Igor

Looking up after the sky had cleared, the trees in the dark dripping, their thirst only partially quenched, Igor was faintly aware of someone staring back at him. His eye shifted and fell on a bright red star in the North. Hello, Igor uttered before he knew it, and a gust of wind shook loose a cool mist from the trees which enveloped him in a damp shroud, and Igor saw silver and light dancing and, characters appeared out of them. Igor arranged them instinctively into the name he knew was now his own.
Igor went inside and drank his tea. Much was changed. but you would not know it.

Igor, unbeknownst to himself, was in possession of a tiger. Somewhere in a train wagon, it was located en-route, on its way to Igor through very dank material; Earth. Or Erf as the dank says, the one eyed, the the tree full of ravens, the origin, the plateau of a thousand mirrors.
On the equinox of time in the bushes lay a wasted can with a crack hole it for smoking with a straw. Igor picked it up and held it in front of his face to communicate with it.
Alien species, Igor uttered. Tell me your whisper.
Then he coughed and smote the can of crack away from him in disgust at his own amiability for what he had found from a dank tree in the windless park.
But he re approached the can with a wide circular motion and might have as well been chanting Comanche and ululating at the spot. But he burned his candle in other ways and closed in, encroaching, on the can of forbidden lore.
Yo, Dungeon! He yelled.
The park was empty and vast. Not quite 10 dimensional vast but not small either.

Now the precarious reader, cornucopious in anticipation, would here consider the crack, and the tiger, together as a Category and salivate (mentally) in a great state of lush. How now, brown tiger? As the saying goes. Igor looked at his digital ultrafiber super nonsense turbo watch and forgot from all the parameters what he was looking for. The Sun was high on above though so Igor knew his rival was about to set himself foot on a the pitch and take aim. Nowhere near was the crow who had called for the battle; she hid behind the Sun and snickered and took some snacks. As crows are prone to my lord!

Igor took a vacation from reality and found himself back on the bank of a river. And the river said, "Dip your hook in my flow and see what you are able to catch. " Igor caught a limb, which pulled him into the river. He barely escaped drowning having caught a cold. He caught pneumonia from the cold, but recovered in a bed with dreams about a river that was a looking glass.

On that vacation , You thaw, from arc’s past cold survival - little hop along, smiles eyes to see, unbrazen by Solomon’s judgement will strengthen him ,

for what cant kill him will make him strong. gospel.
according to igor quite in rigor.

The beauty and the beast between gain serpentine knowledge.

Igor, playing the Devil’s advocate, prayed, “Will I ever be One Thing?”

Dracula enters and hearing this , unfurls his wings into angelic figures

Out,

The

and tigers of bedlam on earth ,snap into action by its own volition.

and they up in heaven’s trajectory

Of course he as his function demands layed up in the eternal baroque casket smoke of whisp, alabaster and granite

Marble cold within heart of darkness

Resonate withal the ethereal beneath

as above in unison,

No, never and always now, how brown cow straying eternal indias, sCored patches,

Obliged to forget

only to remember what’s unforgettable
Compelled to repeat what’s unique ,

Divide into the minuscule

undetermined tiniest parts
Each within a cell of thought
Of his own
thinking. that, but fearing as if. he be another

Going up then falling , again down for joy and at pain

in this glorious son,

Shine illuminating all corners included labs. of of terms and odious trembling of just turned children, boys into men,

Black into white and the froth in between
legs of ivory , praying:

Upon discovering the dew, “oh god don’t destroy this world quite yet until I am spent”

Sysiphus with the Son melting his wings, time shrinking

into an abyss coincidentally unified ,

As if through a glass,

Darkly yet emancipated from his sevitude"

Cyborgs raised into 7 th heaven
Singing and beyond choirs of angels:

“all in One, and one for All”

Whisps of sea spray on hold the scene, unfurled the clouds the green valley below ,

to expose a ray intense light upon the birth of Venus.

rising out of a shell.

See? Shall

With baby igor, in trembling embrace to her bosom suckling

Then the baby , unwittingly bit her yits too hard. Causing scarlet drivulets to steam , …

Well that was too much for her, she threw the baby out in a arc of maligned path toward the azure orange horizon of twilight.

The sound of splashing and then silence.

He surfaced with a keen ability to swim toward unforeseen islands in the sun.

His prayer-placebo failing to work, Igor curses his brain as too many. All that he has undergone is still threatening repeat ad nauseum. Is there no way out of the incessant in? Tune in tomorrow for another dip in the gene pool.

There is. The absolute program to reconstruct, where such reconstruction only appears as if It was his originally constructed design.

The larger the AI memory becomes, the more of the original program is deleted, so as to. be unfazed by the enormity of the task for individual education.

That would work against and not for life.

The conformation subsists in Khrishamurti’s disallowing replication through reincarnation, qua religious ’ truths’ presented only for the purpose of blaming life’s wounds.

Only in the ‘Other’ desulting absolutely devoid of fear, can we find salvation

The odd thing is, at that point, the Other becomes the one through the other:

" In It’s Self through It-s Self …

And the mistaken course develops a fragmented political, self that sees no resemblances through the inter reflection of the parts, which does process eternally.

Irr, in case You may be wondering, ‘desulting ’ is an intended error, for it is salt which is a cure for both insulting and the sin of ambiguous creation , as ’ You are the salt of the earth’

In addition salt is curitive on wounds.

‘Ohhh my love, my darling, I hunger for…’ Igor was shaping an urn for the ashes of mankind. He and Demi Moore.
Damn Igor, Demi said. Damn Damn. With her hoarse voice. But Igor concentrated for he was a born shaper, a shifter of shifty shapes into solid forms. I shift you! He would proclaim, and Demi was always amazed at how concentrated he was.
The Urne was nearly finished and this meant, so suspected the happy couple, well read the papers. Read your organs. Read your breath. Suck it in, breathe it into your monstrous little mask to announce great things! and suck it back in. Dont rinse, repeat - ad nauseam! Read it, know it, know nothing else!

Igor’s businesscard read ‘Chandala Inc.’ and he was proud of it. Not ever had he suspected this world to be such a nonsensical place that such a piece of work as himself would ever have a play to part in it. Demi Moore wasn’t even the biggest attraction for him, it was the damned Urne. It was nearly finished.

Igor was already preparing to pondere the next thing he would forge. But not yet - he must not lose concentration. Not at this very last bend of the shape of the neck. Not yet… not yet!

Demi likes boy toys, hence Dracula appears on stage to set her straight.

Or so Draculu thought. A few hours later he found himself in a car next to Hunter Biden with a 14 year old on his lap smoking crack. Demi had no use for pedophiles and the like and returned to admiring Igors steadfast approach to things, an approach so solid that by its very solidity shaped the rest of the world which, after all, was perpetual flux.

Somehow Igor in his craft escaped the flux and sat at the heart of the world, both as it was dying and born anew.

Igor sat in his car and waited.
Waited waited waited. Waited. And waited.
And then the thing happened and he was on his way. He had his coffee.The automatons. They were great.
A conversation with a man at the machine gave him hope. He stirred his cup and put the lid on. Then he was in his car and the wait was on but I already told you about that.
Igor was a creature of hope.
He had a butterfly in his mouth whose wings butter would not impede, hence: butter-fly.
Igor was on his way. But I already told you about that.

Palm trees were in the wind. Where Igor was, now it was still. Even at sea, it was still. The winds were laid down in the silence as the path in the dunes proceeded behind prickly thorns.
A secret was lain in plain sight as yet, and again, wonder became daze and night became grotto.

Someone remembered theyd once had a dream about a gatehead, and in the morning there was hagelslag.
No dog barked that night.

Sorry to cut You off, the vampire is not an overlord here, exxept , as usual for lack of foresight, my post coincidentally , only 2 minutes delay.

Mea Culpa

Igor felt he should be famous again. So he wrote a poem called “Im famous, again.”

He posted it in the news paper and floop, he was famous. He was part of a network, you see. A fame-network and his balls were creamed with Oprah Winfrey cream. Nuff said.

So, fame knocked on Igors door the next morning but igor had just gone to bed.
Gnugg… wdf, wut now…

Yeah, so when he got up, several hours plus tard, he saw the note slipped under the door.

“Igor, here’s your fame. Look on the back.”
And on the back a big anal ass was drawn.

Igor didnt really care. He just drew a next poem and sent it up to the fame machine and added: no fame before tea, thank you.
And so everything came well. Scones, yeah, sandwiches cut in the diagonal, check, fame, check. Nice.

Igor defeated the blade of grass at shadowcasting and then went to have some tea in the ceremonial bunker underground bordering the bunkers of hoggleroo, but the walls were very think thangod. But still. The auras was unmistakable. So Igor went about to set his bunker on a website, you know to sell it, and before long he had three best offers; and he took one of them and sold the darned thing. Now he was rich.

So what was going on now. With all that money. He married three wives and occupied three nations. He spat in a lake and a dragon formed which protected his offspring. He toiled the soil with his little pinky and a ox cart appeared and offered him a plough, a great golden plough for his birthday. It was a good week.

Some say no money no honey, some say money mostly funny.

Damn that’s so hiphop, Igor thought and bounced his body to the beat Meno was beatboxing with his slurf. Meno was an elephant Igor had bought at the Zoo when it went bankrupt.

Igor ran into Brehsnhjew and kicked his shin, that was what he could remember for he was drunk (why elsewhise run into Brehsnhjew) and he might also have talked to him, before or after the kicking he could not remember and care, he was still too hung over. He scammed an egg but forgot the butter, and threw the pan, he got back in bed and kicked Brehsnhjew again in his sleep.

(scamming an egg; to scramble and thusly scam it out of its proper (sunny) destiny.

Lesson 2

When truth is falsity of a higher order, what is falsity on a lower order than ordinary falsity?

When Henry told Persephone that she was beautiful, he left out the fact that she already knew that.