Republicado

 Science of Lobber Verse

There are different kinds of lobbers. Flip lobbers and Lob Toppers who determine the outcome of wars.  George Lobber, CEO,  famous for shipping Drink Me Bottles offshore in fishing boats, was himself a gate grid Star. He financed Wonderland buses to deliver the next density in liner work.

 The Mome Rath Council on Foreign Relations, plus the Curious Oysters listen there for pings.  Lobbers made to demolish boundaries and constitutions and issue massive depopulation orders form the ultimate collective flash-mesh network where each mobile device is a mini cell tower connected to a single, central hub This dictates its own opposing force which results a third dictation in the chain. Lobbers themselves are spun to degrees in complication experiments. We all know dogs salivate at a bell, but Lobbers cut holes in their cheeks to measure it. Beginning with the Skinny Box Lobbers manipulated Positive and negative eidola shape the child.

Disease and cure, Watson genetic engineering forces synthesis on control groups.   Realschulen, volkschulen learn to obey and cut the holes to suppress the conscience of the illumined. Animals in puzzle boxes and children in air cribs are to expunge defects of individuality replaced by society. Induced infancy, and  controlled chaos operated on ground levels by  command psychiatrists make the society mass command psychosis. The aim is to expand production of group oriented personalities after destroying personal beliefs.

These are all psycho-patsiers. Reduction of the rear occipital of the left lobe ingests various substances, floride of tooth decay, aluminum, barium, slowly narcotizing areas of the brain to make them more submissive.

Completing the neutralization by cathartic expulsion of thought and feeling, narcohypnotic techniques exploit alterations of personality. It is a means of conditioning selected amnesia where the brain could not remember. No record of its past, what it was the day before, a kind of bulbocapnine induces stupor.

Additions to the water supply, spraying unknown gases were all early experiments in the  that patented controls before microwaves. Depatterning personality, psychic driving unperceived in entertainment induced new patterns of behavior. If opposed, the unlucky were cast out.

2. It was not stipulated then that this intelligence constructed underground bases beneath the Indian rez west to S-4, called Dreamland. The Trilateral Commission appointed

3. The future walks through the past and the present and leaves a trail. The past is all dressed up. The present is ghostly, airy with sightings of the future, but when the future arrives it gets dressed with what we think we know. Dress up the new, costume the old. We think we know and feel the present but then it’s gone. Forget it and memory too. Call it the present but by then it is past. Catch the future walking on the roof, a construct of decisions. Post date your losses to the next new year. It is a technicality of book keeping, a bow to Rome the way government counts time.

These transpositional landscapes masquerade as one another in forms of encryption. The Grand Canyon could be the immensity of space, coyote Lucifer, shapeshifters, changelings, the kingdom of iron-digital net and clay, or human mixed in the real and the fantastic, Probable and marvelous, spiritual worlds, ghosts, magicians, archetypal beasts, transworld salvation and damnation. On one hand we meet in them very ordinary modern people of our own day. I've almost decided not to have any human beings in this novel, said Charles Williams of his last novel.

 

--I went to Home Depot for a flusher nut, which was not singly there, but that said it’s what I need, but’s it’s in a pack. The rep come up, takes it out and gives it to me: happy birthday he says.

 

Why can't a person just live without these thoughts that literature is the sop in the mouth of a giant pig that pops up its contents ready to be consumed. How many workie studes think it is a real system of reward for excellence. It’s a reward for conformity to ensure the control of them all. Tell what you’re told. Just make sure you find out that the bottom of a river is a very unventilated room (Tate). Then you will Yale and have a career which means you are a slave. Ersatz Hawthorne, Emerson, Whathimna they stole from shamans. Merrill stole from weggee boards. Crane stole from perveseion and self immolation.  Eliot from Bergson. Even Winslow Homer’s waves play in the rigging like pirates. Why not piratize them too. Literature is a sop of a giant pig. Politics a game of cockroachers. What loathing Faulkner has for his own people and land which caused miscarriages, people misshapen, ominous as himself and what ill begotten he bodes. Popeye books a gun, Scarlet Letter is a horror visited upon the darkness in the writer, like a blanket. I pull the wool off his eyes of semphore and privilege. The wool was worn. The military  was worn, the legality, the right was worn. The same light verses he knew were used to enslave, except the military had its own light, politics, and politics had its own gods. He worn his pants inside out to write that, his stomach rumbling from eating eight grapes. That is the short of saying he had found the fate of success in the world was rigged.

Simulacrum never quite conceals the truth—it is the truth which conceals. Among islanders the tales are much the same, that the branches of civilization ate like fobs thrown to a hog to fatten for the feast. That explains all the boasting and grunting, i.e.. politics and war. its main branches. Southlanders call politics a game of cockroachers to describe the many branches and layers of intrigue, but only war describes the ultimate sacrifices of life over and over pointlessly for no reason, then a year of peace than more war. Jimmy Crist became a frogman but graduated to Sargent in the forces to take K2 in the Korean winter and came home to boast it, lauded by the whole town until the next went off to fight. These many branches are fested yearly at banquets like the Tystes and the Zeus with beheadings  and pallor told in the tale.  We will bet too there is one hitch in the Island characters of giant huge bulking beasts of the female who lurch from the starts in the end but in the beginning are made out two neighbors who come over to sit upon the berm. Pagan tales are that wary. They pretend great horrors warapped up in the ordinary. This is no Goldfarb family then, but a family of the gods themselves that rule the cosmos. If the blood and such bores you that is the stuff of myth deconstructed. Left in the natural it is nasty enough, but seen from above and not below, suffers symbol, which is  so open to interpretation we preter its cousin allegory, as if there were some point to it all, that being to wake the reader up to his predicament among the fobs of civilization to these giants. Wake them up to do what? It never quite says what the purpose of myth is. That ‘s why we bite off a lesser branch than politics and war here in and take up their handmaid, literature, the sop of this great pig eaten by an old sow. The old sow that eats the pig in a universe of consumption, creating and destroying, might be entropy or black hold or quark, but call it chaos that sees to undo even the evil that it did. This is all the pagans got until their endammerung, which fractal production is evident in Breughels fish coming oout of the mouth of another fish, but here it’s pigs going into the mouth of other pigs, reversing the motion of the fractal, consumpokng them all, which is what pigs are best at, consumpoking, which takes us back to the fattening up for market and slaughter and war, the gigging and the pudding, the smoking in the old tale we start with, being the Dame with it’s own set of vectors and references which we soon enough become familiar with. So having said, on with the tale of giants eaten by the gods.

 

As prime minister I first got ahold of  Lobber Verse wrestling against seemingly impaired, partly deformed people, men/not men, disposing of them quickly, which attracted two of their superiors in blue, who watched from above. They sent one of these to oppose me, and then another. While dispatching him he seemed absolutely free of emotion, like a robot or clone. I dumped him further down the gully, wondering whether there were more when I woke. The first thing I've got to do, I thought, is find out who I am.

We really need to get a glossary up to know what Realschulen is, and the Futterwacken boats off shore, the Queen of Hearts unseen in air.Tilt-a-Whirls spinning past in different directions at variable speeds are easiest to discern. Apposite this Queen, the audiant audire who owns the Denver Airport, where most of Wonderland rules, three sets of forces occupy the exchange: genetic commodities, sub-sets between, and the Wonderland Exchange.

 

Thirty kinds of hyperdrive harmonics in crystal hats produced earth changes.  Other senses drove uncoded in the day. Wise Men followed the mechanics of exchange to entrain water, broadcast electronics in the air to engineer lobber conflicts

The Literature of Truly Illuis Snowbelt Career of Frey and Frigg, Frieda and Freitag

Iceland gods and giants on vacation in the west are reincarnation of the Iceland gods. You’d think they’d melt. They don’t evern get damp. I can not explain the physiology of ice flesh anyway, or reincarnation. Gods of course may do this over and over until they long for an honest death, which they will get, just not in time. I was rusty on my Iceland gods so went to the sagas I used to read in the winters on the cold rainy wey stone flats outside town where the dirt was one inch deep on th top the limestone slabs that looked so like whale backs you had to watch where you stepped to avoid the blowhole. The blow hole is a Hopi place where the wind blows up through a hole in the earth after long miles of caverns cool and ice cream in summer, so the whale backs swim in a deeper seas there. The low whistling rush of air is like the flute of the openings Chuang Tzu played from his hideouts under bridges in the bandit years. I always liked those sounds of the openings, especially the breath of praise. But anyway the gods are much the same in their palaces. Waters tells their masks, the dances, their races from the peaks to bring water to the parched lands in the desert, but in Iceland the mists hang low over the glaciers and we don’t go too far afield less we mean the giant Gunnar chainsaw Hansen guy, gentle Texas for all that. I guess that’s why the whole island is completely vaxxed, to drive off the wards and these outlaws. A lot of this and more must be be behind the move west, the extrano environment like Mars compared to Iceland, or Norway where these beings take their rest. Smues in any rate it was at that time these giants were seen living at the bottom of Grand Canyon. And don’t trouble whether giants or gods, much the same from our view, but of course the gods are eating the giants as the giants are eating the rest. The fractal creation emerging from itself over and over, propagating like a fish coming out of the mouth of another fish to infinititude is not the case here, but reversed. Here creation consumes itself, rather is overtaken from behind by. The tree is swallowed by the man swallowed by the giants by the god, and there are all sorts of variants of this in body sacrifice to giant power by the men but the principle is the same, not life but entropy and death.  These gods appear differently in times and place. In old Iceland, Third Mesa we see them more traditional, but over the major capital cities, especially of the Potomac they appear as human bodies stretched up and down and across the sky. What else though? Giants and gods are not creative sorts any more that are fractcal fish, for creation is not a machine repetition of itself, just the opposite, each being unique beyond the age of the universe. These god bodies look like pedestals  and above they stretch balloons  like body parts up into ths ky, which ordinarly only the blind can see, blind because they can’t see the original bauty of life but only this ugliness.

Sop, pig or sow are applied symbols of applied evil, the essense is pure symbol of some spiritual pyramid of false alteration always changing to deceive, esp. its name, the way a woman sitting in the midst of an ephad of lead, is wickedness throw back into the weight of the ephah and sealed with the lead on its mouth, collapsed into the metal and transported by two women with wings like storks to the land of Shinar and set upon its own base—outside the holy city My Borgs adore you human dyads linked up to machine. Many on the waiting list received oxides under old grants. Encephalics breed far more imprints than they can use. Einstein was reassembled, all those autopsied divisions were false. Whole brains  in the underground had so deeply infected de Garis he couldn’t sleep. He stayed up late and talked to the heads. Consciences were swollen with predictions of the coming Third War where
Epic shrines turned men to pigs and sins of gold served up Tystes and Saturn and so many gods, to have behavior exactly where the thigh beam ends at the haunch’s curve.

 
The palaces of our imprisonment were on the news. Lightning flashes from both sides of the brain detached the vitreous. The head detached-severed brain that minds think under control. Microheads call it dystopic to believe people would be needed. How else invite Colonization with the mouth of Presidents? Nobody has figured it out, but do not close the ears. To Hapax legomenon, rare rhymes, harsh hounds, counterfeited cow, Pasiphae hides in the cow. Tax cow Labyrinths inescapable corridors, string the meandering passageways. One thing sure these creatures must die, a man with bulls head, a bull with a mans head 169 a semivirumque  bovem, myth and demons, biform monsters, topple Masses over which one descends to lower hell, image of a beast beseark, appropriate the classical soruces to their own,  and so “we made our way across that heap/of stones, which oftern moved beneath my feet/because my weight was somewhat strange for them ( on this moon). Dante moves what he touches because he is the only living person in hell. Virgil says “that other time/that I descended into lower Hell, /this mass of boulders had not yet collapsed  34-6. That was just before Christ’s descent. His walk changes the rabble world, his thought. So the myths change because their supports crumble from the moment of Christ’s death. 170-1 “Empedocles: “ all the elements of the universe fire, sir, water, earth, formerly eld apart by discord were fused by love, recreating the original Chaos. At that time “these ancient boulders toppled, in this way  xii, 45. “all the bridges passing to the further ditches or pouches are revealed to have been destroyed by this same earthquake. Achilleid of Statius.

Men overwhelmed by shock and awe of their gold gods in the formal world religions are as subservient as the primitive. Blood rites top to bottom. War is an invention of the gods. The fact of death is different from the agencies of death, war and the study of war inculcated into earth by supernatural interference. In the Death of Cuchulain at the end of Last Poems Yeats in his resistance confronts these agencies even though he seems compromised with the Titans and the gods. To fight against the divine is paramount in Aeschylus. Aliens turn this as if it were fighting against (the true) God, but this is alien equivocation. In the fight against Saturn, the Titans and all Olympus, men were powerless to effect change even if they resisted to the death like Sisyphus, Prometheus. The recast of this man into a demi-god himself to undermine the man and turn him into a god means he has become his own enemy, has ceased to resist and is completely enslaved. "To those who really believe in a Supreme Being the occurrence of supernatural interference, causing physical convulsions and changes, presents no difficulty, especially in connection with a world the moral condition of which is evidently out of course ages before the creation of our race" (Pember, Earth's Earliest Ages. Preface). Aeschylus, Dante, Yeats lead to wondering how the human fights against the divine, the divine being the fallen, since it has always existed and must have been resisted or influenced long since

The Blue.:.

 

and the illustrator William Joyce, Tim Biskup, marion Peck, Jeff Soto, Pervasive art: Cult-status street artists like Banksy, new wave comics illustrators like (here) Gary Panter,  (dante, Japanese pop artists, post-punk and hip hop artists, and iconic graphic artists like Shepard Fairey all contribute to a highly visible aesthetic that is virtually ubiquitous in contemporary culture.

 

10/16/17 what you need to know about fermilad and the antimatter agenda Woodward TV

—what you need to know about hydrogen peroxide

--while walking in the vales of arcady this morn I say three kids all about 1-2, the first a boy with a square face who looked steadfastly at me, a girl with a narrower face and a boy again with a narrower face, each gave long gazes.

 

There were of course more than three deaths in this underworld. The first was when they took a head from its past and all association and harnessed it up. Bosses on the lookout for more heads sorted these by vocation. Philosopher Wisensteins, Wittgenstein’s head, pontoons of Huxleys, Aldous, Thomas, and Russell went down with McKenna. Oxytocin robot ethics, and LIDAR against fear.. Etherized on a table, we heard him mumbling among our heads:

 represents all economic exploitation, the cement gallery

Guapa in Brussels, playful, devious and cleverly named creatures, Baseman, Yoshitomo Nara, Takashi Murakami, Of course the sop is more than the literature and the pig is more than the world, but that’s enough of Jaime Bosch. --pops Heladeria, Barbie Pink Pop, once the cap The Octopus Eats Its Own Leg. “jolted out of nightmare I see lithium, spraying mood stabilizing, bipolar mania, fine tremor, nausea,  hyperthyroid weight gain. I see Dante leave the malebolge toward the pit. Tuft by tuft in a century or so the hands of giant Nimrod. Blow a horn, other giants chained Abimilech, superior to Mordred, Italians frozen in cracks. It shake me. I don’t….”You nitpickers call in doubt what you don’t even know, that aircraft carriers were sent in that first attempt to colonize Neptune.

 

 

Xxxiv:”Hell formed following the fall of Lucifer, when the infernal chasm opened right below the point whee Christ was crucifed on Golgotha.” “Lucifer composite of many disconnected parts, his immobility and his grotesque…giant with 6 great wings… negative transcendaence…turning upside down at the center of the univ the topsy world of nT from which Satean seems right side up in hell, but head down from heaven from which he fell. Perspective incongruity lucifer is flight o stairs, but silence.  “If God is the World, Lucifer is nonspeech, the non word. In classics hades and Dis without a monstrous aspect were giants.Visions of Tnugdali: giant lucifer and beast by name of Acherons. V: The covetous must enter the gaping maw of Acheron to be tormented with fire and ice. There is ..... Visio Tnugdali: The Vision of Tundale.

 

6/24/18 trees with 8 mil diameter in Madasgar

We have reached the place  in his dream where Lockerbie stands beside a baby in a carriage. Wenn es vorkommen kann. Illuminations unthinkable, authorizing at one and the same time the outbound postulate that . “Chaos resists where most I suffered.” These takes on the 600 billion invisible beings vary among observers. I am trying to give a record to myself of what I have encountered as meaningful. The honest unconscious felt in Dante, Goya, Gehry, not to deny it in Bosch. Michelangelo is not honest.

Your mission is to find it out like Jacobo. Think not. Remember not.  Consider the archeologist who says Jacob seeing Rebekah watering ten camels in the desert is equivalent to saying the Middle Ages used semitrailers.

All Tartary power stations, small and large, had pipe organs to harmonize and heal the population through sound waves, what is now known as "cymatics”. arch openings, columns, domes and towers, in addition to details such as rose windows and muqarnas, symbols of the vibration of electromagnetic energy, which acts on molecules and changes the behavior of cells

literature is the sop of a giant pig eaten by an old sow

 

Why Vandalism domain for sale

 This was a Nov '07 Why Vandalism look at Godzilla, anime, poky mon, Harry Potter, Warrior Cats, etc. calling it ESL as a generic name: English as a Second language.

ESL once
lined metropolis,
blasted eight feet off the ground.
Acrobatic block-long wigglers
like engravings covered freeways, signs.
Then it disappeared. What happened?
Civilization waxing? Democracy made safe?
City Sandblast and Paint
fell vacant.
The writing
was extinct.
Triumph’s come, they boasted, but mind forged, engraved in walls,
it penetrated down to bone in invisibly soul-marred boys.
You could
imagine the original,
but the outside now
was gone.
How did the writing
off the wall
get down
into the bone?
Sure there’s time
Before the blood-brain
barrier bursts,
ESL is syntax,
not just verse,
it’s hieroglyphs
like Mayan.
People glad
Johnny readin’,
sure, that’s a good sign.
But we needs some cats to sandblast Johnny’s mind.

 

Johnny’s
a palimpsest,
that’s where the writing went
in eye and ear in hypertext,
it don’t mean Johnny’s reading
when he’s read to death.
Deliberate beneath
the “paint,”
and look in
Johnny’s
head.
That’s what
Saint Blake did.
He said these days a net would cover mind,
called a Promethean to break the chain, the world wide web.
Don’t put him on the side of Microsoft.
He left his will engraved.

Letter to Jacob

Dear Jacob Reiff XIV,

Here is an account of some entries in this anthology published and edited by a DACA dreamer getting her doctorate in   Switzerland at the  European Graduate School, but who is from New Mexico. This is the seventh entry, two a year from the start, discovered this last year with the first, but in this issue with four, if you count the three anonymous pseudonyms invented to pass muster. Poets and artists may be considered unethical in getting their work out any way they can. I began to invent theses personas from continual observations form editors about the extreme variation in works submitted to them, were they Christian, sometimes of faith, (True Light included for contrast) or radical, so to allow the difference Rubino del Sur, after Ruben Dario , poet of Nicaragua, who I first read in Spanish there, who became a mouthpiece for sometime rantings against war, Fukishima, Republicans and Democrats, but lately taken more mythological stances from a vantage point of Antarctica where he ended up and still resides as a dentist, boding his time perhaps for the revelations and discoveries to emerge. After Rubino came Augusto Todoele, whose name of course after the first translation of the name Reiff in the English Bible in the Lindisfarne version of Luke about the plunderer. He too has gotten some publication, but of a more scholarly sort and of Biblical and Reformist concerns. In the current entry here he has gotten into crypto science and paleo-biology. A new entry to the forum, Chas Erb @ chickenlittle.org in Houston,  is a full blown Alice in Wonderland radical of the many predominant conspiracies that plague Facebook. That the DACA editor entertains these varieties does not mean she has not passed on others, who did not pass muster in Vol. 7.  Jon Roussseau and Sjon Larsson whose piece on Quarantine may turn up…. Of course another compelling reason for these voices emerged from the growing censorship imposed by editors on subject matter they once allowed. It is as if the whole point of view of what is allowable art overturned in a five year period, call it a Trump effect. So now there is a major segment of self congratulatory position taking by these organs against the typical for the new designated subjects widely held in media. That only leaves the piece under my own name here, Morning Star, which I want to characterize the best of writings for its empathy and involvement of others in the life of its account. This is an account of the middle of a  trip Aunt Pat and I took to Oregon 50 years ago at and before the birth of another aunt of yours you have never met, Laura, once of New Orleans. All of the people in your extended life lead interesting and provocative lives worth knowing.

If you ask why this fiction is written this way it is because the usual subjects of personal experience end up better in poetry, leaving fiction a wide ranging matter, as it was in Swift or Melville for example of myriads of myth ends sewn together. Black Holes esp. does this as a kind of factovi of Antarctica, journalism of speculation, current in our times, often called conspiracy theory, at least until it is exposed as real. Of these retold myths I don’t exactly take advocacy of points of view so much as play them ironically upon each other, so all the shibboleths of the intellect thought sacrosanct are fair game, esp. from psychology and science which are joined in a new religion among the self enlightened into a myth of uber man, as you may know. Depending on the kind of engineering you pursue there are many artifacts  need explaining. The challenge of engineering these frauds in the Otherwise was to make different styles so the editor both would accept for publication and not catch on to the single authorship. Many editors these days do extensive searches to see if works are plagiarized or pre-published on blogs before they will accept them. I guess there is a lot of dishonest fraud going around. These are honest frauds in that they are all original writings on scientific religious subjects that either have not been aired or to wait for single authorhip would take years, but we do not have years, merely days as it were things are moving so fast, spacex satellites are well on their way to circle the earth.

 I make this effort here only because it is your birth rite that cannot be denied. You belong to a much wider circle of genome than you may  be aware, among people of all walks of life, with a history that extends directly to you from a past in Philadelphia documented from at least 1717. In 1726, the year Gulliver’s Travels appeared, your ancestor, also named Jacob, traveled back to Europe to bring more family here. I’m saying you have a passage on that same trip, which I tried to indicate to you the last time I saw you, years ago, at a birthday party, when I gave you the trunk c. 1880, of Jacob L Reiff, your great, great, grand.

Summer of 67

 We ended up at 1800 R St because they would allow dogs of which we had a very long and aggressive winter dog from Iowa befriended with a piece of roast beef in previous winters. Friendly was his name. We would walk him to Dupont Circle nights after the day, she at NASA me at the Folger, riding up and down in the elevator, from the 6th fl. among the colorful transvestites there, who must have been ashamed to ride in the same elevator as my wife who was statuesque at 5' 10" and noble and  beautiful without anything to change her. So Friendly came with us everywhere. He had been to New England the previous summer when we drove the coast from Philly to Maine, eating Portuguese bread and staying in resorts cheap for the off season, but that was before I had learned the know now about transcendent peripherals  so my stories were prosaic with slights of irony. After we came back to Philly in Nov 66 we soon heard of the apps to teach at FSC starting in Jan 67 where we went late Dec to get a place, but couldn't get one in that part of town, too white for that, so had to live a little away on Mcgilvery St. Walking those nights in Fayetteville on Fri and Sat night we learned not to do from all the drunk boots raving on the ground. One kept following us, pestering my wife over and over until, remember, I'm an athlete and also can be sudden, I was literally in the next step going to knee him in the balls and kill him, which would not have been good because of all the soldiers around, when he must have sensed it in his stupor and broke off.  I played some tennis there too, with Charlie Brown Asst to the Pres. and became his friend, played in the city against a guy who took lessons from a pro with a serve and volley game and had some fun matches. At the end though I arranged him to play on the hard courts at the college, to an audience of my students and crushed him badly. He was white. Many of the students then had not known a caucasoid, as the Dean Malvin E Moore called us, and were welcomed at the first registration esp. by Archie and Wesley who called themselves Home and Rome. We made so much money with two salaries at 6500 each that I bought a white MGB that could run good. We used it to tow the NSU Prinz I bought stupidly in Iowa after its seals blew out and the repair showed a used piston in a new car. So we towed it at night, without plates, to the bank in Iowa city and gave it back. That was a placid time compared to later, although they made my wife teach accounting, which she hated. It was drug free, open, enthused, not like the next year after they hired 5 more caucasoids and got Marxists, hashists, loonies, etc. and then revolution. But for the summer of 67' Dr. Moore rec'd apps for jobs in DC for faculty to work for NASA, so we applied for fun and then went, me to digest a room full of contracts for the previous 10 years, my wife to something I forget, but i had no idea and quit in a week, walked over to the Folger to see if  I could read and, this is the way of that time, not privilege, but something. I got admitted on the spot for the summer without prior app because I knew Rhodes Dunlap's name. [pic of choclate covered hunky bar] It''s audacity. I walked on at he Writer's workshop by passing a sheaf of poems to Starbuck and getting a note, drew Justice with the lot! I walked on at the LAM on a moment some years before. All this because "my soul boasts in the Lord' as the psalm says, o/w not of this had happened and I had been untutored, for that had been a walk on too, or a walk up the sawdust aisle of a tent under the prickling affronts of the Holy Spirit and knelt in the back when OH! My soul does rejoice in you Lord let the afflicted hear and rejoice. Easily the most powerful experience I have ever known and one that radiates the joints and marrow.

So I had a desk and a pipe and read Marprelate tracts and grammars, sat across form Thomas Mish of 17th cent porn fame, who downed Sterge O'Dell at my undergrad for softness, but he got to wear the scarlet gown and got us into Iowa in the first place. I became a bouncing humanist at the Folger at lunch with Gerogetownites and Roy Flannigan of the Milton news letter. There was a blonde in her 20's from Harvard reading the alchemists there. There were clay tennis courts in front of the capitol then where we went for fun to walk and watch, but one night was asked by a congress rep to play him, so I took off my shoes and played a set in my socks. He was most frutstrated when I beat him at 3. I had played my last year, and had taken the 6th man of Iowa to  4 and 5 in a loss, with no prep. His coach  congratulated me on the loss. At the Circle nights there were congo drums pounding and people milling. Leaning up against the fountain a guy asked me if I knew where he could get some lettuce.  Another narc, narcs galore. But when we walked Friendly back and forth people would cross the street to avoid passing him. After we moved to the Texas hill country outside town the first night we left him out to prove himself. Five dogs of the landlord came for him and he left two on the ground and the others ran. Next day they brought the big dog a German shepherd husky mix magnificent, Charley Brown, and Friendly and he met halfway between the houses, maybe 200 ft. and circled each other sniffing and that was it. Friendly was a third his size but had a big mojo of respect. Charley was kept in a pen on a rope on a wire and some time later, trying to jump the fence hung himself. Friendly would roam, being whole. In Iowa he would be gone for days, sighted miles away, but here one day he never returned. I saw him dead in the back of a rancher's pickup in a dream. We took up then with another dog Scorpio, named for the heavens an emaciated thing with a mashed foot the other neighbor starved until he got so thin he slipped his collar. He stayed for  a year until the guy saw him and took him back. Scorpio jumped up on him in welcome, then back to the cage. We had Fox, a border collie too, a fine dog who went swimming with us at Lake Travis, laying on the rocks swimming in clean water. He took off for better climes. When we got back to FSC in fall an influx of northern scholarship B ballers from Bed Sty and others from Newark and DC enrolled and began the black rev for real. They took my lit class and wrote the assigned paper on writing their own Notes from the Underground. Most of them got A and the ladies of the Dept thought I was trouble, and showed it. When the time came in few months and they took over the Admin Bldg it was just a moment before grad and most of the caucasoids were let go, which saved us from going with the hashishim to Germany, which my gut opposed. Saved by hemorrhoids I convalesced in Philly, she went to art school and we went to Texas because the app was free.

Inner Speech of a Lion

 Inner Speech of a Lion

Wit has to ask what relation of sea and land exists in a proposition where a lion would speak or a dog feel and whether a rose has teeth (or teech, and if you change beach to teach, why not change two more letters and have teeth teach too?)  Where would they be, in the heart of the petals? The sea and land without record, without writing, without teeth  ephemerate into nothing, for that rose has thorns (and they are its teech, its teeth its speech) like a tree has bark in that world where leaves cover its trunk. We can reverse these teech-teeth nicely into mouse singers singing operas and dogs undertaking investigations of being. To pretend a dog or a mouse is like a man whose [thinking goes on within his consciousness in seclusion] when there is no one to [read the silent internal discourse of others], <222> how could they if they cannot read themselves. A man is a book or a land without reference to [a game of guessing thoughts] but if I say that [what is internal is hidden from us] like [the future is hidden from us] it is no wonder we have not discovered our land from which we observe the sea, for Miss Bentley still does not know what she wants to be and thinks it OK. But the future is not hidden from us, it is the past and in the same way that if [a lion could talk we could not understand him] it is not the talk of the lion past we seek but its thought, for even if it doesn’t talk it thinks, and that inner speech of the lion is our concern. We cannot guess from its face or its eyes of  brightness and intelligence, just as a man enslaved whose eyes show such servility, while he waits his change, his chance to freedom, his inner speech, inner intent is freedom, but we don’t have to read either the lion or the man to know his nature is to eat and be free.

In all this back and forth Wit continues to ask what it’s like to feel another’s pain and how it is certain to know [that this man is in pain] which is not ask our reading of thoughts, which have many shades and color and are never just one thing but one thing doubted, then inverted, then smelled and weighted so that the thought, [the height of Mount Blanc depends on how one climbs it] is a belief tone, a color of thought, inner speech calculation, for the language no one speaks is a math of the mind that examines  whether [a dog can be a hypocrite] transferring to the dog the inner speech of the man who is a hypocrite for his thousand thoughts unspoken, and how and whether any one of those thoughts emerges in  action is remote to his knowing, for his impulse is his action and that is no inner speech at all. So if he has  a dog [a dog cannot either be a hypocrite or sincere] it is only by his transference that he says this, for the dog is never anything but sincere and cannot hide his inner speech when it comes to the man. The dog will always show his affection, or not, to the man, but a dog is a hypocrite to his food. We know that from  the sneaking crusts of bread out of the trash or the holes in bags of feed on the porch gnawed a little at the margin like there were root rats but we know the cause, and we say all this to say at the end that the concept of learning the past is revealed in the remembering of it and what it feels like to remember is a first awareness of the land you stand on before the sea of thought where the past is all the land there is to stand on. That ending/beginning in the past and in memory enables the man to stand and see and think. Like any sentient being, the dog, the lion awaits in anticipation of every moment that he hopes and waits in faith to come, so the past is hope too and memory. And that is Part Two.

A Stone

We go backwards to know ourselves, for we wake and find we have been standing there a long time and the waves have made no impression washing up on us and going out and conducting their own lives with turtles and urchin and seaweed and driftwood that comes and goes in the tide. The question is not how do I know my image, but how do I remember it. This is not about the image of the imagination, the colors of red as a picture, conflating the image in my head with the land and its memory, that with the past enables us to ask [Could one imagine a stone’s having consciousness?]. Is a stone conscious like a lion or a man, or anyone who has thought about the stone as a lima bean of consciousness, but has no way to express it, no voice, no arms, no legs, no eyes, no ear, no skin, no teeth, but a mind thinking in the bean just the same as in the stone? Ipso facto, said this way, if I imagine [that each of the people whom I see in the street are in frightful pain but concealing it] and the waves and the sand and the sea and the mind of the land conceal inner speech that [the soul is in pain but what has that to do with the body?], feeling pain is like feeling memory the first time, waking on the shore to the wind and salt concealed all this time, now shorn, the same way the man is shorn who is in pain, for imagine that I see they are in pain or rather I feel it before the words of inner speech become conscious. After the words I think that the man is in pain but concealing it. Shades and shadows of the dog-hypocrite for food, the man is an actor imagining himself whatever it be, hypocritely for saying, I saw an image but not in my eyes.

Where then the image of the pain, and where is the image of the world, of the sea, of the waves or the land if not in the eyes inverted into the mind? The image is in the feeling evoked by the image, the field of flowers in a field under a cliff in Blanco, a plight of immortal amarant calling. Do not ask if flowers are sincere, but do ask about the feeling the image gives, the flower hanging down, for the thought is the image, the imagination is the image whereby I do know whether I or anyone else is in pain. [Imagine people standing in a circle and among them one connected to an electric, and try to see which one has been shocked, for one has, except now I know it is myself  [123,] If I suppose [I can feel the shock even when someone else is electrified] I am connected with them and feel them, unless I am anaesthetized or paralysed the way the angels are who cease to remember themselves. If paralyzed what is the difference from that prior state where we stood on the shore but did not know it or the waves breaking, because knowing is every case for us, that is real knowing, which is feeling and feeling is remembering. The first time we feel a thing we do not know what it is but building up a pattern of memory we know and can say in our inner speech those very words, he is in pain, I am in pain, we are in pain. All because we feel.

An Ape

Nor can we account for all those not in pain or who say they are anyway, but ape their pain, or those who act as if there is an [unbridgeable gulf between consciousness and brain], for them consciousness is feeling, not thinking, which only comes after feeling and is abstracted to memory from which the ape asks whether it is conscious and feels pain, which is as if to ask if there are [witnesses that they have consciousness], how can there be witnesses to inner speech? These charades are species of automata [can I imagine that the people around me are automata, and lack consciousness……with fixed looks (as in a trance?)] <126>  When I admit that [while he was speaking I did not know what was going on in his head]  should I like to see into his head it is the same as with the pain of shocks in a circle. I cannot know his pain or his thought without connecting it to my own and my own thought and pain are memory of feelings cataloged in the past. Retrospectively without his pain and memory and my pain and memory I am a Robinson Crusoe of the mind and [it is as if I have imagined that the essential thing about a living man was the outward form] <128>. Outer form, inner speech, shared feeling, mutual pain, mutual thought, I knew what he was thinking and I said it, my stone, my block of wood.

A Mind-Ear

The possibility that there could be human beings unattached to their words, to whom speech is an alien is the case. And everything is the case. What would it be like for a human being to never find a word on the tip of their tongue however is not the case, for they always do find the word that they then speak. This is a measure of what they hear. The tip of the tongue is thus the ear and the ear is thus the mind, for they hear the word in their mind as something inchoate, vague, a glimmer now in the eye, the mind’s eye. So in mind-ear or eye they say it’s on the tip of the tongue. I just can’t think of the word but it will come.

But what is hearing, seeing, thinking, speaking, imagining?  What is the silent internal speech that saying inwardly or singing inwardly but read silently is to be learned? The learning is in the listening to that hearing that is no voice. Voice had to be invented for thought, prethought and afterthought to emerge. All you have to do is speak, but speaking evaporates in air, but to write, the writing is engraved. Thus transcribed thought can be heard and seen as many times removed from the tip of the tongue, for what anyone says to himself within himself is hidden from me. This not knowing is not as strange as the desire to know what another is thinking to himself on the tip of the tongue when we do even not know ourself what we are thinking to ourself.

Our thoughts come in waves of particulars and themes over and over like the sea rolling up and falling back. They always have and always will but it is as though we never knew we stood on the beach (the teach, just change the initial letter) and hear them, smell them, feel them. What even if the beach is our thought within ourself as waves, who am I otherwise as land and if my soul anyway is not of the land but of the sea?  Hold on to that land, it is the point of departure that grew slowly in mind and took permanence as the ID as much permance as it has to, and the longer the life land exists the more wonder it holds in its memory of itself. There on the shore is its history, for the place is its face, the place is its land on which its feet stand and watch the waves roll in. And that is how I know I am alive.

Mandela Effect. Lion and the Lamb

 ”Fight then with us, thou faithful soul, and lead all thy relatives forth into the same battle, and suffer no strange trumpet of a price operating through fame in the air, to separate our united phalanx under the banner of the Lion and the Lamb. Kelpius, Diarium, 1917, 30.