lactating

[lactating]

You turn around and idly watch the passers-by for a while whilst eating your treasure, and no one in particular catches your eye. Over there is a man wearing a propeller yarmulke, a lady wea- A propeller yarmulke?! You nearly choke on your bagel. You turn around to pack up your things, and realize that none of them are truly yours, since how does one own a thing? Things own you, if you think about it. You give them YOUR- You turn around and run- Running is out of the picture thanks to la fée verte. You walk with as much weight you can muster, and lose sight of the propeller-yarmulke-beladen man as he turns right around a street corner. You turn around the street corner and see no such man, and you turn around and see the twin wings of the propeller bob up and down above the crowd. You back up and instead turn left around the corner to keep chase.

#168: > <turn around|<start over

[lactating]

got THE MYSTIC another tattoo today:

THE MAGIC WAND:

+2 Wizardry: To banish and invoke

-1 Logic: Unproveable

[lactating]

Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, the seconds tick down at their oppressive rate of 2^14 quartz vibrations; the efflorenscia and physica movements involved run you at about three point two seconds per table. Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, and down goes another tribute to the dragon. The crowd, following behind you, can't do anything but stare. They are awe-struck and dumb-struck by the unfolding spectacle; movements so far outside of the range of the hegemonic-ideal that simply executing them looks far and away like black magic; if pressed, later, you're sure the crowd will say "It looked like something out of a movie." You don't see the reaction of the vendors, the people paid at whatever cost-optimization model will get them to sit out here and be a giant walking ad. Spending any time at all seeing their reactions would have negative consequences twofold. One, you'd be looking at them, and they at you, which would shift the power relations from "I am a crazy mystic" to "I hate you in particular." Not conducive to myth making. You're not trying to be a person, you're trying to be a force, a hurricane, a logical consequence of the many dragons flapping their wings here and now, a living embodiment of the words NO MORE! Two, it'd waste valuable time and processing power to use your eyes to look at anything but the straightest line between two tables easiest points to grab and flip. Thirteen, twelve, eleven, meaningless plastic swag is flying everywhere, the crowd behind is (as far as you can guess without looking) growing, gawking, if they had coins to put in your hat after this you'd be able to sleep comfortably in your pillow made of pentacles.

Nine, eight, seven, this particular booth has seen the oncoming hurricane and had the presence of mind to make a show of holding down their table. Whatever, you see this before they realize you do and march past, six, five, four, and this time the force of your rage actually blows the two working stiffs out of their chair and onto the ground; hail eris, hail gravity, nine point eight meters per second per second will come for us all, three, two, and you upend the last moneylender with impunity, one and zero and the magic spell snaps.

You keep moving, but the crowd doesn't. The crowd no longer becomes a crowd, and the most fascistic leaning among them shouts, "Hey!" and it becomes a mob, feeding off of your rage and turning first into itself, people becoming things, becoming crystals that resonate with that frequency of pure malice that has ended stories for good with rocks and ropes, and in this moment of their inwards reflection you GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. Equipping your wand (e.g., physcia)to propel yourself across the ground with a downwards facing wand-dash to skip off and up the ground, gaining horizontal momentum enough to briefly fly over the heads of the dogs who materialize out of the wretched corners of the earth they spring from when violence becomes acceptable, you still have the fourth octant, due perfectly south, to upend. Getting away with the second part of your trick will be the prestige. Anyone can do anything with a crowd, very few people can do anything against a mob. You start using your physica as fast as you can queue it. Now the countdown starts again, you wager you have about sixty one seconds of true full bore physcia sprint before the odds of a delicate tendon, pulley, or lever in your arms, hands, fingers, or feet failing you at speed raises to about sixty one percent, and you both crash and then skip into the awaiting arms of the mob. #99: >Tick, tock.

[lactating]

You look out over the city and see the wizard in the interplay between a curl of smoke and a beleaguered sidewalk tree. You see her in between the leaves on those trees, each perfectly spaced and centered to capture the maximum amount of hazy sunlight. You see her in the choices of colors for building advertisements and storefronts, R09's and G08's selected specifically to wiggle their way past your discerning mind and into something more basic. Red for urgency, green for comfort, sure, but more than that - the specific knowledge of colors' intersection with sight and our animal selves, that right there is where the wizard is. BT: "I am madly in love with you." it says, eyes locked into yours. BT: "I'll see you in every drop of sunlight and in every crack in the firmament." it smiles, warmly. NG: you spoil me i hear you in every pigeons hasty flight in finches resting in city trees in dawn breaking every night NG: until we meet again! BT: "We're never apart." it closes

#122: >

[lactating]

AXIOM TWO: The Ideal Gas Law The short of this is that P(ressure)V(olume) = n(umber of moles)R(this one is the gas constant)T(emperature) or PV =nR- THE LOUDEST NOISE YOU'VE EVER HEARD COVERS YOU IN SHARD OF BROKEN GLASS AND THEN !

There's a wizard on your bed.

#132: Hiiiiiiii!!!!!!!! >

[lactating]

You send NG an ask expressing your feelings on the subject.

#133: >

[lactating]

NG: hiiiiiii!!!!!!! UP: Hello my dear friend. UP: How on earth did you get here? NG: rhyme or meter UP: Rhymes. NG: quick-thinking wizard; jumped into the pane; creating quite the blizzard, oh fleet footed wizard NG: the pane it connected meat to plastia; the wizard used her whole gosh-darn 'scia; exploiting one perfect break in the laws of physia NG: completing act one; wizard on the run; now wizard she stands, removing glass from your hands! You (normalGirl) say this last line as you (NG) take out a shard of defenestrated glass wedged in your (unknownPerson) hand. UP: Ah! Your (UP) masohedonia exploitometer rises again. It seems that this particular meter never ever reaches full, whenever you get close to the top it somehow manages to make room for a couple more points to drip down into it.

#134: >

[lactating]

NG: achievements achievements, the wheel turns and spins NG: achievements achievements, won't you let nonnie win? NG: bereavements bereavements, nothing is finished, the fat lady sings!

UP: It's nice to see you again, even in such peculiar times. UP: You created some sort of spectacle that would normally result in consequence, and used Fast Earth's one absurd gameplay mechanic to escape.

NG: truly you speak for this wizard so harried NG: would you like to get married?

UP: What? No. I mean. Can I get back to you?

NG: Too slow!

The wizard dashes away and across the rooftops without another word.

#135: >

[lactating]

You love nonnie, you really do, but he can quickly consume your story, with his need for constant questing and answers. You see a possible future where its the wizard and nonnie show the two of you poppin' achievements like there's no tomorrow. And you need your own story. You take a deep breath and take off your sweat-laden accoutrements. You ate shit crashing through that stained glass window, up's bed only stopped you from breaking bones, not capillaries and skin. You utter up a silent prayer to Fast Earth for knowing your most likely course of action.

Oh shit, this was supposed to be the explainer for BT's efflorenscia. You send the pumpkin a message. NG has begun corresponding with BT! NG: ohayo NG: youre so beautiful it makes my tummy feel all warm and nauseous BT: "That's probably the blunt force trauma, love." it says. "They should sing you into the stars so your beauty may be passed down through all time." it waxes. BT: It asks what it can do for you. NG: can you please explain your wack-ass 'scia NG: its my turn to play the keeping up the world game #137: BT: "You betcha." it grins >

[lactating]

You put your phone down and let your mind wander. BT: "My "How does anyone do anything? order Efflorenscia" is quite simple," it begins. "It asks one very simple question. "How does anyone do anything?" They do it by queuing an action, you think. It's really quite simple. BT: "Metaphysical ruminations on the godhead notwithstanding, no one yet has given me a clear answer. UP quickly dissolves into transgression after transgression on levers and pulleys and muscles and tissues, NG gives me a silly joke answer, and SB has to go back to work before finishing its thoughts. The answer that sits with me begins with The Fundamental Abstraction. This" it gestures to its left hand "is not that." it gestures to its right hand.

#138: And yet, aren't they the same?>

[lactating]

You begin your approach to the great work by performing your noon-time solar adoration. It always warms your tender heart to remind yourself where the sun is at, and the reaffirm your commitment to honing your wizardly powers by devoting yourself to the great work. You usually freestyle a couple lines in every adoration just to keep you on your toes, and to stop yourself from forgetting why it is you hail unto the sun. Your buddy paracelcus named himself "before the sun"; your friend the tarot has a card named "the sun" (what is nine plus ten?); good ol' Fourier was thinking about the heat equation when he came up with his transforms; your ally comparative religion has in every version something to do with embodying pure light, and so you, normalGirl, also strive to associate yourself with that great giver of life. You think it's working. You can feel it working. [17]

#80: >

[lactating]

All hail unto thee, oh glorious and noble sun! You whose powers are at their zenith, You whom I call upon to have some fucking fun! You who embody the glory and heat of summer. I hail unto thee, oh ra! And I, whom call upon you oh sun, I whose powers are at their zenith, I whose powers will immanetize true spectacle, And it is I who embody the glory and heat of summer! I hail unto you oh sun! I hail unto you by all of thine secret names!

#79: >

[lactating]

NG began corresponding with UP! NG: hiiiiiii UP: Hi! NG: i had the strangest of dreams NG: wizard was going along, and there you were, and you were just walking down the street NG: ambulating like you hadnt a care in the whole wide world UP: I've been known to ambulate. It's among my most well loved qualities. UP: Wait, the street on the road? UP: How'd I get down there? NG: i dont think that one was up to me, nonnie NG: i woke up, and the whole dream felt....... NG: unearned? NG: anyways hiiiiiii unknownPerson UP: Hi, and happy birthday. UP: I'm flattered to be in your dream world. UP: What's it like being twenty three? NG: its a lot like twenty two though i feel unusually more absurd due it being an odd-numbered year UP: And prime. NG: ah, of course this represents an irreducibility, a firmness, a way of saying this idea has no other way of being confined into any of the numbers before it NG: twenty three hehe! i like it so far UP: Any big spells coming up? You always are a fan of casting spells, you think, even if you think it's just pretend, in comparison to the truth of science. NG: are you watching closely? NG: hehe yeah ive got a trick or two up my sleeve NG: today is gonna be my best spell yet ^_^ UP: I'm excited. Your giddiness portfolio ticks up another notch. #7: >

[lactating]

"fast earth" isnt about like some truth that takes a while to wind around and to eventually get to fast earth is about that moment where you five fingers deep into several paragraphs talking about some bullshit i made up and a little switch inside you flips and you suddenly realize the complete and inexpressible distance between yourself and your hands and yourself and everyone else and that same switch also makes you go huh? and look at the table in front of you as if youve never seen a table before because you havent and you never can and i have to do this by tricking your discrimiative mind by feeding it all this fantastical story about my characters

[lactating]

it really is as simple as "take no position on good or bad"

[lactating]

how often to you all have to wash out the smegma from under your foreskin

i guess the answer probably is "i take a shower once a day and do that" but i only shower like once a week

[lactating]

The primordium sensational experience is that of your teeth breaking the firm yet yielding toasted crust of the bagel. Instantly salts, spices, little pieces of garlic that got really hot and in so doing freely and quickly give off their aromatics. It hits you, all at once. There's a bagel in your mouth. You put it there, on purpose. Don't forget to finish biting. You cleave your way past the bagel's flesh. The teeth, those last weapons that evolution passes down to you, that force you to interact with this world with just a smidgen of violence, to ensure you never forget your potential. [31] You quickly forget to simplicity of the bagels exterior as the inside comes spilling into your mouth all at once. By god, you think, you are so grateful that this fish died for this meal. The flesh gives way, yielding into a creamy, velveteen texture under your tongue. The snap of clarity from the tomato and red onion, and as you begin chewing, the further pops and twozzels of the capers. The acidity of the vegetables melds with the cream cheese and the full-bodied lox to give you a prime number to large it makes your jaw tingle, and makes it feel funny to chew, at first.

#167: > <go back <start over