From: intraphase@gmail.com

ARRESTING THE GIRL & THE BOY - A BRIDGE

In the Something: it takes about an hour and a half for the
Light to gather and marshal its Forces; and The Water is All Ways
allotted an equal apportionment of Time. The Streams become Orbs,
then rapidly tighten into Spheres, of radiant collision of all
the Colors; that are present and possess a degree of Presence.
The Moon and Light, in direct Linear conflict with The Mist and
The Mountain; is not allowed for the most simple of reasons, it
is a Battle of Absolutes, which is forbidden. Because then,
The Nothing and The Everything would have to True Pitch and
cooperatively assemble Enharmonic Dissonance, to restart and set
in motion, the Random Factors; which Create whatever version of
The Something, that is engaged in:

[] Dishonored Embattlement []

Bidding your Way into the Room of Rainbows, is a really
stupid idea. I had seen it many times: but, according to my Fully
Ranged Balance, which I had consulted into the confidence of this
Battle, I had never bid my way in. So I was, most probably, in a
satisfactory condition for The Battle.
When The Five Crowns have been present for enough Time:
after the full Ceremonial and Symbolic Progression of The Streams
and The Orbs and The Spheres; ...The Warriors must enter.
There is No Other Way. This is The No Way.


[] Absolute Vs. Absolute []
I Am A Source.
I Am A Warrior.
I Am A Creator.
I Am The Nothing
[] I Survive []
[] I Thrive []
[] I Conquer []

*

I Am Rhythum
I Am Balance
I Am Momentum
Room Of Rainbows [][][] *** [][][] Bridge Of Light
The Battle Of Absolute
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM


She is an Absolute.
When the Room Of Rainbows forms in The Something, Time stutters
and stammers, and then; The All is Quiet, and The Everything is
momentarily Dark. The Darkness is a comfort; but it always gives
me a terrible case of restlessness. I waited impatiently for
The Bridge of Light. First little tiny Spheres appear and talk
amongst themselves like the Idiots they are. Eventually, after a
sufficient amount of hemming and hawing; I force All Thirty-Two
into position at The Four Corners. Two groups of Eight Males to
support the back sides properly.
The Lower Notes have more Overtones, so they go in the back.
I put the Two Groups of Eight Females up front, to block The
Overtones of The Low Note Males.
The females have a higher pitch, but limited depth. They are
quite capable of The Balance Of Forces; and can screech down The
Low Notes should they grow mournful for The Morning.
She is what She is. They think they Love Her, but, they
don’t know what Love is. Intellectually they know:
...but not really.
Going to the Room Of Rainbows has the same basic feeling and
texture, as being called or sent down to The Principal’s Office.

It’s a drag, but you have to go, or run out of the school;
or throw a fit, or some other such device or subterfuge. Then you
get dragged back, and you have only delayed, the ordeal of facing
it.
[][] The Music [][]

About an Octillion or so later The Little Spheres finally
pulsed in the proper rhythum and The Bridge Of Light opened. I
could see Her standing there on the Other Side, with a vicious
smirk. She is not a Hunter; She is much, much, much, much worse.
She is an Absolute Bitch. She is:

[][] The Accuser [][]

The Bridge Of Light is crossed in a singular perception.
Once the groupings of The Eights are aligned, each Sphere
occupies a corner of A Box, Eight Spheres to A Box. The Eight
Corners are proper Designates. Once they are aligned as A-Boxes,
then they are placed on A-Plane, Four Hundred and Forty
perceptions apart. Then The Bridge opens.
I don’t linger, I jump, and go before The Males get to
Sounding and The Females Repelling, who needs the hassle.


It’s A Noble song they sing; but, it’s just practice, no real
outcome; other than to do what they’re supposed to do at:
All Transit Thirty-Two.
Their task should be accomplished with speed and aplomb,
but always threatens to spiral, with endless Fretting and Fussing
amongst themselves; if they are indulged for even A Moment.
The Wind on Old Granite Face was howling like The Wind.
We Sat. We Waited. When The Wind sweeps down into The Valley it
picks up speed and begins to form venturi that creates...
The Small Vortex.
She is what She is.
She has to be dominated: or She Will sets to provocation; until
I feel Fear or Anger. If I feel Fear, she mocks me, until no
matter what I get Angry.
So the best defense is a good offense, or something like
that, I get confused around Her. She is My Accuser. This time
around, I’m not sure if I’m accused of stealing Four Corners, a
Full Eight, or Time forbid... She should ever lose Essence and
accuse me of A Completed Sixteen. Standard formulaic
procedure, is to walk real slow towards Her, then make like...
maybe, I have other more important things to do; then when the
Fear becomes Anger, I resume my Natural pace and She feels Shame,
then it, starts... [] All Over []


[]

Cream - White Room
https://youtu.be/gXUHb_l-1HU

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)