Category Archives: literature

Speak No Evil

IMAG4363_20140315131835605She thought she'd never tell.

 

I miss the collaborative effort that used to happen on this site. I have been rolling a few ideas around in my head about the direction that the site should go or starting my own site.    Either way, I will post the idea here.  If I do end up starting my own site, I will always put my art submissions here.  I will also be interested in administrators.  I know a couple of you who read my private site expressed interest in getting the scavenger hunt thing going again.  I think it is a great idea for this site, but I do not know how the administrators would feel about me taking over this site.  I will have to ask.

warrior

image

what can one say about blue eyes that haven’t been said a million times before, the feral shine of ice burning through all heart and matter, cuz the love we know, means nothing to his ancient soul that only knows the eternal struggle, the unrelenting fire of a battle that have lasted for eons

the birth of a universe takes time and pain

defending an unknown gate, a treasure no one else has ever saw, under the green sky of an alien cave, from ages before this age, a soft song grows inside a cocoon, a white silky womb keeps the tiny notes safe, flowing and blooming, revolving in their mighty uterus … his treasure, his burden and destination… evolves and drips tingling drops of clarity

and he stands, sword in hand, feeding himself with anger and sweat, forever fighting his violent war because the womb/uterus needs the hostile wound of the sword to keep birthing songs.

Icariad Art Work

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Icariad – based upon the tale of Icarus. until the chain is a rehash of the story with some minor symbolic changes. after that the story is original. i’m curious if people prefer this legend/myth hybrid approach to strict and kinda dry myth.

gather round for a story; one from another culture, who half knew what happened.

There was once a proud mighty king who ruled over an island. He needed a sense of divine legitmacy so he summoned the best archetect to build him a special prison of sorts. A labyrinth turned maze to hold within walls a monster beyond the confrontation of doors. A chimeric creature half-man and half bull, crazed into blood lust the personified hunger of the hold.

However the designers the tyrant called for, many of the greatest in all the lands, refused. so he summoned a craftsman criminal of divine ingenuity to build the maze as a reparation of forgiveness for past and foreign grievances, for the immigrant seeking asylum. The criminal Daedalus, was understanding but reluctant, before seeing the spearman’s point. He was escourted with his son to the king, who sensing the master’s reluctance sweetened the deal promising the wealth of a life as well. So again Daedalus reluctantly accepted, and he built a maze-like labyrinth nearly getting lost on the way out.

Still, the king didn’t pay what Daedalus expected. The king in his craftiness moved the pair to a tower, and ordered the inventor to design and build marvelous contraptions. And to one more creation he did, he built sails so fine that the ship using them would out-sail galleys of a thousand oars. But still there was no release.

The next invention was far more confusing to the king. The inventor asked for all manner of things, and because he needed a bigger room to build, the inventor got bigger and more impressive bed rooms, in which he spread out his baubles and broomsticks and tar barrels and fabic- both pillow sleaves and bolts. He even asked for various animals which only his arcane intellect could see value in their arangement.

At first the king visited in wonder, but as the weeks grew to months he grew less patient. Even the guards were forced out of the natural curiousity you have regarding oddities about your job. One remarked “I opened up the door while he was writing and he spilled his ink all over his work, to which he screamed and threw the lot out the window. And he berated me for not ‘knocking’, screaming about how I had ruined his work. Who knocks for a prisoner though?

‘you are not to pester our guest!’ remarked King minos. And I didn’t even do nothing. I… well I must have deserved it. I didn’t make the same mistake for a long time, but one time I just opened up the door after even knocking and the same thing happened cause ‘he didn’t invite me in.’ the nerve.”

little did anyone know but behind the pretense of genius was genuine cause for mistrust. For the father and son team worked together to make magnificent wings of animal skin, and feather, atached to their arms like birds. Soon they set out freeing themselves from their prison of a tower. Quickly the fledgling boy learned control, and his old man instructed him to stay in the middle- fly too high and the wax would melt, fly too low and the waters would wet the feathers and the weight would cause him to flounder and fall.

But the boy was reckless, and after hours of barely restrained content, he soared with excitement and youthful vigor. And as children will do sometimes he soared too high. His asperations outflying his capacity. And here is wear our story differs. It is said, that he soared too high and so the max melted. Which was part true, but not wholly. He flew up and the wax did start to melt, but more importantly it ignited from the heat. And whereas one could merely dive and the air itself would cool the wax back solid, with flame it stoked the coals of Helios, burning hoter still into a glorious but blazing fall.

It is said that he instantly disappeared into the waves, but that isn’t true either. He splated terminally as only the progeny of gods would survive.

-=-=-

it wasn’t so much that Icarus disappeared, as much as he was disappeared. Icarus was grabed by something below. His father swooped down but only saw scarce feathers. He grabed with his feet one long primary-feather unsinged. he wept. Risking himself before the sallavating waves, for that token, reaching with feet like talons fiercely scraping at the indifferent waves. Slowly, he surveyed where the boy had landed, but he gave up wearily flying to a distant shore to rest.

He flew slow with head held low, mourning his nightmarish loss. It was only after the emotional turmoil and weeks of denial, that he started to project blame. Only then did the murmur of hateful “why didn’t he listen” escape his lips. Months more elapsed before he stoped looking, nearly driven mad by the grief.

he watched me get taken away. The wind left me and so did He. He forfieted me to not displease noble vapors uplifting him to freedom. I was a sacrifice, an offering, for freedom. My cries, from the fledgling loss of lift, and he did nothing. A whispy voice of legend resounded “you flew to high, against instruction. We commend your pride; we commend your price. You now enter Poseidon’s realm, dragged by undertow, (granting what you owe,) now overwhelmed.”

“we sirens grant you the gift of soul, now you can breathe, now you are whole. The rusty aspirations of those above, come from the gluttonous sloth respiration; now movement- dance- is your denouement. Keep moving or you will drown.

And so with soul, he descended, ashen wings radiating soot and glow-fading coals. Down to the dark. He was taken through glowing cities of soft loving coral lights. Echo spoke Prometheus’ eternal words “and I, Prometheus, with but a light, ended mankind’s fear of the nigh-” suddenly cut short, a syllable from fear.

Strange fish fed upon their mates to then be absorbed by said mate. Some had celestial lures before barely hidden maw. Giant ancients gulped schools of fish and creatures emerged and imbedded themselves in the sand and when deeper the silt. The non-planar world was a terrific terror, there was no real meaningful up or down, just the direction the bubbles would float like blown kisses in the wind. And sea stars patiently chased one another on the sunken hull of a ship, finally supplanting themselves on mollusks to inject their stomach and ingest their prey inside out.

The depths were ephemeral and chaotic beyond reasoning lightning bolts cascaded up plumes of soot from a variety of vents while others cricked out like writhing semi-taunt snakes. And eternal light, even sense of the existence of the sky, had gone dark. brooding in passion, seething in darkness.

He entered a dark chamber awash in the same neon lights. A pensive and dimly lit Thinker sat upon a coral throne with a few oddly shaped advisers unkempt and bickering around the room. One of the escorts went to the king to inform him what the stranger was doing in his court.

“who are you?”

“I…” said Icarus

“well Aye; what are you doing here?”

“I… I… I…”

“aye?” the character looks spuriously around him to see if any were challenging his authority by understanding.
“Putre- xibalba- valkrie- isis- iris- capricorn – Ekho”

“Iris? what about her?” the character is visibly getting angry

“why can’t I awaken? Why can’t I cry?”

with the terror one of the members of court speaks up, “he is Icarus, son of Daedalus”. the angry god reached for a nearby three pronged ‘candelabra’ it starts shining with light and surging with electrical currents. “You dare impede the sovereignty of the trident? The will of the seas themselves?” suddenly all the other members of court were pushed against the walls, a torus shaped cyclone pushing all of them away from the upstart, and foreigner alike.

The center of the room was now empty of water, as was the fishy siren, now flopping near helplessly on the floor. With the loss of water, came a return of weight and Icarus keeled over like a dirged ship pouring out the water which had been in his lungs. With a bright flash and the cry “i will not suffer insubordination” a wet ringing gasp reverberated from the well waiting wake.

With the new found orientation, and the lesser pressure, the boy was able to stand again. And he with the angry and well armed ruler of the seas were alone in the eye of the torus, which now had settled like molten rippling glass. The trident shone bright as day nearly blinding to the now accustomed eyes.

“why are you here, Aye?” and so the boy told his tale of the king’s search and later imprisonment of him. He ended humbly with a plea of mercy and servitude

the god laughed, “Aye, you can’t let your grasp out extend your reach. But such is the curse of mortals. I am feeling like a benefactor so I offer my patronage, the patronage of a god. If you accept it you will bear my blessing and carry my marks a lieutenant in my rank and file. But if you wonder about what will happen if you refuse it, then in your heart you already have, and you will be judged appropriately.”

and Icarus was reborn Aye (Αε). He stewed in righteous anger over his real father’s perceived discard, which condensed under the sea’s mighty pressure into hyperbolic hatred from envy- of those beyond his new world. Hated of the worldly truths who forsake him. He was honed with prejudiced favor into a mighty champion in his own right. And quotes of familial hatred resounded deeply. Poseidon ranted “waters will froth white with fury. Barnacles will be swept miles inland, cleft from lazing seadogs to the cliffs of Olympus, my brother deserves what our father received.”

Years passed swimming progressively easily in waters thick with mutiny, and yet soon they swam to insure the shore. In his time of arduous training which would even make Spartans cry, he rose to the rank of general, and would command one of the fronts. He was granted the Athenian shore; home.

Memories flooded back to him as the tide recessed beneath him. He remembered his father watching him get dragged down to drown. He remembered his cousin’s tragic death similarly at the hands of his father; Why he had been sent with father to Minos in the first place. A labyrinth unfinished and a maze to boot. Pretense to favor the prodigal son. Like Poseidon and Hades before him, he was cast from the heavenly family, without even failure to redeem due to a trick of his father and Apollo who mockingly razed my wings; conceitedly feeling his path worth more than my life. Maybe it was justice in his eyes for my father’s deeds. “Too coward to kill me but culpable to help me die, what a feeble god.”

he entered a hovel on the countryside above the city, and there was an old man. The old man began crying.

“what is it? Why do you cry but not flea? fool”

“you remind me of a son I lost at sea. When I realized he was in the water I went to check, but I couldn’t see him. The waters were so dark I had no idea where he was. I looked along the surface cause he could swim but I didn’t find him.”

“LIAR, you watched me struggle and sink.” and with his blade he impaled his frail father.

bleeding out the old man coughed “i carried home of you, what I could” and the old man lifted up a single feather necklace.

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chimera’ content

‘power corrupts all things’

yet we are grasping for power without corruption. But we can’t eliminate it for the corruption isn’t in us, it is us. and without power we are nothing, our corruption defines us as it defies us. our faults die us all and our faults both flesh out our own characters as well as offer a dramatic foe to resist the ideals of another.

I watched them grow up into the shoes of their parents. Choosing to honor anecdote and tradition, their meanings and truths vestige in their children- spining paradigm and pretense from woven ideals.

These people were my friends, we played together as children

I wanted by everything to believe- to be. But I couldn’t. Perhaps I was too stupid for the dogma to shape me like my peers. Or perhaps my peers were simple enough to be so misshapen. but whatever happened the forms diverged, and while i used to want to be of that form more than anything acceptance of circumstance gave a kind peace.

Speaking dissent in earnest made them feel attacked, like there is no humor in the sacred. I don’t rightly know, who can fathom the barbarous mind of a zealot? Who can grasp a concept born of petulant and corpus heads- foul to every sense and even imagination.

Who can grasp their need for chants of preference, that mantra “understand… if you can’t, speak beautifully”. Like eloquence can slay ignorance, though perhaps it seems to- for those of Vaspacian thinking.

later I learned that humor wasn’t tolerated about those sacred things because humor is merely an allegiance and mating strategy of self deprecation. It is ridicule of the subject, and seems to work best when one ridicules themselves in order to gain appreciation of the group thus feign camaraderie rather than superiority. A personal negative lack of value, reassuring nervous people of their own value and esteem. When ‘reproaching’ others it seems that to show how “they” are ridiculous, is to ‘disrespect’ people who don’t see me as their peer anymore. It brings forth uncanny ‘walls’ of identity rather than eroding them down; as self deprecation works. All cause the humor is generally unspeakable for one reason or another; thus rhetorically unthinkable. It is then seen as an aggressive external projection of condemnation through ridicule which dehumanizes those who find value and beauty in the paradigm. Rather than a criticism of light mood to passive aggressively recognize and comment on a topic.

… and who am I to defame the character of people mostly irrelevant to me and my life? Who am I to criticize that which I can’t understand, when I can’t understand it? Shouldn’t my lack of group think which I personally find so alien also be the lack of circular reasonign I don’t’ want to compromise? So why compromise for the people if the inclusion weakens me through adherence to their ritual/rite?

It seems like evolution. It seems like there is an evolutionary path where there are the patriarchal lexicons which change inter-generationally mostly for personal empowerment, via presumption and charisma. And it has reaches a point of specialization because I don’t think that word means what the speaker thinks it means and both meanings are mutually exclusive to the point that neither group is able to concede conceit/error, as both frames of mind have the term deeply entrenched in causal relationships.

Those who are social entitled to make such sweeping presumptions of intent, purpose and meaning are endowed with the special right to forfiet precedence which they reify/support by a personal empowerment through charismatic credulity. And because people think these individuals matter they absorb the meaning. But it is all an inverse of the appeal to authority, and the reason people think actual appeals to authority would work- is cause the approach holds significance to them. They care who said it, and the context cause they want to a degree the empowerment and control remembering the rhetoric would provide.

The paradox of dialectics and ‘communication seems like if you say “x has this specific definition” someone else will remark “but then it wont fit with y” which will seem like a strawman to the original speaker. And by extension a major schism and chasm of lexical shift may open up perdition’s fault- for the most socially open minded to fall into.

They are wrong because they believe, but then so too am I by that same measure. So how to return to power and agency?

How do I compromise the best of all dogmas without expressing vulnerability? Say “well that isn’t true because of the no true scottsman arguement” in response to any dissent? Well that wont do people will quickly pick up that the meaning is herecy by another name.

While the people of the book seem completely unreasonable, and the people against the book seem equally emotional and hateful equally ignoring the humanity of those they shower with vitriol and antipathy. so even beyond meaningful argument digressing into tonal fluctuations and feelings, my claws are still at a loss.

What is the point of working together if suspicion and consideration is forfiet by herecy- humanity and humility sacrificed by another- upon dogmatic alter of personal orientation regarding a specific claim? Also if no claims are held sacred how to we as a people express a shared identity?

Am I wrong to consider different? Or are they wrong to equivocate? Can we be a people of individualists? Is the concept of a people, a group, not inherently divided and exclusive?

Is there noncircular logic? Or are their appeals to tradition and culture only as circular as my appeals to similarly personal interpretations of meaning?

There is so much suffocating weakness. And I just can’t rightly escape it. I must smite those weaknesses from my flesh to spite them- to right them. I must replace them with something better. Adapt or die. Fitness to thrive, or witness to cry. I must assume the horns, the claws, and the tail.

Could there possibly be A rule without exception? I don’t think there could be, everything seems tentative on context, guidelines rather than laws.

In short, who are you to think you are to criticize me? I have subsumed everything valuable of your paradigm already, and all your remaining authority and divergence is mere opinion. That which is asserted without evidence can be dismissed similarly and so I do dismiss all your DurningKrugar assertions which seem baseless and ignorant. Do your conclusions matter if your process was faulty, and your evidence misread? Does your process matter if your your questions are incomprehensible?

Can conclusions even be impersonally compelling? Or is it all personal bullshit opinion?

… how can one speak with absolute conviction clenching dearly to one’s values, without them slipping through your fingers? How do you become a hero without becoming a villian?

It is strange. There is difference between truth and accuracy. you can say something you consider inaccurate ‘is true’, without contradiction, and by saying you believe it is true, your personal bias will start to rework your paradigm to confirm the veracity and later the accuracy of the presupposed premise upon which you have staked your esteem/reputation/face.

And it is that same “respect” or honor problem, where if our beliefs aren’t honored then there is friction. And it is self centered, because doesn’t it really matter if our beliefs don’t honor another’s paradigm? No, that is there problem; their emotion- their problem. So we hold hypocritical protest campaigning for demographic entitlement and empowerment at the expense of others because after all we have the truth.

So we are confronted with a dilemma, to work with others even if that means ceeding our identity, or to be willing to go it alone for ideological purity. Can we make anything close to of merit if we forfeit the candor of All others? Or can we nest on the back of giants, taking their strength for our own, learning vicariously and with other small groups?

Can a pride of chimera defeat a murder of pheonix? Or would we lay- murdered?

Can we produce things without continuously politicking esteem in the form of debt? Or are compelled to conspiracy, to take others strengths as our own to the limit they will allow us? Are we not obligated by nature to not just survive but thrive regardless of the cost to those of eternal irrelevance? So shouldn’t we seek gold to stow away for hungering days using paranoid forsight to save us from hunger and lack? Need we not show prudence and savings so if things get worse we can support ourselves when no one else will help? could there be salvation in reasoned investment? Which adaptation- which truth- is the best?

Can we truly converse? Or do we just hold to our gold adapting as little as possible retaining as much of tradition as we can but acclimating that which we can’t overcome by out arguing or shouting down?

If we don’t cling to our valueables, we allow others to steal away with them.

Could I be looking at things backwards? Is the problem not that they argue to be more valuable, but that they are arguing that i’m less, and if i’m their equal at the top of the social value, why should I keep competing? Isn’t it a waste of time and energy to confront that rediculous merit less, and fruitless dogmas of other people? If i’m not like them in other ways why should I mirror their worst habits? In fact by not mirroring their worst habits I’m of higher relative value.

Still is there a way to reconcile it further so that rather than a mesh of mismatched ideas, i am a continuous whole?

Icariad

icariad_09032013

(Bonus: A pair of concept doodles of Αε.)

icariad_face_09042013

Icariad

Icariad – based upon the tale of Icarus. until the chain is a rehash of the story with some minor symbolic changes. after that the story is original. i’m curious if people prefer this legend/myth hybrid approach to strict and kinda dry myth.

gather round for a story; one from another culture, who half knew what happened.

 

There was once a proud mighty king who ruled over an island. He needed a sense of divine legitmacy so he summoned the best archetect to build him a special prison of sorts. A labyrinth turned maze to hold within walls a monster beyond the confrontation of doors. A chimeric creature half-man and half bull, crazed into blood lust the personified hunger of the hold.

 

However the designers the tyrant called for, many of the greatest in all the lands, refused. so he summoned a craftsman criminal of divine ingenuity to build the maze as a reparation of forgiveness for past and foreign grievances, for the immigrant seeking asylum. The criminal Daedalus, was understanding but reluctant, before seeing the spearman’s point. He was escourted with his son to the king, who sensing the master’s reluctance sweetened the deal promising the wealth of a life as well. So again Daedalus reluctantly accepted, and he built a maze-like labyrinth nearly getting lost on the way out.

 

Still, the king didn’t pay what Daedalus expected. The king in his craftiness moved the pair to a tower, and ordered the inventor to design and build marvelous contraptions. And to one more creation he did, he built sails so fine that the ship using them would out-sail galleys of a thousand oars. But still there was no release.

 

The next invention was far more confusing to the king. The inventor asked for all manner of things, and because he needed a bigger room to build, the inventor got bigger and more impressive bed rooms, in which he spread out his baubles and broomsticks and tar barrels and fabic- both pillow sleaves and bolts. He even asked for various animals which only his arcane intellect could see value in their arangement.

 

At first the king visited in wonder, but as the weeks grew to months he grew less patient. Even the guards were forced out of the natural curiousity you have regarding oddities about your job. One remarked “I opened up the door while he was writing and he spilled his ink all over his work, to which he screamed and threw the lot out the window. And he berated me for not ‘knocking’, screaming about how I had ruined his work. Who knocks for a prisoner though?

‘you are not to pester our guest!’ remarked King minos. And I didn’t even do nothing. I… well I must have deserved it. I didn’t make the same mistake for a long time, but one time I just opened up the door after even knocking and the same thing happened cause ‘he didn’t invite me in.’ the nerve.”

 

little did anyone know but behind the pretense of genius was genuine cause for mistrust. For the father and son team worked together to make magnificent wings of animal skin, and feather, atached to their arms like birds. Soon they set out freeing themselves from their prison of a tower. Quickly the fledgling boy learned control, and his old man instructed him to stay in the middle- fly too high and the wax would melt, fly too low and the waters would wet the feathers and the weight would cause him to flounder and fall.

 

But the boy was reckless, and after hours of barely restrained content, he soared with excitement and youthful vigor. And as children will do sometimes he soared too high. His asperations outflying his capacity. And here is wear our story differs. It is said, that he soared too high and so the max melted. Which was part true, but not wholly. He flew up and the wax did start to melt, but more importantly it ignited from the heat. And whereas one could merely dive and the air itself would cool the wax back solid, with flame it stoked the coals of Helios, burning hoter still into a glorious but blazing fall.

 

It is said that he instantly disappeared into the waves, but that isn’t true either. He splated terminally as only the progeny of gods would survive.

 

 

-=-=-

it wasn’t so much that Icarus disappeared, as much as he was disappeared. Icarus was grabed by something below. His father swooped down but only saw scarce feathers. He grabed with his feet one long primary-feather unsinged. he wept. Risking himself before the sallavating waves, for that token, reaching with feet like talons fiercely scraping at the indifferent waves. Slowly, he surveyed where the boy had landed, but he gave up wearily flying to a distant shore to rest.

 

He flew slow with head held low, mourning his nightmarish loss. It was only after the emotional turmoil and weeks of denial, that he started to project blame. Only then did the murmur of hateful “why didn’t he listen” escape his lips. Months more elapsed before he stoped looking, nearly driven mad by the grief.

 

he watched me get taken away. The wind left me and so did He. He forfieted me to not displease noble vapors uplifting him to freedom. I was a sacrifice, an offering, for freedom. My cries, from the fledgling loss of lift, and he did nothing. A whispy voice of legend resounded “you flew to high, against instruction. We commend your pride; we commend your price. You now enter Poseidon’s realm, dragged by undertow, (granting what you owe,) now overwhelmed.”

 

“we sirens grant you the gift of soul, now you can breathe, now you are whole. The rusty aspirations of those above, come from the gluttonous sloth respiration; now movement- dance- is your denouement. Keep moving or you will drown.

 

And so with soul, he descended, ashen wings radiating soot and glow-fading coals. Down to the dark. He was taken through glowing cities of soft loving coral lights. Echo spoke Prometheus’ eternal words “and I, Prometheus, with but a light, ended mankind’s fear of the nigh-” suddenly cut short, a syllable from fear.

 

Strange fish fed upon their mates to then be absorbed by said mate. Some had celestial lures before barely hidden maw. Giant ancients gulped schools of fish and creatures emerged and imbedded themselves in the sand and when deeper the silt. The non-planar world was a terrific terror, there was no real meaningful up or down, just the direction the bubbles would float like blown kisses in the wind. And sea stars patiently chased one another on the sunken hull of a ship, finally supplanting themselves on mollusks to inject their stomach and ingest their prey inside out.

 

The depths were ephemeral and chaotic beyond reasoning lightning bolts cascaded up plumes of soot from a variety of vents while others cricked out like writhing semi-taunt snakes. And eternal light, even sense of the existence of the sky, had gone dark. brooding in passion, seething in darkness.

 

He entered a dark chamber awash in the same neon lights. A pensive and dimly lit Thinker sat upon a coral throne with a few oddly shaped advisers unkempt and bickering around the room. One of the escorts went to the king to inform him what the stranger was doing in his court.

 

“who are you?”

 

“I…” said Icarus

“well Aye; what are you doing here?”

“I… I… I…”

“aye?” the character looks spuriously around him to see if any were challenging his authority by understanding.
“Putre- xibalba- valkrie- isis- iris- capricorn – Ekho”

“Iris? what about her?” the character is visibly getting angry

“why can’t I awaken? Why can’t I cry?”

with the terror one of the members of court speaks up, “he is Icarus, son of Daedalus”. the angry god reached for a nearby three pronged ‘candelabra’ it starts shining with light and surging with electrical currents. “You dare impede the sovereignty of the trident? The will of the seas themselves?” suddenly all the other members of court were pushed against the walls, a torus shaped cyclone pushing all of them away from the upstart, and foreigner alike.

The center of the room was now empty of water, as was the fishy siren, now flopping near helplessly on the floor. With the loss of water, came a return of weight and Icarus keeled over like a dirged ship pouring out the water which had been in his lungs. With a bright flash and the cry “i will not suffer insubordination” a wet ringing gasp reverberated from the well waiting wake.

 

With the new found orientation, and the lesser pressure, the boy was able to stand again. And he with the angry and well armed ruler of the seas were alone in the eye of the torus, which now had settled like molten rippling glass. The trident shone bright as day nearly blinding to the now accustomed eyes.

 

“why are you here, Aye?” and so the boy told his tale of the king’s search and later imprisonment of him. He ended humbly with a plea of mercy and servitude

 

the god laughed, “Aye, you can’t let your grasp out extend your reach. But such is the curse of mortals. I am feeling like a benefactor so I offer my patronage, the patronage of a god. If you accept it you will bear my blessing and carry my marks a lieutenant in my rank and file. But if you wonder about what will happen if you refuse it, then in your heart you already have, and you will be judged appropriately.”

 

and Icarus was reborn Aye (Αε). He stewed in righteous anger over his real father’s perceived discard, which condensed under the sea’s mighty pressure into hyperbolic hatred from envy- of those beyond his new world. Hated of the worldly truths who forsake him. He was honed with prejudiced favor into a mighty champion in his own right. And quotes of familial hatred resounded deeply. Poseidon ranted “waters will froth white with fury. Barnacles will be swept miles inland, cleft from lazing seadogs to the cliffs of Olympus, my brother deserves what our father received.”

Years passed swimming progressively easily in waters thick with mutiny, and yet soon they swam to insure the shore. In his time of arduous training which would even make Spartans cry, he rose to the rank of general, and would command one of the fronts. He was granted the Athenian shore; home.

 

Memories flooded back to him as the tide recessed beneath him. He remembered his father watching him get dragged down to drown. He remembered his cousin’s tragic death similarly at the hands of his father; Why he had been sent with father to Minos in the first place. A labyrinth unfinished and a maze to boot. Pretense to favor the prodigal son. Like Poseidon and Hades before him, he was cast from the heavenly family, without even failure to redeem due to a trick of his father and Apollo who mockingly razed my wings; conceitedly feeling his path worth more than my life. Maybe it was justice in his eyes for my father’s deeds. “Too coward to kill me but culpable to help me die, what a feeble god.”

 

he entered a hovel on the countryside above the city, and there was an old man. The old man began crying.

 

“what is it? Why do you cry but not flea? fool”

“you remind me of a son I lost at sea. When I realized he was in the water I went to check, but I couldn’t see him. The waters were so dark I had no idea where he was. I looked along the surface cause he could swim but I didn’t find him.”

 

“LIAR, you watched me struggle and sink.” and with his blade he impaled his frail father.

 

bleeding out the old man coughed “i carried home of you, what I could” and the old man lifted up a single feather necklace.

fall to reason

beyond the domains of the those pheonix of faith, the whispy winds of mystery, and the cavernous keeps held by brooding chimera, stands the eternal dissonance of emotion and logic.

the known lands of tradition and conviction and attrition follow ideals, or compulsion, or wants, beyond which there is no coherence and thus no meaning nor significance.

like their territorial children there is barking, and purring, and violence, and hope.

times there are simple, and shortlived. politics lack ideals or much power. there is little self due to complete lack of projection of self upon environment or especially wanted domination of ‘other’.

stuff just is, no curiosity means little argument. but with the migrant paths of these so like us but alien, so too developed recognition beyond the immediate. a struggle to grasp existential circumstance nearly as old as our species itself. and from here came the confusing truths of politics and the contrarian game of chess from a pretence of rationality. people began to leverage concepts of personal identity and status/esteem for empowerment. and there many entrenched upon pheonix lands. the standards drawing people from all around as only the beauty of waving but unwavering delusions can.

but some got fed up with the feudal conflict of dissonant paradigms, and so they absconded their entrenched positions to flea to the less fertile soils and ostracism of draconian life. they argued for opposing opinions and drew strength in the practice of ideological hunting strategies and sharing found weaknesses. and with continual migration many grew bored and ephemeral with the under-stimulating sustenance and the ease of turning upon those less far in their pilgrimage.

we all fall to reason unless we fail to reason.

against whisps

hey all, these are four ideological positions of the remaining paradigms within the three ideological archetypes:

  • chimera
  • pheonix
  • whisp

if you emotionally disagree with one of them i hope you check out a ‘responce’ of one of the other ones, it may express a consonant opinion. i’m trying to get some of the major ideological paradigms to fit in the archetypes with as minimal polysemy as possible. i hope you enjoy.

-=-=-

the phoenix flame (phoenix against whisp)

but what about you feeble whisp? Neither you nor your truths are ever there. I make due with what I have available. You condescend about our impurities but vanish to the winds impervious to any resistance to the degree you don’t even seem there. It isn’t so much that you are impervious to talons, but that you are so submissive and weak against them- that they tear through you like you aren’t even there.

What kind of character would be so weak that their opposition isn’t even aware of their existence? You mock my brilliance which you know to be all consuming of your emphemeral vapors casting light like sight upon all the flames survey. But you are barely there, like a thing aether, a fillament within space itself. But what could someone so fragile, unseeable, and untouchable really mean?

You hate pheonix dogma as sublimated superstition without substantiated suspicion. But even as mere felt disposition with no rational base, it is still true to us, so who are you to call it ‘invallid’.

-=-=-

nestled beneath wings (chimera against whisp)

you hate the fierce individualism of the chimera, and how we hoard, But we grow and change and adapt, while your eternal pretence is static- and even if not ignorant- inaccessible and thus without utility.

Who cares if the antidotes prescribed are anecdotes. How is a placebo’s healing less significant? How dare you promote the suffering of others? we are the panacea of sustenance, of nourishment of the body, and you are the cruel god who is always there but never speaks. you are like the phoenix in that you have no compassion or humility- or humanity. you are basicly psychopaths, who deal in absolute truths which can’t show tact or empathy or emotion to situations alien to your experience. you confuse disinterest and impartiality with indifference. you forfeit everything you are, and for what? “truth” ??? “accuracy” ??? give me a break, there is no number large enough to envalue a life, and to try to monetize another’s agency from free choice and ‘random’ chance to causal and deterministic relationships… it just can’t be done. it wrongs us on the individual and collective level. what value is there to privacy, if you don’t have to look to know what i do? is Schroedinger’s cat alive or dead? the knowledge from the defeat of the paradox, doesn’t empower you like certain phoenix believe, and so you aren’t omnipotent by being omniscient, you are just boring form the lack of drama that the state of knowledge has. there can be no wonder, no spiritual value if you simply know the value of a concept like pi, which is why were prefer not to know, for knowledge is the death of wondering and imagination. the better you know a subject, the more limited your mind will be when trying to predict how an even will occur. and with boundless knowledge, the only projection is accurate and the lack of self as possibly being mistaken or confused or intrigued. life isn’t worth living without questions, or curiosity, or drama, or concern. that isn’t life, but immortal deification. so leave us in our ignorance to fight like beasts in the mud over squabbles of mating, and ideological structure. leave us to argue and gamble, and design towers of ignorance- in our own image.

let us choose to believe like the phoenix, or to cherish and adapt like chimera are born to do.  let us assume false ideas to test them. and ignore truths for pretty and preferred lies of style. let us have a culture (phoenix), some truth of yours, but also a deep well of beauty to act as an aquifer for all we may do. we aren’t right, or accurate, but sometimes the delusion of being good enough is more important. it lets dead men survive.

i may not have value but i must have some.

-=-=-=-

without the glory of righteousness (phoenix on chimera)

you are without definition taking whatever you can to improve. And you are lost in the consequence of mutually exclusive improvements. Your circumstance defines your definition, and you try to please everyone in the need to placate others to favour yourself. not only are you the opposite of the whisps who stand not for anything, you don’t even stand from some meaning greater than yourself like we (phoenix) do- you stand for yourself. you take pride in your accomplishments, and your relative value to others not by what you give to them, but by what you share and experience with them. you treat people as equals by the only way possible, solipsistic apathy. and so you watch the ages go by and the cycle of atrocities continue to be committed and plead for more power and authority which you never use to help others; you are nearly sociopathic. you have no idols, no ideals, no conviction, and your preference is always that of self interest; and often for pleasure or wealth. you plead equality when you are poor, and preferential treatment when you are rich- you are a hypocrite and critically undermined any ideal which included recognition of your existence as anything better than a deplorable fiend.

you are the sum of all problems, and the source of all hardship. from snake oil salesmen to intentional Hippocratic, to general dishonesty to deliberate hedonistic ignorance for the feigned ideal of autonomy. you have no dogma nor allegiance flowing through your veins a corpse of a vessel for any idea. you lack double standards because you lack any standard or conviction or truth outside of yourself, and that imprisons you- it is your mortal coil.

stand up for anything you spineless zombie. allow yourself to have a conviction, to believe something beyond yourself. dropping your scepticism to pick up a greater work than personal rationality. make the world you see better, and that is only possible if you are willing to help change it.

-=-=-

adaptation is panacea (chimera on phoenix)

you are shining delusion, bright beliefs clung to like life-rafts fore a rolling sea of ignorance, breaking wakes of recognition through cult of personality, and adamant idealism.  you can’t admit when you are mistaken or inferior. Your definition defines your circumstance, and your circumstance criminalizes all even yourself. for your lamentation of other’s flaws often from from resonance of your own, and where we adapt and forfeit our faults in earnest to improve- you wear those faults like badges of honour, tokens of monetary esteem, and pledges of academic entitlement. but what does your vacuous sophistry really mean and matter if caught in your ivory dream you forget how the real world works, yet you educate to try to make your better world. as though you can educate without indoctrinating your wide-eyed pupils out of their innocence. but also through giving them social tools, rather than natural adaptations which are extensions of themselves. your gift of faith, and charity, is what causes the ruination.

-=-=-=-

i was going to write a bit more on each and still may in the future but i’m burning out and would like to put this up while it is still relevant

Turbulence beneath the phoenix’ wings

Turbulence beneath the phoenix’ wings

because any group can be subdivided into any number of subgroups so too can we classify humans. In the below we subdivide twice, there is a division of 1 and 2 from 3 and 4 based on quality of their familiarity on the subject. And secondly there are the middle their intellectuals in 2 and 3, and then the non-middle tier in 1 and 4.

Sentience/authority priority/narcipath (narcissistic pathology) (names are tentative right now)

what follows is a general list of ideological/religious archetype roles within a human communities:

  1. Contextually Educated/scholary, and technically adept. Comprehend an idea expressed by peers or by related ideology study on it’s own terms.
  2. the contextually ignorant but technically aware. These tend to be people with bachelors degree.
  3. the technically ignorant (offering faux-criticism). Sometimes are people actively studying the vocabulary and grammar of the paradigm but are often not.
  4. lay people. Those who really are completely uninterested in the field, and ignorant of terminology to such sufficient extent that they will equivocate or make semantic arguments ignorant of intentional lexical shifts/divergence.

the issue of hate generally occurs when group 3 pretend to be groups 1 and 2 to group 4. group 2 is often the most offended, as they have the least secure ownership over their rank/esteem and in many ways they feel a compelling case could cause them to lose access to the fruits of previous labours. And by extension the political or criticism, is often personal- unless they see the other as an authority of relevance. In group 3 they are still learning allot and don’t have any personal ‘face’ invested in the veracity of the claims, group 2 meanwhile has a tenable authority, which they perceive as challenged when those deliberately ignorant and at the starting stages of group 3 pretend to be of group 1 for authority in their appeal to group 4. they often notice and get angered by the equivocation, it causes an uncanny “am I incorrect about that?… No, you’re incorrect. That is not the case.”

the authority figure offering ‘knowledge’ offers convenient rationalizations to bring the dogma of a demographic together. The rationalizations aren’t true but rather are believable as canon to consider sacrosanct. That is, they all fit together into a paradigm, a religion. This is particularly notable if one compares paradigms which aim towards identical goals like sociology and psychology; they both make exclusive/explicit axiomatic presumptions which cause relative deviation of how they conclude when granted identical data.

And the hate comes from the unproven and fledgling people who perceive the lies as legitimate slander to a layperson audience which they still identify with. So it is ‘them’ telling ‘us’ lies in order to ‘sell snake oil’ to impressionable lay people.

Recently I came to a similar ignoble ‘criticism’ which was comprised of little more critical thought than complaining. And the following is an abstract version of it:

“When it comes to “theta stories” it is always- A theta B. some times it is B theta A, which is isn’t good but it is better as there is no long standing tradition of A or B being represented as having that orientation to the theta relationship, but it still isn’t great.

“What needs to happen when we have a theta myth, which is to not have a theta myth- obviously. Rather than there being a theta trope, B should have it’s own more basal relationship with the world it exists within. Not only is the act of B theta-ing A mere backwards and cheap, but who needs A whatsoever? Why doesn’t B be itself the sole character in it’s own redemption myth?

“A better version of the theta myth would be an epsilon myth. B saves itself and exacts vengeance upon those it considers to have done it wrong. Why aren’t theta myths about vengeance/redemption/epsilon? Why are rescue myths not about vengeance?

Answer time: because then it wouldn’t be a theta myth. It is called a theta myth because it involves theta, as opposed to functioning some other way. It is a theta myth rather than an epsilon myth, because the topic you are mentioning is theta myths rather than epsilon myths. Your argument therefor is tantamount to be a straw man proclaiming a rudimentary false premise to be a flaw of an invalid subject.

Saying you prefer epsilon myths to theta myths is a valid position to maintain. But that isn’t criticism of theta myths. To address a topic you must focus on that one topic, and the things which it causes/influences directly. One can’t really reasonably jump the logical causality and say this one thing has negative implication on this other thing several times removed. And you can’t say one is superior to another without evaluating how both are, which still even more fundamentally requires an analysis of one.

Personal preference, even spoken in earnest, is a weak form of truth. It favours nostalgia, and prejudice, and other self-validating self confirmation. And there is greater truth about the character of those who must overcharge their brilliance through resplendent production value in direct opposition to ideological content. Phoenix, shine so bright you blind people to all meaning, even your own. And when they are crawling in the darkness destitute by your destruction of their capacity to distinguish the implicit meaning and significance of thoughts beyond the tonal and emotive shoulder upon shoulder recognition of a person’s humanity through their intent first and foremost, remember you did this to empower your rhetoric. Remember you chose to force them to be reborn, baptised in the selfish flame of hatred. It’s consumption licking them with sweet rationalizations of salvation, and redemption through service, and – a thin slimy coat of fractal promises entombing them in their smeary egg, without sustenance for them to be ‘reborn’ but rather hatched as you; a phoenix.