Tag: Writing

Background Research on the Parz/sifal (original Perceval) mythos

 

The story of Parzifal crossed my path while reading a Sufi meditation manual. It stated that Parzifal failed because of an incomplete mantle of light, leaving him exposed. He had gone it alone and did not have the band to back him up. And much like every new word, once uncovered, I see this mythos everywhere. So what up with that, huh? I did a little digging. Relax, more like playing in dirt. No one has to do real work here!

Within the mythos the following name variations exist

Percival-Knight of the Round Table in the King Arthur legend

Perceval-romance written by Chrétien de Troyes

Parzifal-romance retold by Wolfram von Eschenbach

 

Parsifal-Richard Wagner’s opera based on the written poems.

 

 

Parzifal is the retelling (ending included this time) of the unfinished romance of another, the Perceval of Chrétien de Troyes whose poem is the earliest extant narrative, known from its prologue as Li contes del graal or ‘The story of the Grail,’ though he claimed that his own patron Philip, Count of Flanders, had lent him its ‘book.’

Wolfram von Eschenbach is heralded as the Medieval German narrative poet. Not too much is known about his life aside from things like how long it was (b.1195 to 1225ish) and other ticky tacky information such as his being born into a Bavarian family of the lower nobility. Mystery and intrigue do appear: He may have served a Franconian lord but as a ministerialis or ‘unfree’ knight bound to serve a lord. Qua knight, he defended his honor anywhere and was also able to change patrons, as he ended up finding his main patron not in his hometown but in Thuringia with its many Mæcenas, like Hermann I. Knights ministerial were the main bearers of the great efflorescence of secular poetry in Germany. Poetry emancipated from clerical domination during the first half of the Hohenstauffen period.

“Many passages of the original have virtually no syntactical structure–Parzival is definately no book–and so the bare act of translation has inevitably tidied them up.”

Translator A.T. Hatto (org.1980; reprinted 2004). Parzifal. Penguin Books. London, England. Foreward p12

Born to Louis II Landgrave of Thuringia & Judith of Hohenstaufen, Hermann I was born into Ludovingian nobility. He welcomed societies of letters and Minnesänger to his castle, the Wartburg. From 1172 to 1211, the Wartburt (‘watchtower’) was the most important princes’ courts. Eschenbach, in 1203, wrote part of his Parzifal here.

Minnesang is German for “love song.” This tradition flourished during the period of medieval German literature starting 12th century continuing into the 14th.

Minnesänger (aka minnesingers) referred to people who wrote and performed Minnesang.

A single song was called a Minnelied. These names rooted from minne, the Middle High German word for ‘love,’ which was the Minnesang’s main topic. This reflected part of a larger movement occurring during the High Middle Ages which included the Provençal troubadours and northern French trovères: a written lyrical love poetry, concerned within the tradition of courtly love and chivalry, sometimes vulgar, funny, intellectual, formulaic, even metaphysical.

For the French trouvéres, ‘courtly love’ expressed erotic desire as well as spiritual attainment (and all the spaces between them). A love at once illicit and morally elevating; passionate and disciplined; humiliating and exalting; human and transcendent.

Eschenbach asserts he follows the one “Kyot the Provençal,” sender of the ‘true version,’ that supplied additional material drawn from Arabic and Angevin sources. Many scholars consider Kyot to be of Eschenbach’s imagination, thus part of the fictional narrative. This ignites a controversy. Should the remarks be taken at face value or was he speaking in the way of scholars initiating paradigmatic change: not impassioned against his predecessor as much as being ironically respectful of the ones who came before him, even if he essentially mocked them while recapitulating them to his audience.

German composer Richard Wagner loosely based his opera in three acts, Parsifal (WWW 111).

Wagner’s spelling of Parsifal instead of the the Parzifal he had used up to 1877 is informed by one of the theories about the name Percival, according to which it is of Persian origin, Fal Parsi meaning “pure fool.“

Unger, Max (1932-08-01). “The Persian Origins of ‘Parsifal’ and ‘Tristan'”. The Musical Times. 73 (1074): 703.
ISSN 0027-4666

 

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.

Shiny new Par/z/sifal Reasearch: dictionaried

The above is incorrect. Just my opinion, in light of the below.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What Writes Who?

Writing that is read will necessarily be personalized by the reader. It seems arguable that writers could also personalize what they write as coming from from them, when it might be coming through them. A radio does not create the music it amplifies. The radio is not the origin of the music it amplifies. The radio converts sound waves in the air into vibrations our ears perceive as music thanks to our ear drums.

Both writer and reader engage writing and written language through the process of meaning-making in the same way an individual exploits patterns s/he perceives to make sense of the external world. While we can speak of the transmission of info via written language as a technical and biological process (occuring systematically in brains), this is not the same as saying the reader or writer will have any awareness of their own mechanations of thought.

I am told electricity traces routes in my brain, firing bells and whistles that lead me to feel and think. When I have a thought or a thought occurs to me, I am not conscious of the biological nor the physical mechanics enabling or spawning that thought. My consciousness of the text I create enters once I’ve personalized it – made it relevant to myself? Just like a computer is not aware of it own processes and algorithms, so we could be too with our words?

Dream of a Dinner

My ex picked me up.
We picked his parents up. 4 people in a sedan.
I’m holding the pot of gumbo he made (it was good) on a towel on my lap in the front seat.
The lid is from another pot, and is too big.
The pot is filled high so I have to hold it just so as we drive to stop it from sloshing out.
He forgot the sourdough bread he bought.
He forgot to buy rice at all.
My parents had both on hand.

This Night Tonight

Inscenced not indignant.

Indignity nonetheless.

Bemused not befuddled.

Bespoke not beholden.

Beloved not betrothed.

Vouchsafed by dint of condescension.

I am howling.

Interference for interference sake.

It’s raining, so I bought three pens for two dollars and ninety nine cents before tax.

What surprises Them about me, breaks my dummy heart.

I smile unconciously.

Caseface as Britt said back when we are all servers,

going home at night to the Isleland of Misfit toys.

And how my upper lift now curls upward.

trembling and pulsing up and down over white teeth.

A wolf’s mouth starting to growl.

Starting again to howl.

Fear? nah. maybe.

replete

the timbre was ash and cherry.

Cinnamon and cheesecloth.

Poetry is everywhere and we’re the only ones who can see it?

But then I read what I’ve written and its just word lists.

no pomp puffery, no pithy trick for the wolves playing sheep.

so I show it to you.

Why?

Cuz I’ve Written it regardless, despite, in spite of everyone and everything.

But, really, simply because you asked.

And I looked at you hard and cold.

the lip recovers my teeth.

my brow unfurrows.

infinitely written meets unwriteable.

effing idiots will never get it, will they?

Isn’t that wild?

A Pretty Beautiful Poem

Conviviality: C17 from Latin convivialis “a feast”

“fit for a feast”

(of an atmosphere or event) friendly, lively, enjoyable

potential. hy/Poten/use

potentiate

potent. pot. Portia (circa Antigone)

portent (n) ; portend (vb)

– portentious

port

porter

Deceit…. disgust

Conceit…. disguise. (dis/g -)

Receipt… despise

(- cei/P/t)

DISAMBIGUATION

Pretext: ostensible reason (false) used to justify an action.

Pretense: act of pretending, false ambitions / claim

Pretend: imaginative same / fantasy

Pretension: claim of aspiration to something pretentious

Pretentious: attempting to impress with falsehood

Prevaricate: act or speak in an evasive way

Prima facie: (law) at first sight [ / site / cite]; accepted as so until proven otherwise

The Old English spelling of pretty = prættig, meaning

‘cunning or crafty’ coming as it did from a West Germanic base meaning

‘trick’.

By the Middle Ages, pretty had come to mean ‘clever, skilful, or ingenuious’.

The sense development [ deceitful, cunning, clever, skilful, admirable, pleasing, attractive ] has parallels in adjectives such as nice.

PRETTY

1. attractive in a delicate way, without being truly* (common) * beautiful. *author’s change*

2. used ironically to express displeasure: fairly ; trinket ; (used condescendingly) attractive person.

Pretty is to prevericate in order to increase Prestige?

A pretty face is a prentious face?

Pretty is pretension?

Beauty is.

Is being pretty pretentious? or prestigous?

The pretension of the face being ‘pretty’ was pretentious?

Pretty is prevarication to gain? [Prevaricate and procrastinate have similar but not identical meanings.

Prevaricate means ‘act or speak in an evasive way’.

Procrastinate, on the other hand, means ‘put off doing something’.

Prestigious.

A face being pretty is a pretension.

That’s beautiful, that is, Pretty!

PRESTIGE entered English in the mid 17th century (tricksy, cuz it means the 1600’s) from French, and ultimately derives from the Latin plural noun praestigiae ‘conjuring tricks’.

It took on its modern meaning in the 19th century (the 1800’s) by way of the sense ‘dazzling influence, glamo/u/r’, which at first [only] had a derogatory implication.

Aren’t we beautiful, Pretties?!

Extra Credit: speak the 17 words below aloud. Wild right? They kinda stopped making sense after a while. Lovesome.

Pretty ; Prettify ; Prettifies ; Prettifying

Prettified ; Prettification ; Prettifier ;

Prettier ; Prettiest ; Prettyish. . . . . Prettyboy.

Prettily ; Prettiness ; Prettyish ;

Pretties.

Prettied.

Prettying.

* Knock Knock…Orange… Orange you glad the other (stars) astericks didn’t make you scroll all the effing way down here? Hyuck.

I. All words cited from OED Concise (pic below-citations take forever)

II. All 17 “Pretty” derivations were taken from 3 dictionaries.

Still Life With Woodpecker. Tom Robbins. 1980

America is full of metaphysical outlaws.

Inessential insanities get one in trouble with oneself.

Essential insanities get one in trouble with others.

It’s always preferable to be in trouble with others.

In fact, it may be essential.

Tunnelvision is a disease in which perception is restricted by ignorance and distorted by vested interests. Tunnelvision is caused by an optic fungus that multiplies when the brain is less energetic than the ego.

Equality is not in regarding things similarly.

Equality is regarding things differently.

People who sacrifice beauty for efficiency get what they deserve.