!
▪ [intertexuality steganography: here’s a personal rant. Giggle.]
#cut-it-out-Alabama
It really is a strange place. I got out of town & moved across country.
Timecapsule:
As long as it is not the Luv Gov.
What happens in Alabama and in Dirty South politics
The heroes keeping the the contentious citizen apprised and amused. Thank you al.com.
Words for free and transparency.
Subliminal symbolism signals a system.
Æ am speaking to the diatribe diabolique: écoute et répète
The Magical Mythical Pantheon
that is comprised of we
who did so fascinate
the Fruedian’s preoccupation (with classifications)
such that he be’termed us the afflicted handle of
the polymorphous perverse.
But, hey-
T(he)y be sleeping monkeys. They pay for what they get. And they just come to get off.
Levy (one of Dionysus’ favorite lushes) best put it: I like the wine not the label.
You say:
I wasn’t going to ask
if you drink red, white, rosé et al., rose-cheeked dummy.
I’ve a wine for your tasting, if you like.
I reply:
For your offer, I thank you, kindly;
But,
is it a finished wine or unfinished
that you would proffer?
Blind tasting from bottle sitting uncorked behind the bar?
Or, a sip of the batching directly from aging barrel?
Illicit thrill of an invitation
to steal a sample
from a cask
down in
and
past your
your cellar
door?
Alliance of the invited Thief.
You tell me of
a wine undergoing Vintification.
Alchymícal process of Fermentation.
Al’chymical.
All chemical.
I tell you that
I’m no hard scientist.
But I do know the Tao of Wissen’s Chraft.
Oft mispronounced as wissenshcaft and mistaken for
(another way to refer, too)
western Science.
I’m no fellow-follower of the standardized scientific paradigm.
Because I cannot be; I tried.
But of Wissen’s Chraft I could give a master class.
So, for the purposes of this moment, so made by your offer,
let me endeavor to practice this art of oenology.
I will make -logia of vintner and the
Tao of his crafty method.
But hear me: I am no viticulturist.
HARLOT
1. Lewd woman; prostitute
2. obsolete, a male servant; a churl
3. A woman in contempt
Per se: anyone, male or female of low birth.
[From Old French ‘herlot’, fellow. ]
CHURL
1. Low-bred, surly fellow
2. A sordid person
3. A peasant
4. English historical, Anglo-Saxon freeman of the lowest rank or without rank.
[From Anglo-Saxon ‘ceorl’, man.]
CHURLISH
Rude, hard to work or manage, intractable
LEWD
1. Characterized by lust, lustful; carnal- licentious
2. Provencial or Archaic, morally depraved, vicious, wicked
[See the Anglo-Saxon ‘læwed’, lay]
LICENTIOUS
1. promiscuous and unprincipled in sexual matters
2. Archaic, disregarding accepted rules, especially in grammar or literary style
Came into Middle English from the Latin ‘licentiosus’ from ‘licentia’, freedom.]
Funk & Wagners, 1943
Oxford English Concise, 2008
Cicero. Fetch him. Will he read to us, aloud, his Dream of Scipio?
Recall the nightmares of Nebuchadnezzar? His hope for Daniel’s talent?
Recall. He refused to heed the warning this soothsayer pulled.
Recall: The king lost his mind, to a strange psychosis lasting seven years, at which he regained reason.
So where are the temples erected to Aesculapius?
And, who also dreams like pharaoh Thutmose IV?
Hormakhu comes and goes now.
New forms. Uncovered the Sphinx.
Perhaps goddess Safekht took Serapis as hers.
The learned ones of the library of magic.
《《》》
So incubate. Sleep. Dream
Learn.
The Egyptians taught.
Hermes & Moses received. Others too?
Encrypted. Pentaeuch.
《》
Everything is already written in the very measurements of the dimensions of the Temple of Soloman; and even Paracelsus, so long ago, already said: The Earth is a magnetic body.
Concerned with patterns of currents’ change, they replaced menhirs with Gothic cathedrals.
< < > >
Receiver-Transmitter.
Transmitter-Receiver.
Power & Directions
Flow & Tensions
Telluric
< >
Four nights ride at me like knightless horses.
Some of us may be dead.
Do not overreact, we shall (re)enliven to you, the dead.
And, if you feel restless,
Then stand.
And, if it lingers, walk.
But, you must (not) forget your breath.
The Stain of that tree;
the mark of that unknown paw.
Await.
The tug of leash.
Does it follow?
Machen to Helen.
Machen was guide. Weigh Station.
Chhinnamasta calls me fall at her feet.
With my love.
To feed her, so she may feed the mystæ.
Horrendous in image.
But not horrible when properly imagined.
Can you deserve without earning?
Leviathans are understandably underendowed.
Catastrophe revealing atrophy.
Missing. One star. Even though there is a sky full.
I walked through a field of green meadows, last night.
Fields of fantasy and feeling.
And, then again,
the singular black dot.
Tiny spec/k/.
I cannot enlargen it, but I
continue to try.
I did as I have done because the demand
upon me was greater today.
Clothed in bedsheets worn/draped as a
s/ash.
Imagine. Pitter patter. Socks on carpet.
The deer licked the derelict.
Feeling the parsimony of time in mind.
Along.
A long.
A longing.
A precious ore mine.
A veritable land grave possessed
by the fool hanging by one foot.
On a needle & thread.
Scant and off-standish. I confuse for oscillation.
Busied with nothing, they are.
Ashade & alee, ally & algæ.
Predicated upon such a predicament.
Do what, now…
In/Transitive verbs. Inert momentum gave the other dog the upper leg.
I asked the CAT scan tech:
Can you have electric without magnetic?
Field/ed/ naught.
He grinned; I passed out.
Suzie Q got graham crackers.
She can still write in cursive correct.
They do not teach it anymore.
Skills being disvalued.
After being discounted
Only creating future demand.
We are no orthodox sun-dwellers, dear.
Such is a sweet thrill.
Pity the would-be achievers; they will never enjoy their achievements
Until they learn to love strangers.
My apprehension now apprehended.
Eyes narrowed and lips
Pursed. Spawning focus.
Now, your lips purse, pucker up, as you
Awaken into a dream, falling into sleep.
My sweet Poliphilio.
Your own right hand pressed to your cheek. The scratchy friction of just a bit of beard to the back of your hand.
Your fingers curl slowly.
Except your pointer. It alone rests atop the left shoulder, too.
A top,
The bend of a knuckle, the one next to the nail.
Holding until held.
Pucker ampersand purse. Your lips. Again. Deeper you fall.
Twitching tap of that
Pointer fingertip to clavicle.
Across pectoral, sternum, and pectoral.
I start my next sentence but we idle in the æyther and I recognize.
In our idyll. The approach.
An image, but not one of whom I recognize.
Encircled and fuzzy in capture.
Encapturing the same arm
To the same shoulder.
It will not be long now. This will drop.
My brow and focus unfurrows and
Then uplifts in honest realization and disappointed resignation to the moment.
My eyes no longer two half moons.
Becoming oval saucers.
Serving platters for huge dinner parties,
Big enough to hold the head of John the Baptist (aka the Revelator).
And, at the feast,
I see the eyes and hear the hush of the hushed. They peer in on this meal with faces stoic and smug.
Held in their voluntary vanity
That holds their faces involuntarily so.
I asked the Old Man. The who no one ever done met:
Does your mountain happen to be Sugar or Magic?
He grinned
And asked:
Have you heard of The Mountains of Madness?
I nod. I know. I read and read. Now.
Knotting and loosening.
Hand in hand.
No juxtapositing but aligning and allying periodicities.
The sacrosanct of a reluctant headliner.
He said: now you know a secret; man can fail.
I said: that’s only a revelation to your men.
Morgan saw detail.
Meredith saw the night sky.
Rachel saw in between.
Portrait. Picture perfect.
The robbers hasten their liquor store evacuation, the day the sky barges arrived. Turns out, there was no need.
《》
Effie was aset at the burled wooden desk, plate of blackberries, the culprits bleeding on her fingers. The barges drifted past. She heard them before she saw them. The cat had been fretting all morning. This reduced her surprise at the surprising.
She heard old music. Old timey. Pressed for phonograph. Tinny music. The kind men in fur coats would Charleston to, while drinking: alumnus attending the homecoming game of his alma mater. Girls twirl like it is the 1920’s. Reservedly untoward. The dance is all in the eyes.
This flashes in her mind, a daydream of orientation. Her curiosity piqued, she makes for the front room, with its huge picture windows, framed by newly painted, unadorned white walls.
Picturesque, but now the Douglas firs partially obscure her view of the aerostrocities. They move at a painfully slow knots per hour.
Ima grab those blackberries. They are not in rush and I’m hungry as eff.
She pops them ala popcorn into her mouth, watching. Her neighbors begin to venture outside. Some voluntary evacuation necessitated by a craving for speculation. The steely comfort of hearing someone else acknowledge the surprising, and then say, “I think it must be…”
Their words crackled like burning logs, the freezing air making every word they spoke become the smoke. Hazy veil from the heat source warming their fear. Tirefire.
Effie watched them, too. Actors on the stage.
The braches on boughs broke.
Lying lifeless. Casualties of the white out.
Lost soldiers, abandoned by their unit.
Under the weight they could not withstand.
Only now revealed
Sheets melted.
Perfect circle encircling more circle.
Inside.
There is a blackstone panther, she re-enlivens each night
A path of sprawling
Stalking prowl.
The little girl awaiting her bus told me so.
She tugged my coat and pointed as I passed: I see her at night.
Does she have a name, I ask?
She just nods and waves.
Passing,
I smile and turnaway.
With back straight,
Í asked you, “do you try hard too?”
The snow reduced me to pencil,
#2
Bleeding out my pens proper.
Wondering about that table of six í auto-gratted
in the Tavern five years prior.
My lead cracks.
Mark darker.
And then í find,
one pen left in my fold.
Shortstop
Between run and go.
A dash of dalliance
Unconcerned with with prose that came before
Or wilt
Would be.
Her hands would shake?
Ledges are not only
but also for leaping.
They told me “no.” Which is always within rights, but í was left confused.
Í cannot remember asking anything
Lend a
Hand, right?
Play your vinyl
Remove the album sleeve.
Put your diamond down, glasscutter.
45 rpm.
Morbid effery from the monkeyed,
Landed gentry.
Luxurious as late night coffee with heavy cream.
Laden.
All the crawfish fixing to get boiled.
Cloves of garlic
Resting on claws
Coalescing correlations.
Corrections to iterations
Deshelled and /de/tailed
Consumption.
Silver eyes against armor-alled all red
Whiskers a’faced to
Terraced tails.
Rampant mud and bug
With a dropped bouquet.
The slow crawl of the limited engagement
Leaves above my head.
Shining.
Í will make you look up and remember the sky.
You forget your breath
(Ampersand)
You lose a life.
I forged injunctions
Duplicitous & with steely reinforcement.
Silversmithing.
The pleasure of the written word. Consummate.
The change in our handwriting over time.
Fingering out your new font
Of pen scratch.
Scrawled.
Sprawling.
And my rhythm dictates a tempo for our saraband.
Shorthand.
You should always carry a handkerchief.
Cotton is fine. Print or naught.
It is not you that will use it
Anyhow.
So remove from that top drawer.
Overly ajar.
《》
A black rectangle
Framed in an indigo field. Ræching.
《》
What do we know of destruction?
Or why the paper need be canary.
Elongation in enunciation is
A mispronunciation.
Two blankets for the two ankles outside
Tonight.
Headed stones of fuzzy beasts
Sette
Atop footed cherrywood.
Vascular knotted circuitry
(<subterranean>)
A slip of the hips,
a flick of fingers.
Full affront of the suites
Merely one of a sort of resorts available
To your privy.
The pluck of pages.
Should they dissuade?
Is it prey to the præter-?
They said some really mean things about some really mean people. What do you suppose that means?
Felled and befell.
Sometimes it is hard to tell an l from I from a 1.
But no one ever mentions this.
A notice noticed. Even if misunderstood.
I drank the coffee to stay
Sharp in my sleep.
I sleep with a steno
Padded
Petrified enfossil.
A sordid seizure of a hardened fruit pit.
Dishollowed.
Where countenance meets disposition.
Heavy like
Wet denim.
![Harlot to Freedom [disambiguation]](https://writtencasey.blog/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/170626_r30182.jpg?w=767)
WrittenCasey 