🪐🥚 Feast of the Cosmic Egg 🌕🦅 Full Eagle Moon ♓Pisces🐟 24 Ultuary 2024❤️‍🔥🌹156 Ventôse CCXXXII 🌬️🎐 Day 10,115 ⛩️

to add: Chinese Zodiac day (wood dragon, etc), where the moon is in the zodiac.

How to Read A Bleeding Text
Reading, reeding, riddle
Notes for a Political Demonology of Self Harm
😑
..

dream--trapped at parents house and I have to retake highschool English, then stuck, staying home, holding the door closed, spell to make me forget, then sleep, a magic train, a simulation for my birthday, surreal and obscure, eventually determined a friend the monkey later Jaguar guy, helped me explore the train, fell in love with him and made out

The Omniderivative Congress

Reference Texts

Borges’ The Congress, Lem’s The Futurological Congress, The Palace of Dreams, The Pale King, 

..

Your election to the Omnigraphic Congress came as a surprise, not least of all to yourself. 

One moment there you are, walking across the street as the flashing silhouette counted down 9…8…7, and then the next, as the whirling dirvishes and burning wheels climb upon Jacob’s Ladder Up and Down the higher parts of the air, you are taken up, over unfolding rooftops and dissolving horizons, past the stars and out of time, into a space you have never been to yet which you cannot fail to recognize because throughout your innumerable lifetimes you have never left. 

You found yourself in an infinite ballroom under a dome studded richly with galaxies and swooping moons, and you could stare and forever and do, but at the same time the bustle and hustle of crowds catches your eye the otherway round and you are gazing at the floor. 

The glass beneath your feat a void black sea of velvet depth, where swim the deep sea curiosities and deep space perrigratiods of a hundred billion cosmoi:

Here a school of psyonic koi, their third eyes gleaming with secret histories of the future;

There a lapis-gold dragonfish, xir elegant mile long fins fluttering in four dimensions to catch the solar wind which carries xhae to the distant super Jovian moonlets stellar trojans where her kin lay their eggs on ten-milenia timescales, 

Elsewhere a fourty armed meta-kraken, her wriggling many-bodied appendages playing games ineffable in circling eddies of reincarnation with self consciousness and quantum foam and the acid-sweet melodies which are the stuff of dreams.

You have only a brief infinity with which to marvel at the snapmiraculous sight of the depths below you and above you and to either side, because the crowd is really churning now and though there are congregants moving in every direction the overall velocity of their tempest is inwards, towards the vaulted vomatoriums which extend out of the depths dark glass of the floor at the angle of nautilus shells, their apogees high enough to snare passing moons, redirecting their orbits down chambers which you and your fellows follow guiding by their sweeping light.

the omniderivitive omnirepresentational omnigraphic congress is composed of every being who might choose or be chosen to act as a participatory node of cosmic politics, to represent to the congress (and vice versa) the general and particular will of any set of which they might be said to be a part, or of an external set which deigns for whatever reason to choose an outsider to hold their banner and speak their thoughts into the infinite and unbounded discourse of the Congress. 

here you see the senators of the service workers, fourty or fourty five strong, a werewolf in a waiter’s suit, a parrot-headed barista in a barista’s wrap, a carnivorous tea gardener in her ceremonial armor, a naked man of liquid glass, being the traditional scribe-caste of Orion-14 he holds a golddusted thunderquill staff ten feet high to his two foot frame. 

It is this last fellow who notices you first, and he gestures you over with a melting shrug of his left arms while one of his right’s holds his quillstaff and the other snags the hem of a deep sea mine camp cheff, something like a cross between a hippo and a sea slug, covered in gelatunus aquariums, terrariums, apiaries and aviaries bound together by seaweed rope. “Hold on, Overiumopotiumus, lets pick up that new arrival.”

The glassman does not speak audibly, but scratches quick electric characters on the sloping glass. You have never seen such marks in you life, but a feathery thaumoluminescint wisp which you’d initially taken for a floating lantern darts from the arch you are passing under and outlines in whispers and light and some sense too subtle not to be thought a gloss of the the glassman’s words. There are wsips everywhere, you realize, among the members and under the floor and between the swooping moons and balleting nebuli, all different tones of light, numerous as stars, displaying feathers and tentacles and hooves and hands, in ones and twos and scores and hundreds, constellations forming around every member who might wish to murmur something to hir neighbor or make a declaration to fey’s hangers on or parse the meaning of their interlocutor’s oratory. 

“You are New, Aren’t You? Climb up, climb on, its a long way down to the Well of the House and you must have so many questions!”

You don’t have time to think as a clade of white fured mammoth priests emerges from the folds of space, and though the ballroom seems to open and stretch around the delegates who had been walking there enough to accommodate their tusks and trunks and six-a piece old-growth diameter legs snowy with fur and moss and black speckled snow owls fluttering in the nests of their fur, no one seems to have quite enough space and you join the rush of creatures, from insects almost too small to see to … twice you’re height almost as tall as the glassman’s quill, which bobs and swishes at the canopy of heads and horns and arched backs and , all up onto the backs of the Hipposlug and the mammoth priests and any other creature large enough to offer a circumference of safety.

…

“You are new, aren’t you?” the glass man asks again, jumping up onto the back of his hippo companion and scratching symbols with his quill on the edge of a terrarium roped to their steed, the lightning ink making the butterfly-winged lizards inside flutter and hiss. 

“I—I don’t know what you mean. I must be new, I suppose. I’ve only just arrived, and I have no idea where it is I’ve arrived into!” 

The glassman nods, a bobbing fluid dreamlike movement but recognizably a nod all the same, and the trio of wisps gathered near your head confirm that in this gesture, at least, you and the alien share the same meaning-reference. “Then you’ve not been here for a term before?”

“No, i haven’t been to anywhere like this place, its absolutely impossible and i—that is, and yet…”

“And yet its familiar? Something about it recognizes you, and you recognize it?”

“I…yes, yes I guess you’re right, but this place is impossible, i could only have seen it in a dream or something like that.”

The facial expressions of the glassman seem to have no pattern or architecture you can recognize, but the wisps inform you he’s functionally smiling. “We’ve all been here before, we’ve never not been here. But time is tricky, and reincarnation makes for no end of confusion for timelines and driving directions, since as the Buddhas demonstrate, every lifetime equally and spontaneously leads into every other. And so it is no more and no less mysterious than the Basic Mystery of Being in Time that when we arrive at the Congress, we do so for the first time, or for the fourth, or the thousandth, not once per Nth times, but many times, as many times as you like, or as many times as they’ll have you, and you look to be ariving for one of your first times, and that’s always a treat to behold. 

“This is my seventeenth time,” he went on, “and I’m arriving for my seventeenth time four consecutive times this time, and two of those are also first times, and another is my ninth time, and in this me i’m coming from the same timeline as the second first timeline, but with the memories of sixteen more visits after that, and you caught my eye because in the first time in that series leading to my ninth time which is also the seventeenth time, it was you who l scooped me up onto old Overiumopotiumus here, and I’m very glad you did because I nearly dissipated my form the first time—that first time, that is—just as one of those mamoths was about to put her huge harry foot right down on my head!, so its only my pleasure to return the favor for you!”

Your head is spinning with the imparsable surroundings and the cryptic temporality which your new companion is laying out is only one more dazzling constellation among a hundred thousand thousand others, and all you can do is nod and find a place among the globular cages on the hippo-slug’s undulating back where you can sit crosslegged and cling to the matrix of seaweed rope as the glassman goes on talking.

“You have a thousand questions, I know because that’s what you told me when we first met, I the new one and you my senior by many a term already spent in the Congress’ halls. If you don’t begrudge my taking the initiative and the privilege of introducing you, feel free to sit back among the aquariums and terrariums just take things in while I get you settled. Here, you were on your way to work, right?

“Yes, how did you—oh gosh, how am I going to get back, I have a shift—”

“Don’t worry about that, if you haven’t caught on yet time is rather more flexible around the Congress than you’re used to, when you’re done with this term you’ll be back mid stride, crossing mainstreet and the crosswalk timer won’t yet have changed from 7 to 6.”

“How—” 

“I know because you told me as much, or rather you will tell me as much, when you’re returning here for what was it, your twelfth or thirteenth time, to that version of me only arriving for my first? 

“And no, before you ask, you don’t have to remember to tell me it later when you come back, the Congress operates by sterner stuff than half-a-penny temporal paradoxes like that are made of. 

“Properly speaking, the whole thing, everyone’s every term, is all happening at once, is and has and will and won’t, but were’ talking about a cosmic possibility curve, and you’ll find that no matter how intricate an oilstain of action and experience and reference and memory you find yourself concocting in any given iteration, there will be more than enough places where the puzzle pieces match up into your always already permeating omnicontinuity.”

You sit there, resigning yourself gradually by a smooth progression of degrees and also by fits and starts to the awareness that there’s really nothing for it but to watch the little man of glass scratch out his bewildering transcendental conversational account of what he implies but is perhaps too bashful to outright describe as your long and storied friendship across many shared terms in the Omniderivitive Congress. 

As he writes, you and the hippo-slug and everyone arround you for what must be miles and miles progress deeper into the spaceglass depths of the vomitorium, at least nineteen to one going down for everyone coming out or going orthogonal this way or that into what you see are branchning chambers connecting other vomitorii, including those which sweep up or down from such angles as to have not possibly originated at the same floor as you, but such violations of euclidian geometry are but one more instance of the mountainrange of unfathomablia in which you find yourself hopelessly attempting to fathom. 

[Introductions to the others on the hippo, …

[aspirational congress, an exercise in voting for hope without limits, including representatives from an unbounded source, service worker senators, parliamentarians from those imprisoned, monasteries, crowds, traffic jams, grocery store aisles … philosophers and tribunes and commissioners and ambasadors from an additive collective conscious, as many overhang seats as their are possible sets of sets …

[

The Omniderivative Congress

Reference Texts

Borges’ The Congress, Lem’s The Futurological Congress, The Palace of Dreams, The Pale King, 

..

Your election to the Omnigraphic Congress came as a surprise, not least of all to yourself. 

One moment there you are, walking across the street as the flashing silhouette counted down 9…8…7, and then the next, as the whirling dirvishes and burning wheels climb upon Jacob’s Ladder Up and Down the higher parts of the air, you are taken up, over unfolding rooftops and dissolving horizons, past the stars and out of time, into a space you have never been to yet which you cannot fail to recognize because throughout your innumerable lifetimes you have never left. 

You found yourself in an infinite ballroom under a dome studded richly with galaxies and swooping moons, and you could stare and forever and do, but at the same time the bustle and hustle of crowds catches your eye the otherway round and you are gazing at the floor. 

The glass beneath your feat a void black sea of velvet depth, where swim the deep sea curiosities and deep space perrigratiods of a hundred billion cosmoi:

Here a school of psyonic koi, their third eyes gleaming with secret histories of the future;

There a lapis-gold dragonfish, xir elegant mile long fins fluttering in four dimensions to catch the solar wind which carries xhae to the distant super Jovian moonlets stellar trojans where her kin lay their eggs on ten-milenia timescales, 

Elsewhere a fourty armed meta-kraken, her wriggling many-bodied appendages playing games ineffable in circling eddies of reincarnation with self consciousness and quantum foam and the acid-sweet melodies which are the stuff of dreams.

You have only a brief infinity with which to marvel at the snapmiraculous sight of the depths below you and above you and to either side, because the crowd is really churning now and though there are congregants moving in every direction the overall velocity of their tempest is inwards, towards the vaulted vomatoriums which extend out of the depths dark glass of the floor at the angle of nautilus shells, their apogees high enough to snare passing moons, redirecting their orbits down chambers which you and your fellows follow guiding by their sweeping light.

the omniderivitive omnirepresentational omnigraphic congress is composed of every being who might choose or be chosen to act as a participatory node of cosmic politics, to represent to the congress (and vice versa) the general and particular will of any set of which they might be said to be a part, or of an external set which deigns for whatever reason to choose an outsider to hold their banner and speak their thoughts into the infinite and unbounded discourse of the Congress. 

here you see the senators of the service workers, fourty or fourty five strong, a werewolf in a waiter’s suit, a parrot-headed barista in a barista’s wrap, a carnivorous tea gardener in her ceremonial armor, a naked man of liquid glass, being the traditional scribe-caste of Orion-14 he holds a golddusted thunderquill staff ten feet high to his two foot frame. 

It is this last fellow who notices you first, and he gestures you over with a melting shrug of his left arms while one of his right’s holds his quillstaff and the other snags the hem of a deep sea mine camp cheff, something like a cross between a hippo and a sea slug, covered in gelatunus aquariums, terrariums, apiaries and aviaries bound together by seaweed rope. “Hold on, Overiumopotiumus, lets pick up that new arrival.”

The glassman does not speak audibly, but scratches quick electric characters on the sloping glass. You have never seen such marks in you life, but a feathery thaumoluminescint wisp which you’d initially taken for a floating lantern darts from the arch you are passing under and outlines in whispers and light and some sense too subtle not to be thought a gloss of the the glassman’s words. There are wsips everywhere, you realize, among the members and under the floor and between the swooping moons and balleting nebuli, all different tones of light, numerous as stars, displaying feathers and tentacles and hooves and hands, in ones and twos and scores and hundreds, constellations forming around every member who might wish to murmur something to hir neighbor or make a declaration to fey’s hangers on or parse the meaning of their interlocutor’s oratory. 

“You are New, Aren’t You? Climb up, climb on, its a long way down to the Well of the House and you must have so many questions!”

You don’t have time to think as a clade of white fured mammoth priests emerges from the folds of space, and though the ballroom seems to open and stretch around the delegates who had been walking there enough to accommodate their tusks and trunks and six-a piece old-growth diameter legs snowy with fur and moss and black speckled snow owls fluttering in the nests of their fur, no one seems to have quite enough space and you join the rush of creatures, from insects almost too small to see to … twice you’re height almost as tall as the glassman’s quill, which bobs and swishes at the canopy of heads and horns and arched backs and , all up onto the backs of the Hipposlug and the mammoth priests and any other creature large enough to offer a circumference of safety.

…

“You are new, aren’t you?” the glass man asks again, jumping up onto the back of his hippo companion and scratching symbols with his quill on the edge of a terrarium roped to their steed, the lightning ink making the butterfly-winged lizards inside flutter and hiss. 

“I—I don’t know what you mean. I must be new, I suppose. I’ve only just arrived, and I have no idea where it is I’ve arrived into!” 

The glassman nods, a bobbing fluid dreamlike movement but recognizably a nod all the same, and the trio of wisps gathered near your head confirm that in this gesture, at least, you and the alien share the same meaning-reference. “Then you’ve not been here for a term before?”

“No, i haven’t been to anywhere like this place, its absolutely impossible and i—that is, and yet…”

“And yet its familiar? Something about it recognizes you, and you recognize it?”

“I…yes, yes I guess you’re right, but this place is impossible, i could only have seen it in a dream or something like that.”

The facial expressions of the glassman seem to have no pattern or architecture you can recognize, but the wisps inform you he’s functionally smiling. “We’ve all been here before, we’ve never not been here. But time is tricky, and reincarnation makes for no end of confusion for timelines and driving directions, since as the Buddhas demonstrate, every lifetime equally and spontaneously leads into every other. And so it is no more and no less mysterious than the Basic Mystery of Being in Time that when we arrive at the Congress, we do so for the first time, or for the fourth, or the thousandth, not once per Nth times, but many times, as many times as you like, or as many times as they’ll have you, and you look to be ariving for one of your first times, and that’s always a treat to behold. 

“This is my seventeenth time,” he went on, “and I’m arriving for my seventeenth time four consecutive times this time, and two of those are also first times, and another is my ninth time, and in this me i’m coming from the same timeline as the second first timeline, but with the memories of sixteen more visits after that, and you caught my eye because in the first time in that series leading to my ninth time which is also the seventeenth time, it was you who l scooped me up onto old Overiumopotiumus here, and I’m very glad you did because I nearly dissipated my form the first time—that first time, that is—just as one of those mamoths was about to put her huge harry foot right down on my head!, so its only my pleasure to return the favor for you!”

Your head is spinning with the imparsable surroundings and the cryptic temporality which your new companion is laying out is only one more dazzling constellation among a hundred thousand thousand others, and all you can do is nod and find a place among the globular cages on the hippo-slug’s undulating back where you can sit crosslegged and cling to the matrix of seaweed rope as the glassman goes on talking.

“You have a thousand questions, I know because that’s what you told me when we first met, I the new one and you my senior by many a term already spent in the Congress’ halls. If you don’t begrudge my taking the initiative and the privilege of introducing you, feel free to sit back among the aquariums and terrariums just take things in while I get you settled. Here, you were on your way to work, right?

“Yes, how did you—oh gosh, how am I going to get back, I have a shift—”

“Don’t worry about that, if you haven’t caught on yet time is rather more flexible around the Congress than you’re used to, when you’re done with this term you’ll be back mid stride, crossing mainstreet and the crosswalk timer won’t yet have changed from 7 to 6.”

“How—” 

“I know because you told me as much, or rather you will tell me as much, when you’re returning here for what was it, your twelfth or thirteenth time, to that version of me only arriving for my first? 

“And no, before you ask, you don’t have to remember to tell me it later when you come back, the Congress operates by sterner stuff than half-a-penny temporal paradoxes like that are made of. 

“Properly speaking, the whole thing, everyone’s every term, is all happening at once, is and has and will and won’t, but were’ talking about a cosmic possibility curve, and you’ll find that no matter how intricate an oilstain of action and experience and reference and memory you find yourself concocting in any given iteration, there will be more than enough places where the puzzle pieces match up into your always already permeating omnicontinuity.”

You sit there, resigning yourself gradually by a smooth progression of degrees and also by fits and starts to the awareness that there’s really nothing for it but to watch the little man of glass scratch out his bewildering transcendental conversational account of what he implies but is perhaps too bashful to outright describe as your long and storied friendship across many shared terms in the Omniderivitive Congress. 

As he writes, you and the hippo-slug and everyone arround you for what must be miles and miles progress deeper into the spaceglass depths of the vomitorium, at least nineteen to one going down for everyone coming out or going orthogonal this way or that into what you see are branchning chambers connecting other vomitorii, including those which sweep up or down from such angles as to have not possibly originated at the same floor as you, but such violations of euclidian geometry are but one more instance of the mountainrange of unfathomablia in which you find yourself hopelessly attempting to fathom. 

[Introductions to the others on the hippo, …

[aspirational congress, an exercise in voting for hope without limits, including representatives from an unbounded source, service worker senators, parliamentarians from those imprisoned, monasteries, crowds, traffic jams, grocery store aisles … philosophers and tribunes and commissioners and ambasadors from an additive collective conscious, as many overhang seats as their are possible sets of sets …

[

Wand Quill Horn

Wheel Orb Coin

Cup Lamp Bell

Sword Sickle Hourglass

Interpreting the Three and Eight of Swords

Deck is Seventh Sphere RWS deck in the Labyrinthos app.

Earlier Saturday I did a Full Moon spread, reflecting on the previous month, the coming Eagle Moon, and the projects I'm working on.

The placements represent, beginning with the center card then the upper cards left to right:

1. Self Perception

2. Best Qualities

3. Your Gift to Others

4. What Fulfills You

5. Unrecognized Potential

My interpretation:

The Tower. I've been feeling a lot of anguish in the last couple weeks, relating to grief and PTSD and trying to finish an important project. The tower representing my relationship to and perception of myself honestly makes a lot of sense.

The Star. I guess in this case, the hope that keeps me going, trying. I don't necessarily feel very hopeful but hope is something you do as well as something you feel, and so it checks out as a Best Quality. Also since the Tower and the Star are consecutive in the major arcana I can definitely see the connection here.

Three of Swords. Been seeing the last three cards a lot lately and the Three of Swords in particular. I have been feeling a lot of despair, including related to grieving a friend. But I'm kinda hazy on 3S as a gift to others. I can see how grieving is important in terms of the relationships that make up society, and so holding a space for grief and heartbreak is kind of a gift to others, also maybe a gift to the ones we are grieving? it was her birthday on Thursday and I wasn't really able to do anything to commemorate it because I was at Urgent Care. the project I'm working on is an essay about grief and despair, among other things, and I guess I can kind of see the project itself as a gift, but I'm struggling to see what that looks like in the essay in practice. How do you give grief, beyond acknowledging it's necessary? Maybe by articulating and sharing how it feels?

8 of Swords. Have seen all four of the eights a fair bit recently. I know 8 of wands is all about action and movement and speed, 8 of coins is apprenticeship, and 8 of wands stumps me. 8 of Swords seems like the opposite of fulfilment, being tied up, imprisoned, powerless, self victimized. I have indeed been feeling those things, but I'm not sure how that relates to Fulfillment, except that I've been full of those feelings. Maybe it's by writing about the feelings of being trapped that I can progress on my essay? that would bring me joy. but the thought fills me with dress and I don't know how to start. maybe I need to be ok with false starts. false starts are still starts.

Queen of Wands. A card I love from a rank I love in a suit I love. She and the Queen of Coins make a lot of sense to me, they kind of click, maybe cause they kind of represent me and my friend Belle (the friend whom I'm grieving) in my head for me. Haven't seen many of the Queens in general recently. It's a nice thought with the Queen of Wands representating my potential. Also it strikes me that QW is a fiery card like the Tower, so that kind of brings things full circle.

Overall I would say three cards indicate I'm feeling a lot of grief and suffering and working hard just to maintain hope, but it's by turning to and writing on those feelings and sense of being trapped that I can embody the Queen of Wands energy. It's both encouraging but also has me feeling a lot of angst/trapped.

What do you think?

https://www.reddit.com/r/GhostTraffic/s/s7sOf9Auwn