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]

My Time Serving, Waiting, & Pouring

I worked as a part-time waitress, from age 18 until age 18.  I performed terribly.  Back then, in Alabama, servers made $2.13 + tips.

One week my manager approached me, with pen and red binder.

“Sign here, to confirm for our tax records that you did, in fact, make at least the minimum wage. You did not declare enough of your cash tips.”

“Um, but I did not make at least minimum wage, I made less.”

“Yep, you are not good at this.”

He was correct.


Sometime later, after losing the urge to continue to pursue Academia, I worked full-time for a locally-owned, Tavern-style restaurant as a server and cocktail waitress.  Not fine dining, but cloth napkins, gas burning lanterns. Upscale. The owners also owned a popular bar in the swanky part of Southside, Birmingham (The Five Points area, to be specific) where I poured occasionally.  Note: Servers still only make $2.13 an hour + tips in Alabama (and many other American states).  They really do work for themselves and you.

I loved my work.  I took the time to learn the restaurant/service craft: Learning the menu, how to talk to people and make suggestions.  The art of booze and talking booze.  Maintaining equilibrium for the dinner rush / bar push for about three intense, crazy, physical hours, only to then slowly break down the establishment into a clean, organized place. The next morning, you would build it up, try to keep equillibrium, tear it down.

Taking your work home usually meant alcohol, delicious food, or another server.  There was no huge deadline for the FOH staff, just closing time and the clean up.


All humans should really spend at least three months of their life as a server/waiter.  Everyone. If you get hissy or huffy about the service you receive when dining out, consider the following.


Today, I pulled an old journal and found the remarks below. Enjoy

EDR = extended dining room

AOA = auditory order acknowledged

Alabama Medium = Medium Well

FOH = front of house (what and who you see as the diner)

86 = something the restaurant has on menu but does not have currently.

68 = when something that was 86’ed becomes available to diners again.

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Conversations Had On a Daily Basis

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Stuff Said to Me: That Pissed Me Off Enough To Scrawl

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Some Stuff I Thought Worth Telling the Good People

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[Title Here]

Being bereft of aberration is abhorrent,

In itself.

I am the whence of a will.

Wilt do.

Wilted

Camællias suddenly come into ripe blossom

Bloom.

I danced in blue light at least an hour that night.

I stumbled between songs.

I slip but don’t fall.

Felled the tree before the hanged.

And a fool found herself upside down,

A head full of clouds and reservoirs of water.

Camel-ist.

Hiding eyes

Laughter.

In the dark, a cardinal dances on his branch.

Like a Stellar’s Jay.

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?

Too knight

Musicality of a whirling fan.

Lyricality of a faucet running.

Night songs.

Lullaby white noise.

A single dog bark.

An æon in a cat’s eye’s

Blinkin’

Winken & Nod

Set out one knight.

By only the light of three moons.

Pyres burning into the misty lake night.

Wooden ships of exposure espied from a tower.

Bring your three medallions.

Spring Haunches

Leopard Branch grows a summer coat of kudzu,

Not yet claustrophobic

It will not be humid enough.

Not like in Bamaland.

His legs drape mossy of either side of the foreside.

Hips rested just so.

Tail winding round the trunk of his supportive tree.

Head resting.

Possibly but not necessarily asleep.