Cairo - A story about not forgetting to remember.

I'm the one in the blue shirt. The Sphinx is the one not wearing any shirt at all. Just thought you should know before we get started.

I am writing to your eyes tracing the contours on my hand typing now, but also writing
parts in so-called cursive when I was eight or so. Before too long, I will tell you about a
biking accident I will have had when I was a teen, but that’s all after (parts of this story)
but before I started wearing two watches to help me deal with what comes in whichorder, even though I think it might started way before that, when I remembered a fall that almost never seemed to end…and maybe it has will have not.

Pardon, for the first time, my tenses.

Here's what I remember about Egypt. I remember that the Egyptian pound was more
colorful than the English version and pretending to actually read Arabic. I remember my
brother telling me that if we entered the mummies’ tomb there would be a curse on us...
and I remember believing him and nightmares of severed limbs and dark silent deaths in
vats of honey. I remember the belly dancer in that restaurant in a boat on the Nile and
looking to my Dad to see if it was okay to look at her...a lot; not glance – LOOK. I ate
sugar cane on a raft and wondered if I would remember any of it the way I will have
remembered things from my past that I can no longer recall. I remember trying to
remember stuff when I was eight too, like when I fell out of our attic window when I was
three. No one remembers that but me because I was too scared to say to anyone that it
happened. Remembering memories themselves. My only memory is that when I was
eight I remembered something that happened to me when I was three, But I do not
remember when I was three, just an eight year old’s recollection of it. I rolled off the roof
and fell three stories. I remember the memory of it. How it took a very long time to hit
the ground. VERY long.

You know how you can remember that you had an epiphany just before nodding off but
that you can’t discern the content upon awakening? I'm falling asleep, I'm having a
*good* idea, don't forget that good idea, I'm too tired to write it down, I'll remember
it. Good morning. Oh no! I can't remember my idea, but I remember that I had one.
That’s a collision of now and then language, to be sure.

It’s hot at Christmas. Sand, not snow. First time for this and/or that, he wrote, trying to
choose a tense or point of view, but neither differentiating subject nor object. When is he
going to take part of an Egyptian monument home with him? When did it already
happen? Who is this child he’s narrating?

Darling, the difference between crocodiles and alligators is the way their teeth are
arranged. Thanks, Mom, I feel better now. If fall in the water and a crocodile comes, he
would not dare eat me because I'm poisonous and if I look him in the eye, he will know it
so – I will convince him. I’ll make him sick.

The water is warm and I can swim to Banana Island, easily. I bet a lot of people died in
this river over the last 4000 years – but then, this river has kept many alive. Nevermind.

Wake up. Pay attention.

Six hundred hours, the sun’s up. Hot already. Where can I find some papyrus? Do they
still make it? It's real paper papyer...us...papayrus. Paper inventors. Paper. The precursor
of the internet. Slow but effective, text will travel be shared, copied. Hard information
sharing. Or secrets. The first encryption. Etymology abound.

Later, I learned what etymology was and tried to find out how the word “etymology”
came about. It was Greek, after the before fact.

I have learned to spell my name in hieroglyphs and the meaning of the scarab beetle
while on the way to Thebes. My sister is throwing up again but my Mom is holding her
like flowers. We give her Dramamine and Coke.

Thebes. With five mirrors the Sun is coaxed down the deep underground halls. There is a
beam above our heads and our guide dips into his own mirror into it like a ladle to
illuminate the Book of Gates on the walls. I learn it is very important to be dead
sometimes. And have a mirror.

Tomorrow we go to the Pyramids at Gaza. The real Pyramids. The Pyramids Miss
Thompson told us about in 2nd Grade, four years after I fell from the attic, but the same
day Bridget Cornwall got a bloody nose for no reason. OK, now WHAT day is it?
Eventually, I will have learned how to use “tenses”. But not for long…I will have had a
bike accident that will have changed everything.

How will I know a mirage if I see it? Will it tell me? Clearly, nothing is obvious in this
heat. Oh, sure, it’s DRY heat, but so is an oven, ya know.

We live in a kind of place for people who are staying a longer time than other places with
their short staying people and after a week I can go on my own if I stay on the grounds.
Eventually I can go for long walks outside with my brother. It doesn’t take long for me
to turn brown or find my way to the street for a sugared ice. From the steps outside I’m
kissed by the singing from the Mosques. There is no way to not hear it. I love my new
sandals, because, see, if someone looks just at my feet he cannot tell if I am Egyptian or
not. I want to be Egyptian now.

His Father had asked someone to give him a ride around the Pyramids in advance. But
the child was completely taken by surprise when the Arabian stranger lifted him up from
the dirty sand and offered him to his cloaked partner on the camel.
When you look down on people from a camel and they are wearing a hat you cannot see
their face. So you cannot see them smile approvals. You cannot see that it is okay with
your Dad, who is wearing a big hat.

Most camels look like they are in a bad mood to begin with and when camels are late
they become very serious indeed. Maybe camels must never be late and that is why. Yes,
that's it - there is no such thing as a late camel. They are fast enough to out race their own
smell. They can lose their shadows. Wide flat pods rush to find the horizon. Nothing is
out of range. Nothing, for a camel.

Before I know what is happening and as soon as I am handed to the rider he goes. Fast.
With the wind at my ears and a strong arm around me I try to peek behind us but
the rider’s clothes are full and thick like his laugh. His laughter is married to the bounce
of his friend. Someone has seen us go or we are not alone, I hope, but I have no proof. I
have been kidnapped. We slow down and I hear the camel’s heavy breath and the gentle
voice of my guide relates an incomprehensible monologue as he loosens his hold. I am
riding around the Pyramids on a camel in the lap of an Arab at Christmastime. It was
nightmare for moments, now it is a dream. NO, I cannot even dream this, it is too
incredible. Without credibility entirely.

My Dad, on another Camel, overtakes us, then my Mom and my Sister and my Brother. I
have not been kidnapped, I had just not been warned. Now I will not have to escape.
The Sphinx is caged. The fragile monument sits within a fenced compound. I clearly
remember the guard unlocking the metal gateway for us and only us. It was my father’s
connections to the Egyptian Consulate got us in. I remember learning the word consulate
and understanding my “passport”. I remember at first being fascinated by border-lines on
maps and not much later becoming very saddened by them…for everyone, somehow. As
we walked around the monument I could not resist tracing my hand along its
contours, and when no one was looking, I took it, as small piece broke off in my
hand. Yes, I put a piece of the Sphinx in my pocket. I wonder when I may put it back?

I hope the passport that enabled my thievery, will not prevent my making it all right again.
I dream of the rock’s return often. It comes and goes as a mission. You should smell it
sometime, it has an interesting smell. Even though everything in the universe is
essentially the same age, the rock smells older than most smellable things.

I'm in bed watching the fan spin on a spinning world - time to sleep - I'm so sleepy from
today's sun. I should write down that this life and the people and things I have done are
everything I never thought I always wanted, but I am a little boy, and have not learned to
write down what I think might be important thoughts for later, if I get them right before I
fall asleep, and I think that I will remember it in some eventual morning anyway. Did I?

Do not fucked with tenses.

Hi! some of you may not know me, but then again many us to not know each other. A great number of us to not even know ourselves. Smile, take a deep breath, survey the crowd. The now like to read the rules: Read boxing rooms. Stop halfway. Try something with the podium in the microphone. Touch it.

Mentioned on a period! You can't teach but you can learn of course your genes are competitive by nature.

Your memes are gentle and sharp.

Mannequin thought to myself all night a wonder if I will a wonder if I will made up incredible stories remember to breathe so tired these days and thinking about changing lives are well all kinds of things and unknown doing don't forget devising new know I can say that a can believe this site system and if I have to say it is listening to myself and thinking it's a different candidate to the place where you really are saying and thinking so much I have a little place for you if I let it surface it comes to talk to me in the beginning of next month some time last year, just a few months ago, next year, a child was born.

As the boy grew older he would cry when given a piece of candy because he knew that it would soon be gone. He had the feeling he been through all this before.

Save document same name. So hide the candy and do not eat it right away. If you eat it right away, you will be sad. Enjoyment is always for later! BUT- remember to enjoy pleasure. Do not fucked with tenses. He will have not fucked with tenses, it may well have to be dangerous. Your brain does all kinds of things it never tells your mind about.

And consciousness is the part of you mind you are paying attention to...a small part of the whole.

There's so much more for you to discover.

What's the hardest you have ever looked?

www.compositionnotebook.com

Hot questions!

So I had an insight.
Two very important questions for you.Ready?
That wasn't one.
Did you think it was?
Neither that last one ...

OK, Here they are:

1. What might you learn from this question?
2. What about this one?

OK, let me know.

How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day

That's pretty much the whole joke"
"How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day"

NOT AGAIN

"You are what you see, because what you see is your universe.

You inhabit that universe, otherwise known as your point of view.

But you are no mere observer, you participate in your perception and create your very own set of everything. We all have our oun "everything"; that is why everything (yours) has something to so with you. This kind of radical subjectivism makes it tough to pin down reality, especially considering just about any aware, sentient being has their own set. Some sets never intersect; others spend nearly all of their properties within one another. The combinations of properties from the total number of sets (no set is identical) contributes to an absolute, objective reality - some call it 'truth', which, because, the perceivers of the sets are also partipants, is in flux...permanently impermanent.

This objective reality, the sum, the TRUTH cannot be, by nature, perceived.

This is the paradox.


These owners of multiverses and their sets of sets and dynamic amalgams of awareness we call "life".

They create countless, personal, sets of everything by interacting with their and other's universes.

The meaning of life is the creation of truth, but life can't see it, and even if we could, it would flicker and change be something entirely different at every moment.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________

With that in mind:
You are - your essence is - the proportion or ratio of what you are to what you appear to be. It is much better to 1:9 than 1:244553. The ratio of 1:1 would be a being which was exactly what it appeared to be to any other being.

Because perceptions and hence, the "truth" is in flux, the representative 1:1, lets call him/her "x", although the stablest ratio, would appear to be in great flux, but subjectively perhaps have the sensation of..."

- Janus Shilling trying to explain how there can be so many of him at www.control-alt-delete.org

How to be misunderstsood by a speech recognition program...

more naturally speaking interperets the natural....ah crap.

I SHOULD EXPLAIN THESE RANTS - THERE'S THIS SPEECH TO TEXT SOFTWARE I HAVE - YOU TALK, IT LISTENS AND INTERPERETS YOUR SPEECH AND "TYPES" IT FOR YOU.

IF YOU MUMBLE OR SPEAK TOO QUICKLY OR USE A SILLY ACCENT, IT DOES "INTERESTING THINGS". OK, HERE WE GO. AM NOW GOING TO SPEAK AND LET IT DO ITS THING.

there’s a lot of magnesium in ordinary peanuts

because magnesium had been discovered and

many found a way to see what was in what

foods

The code of the

So I was thinking about Medicare creative process

I was thinking about met the creative process

metaphysical

meta creative process

I often begin summer rope task so meaningless task and while I'm doing I find something interesting along the way when I go down this is fork in the robust branch and bifurcating and explore that and sometimes a comeback to the task and sometimes a do not continue on the track.

I discovered this tonight I was watching myself

nobody has him out of body experience to become itself observable creates the sensation of being out of her body

we can see yourself when you can really see yourself see you can great impact you can step away from your problems need to look at them from another point if you instead of being in them payable to see you in them kneeling context of them as opposed to the context of you in them

the time the time of the insects is coming here comes above us of fact and I feel very very high

who is a Delmar Roche?

… he said he needed to take better care of himself, because he is a squirrel.

He is a squirrel. A

mind creative process includes going down many different roads coming back cataloging a and storing, that is, archiving every little thing.

I'll eye can do his beak I haven't typed the word it what it to move planning did venue who know dogs bark well for bark will allow while
clear your mind free your mind stay your self in a and in an in an and in a and in the in the the in the in the the the the in the the in the in the the in the in the in the the the the in the in the of the in the in the in the the the in the the the the the in the the in the in the in the the the the the the in the the in the the

A sack of cornstarch.
A New Improved God....
33 percent more God, free!

Invalid Subject line, you cannot leave the subject blank - A Statement

The time has come.

Fruit’s Ripe

No longer delay.

Anonymously famous, they made eight ways
Do not attempt to finish

I reject your rejection - a letter I wrote in response to a rejection letter.

I reject your rejection - a letter I wrote in response to a rejection letter.



September 28, 2005





Dear MicroCineFest Curators,



Thank you for your gracious letter of September 22nd. After careful

consideration, I regret to inform you that Gregor Petrov is unable to accept

your refusal to accept his short films for your 2005 festival, this winter.



This year, Mr. Petrov has been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually

large number of rejection letters. With such a varied and promising field

of candidates, it is impossible for him to accept all refusals.



Despite your curator’s outstanding qualifications and previous experience

in rejecting applicants, Gregor and I consulted, and we agreed: this particular

rejection does not meet his needs at this time. Therefore, my client will be

honored to have his films in your festival this November. We look forward

to seeing you then.



Best of luck in rejecting future applicants.



Sincerely,



Max Friedenberg

Control-Alt-Delete.org (formerly High Mayhem)

What is a poem anyway?

Poetry? No poetry here. Poetry is a turn-off.

With that in mind here's some peoms what came out of me:



I Fell Asleep at Your Funeral

It's snowing phosphorus late afternoonish.
An essence snifter,
nice relaxer:
Bloody Mary and Benzodiazepines
for my petite mal problem.

Curb your tired thoughts.
I need your wakefulness
(although I have crossed)
from the belly of this black shark of a car
In a game begun
by a dead man on wheels
the drivers play a customary
follow the leader.

Were you able,
you would sack the churchy creep delivering your eulogy.
Stir me when he has finished.

Who's a funeral for anyway?



Two Reflexive Haikus

New metaphors like
Self-referenced similes
So at home on line

This one achieves
its full effect after reading.
Do you not agree?



Will

In and around
a show
of interesting memes,
they meet demands of
marshmallows and bleach
like a forest
of inhalations.

See how it goes?
They know enough not to know and
Often author from the hip






i am out of YOUR mind



(Why is a sky?

Because a ground.



Make your accent a friend

for

We Will Teach You To Wash Soap

and

Brain-Wash You To Think For Yourself.



Everyday we shall encounter exactly the same thing: variety.



[Nothing is unspeakable.

'Tis why it is difficult to verbalize;

(Nothing, {that} is.)

AND: What might one learn from THIS question?

this one, that is:

'What can might learn from THIS question?'

What of this one?
I look at Myself to remember YOU.}



In addition, you scrawled some parentheses in the hallway. No words,

just a bunch of (, {, [, ], } and ) symbols in long sets.]



They feel much more as they do now than they did moments ago

as they are full of the observation:



FOUR OUT OF FIVE PEOPLE MAKE FUN OF THE FIFTH PERSON.



On the way to his keys, the amazement

circular remains her mouth; tracing no-no products like marketing tools

in the hands of saints

rabid with new business.



Why does everything have something to do with you?

Struggle is easy because you are out of my mind