I am not worried. I am not overly concerned.

The rock paper scissor gods get their way in taking turns at playing umpire. A great equalizer of a game, however, you must adhere to the rules.

At times it seems obvious what they are betting + whose side is whose. The cliché of a sword in hand forms the gaming board in the sky. The fickle hook swerves, as the blade’s edge points downward directing the luck we tremble to witness. Every province is in the queuing w/ a future moment to be reckoned w/. 

Them, us, Chad + all of the Stan countries. 
No one has been missed. No one will be excused.

Who has not their hand in conveying the future?

I am not worried. I am not overly concerned.

Sensationalize as a commodity. Who needs a fortuneteller with/ a performance to look forward to? The dull-witted ever need direction in matters of tangent nor suggestion to give shape to drama.

He remained in the soapbox position tolerating + persuading the passers-by to see, along w/ him, the forerunners + warnings + to interpret the signs that were so very obvious to him. Causes are assigned through the movement of the sky, the direction of the wind, + placement of fallen leaves. That’s why it happened. This is what will happen now. The crier carried ideas w/ the seriousness some caught, others could not. These ordinary influences made the common person apprehensive of calamity, doom, and a wasted Akeldama ahead. By using the power of suggestion the foretelling comes about.

Have you ever had the experience when someone is being obviously rude, + when you point it out to him or her; they become twice as rude being angry that you noticed they are being rude?

I am not worried. I am not overly concerned.

It is difficult for me to mimic. If it is not felt, it is not played out.

Having a think on  A Journal of a Plague Year by Daniel Defoe.

Research reading for a play … not a fun read … but engrossing. 

Above: 100 Paintings in 100 Hours / Hanzon - HarHar  / counting crows

-Sitting here in the fall of '23, trying to edit this to make since - i cant. i don't know what the fuc i was talking about + cant find the trail, ANYWHERE.

As i sit here - Drew put this above copy through a Jungian AI. It had this to say about that:

The text you’ve shared is indeed quite abstract and symbolic, with various elements that could be interpreted from a Jungian perspective. Carl Jung’s analytical psychology often delves into the realm of archetypes, symbols, and the collective unconscious, which can be a useful lens for examining such a text. Here are some potential Jungian analyses of various elements in the text:

 

1. Rock Paper Scissor Gods: This could symbolize the randomness and unpredictability of life. In Jungian terms, it might reflect the archetypal forces that govern human fate or destiny. The idea of gods playing games suggests a higher order of things that is beyond human understanding or control.


2. Sword in Hand Forming the Gaming Board in the Sky: Swords are often symbolic of conflict, decision-making, and power. The image of a sword forming a gaming board in the sky could represent the idea of life as a battleground of forces beyond our control. It might also signify the cutting edge of consciousness, where decisions and moral choices are made.


3. The Blade’s Edge Pointing Downward: This can be seen as a symbol of impending judgment or fate. In Jungian analysis, this might represent the descent of the conscious mind into the depths of the unconscious, or the penetration of a higher truth into the realm of the everyday.


4. Fickle Hand Swerving, Luck: These elements could be interpreted as the unpredictability of the psyche and the role of chance in human life. In Jungian psychology, the concept of synchronicity might come into play here – the idea that events are “meaningfully coincidental” even if they do not have a causal relationship.


5. Soapbox Position, Persuading Passersby: This could symbolize the archetype of the prophet or visionary, someone who sees beyond the ordinary and tries to communicate their insights to others. This figure often appears in mythology and dreams, representing the part of the psyche that is attuned to the deeper truths of the collective unconscious.


6. Foretelling, Power of Suggestion: This might relate to the Jungian concept of the collective unconscious, where archetypal patterns and symbols exist and influence human behavior and perceptions. The idea that events can be foretold or influenced through suggestion could reflect the power of these unconscious forces.


7. Observations on Rude Behavior: This part might be seen as a reflection on the shadow aspect in Jungian psychology – the part of the psyche that contains repressed or unrecognized aspects of oneself. Acknowledging rudeness and the reaction it provokes could symbolize the confrontation with the shadow.


8. Difficulty in Mimicking, Authenticity: This could relate to the Jungian process of individuation, where the goal is to integrate various aspects of the psyche into a harmonious whole. The struggle to mimic or perform actions not genuinely felt might reflect the tension between the persona (the social mask) and the true self.


9. Reference to ‘A Journal of a Plague Year’: This historical account of the bubonic plague could symbolize the collective trauma and the unconscious fears that pervade human societies. It might also represent the process of coming to terms with collective suffering and finding meaning in it.


In summary, the text seems to explore themes of fate, the unconscious forces that shape human life, the struggle for authenticity, and the human tendency to search for meaning in the chaos of existence. Through a Jungian lens, these themes reflect the interplay of archetypal forces, the collective unconscious, and the individual’s journey towards self-realization.

oml — AI does go on.

She envisioned St. Dominic at a very tender age. 

"Are you not going to light stix in the middle of every village to burn all heretics, sinners and infidels?”            

At first repulsed by the idea, after time she embraced it wholeheartedly. 

No, it never crossed my mind, but now that you mention it,  
it sounds like a way to pass some time.

The plan immediately shattered her soul.Suddenly everything seemed so fragile.

jahh / Some of My Best Friends

There once were too few players

To dodge trap doors and stairs,

Each needed to be many

The skills required uncanny,

And too very comprehensive to settle affairs.

A camo team nic-named ‘talking heap’

& a quartet of undergarments shown rather cheap, (bless their hearts)

Three smitten with destruction

Two bullies with plan for abduction,

And the foley guy at the ready with ‘bleeps’.

Complications from underdress to redress,

Break a Leg impossible w/o understudy convalesce,

Collective professionalism had gone-wrong

A play for voices was re-decided on,

Mel Blank they all became with finesse.

    We each are so many. + here's me thinking, usually, it's way too much.

Keep the faith and see you at the hanging.  -Rooster Cogburn

Rando-mize:

This surfaced and was too good not to share.

Circa: 1993 Here we are. What a day, + we look like wrecks. + what of it? 

i was art directing. We had stopped for a ‘buddy’ shot during the plexi-painting photo. From left, someone-you-know, Ann Cunningham, Terry Koepsel + Lonnie Hanzon, looking as though he is trying to talk photographer, John Mueller, out of this one.

ME: Any monkey can do what i do…

LONNIE: Well, that may be true, but do you realize how long it would take to train a monkey?

‘Drew is listening to the song One More Day from Les Miz (colloq.) when his sister comes in asking  hurried questions about this and that.

He raises his eyes to heaven in mock disgust, The moment is ruined! START IT AGAIN!

He cracks me up.

The only part of costuming i do not like is taking the time opening safety pins.

Where there are possibilities of too many double letters in one word, i usually get the spelling wrong.

+ another thing, the ‘i e’ rule doesn’t.

Matching furniture is a clue to adulthood.

i wonder about many things ...  not in the least is, when did my generation get use to listening to mini sound speakers instead of the steady boom of a Klipsh Belle?

River of Mnemosyne

10th Daughter of Memory
muse  8 9 10

Muse 8

Well, well, well.

I would have lost that three-penny bet. Your grand escape. I will mash the reset button on this meander and now believe you work by installment.

Linear stories are tedious, why should lives hook up to parallel?

Your riff on this theme will be getting tedious soon.

Make it exciting or else.

Is ‘mob’ psych what makes folks infatuated with something interesting + miss the obvious?

Moving on from to,

Wheeze

 Muse 9

After breaking into your abandoned attic apartment I pulled aside the heavy victorian drape to view the painting expecting some Dorianesque nightmare to be revealed. However, it was simply an empty frame. The prize had been removed.

Animal debris were all over + about.

There, on the roll top, was a to-do list of mundane wants + needs. Some were ticked off, others scribbled over as if importance had asked priority to change its mind. The other things not left were all the books of cruelty she had never written. Noticeable because of thier absence. Because of your weighty absence, too.

Whatever you find there at the moment, + being careful what you wish for here, it becomes comical when realized it matters not.

All moves forward together.

Being here is not being there, so how should I know?

Till I decide otherwise,

TW

Muse 10

Once again, my dear, Repillee Scooter’,

Catching is like chasing a phantom, yes. Moreover, phantoms are often

self-imposed, self-promoted and self-capitalizing. This seems random.

Just don’t get your percocet and pudding mixed up. They do opposite things to the body.

A linear story rambles off my pen + changing history would mean i could change the story, + that’s not going to happen. Truth is not a new situation.

But the truth is not easily handed.

Not having found it does not make up for needing to.

I’ll be summing it all up, somewhere + I’m sticking to it.

With a nod to dylan’s tarantula & with your leave,

I still am,

Teansie Wheeze

River of Mnemosyne
10th Daughter of Memory
muse  5 6 7

Muse 5

(note to myself)

Finding my favorite stoop, I sat to retrieve the letter. The squashed bugs on the open page proved your letter was written En Plein Air and confirmed you are still on-the-lam.

Like so many other possibilities, I have committed it to memory.

‘My dear friend,

What is it called when you dream of wildfire and awake to flood?

When you invent something so intriguing in your dreams, but cannot bring it to the light of day?

What is it called when you have the pen and paper but not enough light?

What is it called when you can finish it in an evening or you could finish it in a night and what you really want to do is never finish it at all?

What is it called when someone purchases a gift better something but the other wanted something they thought lesser?

What does it feel like to be thinking-of-nothing and write a book?

When you realize you are outside of realism?

I may/not be her/e.

I am. And will be.

Repillee Scooter’

Yet another device. The old diversionary tactic. Logic will be of no use on this one, so let it go into percolation mode.  It stutters a click of a breath, sputters two words like a candle going out + retreats to touch the back stage wall, awaiting the encore. And then the last reveal.

Not liking math closes doors + eventually seals them shut, as I have noticed. 

(Teansie me)

 Muse 6

Okay,

Instead of eating the letter I added it to a Borofsky exhibition down in SoHo. Jonathan would never notice because of all the garbage covering the floor in his installation. Artful trash is another story for another time.

All that now remains is the faint odor, just a trace of ambergris on my palms + cuffs from the stationary. i will not accuse — though weren’t you in the wake as she entered with that perfume wafting behind her. That, before she told the reporter all about it. This morning? Or later. Depending which continent you're sitting on, which side of the road you are driving on + where you put your accents.

i will continue this process when I figure out the sequence.

Again, 

TW

Muse 7

Repillee,

I DID recognize her picture in this mornings paper even though it was 55dpi black + white. The story did not read as an epic Space Iliad. However it is epic in its confusion. A light force expelled her. The release was printed before your letter + am assuming you are not on the ship. But then again the 'finger' prose wasn’t delivered by you, so no tellin’.  Squinting my eyes + at the appropriate distance from the photo I recognized the ring on her right hand near the jet window. How strange it looked like your knuckles. As if knuckles could be unique.

It was in the New York Times. God + everyone else who knows + still demands belief, has evidence because newspaper is taken seriously as a bloodhound.

Looking for the jump. The page was ripped. Literally.

Wheeze

River of Mnemosyne 
10th Daughter of Memory

Muse  1 2 3 4

 

 

muse 1

Greetings to you my acquiescence,

Regarding your last communication.

Yes, she had walked into the room + a minor chord went off in my head.

Regarded as a threat. Respected as a possible ally.

With this sound of doom impending i was already backed up against a wall, so I had nowhere to go when she marched up to me, held out a hooked finger close to the corner of her eye + hollered,

“GOTTA LIGHT?”

I didn’t cotton she was asking for an idea. At first I reckoned she wanted to shoot up carbonated water, then thought better.

In addition, the other night I saw a cliché within dreams. It was you kneeling in the silver light.

I need to know what you will tell the police when they come around. You know, collaboration  + all that.

Never forget there are entire books written without using the word gypsy.

See you in the ones I love.

I’m glad this is not a telegram or I could not afford it.

Don’t get up when there’s not another place to sit down.

Probably sooner then later,

yer buddy in the alleyway + byways,

Teansie  Wheeze

Muse 2 

Hey,

Your arrogance appalling + your loudly ignoring my correspondence, annoying. Transmit word to me, via post or send a gram. Either way it will be too late. To my advantage, I will be notifying the authorities of your ‘speciality' out in the street.

You must know that putting strangers into the deep sleep + sending them into deep space - puts you indeed into deep … Well, you get the picture.

If the road up ahead bends to the right + keeps  it there, I’ll be seeing her black leather and purple lipstick soon, just not counting on it. As you are eighteen steps ahead of her and she is two miles ahead of me that makes… well, just know I have lost sight of her + the entourage. They appear + dista in the most precise way, seemingly a herd of zebras skewing into camouflage at the right moments.

Quite unnerving.

Don’t answer the door if you’re not sure who it is, + eat only out of red cans.

Yours,

Weazie

Muse 3

Even I will admit that putting Gavroche into a theater seat — so when he gets shot onstage later, seems much more real — is a brilliant idea. The house will be murmuring that he was ‘just here’. The urchin did not wear noticeable armor as he was tragically mortal. However, all devices don’t go so smoothly. Some Burma-shave have gotten hit + will be pointing the in the wrong direction. And any way, the boy was simply a toothless angel in rags with his hands in his pockets + toes curled under at the edge of the stage without a kick plate. This Ain’t much compared to what prize you’ll receive. 

The Dada like messages require Dada like packaging if they are to float.  

The rub is not always coherent at times. 

It’s not over, 

TW, just another reluctant Titan. 

Or perhaps T. V. Titian? 

The brushes are wet, not sure of the subject, we’ll see before too long.

Muse 4

Okay. So I received your message. It was delivered in the Café Lutroo. The waiter placed it in front of my water glass while raising an eyebrow in expectation. The small envelope had been folded into the ‘finger’ suggesting the universal insult.

This clever bit of origami surprised me. The way the stamp was placed as the fingernail pointing up. How clever you could be. i was not angered, but finished my victuals before handling the work. By that time there were a few inquires + zappers looking over my shoulder. Not wanting to disappoint anyone but keeping within a spirit, I put your note into my jumper pocket and skedaddled.

Gotta literally go,

Your Weazer

 

Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all

the same, knowing she has wings.

Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the

soul is on its knees.

A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is a

invisible labor.       -Victor Hugo 3X

Once a princess had a rambling map birthmark in a rather tender space,

That a tattoo artist would have paid her to meander into place.

Generals traveled to her rear end as a sign-nee

Hoping to hold the squeaker that marked the X on her hinny.

As they planed an attacked on her stern with a bag over her head.

Blotting the atlas with red circles the soon to be dead.

Since the map creased and rose in a most particular latergy,

Consequently, the battle makers screwed the strategy.

The resignation sign hangs for a lost war rucked-up,

Not to worry because on the other side it says she ducked-up.

Therefore, never let it be said royalty does not do their duty,

This was a service of honor, not of looty.

mused from 10th Daughter of Memory 

 















Ironic.

I’ve always found lewd voyeurism beyond my threshold of adventure. Opting instead for the comfort zone of vicarious. Wearing my best oblique hobo suit in disguise, I will not be noticed. Alone one can pretend by imagining-fitting-in, until you go out + try. I was hauled out of line anyway + put on the road to cavalry.

We fall to collective pieces in being reminded that we were put here to undo each other. The mantra so ingrained that it has been forgotten, + simply carried out.

My vision is wall-eyed, confusing as a double exposure. So, I’m never sure if that tall one is stepping on the toddler or if the bright lipstick is stuck onto the glass or on a face. I see a perpetual faux barren landscape to the left. Flies have come + gone for years being duped by the low tangle of plastic brush promising shade. My other eye looks forward + slightly down focused on an angry railing meant to separate.

My peripheral vision spies a group of 3^rd graders. They drink liquid that makes them pucker as the first half is downed. The most worrisome two-legged are the ones that leave debris, offer papers, + used band aids. They lunge + back away. They shield their eyes from the glare, + try again to peer in toward me.

I was shot out, tagged the cold wall of heaven, + then ricocheted back down exploding into this catatonic hulk. What’s left is confined in thermo plastic muscle, rubber sinew + synthetic fur.

I have a drip of sweat that has been itchy for years.

I had been a train wreck of a financier. Now trapped behind glass, stuck inside this Rhino, on display in hell.

A moment of reprieve...

How quickly things can change in little or no time + the devastating/wonderful consequences that can result from those changes.

You want to know what i feel is one of the coolest things about life?

That you can figure + plan to the unth, but usually what happens is something you never counted on or dreamed of.

73/74

He became what she feared.

This could have easily been an illustration of something scary-scary, rather than funny-scary. Masks show us who we are. Horror is much stronger when you are expecting it. 

WITHOUT IMAGES THERE IS NO PROOF THAT A PARTICULAR FEELING EVER HAPPENED AT ALL.

-jahh / Parallel Chances Tend to Neglect