Working Title: a meta-thetical story (part 4)

May – Dec 2019

Like this broad page, I, too, feel better for getting out of jail figuratively. Like the ball, something encompassing me seems broken; a new light is shining, beckoning me to accept. Völva our seer told me: If I say eventually you will find Natasha, you will stop striving; and, if I say that you will never meet her, you will stop striving. You must see that important part is the struggle, not the end. Journey is paramount, Holy See a mere milestone – death was never an end, only a mean.

Much wisdom reside in your heart, with each return, you accumulate more. And it is not just humans, whom God bestowed with knowledge, even the cockerel of Heimdallr received his share and spread it in his seed. Branches of trees heavy with Wisdom are bent yet they enjoy floating in the ☉cean of Wind. You must fly, leave the Thing behind. You think what Thing is; it is this current assembly. Go to the ☉cean, catch fish, till you know otherwise.

Like the previous paragraph, I departed from the circus during the night when everybody was awake, after receiving in the evening, the sum I was owed. It was pleasant to take control of my life, not remaining beholden to my shyness, my weaknesses.

☉cean was in the opposite direxion of where my Beloved’s Abode rested on a floating Teutonic Plate; much like a sage star, it was a Lighthouse, a glowing Igloo, calling my name yet I accepted Moira, my fate in going to the ☉cean. Sometimes Earth also becomes a source of light, though we (its residents) may know not.

I went to a fisherman’s house near the jetty. I asked his advice. He taught me how to know the weather, the best time for catching

 80

fish, the net, he said, which catch all fish is not the best kind; the best net catches only what we need. He taught me how to row a boat. But it is far better for you to join us – in unity we will be able to find better catch. I accepted, though it was apparent on the very first night on the trawler out in the deep ☉cean, that in spite of his efforts, others resented me, an outsider.

This dislike manifested itself more bluntly, when I preached: We shan’t catch fish on Saturday. Some laughed calling me a false prophet; others thought it better to drown me. The fisherman had to intervene. I had enough of them, who cannot see their own betterment in a divine injunxion yet complain changes in ecosystem.

Next day found me alone again. When you are alone, you begin to see things. (See here refers to both actual sightings as well as hallucinations.

A Merwo, she called herself. She was a two ruler in length, and ½ a ruler in breadth: a fish, with the face of a woman, complete with locks of hair. We heard you the other day. You believe in god, but you do not know god’s identity. I do. No, you only know the fragments, stitched together haphazardly. They tell you god is since ever till eternity; that god is everywhere; that god is nearer to you than your jugular vein; that you cannot comprehend god. Because this is True. But this true hides what is real: do not look towards the sky if you want to find god, but look at the land. God is everywhere. Yes, it is: you inhale god, it resides in your body, it had 3-et-a-½ billion years of head-start, and when you will destroy this world through bio weapons, it will remain. The way of its communication you cannot understand, just like you don’t understand sympathetic lightning. But who is it. Germs, viruses, archaea, algae, moss; the yggdrasil is not above you, it is all around you. And humans have been thus far the best host, the best viceroyalty for the real god. It want you to eat et drink, so it can go inside you, taking over your brain et mind. It

 82

want you to copulate et procreate, so it can have more servants, who kill et maim in the name of good et evil, while not knowing that good is bacteria, and evil is viruses. Whence came malaria to humans. It was mosquito. And how mosquito got infected. By biting an ill human. Yet you see not the god at work. But humans can kill this god. Are you sure that a god that multiplies asexually can be killed – except in vivid imaginations of Nietzsche. But this god is not omnipotent; it could not have created the Cosmos that had been around for 13½ billion light years before bacteria were formed. This is what bacteria had told the minds of those whom you call the greatest scientists. After this Big Brother talk she swam away before I could formulate: why are you telling me, then.

My net had caught a lot of fish that day, but since the fishermen association had the sole whole-seller of fish in the area convinced against purchasing the commodity from me, I released many back into ☉cean, leaving only for idioconsumptio as well as for selling wayside myself – the fish, that is – at much cheaper price than the whole-seller with all his mini-calculators could have imagined, leaving him the only recourse possible: war, which resulted in his sending two goons over to my row boat, with a drill, but received they electric shocks for their troubles.

The next two came with huge pairs of scissors. I invited them over to have a drink with me. The drink, a very high-energy beverage with a lot of caffeine et sugar, was laced by yours truly with a mild to moderate sedative. After ½ a liter each of this dove-tail, they were cutting each other to pieces while laughing so hard that I wondered what if our atmosphere is made up of N2O instead of N2, O2, CO2, et al. That it was not germs but quarks control everything. What Merwo theorized was truer still for these sub-atomic particles. Their quantum dance to Yo

I should have seen it coming: atoms a priori admit of Karma, Kismet, et alia. Spooky axn at a distance: A quark affects another somewhere else: You itch your back et suddenly you feel sensa∅ in your knee. Instead of Beloved, the lover bleeds. Each time Kristen Stewart says Tsunami, you know what happens.

(It’s great that unlike atoms, mesons received an etymologically sound name – the Strange connexion of Bottom to the Bard)

84

the root sound, which cannot be heard, struck the note that broke the cosmic egg. I knew that the time had come for me to move on.

As Rumi had said my whole self was dancing with the quarks the strings the cosmic energy. I could not live in stasis. Leaving everything behind, I rowed into the open ☉cean, ignoring the warning sirens of coast-guards et the silence of scare-crows.

I wrote the log on water. If anybody is interested they might read of Magellan’s expedition. When we Love, we want to embrace et to possess the Beloved. ☉cean wants to drown its beloved sailors. And like the Beloved, we, too, shun the lover; mock its bleeding heart, its tears of ecstasy, its euphoric smiles. ☉cean sends a high tide like a post card, and a water-sprout as a gift. But we laugh at these gentle reminders. As a last resort, the lover all angry goes to the Door of Beloved’s Home, et begins to hit its thunderstorm et hurricane against the boat. We hide, our heart racing yet laughing hard in order to make it lose its sanity. Thus Beloved subjugates the lover, who becomes all pacified, stoic, happy in its eternal sadness. After conquering one lover, Beloved moves on to another.

With the help of a rudimentary compass, I tried to keep my course dead South till I reached cape of Good Hope – my general knowledge book had turned cape to keep; perhaps, they were more busy at litigations, which must surely have been numerous, if you attempt to sue every tom dick harry, who copied out of your general knowledge book the length of Amazon Rain-forest – where I moored the last slab of once-upon-a-time a boat. A ½-naked beautiful woman, her feet bare yet cocooned in mud, wearing bangles the whole arm length welcomed me: You are three suns late.

Pornographia

Before some scientist should complain of our lack of enthusiasm w.r.t metric system et spend her valuable 360 seconds – the time Idmium takes to burn at 100 ℃, when placed in a BNP Paribas locker cross-multiplied by 360 – I ought to tell that it meant 3 days – yes, if I sit here to define what 3 days scientifically happens to be then we are really screwed; no twisted index et middle fingers would be required for that experiment.

Without feigning the smallest bit of care for my bruised body et fatigued mind craving sleep et clean drinking water, she made me kneel in front of her et began to whip me all the way to her hamlet. Upon seeing me the villagers became so happy that I thought they were cannibalists waiting to roast me. But they began to smoke some cannabis kind of stuff, and in their merriment forgot me. The priestess, however, told me to join her in the practice of reed dance. When I complained of afore-mentioned problems, she said: I shall bury a reed in your body, get up. But I haven’t even once taken a step by way of dancing. She took an impromptu concussion-hypnosis test with the help of a reed. Even a snake would have begun to involuntarily dance, deaf or not. After a minute, she said: You are … what’s the word …. I supplied, charming. Not marching, you blind, hopef… hopeless. I said (thought): Oh (that’s great). I can read your mind. Oh. Enough of O’s; try again – look at me … not my breasts, you idiot. But can’t you conceal them. She looked outside the marquee, and shouted something. Four feet ran towards us. She said something, punctuating it with an ethereal whistle. She wrapped around her breasts, a white hide, which barely covered them. When she turned towards me, I was looking at her, google-eyed. She whipped me. I cried, but can’t you whist’ once more. If I do, you will become mindful … no, -less. You must be

dual-time

the one, whom I thought, was controlling remotely, my every single movement. No one is controlling. Get up. This time around I DID it, I nailed it.

You see, through dance we connect with our ancestors … indeed, I had to learn it correctly – I have been reprimanded – but you should not write everything up, most of it never really mattered … you will … when, but whenever you receive time … yes, for millenniums … I am not Latent speaker … we communicate … because it is necessary for our way of life … but know this already … in your soul – you are one of us; all of you began the journey here … that’s why you came here … because you left your ancestral home. But why do others resent you. Because we stayed: in your unhappy life, the artificial, the sophisticated, the strait-jacket et straight haired life, your soul becomes nostalgic, but knowing that it cannot return, your soul feels envy … wars, what about them … as if you haven’t murdered millions … we at least have some valid reason, what’s yours: the system of government – the worst artifice man ever discovered – is different than ours. Even crusades were held for a better way to quench a most humane urge of clash et destruxion … I know you are different, you want to wear anklets et let Raddha sit on your lap – don’t turn blue in the face – what a snake, wait …. She held my wrists very tightly, while it seemed as if my blood, all 10½ pints were rushing towards my temples in order to gush out of my ears. Except for a sun-stroke that I once suffered, my tinnitus had never been worse, nor had I lost my eye-sight again till this moment.

Amid all the irrational chutzpas, when something factual hits you, you end up denying it. I fall asleep. Auntie Sloane offered me aeroplane; my own auntie offered me fresh butter; but the priestess came up with Aunty Nancy et the pipe. She told

Ninety

me that the spider is like a trickster we venerate – the symbol of mirth et play[fulness]. I am going to introduce it into your body with the help of this pipe, then I’ll remove the pipe, and plug you. Don’t worry, it is not poisonous, and if you are lucky, it will crawl out of your mouth, giving you all the wisdom. But if it dies in the maze, you will get partial knowledge. While butter helped, the aeroplane was not used to the hangar. I began to cry, which sounded like music, whereunto the tribe set in motion to dance, while the spider started to taxi on the subway. Once it was inside, and the sesame street was closed, the priestess, in order to lure the spider towards the mouth, placed a caged female in front of my open mouth. She told me to concentrate on it, thinking only about the creature.

It is difficult, perhaps impossible, to abide by such a rule, and the word at any rate was bound to send me on a trip of CERNoia. In some other world Nishikori would have defeated Nadal. Only problem is that in that Burnstain Universe, I would have been supporting Raphael Nadal to win the Red Baron title. Welcome to spideRFerse. I am in the mood – got it? – concentrate, congratulate. Tournament – Bridge – SF – Driver – Transformer – John Cena – Hailee Stein – Paramour – Riva, Riva, Riva … I was singing. I heard: wake up, do not lose conscious. Calcutta, I am a taxi driver in … I have lost conscience. She slapped me hard.

In Hailee Stain University, I do not love my Beloved, whom I got married to rather easily. You know it’s a lie; it is impossible for you to fall in

H.B.D to me

Love with another.

Madness is infectious, too. Like Foucault, I want the whole World to get mad; I shall write the book of the madness, by the madness, for the madness | it shall criticize Zion, Nazi et Nietzsche in between. O you, Who touch Everything to meta-Morph into Gold, must know that my manifesto shall neither be published by MacMillan, nor by Oxford, Penguin, Que, Random, Collins. It will by the conglomerate of idiosyncratic eccentricities, factitious fiction, and feeble facts making its consumers want to climb to the blue sky, to eat the blinking stars, to embrace the Sun, to turn into ch’i. How did you know my title. Oscar Wilde gas. I can’t read your mind. You never were reading me; I was reading you. Did you see a spider, while you were dozing, don’t lie. I nodded. Did you kill it? The Minotaur may have. But you told me that it was a …. What does it matter, if it was pen or pencil. It does, snake kills you, spider takes over your identity; you think you are doing it, but spider commands you to do it. Like iPhone, it makes you happy in the short term, but in the long term its power outbids yours, making you a hungry-angry slave – just think about it: would you agree to this barter: give me 50, I will give you 5. Give me my Beloved, and the multiverse is yours. My knitting king, I meant bank-notes. No – unless the 5 bills are of 1k each, while …. Never mind. Chris Ever mind. Spider promised you everything, right. You did. It made you think that I had something to do with it. If you say

Barcelonia

so. The truth is that knowledge has layers. You may know the story of Auntie Kate et the Lion. You mean cat et lion. That’s what I said, what did you hear. Nothing. OK, so cat teaches the lion everything but not tree-climbing. This reminded me of somebody. Don’t wander. You pronounced it correctly. Indeed; the thing is that only God can comprehend everything. You are like Descartes. No, I am not; see if cat knows more than lion and you know more than the cat – with or without the blessings of a spider – and if you do know more than cat, you must surely admit that you do not understand every phenomenon. Such as. Such as ball lightning. Touché. Your knowledge is thus merely a subset of Divine Knowledge: some humans might know more than others by virtue of them having climbed the tree, but not everything. Conversely, some might know by having lowered themselves through the layers of sedimentary rocks. You mean like yourself. Yes. Well, this is Maat, Meezan or Divine Justice: some go high and others go low. But it is exploitation. Charity begins with the self. What do you mean? Before going after the Society, you must raise yourself from the depths of Dis. How? Perhaps, by telling how the descent began, you might find some sort of solution. Everybody likes the No 1, but I predict place better. Elaborate; not every reader is familiar with odds et ends. OK, I liked villains et characters actors more than heroes – may be a Tom Cruise here et there, but even he was born on the 3rd of July,

Trinity

Tuesday – who else but Kafka shares the birthday with him. You are again side-tracking. Welcome to Europa, where straight lines are curved. Welcome to Amerika, Einstein. Touché. Why are you always turning yourself into American Idiot. I like Green, even Amy MacDonald’s song’s lyrics have been stolen and changed by me. I have writ my Beloved’s Initial on a heart-shaped stone painted in poster colors – for once made in Japan. And this reminded me of Oliver Stone. Can you go back now. Ookay dokay: but one thing first, The Last Samurai made Tom a hero in Japan; I am but a ronin, who still dare to live masterless. No, you can’t see the master, that doesn’t mean that you are masterless. You don’t believe in God. But you do. That doesn’t make sense. Come to your own has a +ve connotation, too. Just like SARS is the -ve part of my nostalghia. Now, who is mispronouncing. It is a matter of perspective – and from the Italian one, I am understood. Only concentration camps are left. Col. von Stauffenberg hated his fellow Germans. He did not. But they say with straight face that Egyptians et Palestinians are anti-Semitic. Can’t you get over this chutzpa. They will sentence me for allowing you to say chutzpa. You did not. It is all written in the book of the Fate. With a pencil, mind you. There is no ctrl+ᴣ. Nothing is written in stone. J. Corbyn came up with 10 Commandments. And still lost. I lost, too. But how? As a joke, I chose the wrong side. When I realized that I was a mere pawn in the wrong hands, instead of letting myself be taken P.o.W, I waited patiently, and moving like

Chess

tortoise, thinking naïvely, if I reached the other end, I can commit treachery, but lo et behold, once I got to the last row, I was promoted to the status of queen yet at heart I remain a pawn in the hands of king of darkness spewing all the right notes, for the good, the right had receded into mountains, jungles, ravines, deserts leaving for the king ample vacuum to spread its sinister message pHenylalanine-coated, unsuitable for K-2nurix. And now you think you cannot get out. Yes. If you have consciously made the decision to be bitten by the spider, not much can be done. You see that before chess begins, you have much room for free will, but as the game progresses, your options start to shrink, until a point of no return is reached; however, you must remember: a game can be ended. How? Through resignation. Resignation is death. Not always. I don’t want to resign; if I can still laugh, either I am already mad, or things aren’t that bad. You have lost the game or are on the verge of it, admit it and move on. My response can only be a -ve pregnant. How so. Move where. There is a cruise ship leaving for Antarctica tomorrow; join the expedition to the South Pole. What about the expanses. It will be all covered for. But what will I do there? Not there; once you reached the Pole, whichever path you will take, shall take you to where you want to be. At the cost of losing. What does it matter – after all, you are ready to give away multiverses for her. I cannot accept it. For love we do anything. That’s what movies tell us. Touché. Now what. Here is your ticket. What about the dance.

Shell

You want to remain in the realm of the living. Yes. Here is your gift. She gave me two (sub-titles) chained together with copper wire. Once you reach the South Pole, etch her name on one and your own on the other. What if they get broken? No, they are hardened with spices. Like cinnamon. More like formaldehyde, but spices nonetheless – cat can’t tell you everything. Any chances of reverse-engineering. Don’t split hairs. Alright. Open your mouth. A moth flew out. Good.

What happened then. What? Your story ends uncompleted. Somebody told me that empty chairs do not stop players from playing. In other words. In other words, life does not wait for all the jigsaw pieces to rise into place. You mean, fall. I am million different people but idiomatic I am not. Still, what happened, then. Even in the story, demon does not want you to be free from its hold. What demon? Let’s pretend chi’s ghost. Why pretend. That’s what MGMT says. What management? Some freaking agency de la government (FAG) or Satan or God, it does not matter: in this our world Maduros claim to be exonerated by virtue of botched pigs of bay – I say, tell this to the Venezuelans looking at the wrong end of the barrel. I wish to ask Genghis Kahn, when his kin found themselves the target of butchery et flying cadavers: Was It Worth It. Or the dead bodies of those haters, who, under one pretext or another, would not let lovers in peace live, have you found Paradis. So, too, all the killers of legitimate rulers. Of course, if Nobel Peace Prize Committee ever decides to award posthumously, Genghis Kahn would top the list of those under consideration, for we live in the exponential world of Malthus.

Atlantis

Each wave of Spanish inquisition, influenza, USAIDS, Ebola is celebrated by the Nietzschean types. It is difficult for me to contradict you. Nay, it is impossible for you to interject. There is no such thing as impossible. If your stance is that everything is possible, you claim also that nothing is possible. Mathematically, all digits are contained in the Real Set. Is Infinity also contained therein. Perhaps not. And what if the symbol 5 does not mean your ordinary 4+1 or 6-1. The symbol does not matter: the concept of 4+1 or 6-1 pre-dates the symbolic representation through 5 – you see, Dante misses the point when he enumerates various Names of God [called] during different eras, for God transcends the Names we know God by. Yet, I can prove that there exists impossibility of certain things or acts. It would be a matter of perspective. From my narrow vision, then, but it is impossible for one human to rule 1 billion people for 200 years. You are forgetting Shingen, Big Brother et Kafkaesque China. It is impossible for one human being to rule 1 billion people for 200 years in Atlantis, North et South Poles at the same time, while such ruler’s cabinet or parliament must never be changed, otherwise we will call the ruler a weather-vane. You should not joke at the expense of weather-vanes. They are relics. For centuries, they helped people in knowing weather conditions. Those people have vanished, too. Now don’t be a pessimist. And us lovers also vanish; perhaps, I should ask Gibran, did you find your beloved; or Kafka, were you able to find Felice, and by the way Wallace, were you able to entomb yourself in a green grave called Ocean.