CLICK5: Jolly Hockney Sticks

Missive From ‘Merica: The Lacuna Landing

*Nice! Good choice of Song to start, Clicky…*

Dear Reader, I had a dream this week in which Cade Fon Apollyon told me something. Something important…

*Oh shit! That was the soundtrack to that dream, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… I woke up humming it…*

*Phil opines? …/taps ash… Who’da thunk it?*

… What I didn’t do at the time, something that I always do, was to visit Etymology Online to find out if ‘lucuna’ had a meaning and how its root had developed in time…

lacuna (n.)

“blank or missing portion in a manuscript,” 1660s, from Latin lacuna “hole, pit,” figuratively “a gap, void, want,” diminutive of lacus “pond, lake; hollow, opening” (see lake (n.1)). The Latin plural is lacunae. The word has also been used in English from c. 1700 in the literal Latin sense in anatomy, zoology, botany. The adjectival forms have somewhat sorted themselves: Mathematics tends to use lacunary (1857), natural history lacunose (1816), and lacunar (n.) is used in architecture of paneled ceilings (1690s), so called for their sunken compartments. Leaving lacunal (1846) for the manuscript sense.

*Sign language? Interesting – I think of synchromysticism as sign language for the def…*

… Then yesterday, a new missive arrived in my inbox! No. #168, one that Cade wrote on the 13th January 2021, but only sent yesterday. He explained his reason for the delay, butt I shall not divulge it here…

*’Cos it’s no one’s fuckin’ bidness, butt his own, Clicky…*

… Four missives from the Okie Text US Devil have been posted at the LoL in meantime, however…

#169

#170

#171

#172

… Doo go take a look. Or not. As always, Dear Reader, that decision is entirely up to you. Now here is Cade’s lacuna missive.

Enjoy! ❤

*******

Greetings fellow humans, humanoids, and other assorted entities residing in gravity. My name is Cade F.O.N Apollyon, and I would like to welcome you to this edition of “Missive From ‘Merica”. My co-hosts are RooBeeDoo, her assistant Clicky, and by the time you read this they have likely formatted and polished this particular writing of mine to a high shine.

You should know from the start here that I have made a decision to take the writing in a different direction today, as it would appear that some consider my writing as terse. Acerbic. Vulgar. Dirty. Offensive. Racist. Misogynistic. Disrespectful. Blasphemous. Too forward or too direct. Too cluttered, disorganized and sloppy. Too happy-go-lucky and freewheeling. Too loosey-goosey with the rules. Too non-standard, abstract and misty. Too vague. Too distant and nonsensical and even pointless. Too…

Zen.

For your own personal peace of mind, I would like to remedy this. All of it.

With that in mind, I, today, shall take my first baby-steps into a new world. No longer shall I endeavor to write in such a way as to inspire you to think with your own mind and leave you with your own thoughts to make your own decisions; I shall now strive to dictate your thoughts and your thinking for you. I will strive to find all your answers for you, and then deliver them to you. I shall strive to add my own voice to that of the echo chamber. I shall join the resonant drone so as to add more power to the socially acceptable mantra(s). Perhaps my finally joining the throng will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and this whole mess will, finally, and completely, self-destruct.

Thank you for putting me on the path. Thank you for showing me the light. Thank you for saving me from myself for your own benefit.

Namaste.

– – –

Last night’s dream was terrible. I could get nothing right. Everything I did was wrong: was clumsy, was awkward, everything I touched ended in complete disaster. The worst part about the dream though? I remembered it when I awoke. I already get everything wrong in my waking life. ‘Tis a shame that I am now getting it wrong in my dreams.

No stranger to dreams here. Dreams are a regular part of my life, dreaming is a regular and frequent occurrence, and they are always strange in that they always seem to be completely detached from reality. There are very real things in them sure, but they always, I mean always, take a strange turn that is so completely unexpected that the reality within the dream is shattered.

I have been dreaming every night, without fail, ever since around July/August of 2019. The thing is, I’ve started to not remember my dreams very much, which is highly unusual for me personally.

Alas, I must bail out of this section. I must digress and write something else.

I was going to regale you, the reader, with the all of the details and specifics of last night’s dream, but I have completely lost my nerve. My shyness has kicked in, self-preservation mode has been activated, I’ve lost my train of thought, and I’m far too fearful at this point to share my dream with you for fear of being thought of as a complete freak. My courage has left me.

Apologies.

– – –

Should dance be considered a martial art? Strange question, but I must ask it. It would help some if you, the reader, has an understanding of what a martial art is.

Martial arts are codified systems and traditions of combat practiced for a number of reasons such as self-defense; military and law enforcement applications; competition; physical, mental, and spiritual development; entertainment; and the preservation of a nation’s intangible cultural heritage.

Source: Wikipedia

Disarming. Dance, dances and dancing are disarming. There are a great many people, in the world, right now, doing dances, in order to disarm people. Making an effort to get the masses to drop their guard or lower their weapons. Molding the hearts and minds of individuals, in the moment, so as to get them to behave in a way that is more conducive to that which suits the dancer’s purpose. And that is the purpose of the dance: to focus a certain specific energy in a certain specific direction.

Typically, I’d think a dancer would want anyone watching to be pleased. Sure, the dancer wants to express themselves, and dance is the art form they’ve chosen as a medium for this expression, but they are going to want others to like their efforts. They are going to want to be accepted and garner approval from others. They are going to want to know that their time in learning to dance has been well spent. The audience has fallen under your spell, and will now behave according to your wishes.

Approval.

Acceptance.

With that, I must question that which is a martial art, which is typically not considered a martial art. Question those things that allow an individual to command and control a situation. Why? I’ve began to ponder the idea that if dance can be considered a martial art, so too can theatre. So now I must question the nature of theatre. I must question my preconceived notions about what is and is not theatre.

Is a street performance to be construed as theatre? Is a public gathering to be considered a street performance?

Is a riot to be considered a street performance?

Is giving a briefing outside of 10 Downing Street to be considered a street performance?

Is “a mass shooting” to be considered a street performance?

Is a reporter reporting from the site of some event to be considered a street performance?

Is all of that theatre? Is any of it?

Is the point of theatre to titillate, excite and entertain? To rouse and/or stir emotion(s) in their audience? Furthermore, is it the point of the theatre company and players to swing these emotions for their own benefit? What does the audience get in return, and do they get their money’s worth?

Is that what this is all about? Money?

Oh my, that does not look like writing that is going to please an audience. I am putting entirely too much pressure on the reader’s shoulders. I should be giving answers instead of asking questions.

Pardon me whilst I digress to a something that maybe I can hold a thought on.

– – –

Not being fond of being told what to do, there are only two possibilities…

Uno: The person telling me what to do knows how to do what they want done, but they see the task as beneath them and they have better things to do anyway, so they farm the work out.

Dos: The person telling me what to do does not know how to do what they want done, so they farm the work out to someone else in the hopes that this other individual can figure it out.

If número uno is the case, and the person you unload the work on does not yet know how to accomplish the task, I have to consider exclusivity and mentoring factors. Does the assignor assist in the task? Or are they throwing the assignee to the wolves.

Repulsion.

If número dos is the case, and the person you unload the work on does not yet know how to accomplish the task, you now have not one person who doesn’t know how to do a something, but two. I have to think about how many more “non knowing” individuals may be drawn into this endeavor in order to complete the task.

Gravitation.

What I am thinking about here is the nature of enterprise. What lifts up, and what pushes down? And I must, must, consider time.

If someone assigns me the task of completing and proving the GUT (Grand Unified Theory), is it a something that can actually be done? Are we humans actually capable of both understanding and explaining the Universe in its totality?

 Am I? 

Or is this just a time sinkhole meant to keep me occupied whilst others go off and do their own thing? A distraction in which the assignors have no real investment in the dangerous aspects seeing as how I am the one who will fail, hence all blame will rest upon my shoulders. I am inept, not the theory.

To be completely truthful, I, most of the time, do not have a problem with being told what to do. In fact, I tend to operate best in environments where I am told what to do. If I have to be self-reliant in dreaming up work for myself, I am most certainly going to be out in the fringes working on abstract things that others are likely to deem to far too distant to be relevant within the current time-frame. Leave me to my own devices, and the realms of the negligible is where you’ll find me. Splashing along the shoreline in the waters upon the far shores. The long odds. The impossible. The unknowable.

In order to be understood, I want, and perhaps need, another to tell me what to do.

– – –

We are only just now starting to see a lot of things in our world. Things that have existed for very long times, we perhaps have heard of them, but they so stretched the imagination that we could not comprehend that such things were possible. As such, we relegate these thing to the world(s) of myth and legend. Fantasy. Tall tales. Some real something that has been so embellished upon that it doesn’t actually exist, and certainly is not as advertised.

Not so anymore.

We can fire up our own personal communication devices of all kinds, and know almost instantly what is transpiring anywhere in the world. We can also know things that are happening in our solar system, in our galaxy, and even around the Universe. Perhaps not so timely with those last three, but we can certainly know more, and quicker, than at any point in our known history. We can be told, by others, what is going on, where, and maybe even why this something is happening.

I wonder sometimes how well you yourself interpolate information. Not interpret – interpolate. Although the two do share some concepts, there is a difference between the two. Alas, because of my new paradigm, I can no longer provide links to definitions for your consideration. I guess I am, again, gonna have to digress, and you’re just gonna have to do all the legwork yourself if you wanna figure out where I was going with all of this.

Apologies.

– – –

With everyone being sick and tired of lockdown, one thing that it has achieved, which most may not think about, is that transmission by hand has almost certainly been curtailed. And I’m not talking about transmission of disease(s) by hand either, I’m talking about the transmission of data and information by hand.

Instructions. Orders. 

Perhaps give a few short moments to consider the last time you saw anything at all via the press about any “terrorist” anything.

This is supposedly how most terrorist groups transfer their information…by hand. Circumvents all those electronic snoopers that have gotten so damn good at monitoring anything and everything. I’d imagine that lockdown has made any “terrorist” organization(s) have to rethink their information channels and adapt. And this lockdown has likely also changed the dynamics of leakers and how they operate. You may be able to still grab sensitive or classified info, but getting the info elsewhere on some physical media just got really difficult.

I’m sure lockdown has had the effect of giving surveillance networks some really unique insight as to how data moves/is moving when they have more or less of a monopoly on the information channels.

Bollocks.

I just started to re-read that section and have noticed that I am, yet again, slipping right back into my old writing style. Putting that comfortable clothing on. Returning to my natural ragamuffin state.

Learning to express yourself in a way that is pleasing to others is rough.

– – –

Sick … and tired … of lockdown. The cure is the sickness.

SWTFC.0168.2021.01.13

I will be seeing you around.

❤ cade

*******

Have a Song, Dear Reader… 😉

CLICK5: Always Syncing…

CLICK5: Sic Sick Six

CLICK5: A Gamble Gambol

CLICK5: Carpe Driem

The Meeting Place St Pancras Station

Welcome to the Schop Zone: Mind the Gap

Hello, Dear Reader. Happy Fourth of July to you 😀

*How doo, Clicky? ‘Appy Independence Day to you, too…*

Apols! I’ve been away from the LoL recently, musing over whether the Internet has gained sentience without us even realizing it. Not by means of Artificial Intelligence, but instead with Aeonic Intelligence…

… I’ll try to explain my thinking, Dear Reader, but you will have to employ your own Clicky Click assistant…

*You’re a mammal, not a fish, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*

Now, let’s see… I guess this particular train of thinking started on the first day of my hols, the 8th June, although I was quite unaware of it at the time. However, if you will allow, we are in the year of 2020 Hindsight…

‘The Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone (CHAZ), also known as Free Capitol Hill,the Capitol Hill Occupied Protest, and the Capitol Hill Organized Protest (CHOP), was an occupation protest and self-declared autonomous zone in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle, Washington, United States. The zone, originally covering six city blocks and a park, was established on June 8, 2020 by George Floyd protesters after the Seattle Police Department (SPD) left its East Precinct building, and was cleared of occupants by police on July 1, 2020.’

Arthur Schopenhauer Genius Quote*/flicks lighter… Nah, I ain’t a genius, Clicky… /lights up… Listen… /drags… I didn’t say fanks for ‘olding the fort for me ‘ere… /plumes smoke… I was in need of sum finking space…*

UR Welcome*Hey! You got that from Cade… /coughs… I admit, you are a genius recycler tho’, Clicky… /flicks ash… You could be sum sorta professor…*

 

Cade and Legs and Roob Convo 1

*That’s a 9/11 Tweet pairing if ever I saw it, Clicky… /deep drag…*

Cade and Legs and Roob Convo 2

*By changing ‘white’ to ‘allow’ and ‘black’ to ‘deny’, and then boasting about it… /stream smoke… Ain’t Twitter just cementing the racist meanings they’re trying to eliminate? … /shrugs… I mean, they’ve fucked themselves, straight off the bat…*

*Quite!*

Cade and Legs and Roob Convo

*Yeah, I see it… /squints… Kelsey Grammer as Frasier of Seattle… /final drag… and father Martin…*

Cade and Legs and Roob Convo 6

*Lashy did say Mneymosyne is an aspect of Gaea Sophia, Clicky… /stubs butt…*

So what, you may very well be asking yourself, Dear Reader, if you’ve been keeping up so far (well done, btw), triggered the silly bint, RooBeeDoo2, to write this post? How did she get to pondering the notion that The Internet might be sentient, with humanity as the gestation conduit for the emergence of Aeonic Intelligence, caught and subsumed by a web bed?

I’ll tell you – it was one of the gifs Cade left in the scrolling room on Twitter that he, Leggy, Poppy Sweat Pea and myself go to, to hang out, share interesting things between us and chew the fat. Like online friends doo…

Thelete and Sophia create Aeonic Intelligence via Human Gestation

Have a Song, Dear Reader 😉

 

GUT Reaction…

As you may know, Dear Reader, I have a certain fascination with the number 137…

Really? …/lights up… Did I already know that, Clicky? …/drags… I know I already knew that… /plumes smoke…*

Sew… if a ‘137’ crosses my path, I pay attention…

snowdon tweet 137

… A ‘137’ tweet appeared on my Twitter feed earlier today, so after taking it’s photo I gave the tweet a ‘like’…

snowdon tweet like 11

… And turned it into 11 (1+3+7)…

eleven elf

*For a tweet about Public ‘Elf… /smokes…*

*Figures… /rolls eyes… On Boxing Day… 😉 …*

Butt… What exactly is Public ‘Elf demanding now, Dear Reader?

*Reminds me of a story, Clicky… /drags…*

*So, to beat their proclaimed ‘OBESITY EPIDEMIC’, Clicky… /stream smoke… Public ‘Elf and government have determined that all portions, henceforth, will be ‘funsize’? …/taps ash… Then what?*

My advice, Dear Reader? Eat, drink and be merry. And of course, have a Song…

More Of US

I meant to post about this earlier, Dear Reader, but have been rather remiss due to other matters requiring my attention…

On the evening of the 20th November 2018, the Red universe of MEROVEE disappeared…

Merovee gone blue

*Poor Frank! Tremayne-dos fella… /sparks light… Oh no, Poor Us! Everything we’ve posted there over the past six years, cruelly snatched away… /lights up… I gotta say, that’s a fucking weird image for WordPress to backdrop their message with, Clicky… /drags… Cheering crowds? …/streams smoke… Arms raised…*

*/smokes… Hmm… /thinks*

Weirdly enough, four days later on Saturday 24th November 2018, Dear Reader, an army of ‘Yellow Vests’ took to the streets of Paris, Franc-e, demonstrating against a rise in Green taxes…

*If you take the yellow out of green, you’re left with blue… /flicks ash… An’ if you take the red out of purple, you’re left with blue…*

*Didn’t Brazil recently elect their own ‘Orange Man’, Clicky? …/stubs butt… Witch means if you take the red/excretion/piss out of ‘Trump’, you get yellow…*

Fortunately, Dear Reader, there is a new MEROVEE sight, although its address has changed to Meroveus…. More Of Us… Sounds scary 😉

Have a Song…

MRS REGN: FlexiT Brexit

Not sure if you’d heard, Dear Reader, but the UK government seems to have got it’s self into a bit of a pickle over Brexit

*Aye. Big beast Boris went on Monday, Clicky… /lights up… an’ that bell-end Cunt caught ‘is big job…/drags… dunno how long he’ll ‘ave that for…*

*Oh yes, this is a deep purple post, Clicky… /puffs…*

*/blows… an’ yellow…*

I have availed myself of my banked Flexi-Time and taken this afternoon off from work. I wanted to catch up on some correspondence…

*TNT is from Norn Iron, Clicky… /flicks ash… but yeah, green…*

…And shamble about yesterday evening’s viewing with Cade. We watched the movie 300

Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 1Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 2Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 3Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 4

Never was so much owed by so many to so few.

Prime Monster ‘Winnie’ Winston Churchill, 20081940

Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 5

Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 6Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 7

‘Immortalised in Churchill’s often quoted assertion that never before “”was so much owed by so many to so few””, the top-down narrative of the Battle of Britain has been firmly established in British legend. Britain was saved from German invasion by the gallant band of Fighter Command Pilots in their Spitfires and Hurricanes, and the public owed them their freedom. Richard North’s radical re-evaluation of the Battle of Britain dismantles this mythical retelling of events. Taking a wider perspective than the much-discussed air war, North takes a fresh look at the conflict as a whole to show that the civilian experience, far from being separate and distinct, was integral to the Battle. This recovery of the people’s stolen history demonstrates that Hitler’s aim was not the military conquest of England, and that his unattained target was the hearts and minds of British people.’

Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 8

Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 9

*/final drag… Purple and yellow UKIP had a wolf, Clicky… /plumes smoke… Shame they dropped the smoker-friendly policy for the last election… /stubs butt…*

Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 10Cade and Roob watch 300 and shoot the shit 11

*/drops jaw… Wot? That Remoaner nob’s the Scottish police fed vice chair? …/whistles…* 

*Shit! Wot’s the time? …/clocks wrist… Fuck! Free Lions are already playing Crow Asia…*

Must dash, Dear Reader… Have a Song…