Marx says somewhere "The material relations between people become social relations between used chapstick"

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i was wondering if you could help me get in contact with some people from our year. i saw Juliet and Nik last night in a dream.

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i wish we had resources. i want to occupy a massive building in the middle of Portland and make it a temple for queer people and homeless people and runaways and have gardens and libraries and parks and group kitchens and room for everyone.

I'm pissed that Belle had to go to a shitty workplace and grow up with shitty people and deal with shitty institutions which reward misogyny and classism and racism. and I'm pissed that i can't will the world into something better. i want to link up with mutual aid more. put together some life rafts. but the pain of the loss, the cascading shock, the disintegration. I'm left

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it's strange, lately thinking about how she's gone is more jaring then it was a moon ago. i guess i was numb to it, but now it's sharper.

I've been listening to songs from a couple albums and trying to write about them. just put up a dispatch on ecological politics and grief. trying to figure out

a friend is getting married tomorrow, I'm worried about them tbh.

my sister got her license and is no longer with the creepy driving instructor so I've been working on reporting him, i haven't found any kind of mechanism yet but i would like to get him fired from being the tester so i guess maybe write to the city council? idk

í have been seeing her in my dreams. my deceased grandmother had been showing up too.

i am afraid a lot more now, i want to get into therapy. i took an important step on that this past Monday.

we didn't tell each other everything. we went weeks without texting, months too. we held onto each other when we could, with all our psychic tinitus blocking out every good thought like djinn confined in silver church bells.

the funeral, the service after, it was awful. i said nothing because what do you say. i would have said, that's not her, she doesn't look like herself. i would have said this is a false statement, this is a dead letter, this makes no sense.

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Iron Council

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how do we get a mutiny going on a ship the size of a planet? i really liked The Scar's portrayal of mutiny politics and in Children of Ruin too. as i bake with everyone else i wonder, how to incite a solar insurrection, how to build coalitions of the hot and sweaty, the homeless kicked out of cages into 111° heat for being poor in public, the construction workers in Texas,

in Iron Council they strike against the weather. there's a revolutionary sexworker, and i am reminded of the AI proverb, In the Kingdom of the Police Officers, a Prostitute i

at Belle's funeral they

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here are four recent iterations of my Tracker Spell. on the left hand column or the habits and tasks which I tried to do everyday. the color of the bubbles are partially whim based, and they incidentally create a record of what colors of ink I tend to use day to day.

at the top are the dates, or dayspells. since around September of last year I've been creating my own personal calendar. in addition to the Gregorian calendar (so called "July" being replaced with the original Quintilis) I observe the French Republican calendar and the lunar calendar. the length of the week is derived from the phases of the Moon, with a full lunar cycle taking just a day and a half over 4 weeks to complete. I've assigned the days of the week of different lunar quarters specific meanings.

for example the first day on the 1st picture was the 5th of May, a Friday, and a Full Moon. Friday's on or after the full moon are Martyrsdays, because Fridays are associated with love and because according to Church tradition Christ was crucified on a Full Moon Friday (this is why Easter is always the first Sunday after the First Friday on or after the Full Pascal Moon). meanwhile, Fridays preceding or on the Full Moon i have a feast to Hathor. when the Full Moon falls on a Friday these two fetes are combined and you get the Sigil of the horned ghost on a Venusian cross.

essentials of different days of the week and month help me to reflect and to remember tasks. the first Wednesday of the waxing moon is the Feast of the Fire Thief, and i try to always restock my pantry that day. the first Thursday of the Moon is my feast to Hygeia, goddess of Hygine, and I try to do at least one deep cleaning task that I've been putting off on that day. the last Thursday of the Moon i have a feast of Persephone, my internal child and think about the ways I've survived trauma.

in my telling of the myth, Persephone escapes Hades into the underworld and finds the orchard of the dead. she is cornered while trying to steal pomegranates from the bow of the tree, and Hades attempts to grab her by the foot. in doing so, he causes the forked branch she was hanging from to break. as she falls, Persephone and the branch turn head over heels, and the branch's two ends pass between the view slits in Hades' helm and put out both his eyes. simultaneously, the branch is transubstantiated into a Bident, with a black moon or ichor stained pomegranate between it's prongs. the bident was the traditional symbol of Hades which Persephone appropriates for herself.

eventually i expect i will have a unique sigil for every day of the week-lunar cycle, for now i have about 20/29 days assigned.

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🛞

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i want to write a story set in that alternative New York. maybe one where the Roman Empire adopted a very different sect if Christianity, or more likely stayed Pagan.

Satan as a political figure fascinates me, I think it's really interesting how people deal with him in their political theology.

in Paradise Lost he's a rebel angel, unwilling to consent to the Absolute Dictatorship of The Lord. which hey, that's pretty sympathetic. I read His Dark Materials last autumn 🍁 and I'm hoping to start the third book once we're half way to the equinox, but at least in the first 2 books it makes a case which persuades a lot of the characters, including clockwork oracles, witches, daemons, and angels that the Omniscience and Omnipotence of their Authority were partly propaganda, and with them out of the way the Omnibenevolance might be considered at a more conscious level, that is too say, a social interaction between those in your mind that speak,

who interpret, who listen, who decide. all of whom are a composite of the shades of your past lives, the days and moons, and the selves around us with whom we were gravitationally locked.

the physics of the psyche is an absolute fascination of mine, the allegories we use to describe what it is that we are. i prefer orbits to billard balls.

i read Children of Time and Children of Ruin. i love how in them and in 3BP the scientificticious host the mythological. in Children of Ruin an Octopus civilization is brought up under and overthrows an autistic Posideon-Prometheus tasked with terraforming a planet with a 98% water surface.

a genius totalitarian scientist, herself Zeus and Odin and Jehovah all in one.

at e

the creation of the Interstellar Human Society the Four Ships crew realize they are all in an Edonic Prisoner's Dilema, Deities forced to assume that their counterparts are Devils, or regard themselves as Devils, or that they may do so in the future.

Satan in Job is not so much Cosmic Opponent to God as he is a Prosecutor in Elohim's Court, who is more Grand Inquisitor, even Quality Control Officer, than Arch-Underminer of Heavenly Plan ⚖️

Compare the Zoroastrian Anti-Deity who is Opposite and Equal (but Destined to Fail, perhaps self Undermining?)

A devil who wants to strike out on his own and break off relations with a Heavenly Dictator and establish himself as his own republican empire seems to make a very sympathetic figure to the colonial bourgeoisie of Virgina and the Carolinas, until one remembers the colonial proletariat, the delocated indigenous and the enslaved classes, who would have far more to gain from overthrowing or escaping the slavers, the land speculators, the slumlords of industry and extraction, then the same slavers and speculators could ever hope to gain against the king.

so maybe you get a Good Devil and a Bad Devil, Lucifer the Reformer, maybe, or Beelzebub gets a redemption arc. Michaelangelo, Gabriel, Uriel, the seraphim and the Cherubim and the Wheels, are recognized for what they are: the associate deities of competing neighborhood pantheons, those who were adopted or married in early, or shockingly embraced after a long but dignified struggle of association and taboo and naming, embraced and constricted and swallowed whole, a new face for the boss to wear, a whole index of titles and signals made anonymous, dislodged, the knodes of it's meaning all come unknotted.

the devil offers Jesus the authority to make stones into bread, to fly, to rule the world. call me naive, but in Sunday school and Children's Sermon and occasionally unsolicited participation in the middle of the sacred rites, i was want to argue that Yeshua made the wrong choice. with food to feed the thousands, with the power to negate any harm, with an empire to trump Alexander's, could not Christ heal every lepper in the world, unwrite every oppressive law and exploitative authority? God could grant him this power, but he isn't, and the Devil is offering reaults Now, not in any speculative life of the world to come. i say go for it, take the initiative, strike Herod dead from afar, stamp on Pilate's head a plague to rival every execution, every flogging, every torture and rape and indignity committed in his name or on his dime. March on Rome, put the empire on trial, bring about a new world.

but power does not go uncontested, and every authority concentrates Oppositions twice over, internally as well as along their ulterior pole. when the prophet enters a town or country where his support is lukewarm and his skeptics numerous, and especially in the town of his hailing, his miraculous power --formulated as his "honor"--dries up or flies the coop or goes into hibernation, and he is only able to do minor healings

the mechanism of Jesus power is deliciously ambiguous. if it is God who authors these works, why is it the faith of the recipient or their assistance or the general audience who make the miracles work? is it cynacism to say that they are epistemicly predisposing themselves to expirence a miracle? it is the academic, not the patient, who resents a cure for being "merely a placebo." the fact of the matter is that miracles, if by miracles we mean causally ambiguous remissions or sudden psychosomatic breakthroughs. and those miracles need homes, they need a space for their gratitude and wonder yes but also their anxiety and uncertainty to congress, to be nurished and integrated. give them an altar, make a spatiotemporal place where they can come to in from the cold, and the expirence will burrow in and grow confident, build nests and hatch Gods, always more and less then the qualia which nurse and tend and sometimes turn on them.

the last but one New Moon i resolved to make an altar for Belle. currently i have a few charms and offerings spread among several, the open edges of bookshelves and packed drawers and between the pages of journals and books, and perhaps in the uncertainty of their scattered index I'm holding my grieving for her at arm's distance, magnates on an uneven gameboard, feeling each other out but not quite able to jump the valies and mountains which define the spaces. i have her favorite soda which she asked me to get for her once, explaining to me the difference between cornsyrup american fiz and real sugar Mexican coke. i have some flower petals and items i had been trying to gather the spoons to send in a care package, a notebook and a cunty flask and things i thought she would think silly. i wanted to get some candies. i want to get some of her writing, print some photos, whatever i can find to let her shade know she'll always have a place in my home.

do we worship Job under the guise of Jesus? Jesus sufferers for our sins but Job simply sufferers. Strange, shell game swapped sacrificial or Absurd pointless sadistic fetish. either way, the presiding magistrate would have to be a devil.

in Dante the demons are torturers and tortue victims, often simultaneously. the recursive prison machinery seems to delight in it's efficiency, it's ingenuity, it's attention to every cruel detail. i wonder what the working class imps and ghouls think of it all, the souls working and being worked upon eternity in, eternity out, all for a purpose quite disinterested in them and the sacrifices they contribute to its cause, the background static of timeless divine retributive justice diffusing into an ensouled but uncaring universe from wherever flyover circle of hell they call "here."

Day 9897 ♀️🌠21Quintilis2023🌒🦌303ThermidorCCXXXI

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I've had a pretty rough time recently. one of my closest friends passed away at the beginning of June//I've been reading a lot of books where grief is a central topic and that's been sort of a framework // writing some, taking care of my cats best i can, waiting out the heat wave by going nocturnal

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Hi, I'm Shadow. I'm one year old, i have a twin brother named Fox, and i really like laser pointers and Starbucks™ Icewater. I also recently got diagnosed with feline asthma, a condition which is very treatable but also very expensive. Medication, x-rays, vet appointments have racked up 2500 in debt.

so I've come to you, Internet.

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my past year's special interest has been creating my own time system and calandar, with three sets of months and 20+ days of the week, I've put scores of hours thinking about it and researching etymology and pantheons and designing sigils and trackers and lore, and an unforseen effect of this spell is that I'm hyper aware of certain anniversaries. Belle's funeral was on Anchorday of the Strawberry Moon, ⚓🍓, defined as the first Thursday after the full moon, which i originally installed as a holiday to remind myself that I've noticed my depression often spikes in the moon's third quarter and to be like prepared for that.

i found out on the prior Sunday, which was the first day of the Wanning Moon, and therefore Lilith's Night.

i didn't want to go to the funeral. i didn't want to leave the cats, i was certain s🧿mething would befall them. I'm grateful Matteo insisted.

we took the grey hound on Pensday, first Wednesday of the Wanning Moon, usually a journaling day. i finished Kraken by China Miéville, I'd been maybe halfway through when i found out and it immediately became The Book I Was reading when Belle died

Friday morning we took the bus back from the city. the Friday of-or-after the full moon is recognized as the lunarversary of Christ's Crucifixion and Death (interestingly though almost the sun has halfway descended from Noon (time of crucifixion) they've already got him down and in a wealthy benefactor's tomb , leading me to specuwonder--what if the whole thing was a Harry Houdini esque escape-from-death-itself trick gone wrong, and the Johnny come lately stories of him resurrecting are the prodigal sprouts of promotional material in rich, conspiratorial soil.

because after all, he doesn't exactly do a whole lot or even put in that many public appearances, he dies but pretty much immediately goes up to heaven anyway

like what's even the difference, if you've got those powers fucking March on Pilates' headquarters, kick the Romans out of Judea,

but some of us are hungry for theology, for worship, for accusation, and we take it where we can get it,

there are alternative universes out there, just an infinite few but they're not that far from here, as these things go ,where Yeshua of Nazerath survives a rigged crucifixion around the Passover of 33. where he looks dead and somebody bribes somebody to take him down early as was alleged/claimed/planned for/hoped for in our own surviving documents, and he recuperates, or lingers on just long enough to incite a riot, or flee Jerusalem for the mountains, become a bandit king living alongside Essenes and zealots.

CS Lewis other guy who gets sent to hell or speculating what an elderly Jesus might be like and how his message might have changed had he successfully given the authorities the slip, keeping out of reach. for Lewis Christ is necessarily Ahistorical, a being ripped from any context but Lewis' own dogmatically inclined mid century British imagination, so Christ could never have grown old, or had a falling out with some of his lieutenants before they could sell him out to the cops, or idk got into some entirely new shit, maybe as he's engaging with Hellenistic people in the towns and cities more and trying to build a bigger fallowing, a bigger movement, a bigger network of clients, maybe he starts throwing a bone to the greeks, the egyptians. or perhaps more likely he defines himself against them, posturing and dueling for scarce resources, seeing who can cure the most incurable kid or lepper or deadman, hell who can out- resurrect himself!

maybe that becomes his specialty, was on the way to becoming his specialty, whether he dodges a demonstration in Jerusalem or gets luckier on Cavalry (Calvary?) maybe he believes it himself, has some meditative technique to slow his heart, go into a trance.

i got a horrible email from my father.

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specuwonder

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Genre

Magical Realism and its dissidents: Borges and the role of the Nightmare in Political Ideology

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https://www.ghosttraffic.net/essays/for-want-of-an-apocalypse-thoughts-on-the-covid-19-timewarp

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Used to work in the Dead Prayer Office, sorting petitions to gods and principalities which no longer ever existed.

Is brought into the orbit of an archangel to copy out the lives of sinners so that their souls might be judged, their karma calculated, their essential nature isolated and tempered and recorded all as part of the great computational work of determining the universe's ultimate fate.

Copies out the lives of with an enchanted fervor bordering on mania. the angel and the devil who fight in the cosmic morning and night in the office are happy to pass off their objections to him, the office boy ghost however refuses to go near him.

Bårtlębãëūs refuses to compile a list of a the greater and lesser sins of a midlevel government functionary responsible for public works or financial regulations whose laziness or corruption will result in a cascading systems failure and the impoverishment of thousands. unable to be judged, the soul is returned to it's original life to repeat its course innumerable times. absent closure of this data, the universe itself remains incompletely documented, ameliorated, or resol

ved.

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Bårtlębãëūs

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silmarrilion

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!conceit catcher

🪐unionizing stories

Dispatches Catcher

Catcher

Thread

Tracker

Table (Operations)

on-hold list, checking them in and out on a registry of threads

bullet journaling

and sigils

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Mars

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a weird place in my grief right now because I'm getting used to Belle not being there when I want to send her something but then the being used to it surprises me and makes me feel guilty

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i participated in séances with Belle

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aliens arrive in a generation ship powered by a neutron star. they are on a trans-galactic Odyssey and they are informing you they intend to harvest {.01, 1., 10., ...} of the sun's ongoing strength. they are asking what humanity wants in exchange for it.

if humanity refuses any cessesion of their star and it's satellites, an arbiter appointed by God will kill a proportional number of political hostages, at a rate equivalent to the alien lives lost due to lack of fuel.

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alt lyrics

ontology of sorrow, of being sorry

Go Tell the Young Messiah

Judas Iscariot has not agreed in 2 years. these have been hard years tho, try as he might to win back the trust of his rabbi-cum-bandit king Yeshua the Prophet, he has been confined to an ambiguous, hostile orbit among turncoats and Roman emisaries (the empire always likes to make sure it has debts on which to extract a return on every side of it's colonies and vassal states indigenous populations.

alternative essay styles. see especially Borges, Benjamin,

to cut yourself is to essay the mortal text, to test it and install spikes and prayers, swords and wheels and flags and coffins. it is to attempt the impossible. to die is to not be. if it is impossible for me to be once undergoing death, then to die is to accomplish the impossible, to pass from one logic, grammar, spell, rytham of ontology to another. to change the cosmic song this strange ship of self sets it's oars to, to swap the program of self you expect like bare skin after years of indention, such that it's absence, it's raw woundedness has become a grief.

i am writing to you, and so i suppose this is already a collaborative work, since i wouldn't claim copyright over the version of you that exists in my impressions and memory and imagination and grief.

no, you wrote that into me, by gross and subtle measures, and for that i am grateful. so grateful.

if i must interpolate and translate and resurect and regurgitate my own past Zachariahs in ghost orbit with you and all your missing gravity, than make some marks on stone and silk and steel and light, to find your shadow puppet outlines,

i would write this not to a committee, nor to a Public Conscience, nor a philosophical school. that i think would hurt too much. but i can maybe write it to a friend, if that friend also understands already the perverse schematics of said haunted house.

my body is a temple

my body is a haunted house

my body is a page blank but for all the scars made writ upon her.

she is an ocean of essays at moving blood and muscle and nerve and bone into a series of places at innegotiable rates and times.

she is a shadow in flesh, the material fact, the face without the name.

she hears what they call her

she feels what they say

she does not complain when it is not her turn

her expressions constantly broadcast how miserable all this bullshit is making her

she is an idea, a reality, a qualia, a breathing thing. she does not want to hurt others, she is certain she has and she will.

i cut her with my knife. i cut her with my fingernails. i cut her with razors and with rocks and with enamel and probably other things too. i cut her deliberately, stealing myself, steeling myself, shoplifting myself, bolting down myself, making sure my hands moved like in a fight, the way I've trained to expect them to move, always more impressed with my hands and my feet and my eyes and my back and my legs and my ass and my intestines and my stomach and my heart and my lungs and my teeth, always more impressed with you than with myself, with me, with my work ethic, my effort, my force of will, my self discipline, and self hatred, my God, my value, my soul.

the part which wakes up new to, let's say, each train of thought, each mood, each bridge of work-and-lookwork that spans the nebular minutes and misty hours, broken only by vermilion planks of pain.

the color is hypnotizing. i have no way to charm you into feeling it's allure, this will be one of the many things you'll have to trust me on. all political phenomonologies require trust.

what trust does kant demand of the reader? how does t

he text react if one refuses consent.

23:23

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ze/zim/ziz

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with a big with magnate you can levitate a person

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☸︎ ✻ ⚶ 👁 ☍ ☿ ♆ ⚓︎ ♁ ✡︎ ☭

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