a friend of mine told me rimbaud felt there were flames coming from his pen. he was like nineteen. when he quit writing poetry. then he became a slave trader. i think he may have lost a leg. anyway, those days are over. the days are always over. churning. there should be an infinity somewhere, i can't help thinking about it. probably mainly because of the dead people and wondering if they are still around. Like Amanda. Or my mom. There is a big network, called Moirae, the middleware Thyme runs on the network. Two users, Jack & Shelby fall in love within the glow of the network.
My mom Jacqueline called herself Jacqui, that's how she spelled it. I follow her misanthropic character, I realize, increasingly like my mom. The thing of the Moirae network is the tones of color. And the music. Without those dimensions a description of the network wouldn't work. The visuals and words aren't as helpful.
(Episode 1, March 23, 1997, Jackie and the emanation 22Sappho from Moirae.)
Jack could begin to understand the basic shape of what the middleware wanted from Evan now. Evan being very vulnerable to Thyme’s probing rithms. It was hard to know exactly what Thyme wanted to extract, but Jack could feel her scenario tentacles probing Evan for something important. She was angling in, she was set to retrieve specific information from that set of Evan’s moments and she offered an abstruse method of extraction, a healing. Somewhere in the bowels of Norfein some admin bastard was reviewing the healing protocol or whatever they called it. But 53Juliet was lovely in her middleware way, soothing and sweet, a perfected provenance image for Evan. Well designed, she was from Thyme. Then suddenly appeared 22Sappho, or maybe she was there, listening in the shadows the whole time.
[22Sappho]: You were there too.
Jack: Not there there.
[22Sappho]: No, not there there, but you were around. Around there
Jack: We were friends
[22Sappho]: Yes, that’s where it was
[53Juliet]: The leaves had recently fallen, the forest floor covered, the trees barren, all looked identical on the gently sloped hills
Jack found Juliet truly insufferable
Some tips to get more traffic to your blog: provide remarkable content, be helpful to others don't talk in first person, use second person, don't try to be a rockstar, people like to talk about themselves, write less, blog more. Nah, i don't understand. Today I reread the prologue:
March 23, 1997
My mom stole my dreams. Every morning when I woke up she made me sit in a chair next to her desk and recount all the dreams I had during the night. She later explained to me that she had taken to heart a statement by Jung and decided to translate it to a literal experience: ‘if one knew a patient’s childhood dreams, one could diagnose and treat any mental illness from which the patient suffers later in life (paraphrased)’ She concluded that it would be useful to transcribe all my dreams from the time I could first speak to early in my adolescence when I finally said no. Later, a Jungian psychotherapist took me as a patient, and when I recounted this story she told me that my mother had effectively raped my subconscious daily, a violation from which I suffered severe PTSD making me unable to function normally in society. She also had no interest in seeing the childhood dream journal my mother had created.
It was suggested that I have accountability on the project. I am very hesitant, and opposed to, and repulsed by, accepting the person who suggested it as the accountability enforcer, not because she couldn't be effective, but because it would be bad for our relationship. So I came up with the alternative of posting it for credibility. Committing to a certain schedule of posts documenting my progress as to maintain credibility on (if not actual progess) at least earnest effort toward progress. I'm not necessarily going to post the entire content, I mean the posts will contain some content placed in the context of my daily effort. Each post should contain a sketch, since I am an artist.