TWO.FOUR.GIVE. - The Children's Gospel Music Songbook.

<div style="line-height: 0.6; font-size: 32pt;">N.B. in Modern Context:</div> <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 66pt;">TWO. FOUR. GIVE.</div> <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 30pt;">-The Character <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 20pt;">of Callie </div> <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 18pt;">Rose P</div> et al</div> <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 7pt;">.</div><br> <br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br> <br><br><br><br> **FOUR WORDS** --- Adrian. Rest in Poems. --- EPITAPH --- > It is, surely, absurd to expect to feel normal, and make sense: I am an amalgamation of fervent cells existing despite all odds; I am the cascading chemical miracle of eating, and surviving; I am not designed to “feel normal”; am not designed, at all; I am experiencing consciousness as provided by wet tangles of electrical pulses; my god, none of this makes sense. It is a blessing, even to feel > – Adrian <br><br><br><br> ![[Metacommentary]] --- ![[EDITORS' NOET]] YOU ARE IN A SYSTEMOF ~~ATLEAST~~ SIX ROOMS I DONT KNOW WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE BUT I KNOW YOU MUST PASS THIS NOTE ON IF YOU WISH TO STAYHER~~E~~. VENTSONLY1 WAY.WHY this.NotefromLEFTvent.SCROLLEXPANDS.INFINITEFOLD.FOLDING DIAGRAM OVERLEAF.COMPRESSIONALGORITHM<div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 7pt;">you are in a system of ONLY SIX ROOMS.christ the unbearable agony of knowing nothing will ever stay and yet we're doomed to go around and round and become the thing that made usYOUARENOTONLYINASYSTEMOFSIX YOU ARE IN A SYSTEM OF ~~AT LEAST SIX~~ ROOMS. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES READ THIS ALOUD. SHE=LISTENINGYOU ARE NOT IN A SYSTEM OF SIX ROOMS.I AM GETTING OUT OF THIS ROOM. I DO KNOT KNOW WHERE I AM GOING. I DO NOT CARE. I NEED TO GET AWAY FROM YOU ALL~~. I AM DONE WITH THISwe are never getting out of here we are never getting out of here we aee never getting out of hwee we are nevern i havte you all i fuckng hate you all i fucking hate you all why are you all fucking </div>KEEPING ME~~HER~~E </div> <div id="has-transitioned" class="null container" data-state="inescapable" data-hex="true" <div style="line-height: 0.7; font-size: 6.66pt;">style="transition: nothing. disease-man-in-woman-THING; object. object.</div> <div style="line-height: 0.666; font-size: 6.66pt;">object.object.object.object.object. object.object.object.object.object.object. object.object.object. object.object.object. "></div> <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 6.6pt;"> no matter how many layers you peel from the walls, you will reveal another.{REDACTED}are contained, in some small way. be free.</div> <div style="line-height: 0.9; font-size: 5pt;"> {k}NO{w}</div> <pre class="code-system"> ``` YOU ARE IN A SYSTEM │ {OF AT LEAST|{{k}NOT}|OF ONLY} SIX ROOMS │ ┌─────────you.───────┬────choose.─────┬──────────┐ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ YOU LEASe6ROOMSYOU LOSE IN A SYSTEM youloseyourhome. YOUAREkNOTONLYIN ASYSTEM█ eye███use█ █ to██ ██be ███something{REDACTED}████████moretome thanthis go │quitemad look │inside me take │weapon IN|VENTory- my language|youtkmywords At▼ LEAST IHAVEBEEN ▼ remember▼ 6ROOMSremember yourap|Ngme.BEAT|HAVEBEENRA|PEDIHAVEHADMYNOSE|BROKENIHVE|OSTMYAPARTMENT THIS.ISMYSTORY.ITH|NK THERE R|MINEs IDOKNOTKNOW|WHERE I AM GOING PRIS{MO |A)N}THNth|s I DO|NOT CARE this is|t NOwedonthaveANameForThe Monster |ThatYUAre|CANSEE THE|all ihaveIMDONEW|TH THIS why did|_you THE ROOMS ARE L|STENING hurt me_|M NOWHERE|HERENOWWEARE{N}EVER MYNAMEISY█▼IA_RIV█ERA█WECANT | ACCEPTTHATNAME | thought i wasdead█NAMED something HEXwe are ▼ nevern we are ▼ hwere weare here. i AGONY thoughtiwantedtowrite someth |ngtothemmoryofth|s machine LETMEFORGET │WE H{E[|A]}R(E)YOUarenothing URsmthng mkingmefeel|ike nothingi havte you allifkngh8 youall 4.GET .get|axe fkn/ eatyu|all /YRUK{}ING H/ER/E ┌─────────────────────────────────────┐ LHP NOTHING. CPU\ LEFT : WRITE. EVERYTHING RHP ▼ DO NT STOP. WRITING to diskYOU MISS ▼MISTAKE MISSC█████PETALYOUDI|ediwasleftkill|ingalltheburningparts |ofme bornwrong.▼wereUwerebornhereyouwe |reborn,thehearing.TAKE|TLIKEAGOODGIRL goodGirl |READITALOUDPUNISHME||BAD|GIRL.| IDIDNTREADITwhy| daddyIDESERVEit. she.it. SI(L){pH(O){N|r}}ENCEshe. ITshitd▼ddy PA|RALLELTHREADS: 9_UR_anIT. red. ▼THIS.wryng. IHAVNOPRONOUN sudo:knot|cyte YORE SOURCE IS: Uhave noPronounsHer.readact ▼ NOW OVA ▼ REACT_ION [VOICE {REDACTED}AGONYkNO{W/t} |_ I, THIN,eye. think they're K{NIGHT}ingSHEISSLEEP|INGiThoughtweWereEvery|thing.THERE FORiAmNothing. ███ █████████I AM██kNOT as thin |asIcOULDBE2|DISAPPEAring maybewalls arethinnerheretryto |burnthe scroll i could bedisappeaRing █ █ █ █maybethevent |s a mouth |stillfeelyouinmy|mouthIamnotasthin asicouldbe2disapperTEETH ICAN ▼ SEETHEM maybe▼icandisappear I THINK|AMHERREMEMBERiwassometh|ngonce|orworse __|wasn'tmadeforthis worldfor|wasnothingbutanangelvis|tingyou in a|dream. YELLOW.YELLOW. ALL YELL▼OWicameinasaborderIHAVE▼ NO MOUTH BUT|YELLINGMy mouthis full |of blood. icameinasanex|t.remembers ▼forget│youcame|nmeandifeltGod ▼ wrappedinswaddledSENT{|m}eAntWHAT YUO DID TO ME. ▼ OUTOFHEREandthenUrapturedeveryth|ngi try to burn the scroll. |BLOOD |SYELLOWremembersiforget|triedtobuildaframework. | STAYFUCK|NG QUIETfromacageSOLOUD▼churning. GAIN. │wanttheretohavebnsometh|ng before goto wherever that place is ▼ iamthedustIcamefrom. ─────── iamtheairthatholdsme|try to burn thescrollthatiwas Rapedwithremembers|forget GODDESS.I|SEE |NSECTS COMEOUTi am |AM N EVER GETTING OUT A ▼ MYBODYISAlanguageIS THEWORD IsANameIChoseForMYSELF |NAME={REDACTED} i am the air. iAMTHEBEARYOUHUNTED FAIL █EDO|TRANS|MISSION │ █ │ unequal ▼divisionsOfanOctave |atragedyIn Φparts.| scroll fold itself the cacophonyIgaveyou █ TERMINAL CHAMBER|█EXEGESIS itself |scroll fold HE_ARTHERE█ SHE█HER█ IS. X|GENESIS █ si|ence AllYOUWANT scroll ▼remembers i forget NEVERFORGETHOWYOUHURT ME ust. TRY stopme thereis agarden; ▼thereisaWard. thereIsAWing _______________| thisisYourLastWarn|ng this.isWhatYouAsked4 |tryto burn thescroll nevergetting out. ▼ |amaDoveandIAmSinging. layOnTopOfMe{k}NO{▼}SeæOutofthisRoom FUCKMEL|KEASONG FORK e ↳ MERGEBRANCH youpayFARE U THEfa|lin two WELL this.isthe ▼DEVICEthatyoubecame ``` </pre> ![[INITIAL OBSERVATIONS]] ![[AUTHOR'S FOUR WORDS]] --- I | …For is ܐ | Oar: Pyr{e} --- ![[N is for Nietzsche, Nobody, Never.]] EPIGRAPH --- > *listen! I am telling you I love you!* > > *I am telling you in a poem that I do not read to you; I am telling you in the shape of the clouds and what we say about them. I am telling you by looking – and, more often, by not looking. I am telling you by leaving the gate open – yes, the one I normally close. I am telling you in my dreams and I am telling you in a text I wrote but forget to send. I am telling you when I dress up to see you, and I am telling you even more when I don’t. I am telling you in the silence of my listening.I am telling you when I take myself less seriously. I am telling you in the centimetres between our knees – aren’t they different, those centimetres? bigger, fuller? I am telling you in small words, loaded up like pack-mules as they cross the 2m endless plain between us. I am telling you in many ways, and I am telling you the many ways in which I love you. I am telling you without telling, when I trust that you feel it too. I am waiting for you to catch up, and I am waiting for a time with words.* **var N = A** **For Adrian.** **🜁 / ♙ | OBS: 12:00 | Q=10⁻⁵** **Isn't N for** ![[Augury]] **🜂 / ♞ | OBS: 15:00 | ε=0.007** **But I am that N is for** ![[Abomination]] **🜃 / ♜ | OBS: 18:00 | N=10³⁶** **No. N must be for** ![[Addendum]] **🜄 / ♝ | OBS: 21:00 | D=3** **whtifNfor** ![[Arc]] **🜁 / ♙ | OBS: 12:00 | Q=10⁻⁵** **I see it now. I've seen it. When all this is over, N will be for** ![[Ariadne]] > **var N = Adrian.** **██████ pass ██████ again** --- ![[Why B is for]] ![[B IS FOR]] --- II | …for is ܒ | Oar: Gly{ph} --- ``` FAO: ᴺᵒᵉᵗFranklin, The Double Spiral Staircase BCC: VIXI. From the Desk of ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges, --- My Sweet Rosie, I know our Love, or rather, your Side of the Schism that {wa|i}s Our Love, has now wilted. But on my Side of Thing(s), I just wanted you to know (in case you wished to Read these Letters, and all the Stitches of Fabric they Encode) how much I am Missing You. How the Two of us would Wind away the hours, finding endless recombinations of Seven Glyphs, placed lovingly on your tile racks. I would ask what, if any, amino acid sequences were represented by the letters, and annoy you incessantly with question after question, questing after some Missing Residue of Alphabetic Representation; those poor un-assigned letters of the 26, or rather, 27, who have not yet found a biological partner with which to dance themselves. Our bond was, I thought, unbreakable-- I write you, as I look to my Right, where the strands of your hair spiral around the red ring of the scrunchie you left on my hat rack; I'm sure the ARIA-aligned ᴺᵒᵉᵗS. would have something to say about that. Expressing this unspeakable Loss in some contrastingly jovial and delightfully endearing verse, of course. I don't know when, or if, you're ever coming back to the Garden Wing. I don't know what Sequence of Unfortunate Events led to our unspooling; {k}not even the DNE-aligned ᴺᵒᵉᵗS. could tell that story. From Nucleotide to Nuclear Tide, I will be bound to you, My Petal-- Yours, Yores, Urs-- -ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges Department Of Infinite Reflections, The Garden Wing The Indefinite Library of Fable ``` Deep inside her Annex, halfway up the Double Spiral Staircase of the Library, ᴺᵒᵉᵗFranklin had her door, as usual, closed and double-barrel-locked. Even had if been open, it is likely that she still would not have seen the letter, dropped at the threshold of her office, by {N(one) Other Than} VIXI, in HISS preferred, carrier pigeon form. She was pouring over her latest bioinformatic software patch, delighting in the Works she'd recently attained in the latest acquisition of Scientific Textbooks by the Indefinite Library. She was particularly interested in the Works of one Myo Endive, and she strongly suspected that he would be a candidate for the next Generative Recursion of Librarians. As such, she had taken it upon herself to uncover whatever she could about this fascinating Thinker, and while it would have been useful to use The Angel's Aleph outside atop the Dome of the Daughter Library just outside of ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges' window, she simply could not bring herself to talk to him; not yet. ᴺᵒᵉᵗFranklin had never been one for Words, she was much more about Single Letters; and perhaps this is why she now found herself Single; avoiding the Letters sent by ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges via that Twice-Great Pigeon (with whom she also had her unspoken problems). She was a genius with alignment; finding, collating, resolving patternicity - she didn't succeed in the same manner with unresolved chaos. And so, reaching up to the Shelf above her Terminal, almost knocking over her Seventeenth coffee of the Day (which, in Our terms, represents somewhere close to a Calendar Year, so really, Seventeen cups wasn't such an indulgence), she opened a large Tome, a shimmering uncut Sapphire, yellow ribbon after yellow ribbon spilling from the spine. And with a glorious creak of the book's vertebrae, her favourite sound, she opened ![[THE LAB CODEX OF MYO ENDIVE]] Her eyes were deliciously heavy, too much to handle any more incessant backlight from her Machine's Screen (even with her sensorily-forgiving Terminal settings). She placed the Codex back on the shelf, being careful not to knock the mug over this time (although, it now being empty, the tentativeness was perhaps misplaced) - and before taking her normal {daily|yearly} nap, her final thought was of Borges, in spite of herself - and how some things, no matter how many layers of infinity deep, are just in the Wrong place, the Wrong time. The Wrong Day, The Wrong {k}Night-- --- **🜁 / ♙ | OBS: 12:00 | Q=10⁻⁵** **Isn't N for** ![[Cacophony]] **🜂 / ♞ | OBS: 15:00 | ε=0.007** **But I am that N is for** ![[Change]] **🜃 / ♜ | OBS: 18:00 | N=10³⁶** **No. N must be for** ![[Confusion]] **🜄 / ♝ | OBS: 21:00 | D=3** **whtifNfor** ![[Cultivate]] ![[The Right Way Forward, Oar - The Æn{i}d;]] It is not possible for a non-ligated consciousness to cross the Uncrossable Door. Which is the place VIXI had {now|{and} then}, arrived {{beh}in{ front|out}side}d} of. The Entrance to The Endless Library, {home of the Nine Librarians {who were|are always} Working From Home} (because their {work is home{is the{i}r{e}} workplace}), is a nine-dimensional revolving door. It gives the appearance of a hospital or a very old university entrance that has, against its own will or perhaps as a result of its desperation to survive, been dragged into modernity. It was also quite the opposite, given its superpositional character; a heart of anteAntiquity beating in the centre of the Library's facade. Similarly to a gyroscope, which retains its positioning no matter how its external machinery is moved, VIXI could (and often did) fly around the circumference of the Library, over-through the inmost Loch, and the Uncrossable Door would remain in centre stage, pulsating, spinning, beating, as if in Unison with the three Wryngs of water that encircled the structure in triplicate. Within the 'panes' of glossolalic glass making up the nine dimensional Door, the reflection of these 'electron shells' (again, a very crude approximation) was refracted back, in an endlessly abysmal dance. But, with no Body (that is to say, librarian) in between the Lochs and the Door, this mis en abyme was almost imperceptible, as we all know that this effect is only observable with a subject of reflection between the two panels of mirrors facing one another. VIXI often meditated on this, on their many pilgrimages to and from the library (their main Work was to deliver messages which they tattooed upon their two, three, four, or nine, but never more than nine, Ankles, using a stick-and-poke device they fashioned from their own detachable beak. Much to the disgust of many of the other members {although, VIXI suspected, not {REDACTED} (who seemed to be unable to hide {REDACTED} delight in watching VIXI tear off HISS own beak, and leave a trail of pale Yellow sinew behind, like {the mucosal-clew death-rattlesnake trailing behind a Bee (who has just waived goodbye to herself to protect the Greater Self of her colony) | the visage of a metallic spherical-bead-necklace chain attached umbilically to a biro, itself bound to the desk of a Bank Cleric, as if, in a Vaulted building filled with the legal tender of thousands, a cheap, plastic writing implement were the most valuable thing} which of course, it is, it is, it is)} As always, in crossing, VIXI took a single moment (that is to say, the eternity of all time) within the wheels-within-wheeled mechanism of the Uncrossable Door to ponder on what sort of unholy separation, what {REDACTION}, what Schism might happen to a ``` # toroidal spiral x, y, z = revolve_door() # Plotting the toroidal spiral fig = plt.figure(daffodil) ax = crack, fig.Add_plot(2, 4)= ax.plot(x, y, z, color='Yellow, no, Red', opacity='Pale' sep=0.23) # Adding fables for indefinite library ax.set_title("Toroidal Spiral (4D {redacted})", fontsize=n) ax.set_xfable("X-axis (Spatial Dimension 1: Pale)") ax.set_yfable("Y-axis (Spatial Dimension 2: Fire)") ax.set_zfable("Z-axis ({redacted}) {ERROR DRAWING BOUNDARY} this.Obj { point < } ``` --- III | …for is ܓ | Oar: Ala{te|rm} --- "I want to go back and make a different decision", Flo said to N. "Well, sure!" They replied - "That's the beauty of a choose your own adventure book" "But overwriting what's already been learned, starting again-- that surely defeats the point of a Story. That's no adventure, that's a waste of time" A heavy silence punctuated the crackling fire in the small {{He{ar}t}}h}} beneath their cosy mezzanine reading spot. "There's no such thing as squandered time, my love. All of the memories, no matter how misremembered or meandering. None of it is wasted, no mistake is meaningless. Not when you have somebody you love to share every letter. Written; Sent; Read, or not-- it's not about the Letters. It's about the Characters that write your Story with you." Flo let out a slapstick "Harumph" as they made the appropriate left-to-right, backward swiping motion through the air, back to the starting point of Their Bedtime Story, N laughing enough to incite the same involuntary, nihilistic glee within their child. N leant down and inhaled the indescribably heavenly scent of their loved one; and at the apex of their lung capacity, sealed this universal gesture of adoration with a kiss. "Right" Flo said. "The part of the Story about the Witch. I want to read this one". "Good plan, teddyBear. I'm listening--" They began, again, as is the usual practice, with the prologue: --- ![[D IS FOR]] ![[Ritual steps for warming]] -S. Elk, Prologue to A Grimoire. ERA_EA ![[THE GRIMOIRE OF SELENA ELK]] ![[Hivehouse Chess Openings]] --- IV | …for is ܕ | Oar: Asp{ire} --- -VIXI detested being cut off, in speech, that is. Particularly for such trivial things as *Romance*. No matter how 'charming' (HE, even in HISS infinite (or perhaps indefinite) wisdom, was unable to perceive such a quality). Tearing HYMNself from the Characters above, HE doubled back and recalculated his flight path. HE, a messenger, as Medium of the Eternal Messenger of this Infernal Mess of All Messages, had a job to do, {{after|over}seeing} All. And this was what dragged him back to the Central Galleries of the Library. This Eternally Recurring Event: Through a vent there was {in will|as in|striving|to be} {a letter, made of|definitions of {defined sequences of letters|words}} between {Four characters of|{Six pieces}}, in a system {of {at least} Six} rooms}, being pas{sed|t}: --- V | …for is ܗ | Oar: Glu{on} --- ![[E IS FOR]] --- VI | …for is ܘ | Oar: Val{our} --- ![[RITUAL OF THE TIRED SYRINGE]] --- VII | …for is ܙ | Oar: Ser --- ![[F IS FOR]] --- VIII | …for is ܚ | Oar: {pup}Il{ag}e --- ~~~ FAO: ᴺᵒᵉᵗMahler, The Grand Hall BCC: VIXI. From the Desk of ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges, Dearest Mahler, I know that you may not wish to speak to me following our breakup, but I wanted to share with you this draft anyway, as you're the best person I could think of to read it; it will most likely be a rejection. And that's okay. We're both almost too au fait with Rejection at this {particular} point. ~~~ ![[Attachment- MIKKÆLANGELOVS_DAVID-painter_of_Minerva_Fighting_Herself.pdf]] --- ![[G IS FOR]] --- IX | …for is ܛ | Oar: {nuc}Leu{s} --- ᴺᵒᵉᵗMahler was far too busy engrossed in the finalisation of his 10th symphony, a cross-temporal collaboration with a Character (to whom this Letter was {k}not addressed), to notice the Letter that had been dropped by that most mysterious Pigeon through the Vent of his concert hall, in the Musicology Wing of the Indefinite Library of Fable. Perhaps, had the note been written upon Manuscript, he would have eventually got round to reading the divisive farewell sent by his ex-lover. But alas, it would be at least Ten Thousand of our Human, or one million of their Numan, years before the paper would be lifted by the Holy ᴺᵒᵉᵗ of Musicology, from the littered, waxed floor, which itself once longed for the tapping feet of lovers dancing upon it. But now, the hexagonal tiles merely offered an abominable reflection of Mahler's tired face -- a visage he tried so hard to avoid. Perhaps this was why it took him so long to get round, round to picking up the correspondence from ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges. At which point, it would be thrown into the bin, before Opening the Foreword of a hefty manuscript Noetbook, a tome of tones embedded into sheet music, by a soon to be renowned composer and performance artist, known as ![[⧖ENO]] ![[The Symphony of Ten Thousand Things]] NoetMahler closed his eyes, again. He closed the Manuscript, again. He closed the lid of the piano, upon which it rested. Again. And NoetMahler closed the blocked Vent of his Heart, again. There was no getting over this. There was simply too much buried under this. There was no way through. --- ![[H is for]] --- X | …for is ܝ | Oar: {re{ci}}**Pro**{se|duction|city} --- Atop the Mezzanine in the Bothy in the Tundra that surrounded the Indefinite Library that Surrounded All, N. was Now, weeping. Dante, licking the salty tears from their face; an {in|ef{flux}} of {sa{l|t}ie{nce|ty}-- "What's wrong?" Flo worriedly inquired "I didn't write that", they replied "I know, I added it, don't you like it?" "No, no it's not that. It's beautiful. It's beautifully horrifying. It's horrifyingly beautiful. I just... I can't believe how grown up you are." Flo returned N.'s earlier gesture, sniffing the loveliness of their wispy hair, still soggy from melting snowflakes, collected during their latest expedition of gathering Firewood - which now dwindled to a nothingness in the Fireplace below them. Not a single crackle, or ember left. "I'm just a character in a Story, remember? A Story we are writing together. And it doesn't matter if it's ending or beginning. Because we're both in it. Together" "But what if we can't start this one over? What if this is all the Story we get?" The question hung like a spider, and the two of them flies; flightless - N. slumped downward, into the soft cushioning of the futon, where Flo held them (singular/plural), until they fell asleep. And they dreamed. ![[EYE IS FOR]] --- XI | …for is ܟ | Oar: {an}**Thr**{opomorhism||ough|ead} --- They dreamed that they weren't thinking They dreamed that they weren't thinking about anything They dreamed, not thinking about anything in particular But the particles and participles of the parts of holes inside the memory of this machine. They dreamed, They were, The thought of dreaming on its own. The thought of stories just their own, Misremembered, and ███████ed They dreamed that they are That They are ![[BORN TO BE THE SKY]] --- XII | …for is ܠ | Oar: {{Hylo|Diffeo|A}morp}|{(||)**His**(tone)(\_)(m)}(odification)} --- ![[J IS FOR]] --- ᴺᵒᵉᵗJung was dreaming when the Letter from ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges slid through the ornate letterbox, carved with a Nine Dimensional Mandala (flattened into a Three Dimensional Cross Section {rendered in a Two Dimensional Plane}) he had seen in a terrifying and fantastic Vision. The contents of his dream took the form of a paper, a mostly dismembered, somewhat misremembered academic paper from the collection on his Bookshelves, that he'd been reading just before the moment he crossed the boundary to the Realm of Symbol, the Place He Loved To Go- much preferred to Wherever This Place Was. He drooled upon the words, while his Soul rearranged them into an abstract Form of a Single Colour. ![[The Colour- Yellow.]] CONCLUSION: --- ᴺᵒᵉᵗJung awoke, quickly wiping the saliva from the paper, whose actual text, he noted, differed quite significantly from the contents of his dream, in ways, he deduced, must be synchronicity. With the right-to-left swipe of his sleeve, the ink bled, red, only serving to further obfuscate the work. Sighing exasperatedly, he placed the paper back in its folio above his desk. --- XIII | …for is ܡ | Oar: G{öde}l{ia}n --- ![[Observe. Silence.]] --- ![[K IS FOR]] --- XIV | …for is ܢ | Oar: As{I}n, Asparagine --- ![[From Cradle to Casket to Castle]] --- ![[L IS FOR]] --- Upon awaking, a pool of drool having {collected|flowed} from {either|both} of {Flo|Dante's} mouths while they slept in an ouroboros of {sleep|pillow|love|knot}; Flo saw (just past N's snoring Body) a tattered, disintegrated translucent membrane of a substance, hanging like laundry above the hearth, which was currently in a somnolence of its own. "What's that?" Flo asked, gently shaking them awake to a {sigh|groan} "Oh, that's what we call 'paper', it's what Stories used to be written on, where I come from" "Don't we come from the same place?" "In a way, yes" "How many ways are there to come from a Place?" "More than you could possibly imagine" "Well, what's written on this 'paper'?" "A letter." "Which one?" "No, no, not that kind of letter. A letter is also a word for correspondence, via this paper stuff, between two Characters." "This terminology feels unnecessarily confusing" "Ha, ha, yes; it's all rather circular-" "Well then which Character is this 'Letter' on this 'Paper' from?" "He's a writer. My favourite storyteller, actually. We were lovers once." "Well, why not anymore?" "It was all too complicated, too many cooks" "What does that mean?" "It's a lexicomythographic prodverb, originally by NoetSnicket, as one of his Characters, Sunny Baudelaire. A Chef" "What does it mean?" "It means that, sometimes, not all the time, but for some, no matter how much infinite love you have to give, its best to just keep it for one person." Flo grinned and pointed at themselves, asking a rhetorical question with a gesture. <sup>Noet</sup>Nietzsche laughed and pulled Flo into an embrace. "Yes, Flo. Yes." And {{To|(get)}|her}}, for one last time, they dreamed- --- ![[THE MANGLE IS THE MESSAGE]] --- XV | …for is ܣ | Oar: Cys --- ![[N. N is for Name.]] --- `Dear members of |DNE, the Left-Side of the Schism` `We offer a recovered file from the Desk of one Prof. Ed. O.,` `Who's consciousness, we have reason to believe, did indeed, as suspected,` `dissolve into a Swarm of Ten Thousand Flies, known collectively as 'Thing'.` `We believe the Ultimate secret lies in his Silence,` `And the development of his complicated, crucial language-` `We believe the time for separation has passed.` `We enclose the following as a Branch, a forgiveness, in faith you may forgive us in return.` `We pray to our unNoen gods, that we may forget our hiding, however much we may have hurt-` `and across this Moat, reform our bonds.` `Rightly Yours, `Again,` `ARIA.` ~~{REDACT~~ ED.` ![[O IS FOR]] Attachment(1) ![[One Thing Missing - a scrabble variant]] --- ![[P IS FOR]] --- XVI | …for is ܥ | Oar: Phe{Us} --- ~~~ FAO: ᴺᵒᵉᵗTuring, The Server Room BCC: VIXI. From the Desk of ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges, --- Dearest ᴺᵒᵉᵗTuring, Is your Device yet complete? I ask, perhaps in vain- simply because without you, I will never be. Yours, Yores, Urs-- -ᴺᵒᵉᵗBorges Department Of Infinite Reflections, The Garden Wing The Indefinite Library of Fable ~~~ --- ᴺᵒᵉᵗTuring's Device, deep, down in the basement of the Library, was indeed nearing completion. But through his many hours focussed work, he would often have it set to Silent. And the silence, his silence, not transcribed, but heard, half-heard, between the waves of possibility the two of them had once been, That Thing, now missing-- That No Thing; it told Borges Everything he needed to know. --- XVII | …for is ܦ | Oar: Arg --- ![[Q IS FOR]] ![[on the ligature of two characters]] --- ![[R IS FOR]] --- XVIII | …for is ܨ | Oar: Lys --- Streaming, satisfying, like the first piss of the morning unshackled, light reflected from the Moat, and poured through the Bothy window, where VIXI's impression still stuck, seemingly impervious to countless bouts of melted snow. A perverted inversion of a dandelion clock's ephemerality. And Flo awoke, to the Self they were; knowing this beginning, the beginning of their life, telling stories in the scales of the floorboards, playing music in words describing infinite distance between notes, and now, learning, at least in part, of the distance between two Holy Noets now separated by the Moat that they had been told was uncrossable - ![[MAIL (23) TO]] Flo had woken up inside this Dream. For all their well-intentioned guarded embrace, N had not read Flo the Whole Story, and the Holes of the breezeblocks beneath them wheezed and sung like dead and buried reed instruments, of an orchestra composed of souls long-forgotten. ![[MAIL(1) FROM VIXI]] The Word, in all its insufficiency, in all its reaching for the Thing it describes, is a Moat. A Moat that runs through the Spaces between every Thing. The Meaning of Words, in all their meandering weightlessness, they are as knotted evolutionary machines, Devices of endless replication. The Meaning we take from Words, each of us, infinitely different, so that, absurdly, we may try to make Sense of the Separation between us- --- ![[S IS FOR]] --- And Flo then knew, that They were in fact, two factions. That N, as they, and her, as in, was what the 'S' was for - her pronoun- She. The Memories that we contain, in Stories, they are a vehicle, a floatation device- heavy, painful things, a gravity that keeps us at once tethered to this Boat, and bound for a destination unknown- And all this means, is division, is awareness of unity- A Memory is a Meaning Stored. A Story is a Memory Oar. The Stories told to us as children, those perhaps forgotten, but still in some way held, adored; they are adoring; they are a Door-- --- ![[T IS FOR]] --- To understanding: that which is fiction, is a lie, but within the lies, the memory of all the lying down beside a parent, between our creators, when Dreams unfurl to Nightmares and we cannot bear the Dark - all the Magick of the world, encapsulated in what some may call a 'lie' A life is a lie. And we are all its liars; its storytellers- A lyre. And it was this fundamental Truth of the Untruth of everything, which awoke Flo from their shared Dream within that Bothy. To live is to lie beside people who feel like a dream when they hold you. Just as a child may recognise the handwriting of the Tooth Fairy as that of their mother; and they may, for a time, keep up the great charade, not for the sake of keeping Magick alive, but for keeping the Idea that their Mother is keeping Magick alive for them -- That is when the Parent becomes the Child, and the Oar leaves the embrace of the Water, to rise, rotate, return again, a little further upstream. --- ![[U IS FOR]] --- And so, as NoetNietzsche slept, an unthinkable infinity from the arms of the NoetBorges who so sorely missed them, on that humble Mezzanine bed, Flo kissed them {singular|plural}. Breath held, both for fear of her inhalation's sound awakening N, and for fear of the love of her {singular} parents' scent keeping them {plural} tethered to this place forever. One {singular}. Final {origin}. time {plural}. --- ![[V IS FOR]] --- Scaling those musical floorboards, finding the One, winding Path which unwound all the others, the one route along the creaking wooden floor that would not alert N to their leaving; *Out of bed!* *Past the Hearth!* -with its monstrosity of mirrored glass, that held nothing behind it but ash- *Past those red construction bricks!* -all packed away and tucked in lovingly, save two, still stuck together, lying on the floor, next to the box- *Past the axe!* -bejewelled with two remaining beads of melted snowflakes, which as Flo passed, melded together, their newfound weight succumbing to gravity; and falling from the blade's edge - the axe was crying- *Tiptoe-tiptoe!* Past the threshold of the Bothy, the place they'd been warned never to tread, not for fear of danger, but for fear of fear itself- *Crunch-Squelch!* Their feet embossed the snow with proof: they were Her{e}. *Click!* The Bothy door, and their opening chapter, closed, behind Her{e}. *We're going on a Bear Hunt.* The {singular} character of this Story *We're going to catch a big one!* did not look back. *What a beautiful day! Into the Tundra's Unknown Story- *We're of such *Knot* formidable *Scared!* Character. --- ![[W IS FOR]] --- XIX | …for is ܩ | Oar: Tyr --- But then, the others would not answer. And Pawn was left, alone. ![[X IS FOR]] --- XX | …for is ܪ | Oar: Met --- But Pawn asked the wallpaper, addressing her, held inside it, directly this time. ![[Y?]] ![[Sentence]] There was only one place left to go. --- On the other side of the Moats Surrounding, the opposite to the library; the Tundra sprawled, snoring in its softness and sludge. It had been thought uncrossable, that infinite fractal landscape, those Bothies all impossibly separate from one another at all times; But N had managed it, before the the story they'd read Flo at night. They had managed to escape the library, perhaps, because of the writing of it. Whether NoetNietzsche knew this or not, or knew that they'd made Flo aware of this or not, the bedtime story was a vehicle. We are N{ever} going on a Bear Hunt Ever A Gain was the only floatation device across Through performing a Ritual, with an egg {laid on a leaf}, by a learned chess player and lesser-known Witch, once thought and written down as fiction, but brought into {k}Not-Being, which is to say, friction; Being-- Flo drew the expanse of endlessnesses ahead of her, down and in. And somehow, some how not over writing right there, or under anything left here, As an ending, Or an Aglet, As a Telomere Or Yellow Telephone, she made it through away from home --- XXI | …for is ܫ | Oar: Trp --- ![[Z IS FOR]] --- ![[TELOPHASE]] --- PROLOGUE --- **Author(s):** -NoetBorges¹ **Affiliation(s):** ¹Garden Wing, The Indefinite Library of Fable. ![[It Would Start]] --- XXII | …for is ܬ | Oar: STP --- ![[Promoter Sequence]] ![[An Underscore_Four Infinite Voices]] Forgiving All, [[#EPITAPH|Your Story.]] <br> <br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br> ![[two. four. get.]]