09 December 2013

Notes - (final) Dead 7 / a point or two or six / (final) Brothers 7

         Mid-afternoon. You have completed the ‘final’ draft of Dead Seven and feel unwound and wonder: is what Merlyn says, ‘a rebellion from within’? Such is your humor. Drop it in for the fun. Then let it be and go run Carol’s errand. Post. - Amorella

***
The Dead 7 ©2013 rho, (final) GMG.One

         Merlyn stands by the chair rock in his sanctuary and turning to his west, looks through the heather and between oak and birch to the cold river water. He conjures lifelong memories of fishing from such rivers. I see exciting flashes of great catches of salmon, trout, northern pike and arctic charr. The size, shape and colors of the many fish quickly slide away. They are but bait for memories grab at those many daydreams while on those fishing days. Youthfully fantasies stirred my body's male nature through lonely and sometime surreal surroundings hot kettled in my budding druidic heartanmind. What be the name that is alphabetized first, Vivian. We are such human creatures of familiar habits -- toys we are to one another whether in embrace or no. Such souls as we dance within our heartsanminds so close we are that might we share sanctuaries unknown to one another, especially in such a place as this bridge from deadanliving to the living.

         The billiard table rises. Merlyn stares at the grouped balls near the side rail. The yellow one sets to the left of the orange striped thirteen and the purple striped twelve ball. To the right of the striped are three solids, the blue two, green six and maroon seven. What is the meaning of how these balls lay, he wonders. Am I like the ancient Greek prognosticator stirring recent entrails of intention within romance or an astrologer looking at the alignment of billiard balls rather than the cognation behind this illusionary table. Yet what am I to see would be reflected as a vision by any other name but my own. I have heard, “No visions here, boy,” more than once.

         "You are captivated by my presence, Merlyn," said Vivian in a modest though clearly suggestive voice."

         She faces me within this intimate in heart interval. Alone. Yet my tongueless tongue freezes.

         "Which of these vividly hued balls would you have me be, Merlyn, when I am myself the table on which you dress your endearing and passionate contemplations?  No need of cue stick or billiard balls to roll in me, my dear man," winked the shrewd foxy-tailed apparition, this Vivien, this Druidess pre-fixed in Druid.

         'My dear man,' those were the last words Vivian said. I had heard those last words with living ears. Merlyn sensed his ghostly ears grow into more than imaginary substance.

         "This is not so, Merlyn," whispered a voice of consciousness. His ears increased and he felt his facial muscles seemingly materialize from spirit. Merlyn looked left towards his privacy hut realizing what he had known since death, there are no mirrors. The Dead reflect only through the closest of friends. Even among the Living I cannot be seen nor can I see myself other than by fanciful contemplation. I feel my physical body grown but I have no proof. I have no witness.

         Vivien press her warm lips lightly against the flesh of his right ear and whispered seductively, "We are attached souls, married as a blacksmith’s steel blade."

         Merlyn carefully turned his head away from his natural abode and composed his tongue to say, "How do you mean these words?" The wonder roared through his mind and heart as his body appeared to ice, 'She has me still in an enchantment.'

         "Our souls are twinned not intertwined. You used to say our love was but a thread entwined many times over, solidified by experience and memory, but you were wrong though the word 'entwined' was partially correct." Vivian gave another quick press of her warm moist lips on his now equally warm ear. "I am but thy soul's sister in the gift of love's giving.”
         I evaporate from ice to a spiritual air alone, eyed Merlyn. I, the once master, am taught a lesson by my once student. Vivian exists with-on-me, with-beside-me, but not within the completed soul. Rings we are in a timeless chain. The spiritual passageways are macro-webbed tunnels. For what uses was this is in secret told. It would seem to make no difference among we the Dead, but among the Living such a twinning of spidery macro-soul grooms tighter, and ever so insect-like around the world. Such invisible intent cannot be known in physics but among the starlight in souls it is as far spread and resolute as gravity. The Living have mistook this structural Apparatus-of-Soul more than once for Meaning, for a Noun Grammatical rather than a Grammatical Conditional.

***
        I must re-read this later for better comprehension and imaginary intent. (1416)


            1546 hours. In here do we have a macro-soul and a micro-soul? 

         They are one in the same – physics does not exist. Souls have the same dimension and weight, boy, zero. - Amorella

         Doug just sent me  Skye Weather AOL photographs of snowflakes.

         Good. Drop them in. – Amorella

** **
You've Never Seen a Snowflake in This Much Detail

Photographer Alexey Kljatov has captured a breathtaking collection magnified flakes

1.(Alexey Kljatov/AccuWeather)

Monday, Dec. 9, 2013


As the saying goes, no two snowflakes are exactly alike. Russian photographer Alexey Kljatov's collection of high-resolution magnified flakes makes this widely-held belief more convincing.
The Moscow-based photographer captured dozens of structurally diverse snowflakes, showcasing the complexity of each one against a dull backdrop.
2.(Alexey Kljatov/AccuWeather)
3.(Alexey Kljatov/AccuWeather)


"This year I planned to save current temperature and relative humidity, taken from weather sites with all shooting sessions, but previously I [didn't] do that."
Shooting at a variety of different conditions is critical to Kljatov's work, as snowflakes form into different shapes depending on temperature and humidity at the time of their formation.
"Snowflakes are merely ice crystals whose shape are determined by the organization the water molecules are in when they freeze," according to AccuWeather.com Meteorologist Erik Pindrock.


4.(Alexey Kljatov/AccuWeather)


 5.(Alexey Kljatov/AccuWeather)
"Temperature can greatly influence them," Pindrock said.
According to Kenneth G. Libbrecht, professor of physics at the California Institute of Technology, "snow crystals tend to form simpler shapes when the humidity (supersaturation) is low, while more complex shapes at higher humidities."
Dendrites, the common six-armed shape, form at temperatures between 3 and 10 degrees Fahrenheit.
Hollow columns form at 14 to 21 F and needles form at 21 to 25 F.


6.(Alexey Kljatov/AccuWeather)
"It is even possible for a single snowflakes to be a combination of shapes as it moves into different temperatures within a cloud," Pindrock said. "But with so many variables to influence a single snowflake's design and shape, it is highly unlikely that two large snowflakes would turn out exactly the same."
Slightly modified with numbers added; From – Skye Weather AOL dot com
** **
         For the sake of discussion, let’s say any one of the above six snowflake shapes may be a Soul’s shape. – Amorella
         Okay.
         Have it spin. – Amorella
         Where does it get its energy to spin?
         Where does it get its energy to exist? – Amorella
         In here, why does metaphysics exist?
         It exists only because physics exists. – Amorella
         Which came first?
         Both exist relative to each other at once, boy. That’s the way it reads in these fictions. – Amorella
         Okay, back to the ‘representative for discussion’ photographs – can a spinning soul tangle with another spinning soul?
         That’s what the six points are for. Possible/plausible entanglement. – Amorella
         1637 hours. I’ll have to think on this.
         Please do. Post. – Amorella
         1652 hours. This has taken much more time than it looks.
         What are you talking about? The time it has taken for a person to exist and live to be able to take such a photograph? – Amorella
         I wasn’t, but I see your point. Good one, Amorella.
         Later, dude. - Amorella

          2158 hours. After Papa John's pizza for supper and a couple TV shows I completed Brothers 7.

          Add and post. - Amorella
***

The Brothers 7 ©2013,rho,GMG.One

            The next day while at Robert and Connie's dining room, the brothers sauntered out of the kitchen into the dining room to rid themselves from their wives chatter on the seemingly consistent recipes for roast beef and gravy as well as graham cracker pie, essentially the same recipes from their grandparents' time. Each recipe began: "This is a family recipe. Do Not Share. "
“Good brownies,” stated Robert as the stood by the dining room table nibbling the freshly baked goodies on the plate.
            “Yeah, this is my third one.”
            “I agree. Connie makes the best brownies.”
            “No question on that, but Cyndi Bleacher makes the best chocolate chip cookies,” smiled Richard.
            “Your wife makes one hell of a cookie. I agree,” replied Robert who continued sipping his half a glass of skim milk while noticing Richard had finished. "I'm working a new poem," he paused, "on blacksmithing – welding  really."
            "You haven't used that as a subject before."
            "You're right."
            "So, why now?"
            "I was thinking about how it was on Uncle Doc and Auntie's farm when we were kids. Their neighbor was a smithy when he needed to be. I remember he came over and welded the plow more than once. The arc, the welding light, was the brightest thing I had ever seen.
            "We were told to never look directly at it."
            "I only did once. Never forgotten." Robert paused, "so I need to shade the flash memory in ink."
            “You've got the welding imagery, said Richard, “I've been thinking about the mausoleum as a poetic theme."
            "I go for the bright light and you for stained glass," laughed Robert.
            Richard queried, “What about the stained glass?”
            “What about it?”
            “I like the symbolism.”
            “I do too, my interest peaked with the three women and subsided with the angels having green wings.”
            Richard laughed, “The artist’s ladies were waiting for the resurrection and it already had taken place.”
            “You know,” said Robert. “I never got that. Why were they going to the tomb if they had any sense that he wasn’t going to be there?”
            “I suppose they were checking just like we did at the mausoleum.
            “True enough,” laughed Richard. “True enough.”
            Cyndi walked in from the kitchen first, "What you are boys talking about?"
            "The stained glass in the mausoleum," said Robert, "the angels with green wings."
            Richard quickly followed, "I like the symbolism of a resurrection that had already happened."
            "Why are you two dyed-in-the-wool agnostics talking about angels?" responded Cyndi, "especially you Richard?"
            "Yah, Dickie?" drawled Robert.
            Connie’s voice came from the kitchen, "What are you two arguing about?" Walking in, Connie gave Robert an annoying look for the mock impoliteness, directed at his brother. She quickly smiled and gave Richard a peck on the cheek, "I think 'Dickie' is endearing. Your grandmother enunciated it with great affection."
            "Grandma shouted ‘Dick-kee’ like she was calling the hogs. 'Dick-kie, where are you Dick-kie?" mimicked Richard. They all laughed as Robert ended shaking his head in mock embarrassment.
            "Grandma was a farm girl, no question about it," said Richard clearly and with a large grin. "I loved my grandparents."
            "Our grandparents," added Robert.
"We thought of them as our grandparents too," commented Connie and Cyndi in a common voice.
Connie continued, "You know all of our grandparents played bridge together long before we were ever thought about."
"True," added Richard, "during the depression they made up their own entertainment."
"The four grandmothers shared family recipes only written for family . . ." noted Cyndi.
"Like they were already family," added Connie.           
Robert raised his right eyebrow, "That sounds a little, uh, sexual."
Richard laughed, "Maybe they had secret love fests." Both brothers laughed as Connie and Cyndi left the room in a huff of disgust. "What did we do, open up a can of worms?" said Richard with a shrug.
Robert started laughing, Richard followed. One murmured, "We are two sick humored souls," and returned focus on the taste and texture of those made from scratch caramel and dark chocolate brownies. 
Back in the kitchen Connie looked at Cyndi, “Surely there wouldn’t have been any fooling around back in those days. Riverton was a quiet little village back then, a quiet peaceful village.


**

No comments:

Post a Comment