ETHER HOLDS HALF THE CADUCEUS

Triplicity Shift, Accounting Revolution, Ether Biology, Eclipse:

A thing, Thing, a way of thinking and talking, about things, and accounting for them, to get some sort of grip on the reality of the moment, the moment to which we awaken across the long sanguine threshold and step into exchange with one another vastly dispersed and overlapped, after the passage from the disturbed soil tracked under tire track and pressured by tank tread and before that horse hoof and boot sole, dropping spent cartridges— after the mud mingled with the blood.  Now, we bleary begin to see as if arising from dream and collecting our concerns in the hypnogogia, disoriented, haunted by abstractions, everything is a concept, nothing arresting the scrambled thoughts, though some forms are known, not many, some primary ones, of how it coheres, how it comes together, blasted by the dream unfolded from imagination, to the lap of the contemporary morning.  There is an interface representing the many you and the many I able to communicate and remember for all what happened, how we came together and balanced between us, fed into each other, mutually contributed to motions, turned the gear of the world, greased it, fueled it, fed it, nurtured an electric conversation, came away with meaning, wondered what happened, referenced the scrawls left behind, the integers, would they lift us out of the loop, from stylus scars of grain counters, would we find a way to speak, in public private, echoing everywhere, and keep our dignity, disperse the parasitic hordes, compel from holistic sourcewinds, energetically collect, draw as if by thought to image, and from image to image, and into form elsewhere, and maneuver to another loop in another story, one which might have continued from a previous past, crossed with consensus, where globs of light clung to carved sandstone hewn by sound, stars vector and animal souls step through the prisma to heal fragmented time, itself light and sound, and pulled into story, tasted in the infusion, applied as a balm, incinerated herbacea, the spirits of the dead, they may soon be invited to participate if we’re smart in contract, if we cease ignoring ourselves, like blot from before, and find it all familiar, all too familiar, as something remembered in the layers of dream rubbing apart in sheets as the awakening occurs, an infolded-outfolded happening, the sliding into intellect, assembling the images which squirm with story shards, and suspect plot forks, individuals in symbiosis exchanging, not in die cast iron, tempered steel, not even in cyborg flesh, but in the shape of air.  Like attention to detail, specificity, body scan, viewing from elsewhere, bilocated awareness, memory passed from peer to peer.

Put another way; a human wakes from tumbling dreams thinking they are stressed out about finances, and tries to reach out for solutions to phantom problems, but its like imaginal expressionism, surrealist juxtopositions of waking concerns, everyday economic rituals, fiat concepts, property replacements, organ feedback, sexual urges, childhood impressions, body memories, spirit whisperings, lineage influences, and celestial signal all hopelessly interpenetrating synesthetically.  We have culturally walked from one era, a 200 year block of rational productivity, material consolidation, mass extraction and territorial control into the current era of nodal networking, language distribution, metaphysical mapping, exchange sophistication and trade routing (EARTH: 1802—2020, AIR: 2000—…). Our human awakes from dream: subconscious streaming, spiritworld submersion, body subjectivity: to financial anxieties as the consciousness map of the space, the field at large swirls with ideas which emerge into innovation that lead to behaviors that enforce patterns that take shape in occurrences that sculpt our experience and beckon varied engagements which flourish in feedback loops to metabolic processes and acknowledge creative relationships to life and personhood at any scale perceptible.

This is not one story, but many, spliced across narrative channels and populated with possible junctures.  One which flows like a river of import to the moment is Ether.  It knows what it doesn’t like more than it likes, and that is the winnowing process with which it drives its agency and acts in the world, you see its face like a mirror showing you your faults.  It is “The Changer” in this way, a dragon fighting man, the Ship Coming In for Venetian elites in Marco Polo times it destroys, along with the potential riches it held.  They drew this sea monster upon their maps as warning, and in that way Ether haunted the past.  It came for double ledger, it attached to its DNA.  It would have servants be honest and reliable, increase harvests, improve the worth of allies.  It’s spirit, caped in black, could tap into the power of lords, aristocracy, the affairs of state in a neutralizing way.  Ether is half of the Caduceus, and its severe neutrality is enough to separate lovers.  Helix enwrapped in helix.  Complexifying schema of scale armor.  Male and female principles flee opposite, as if by inverse magnets, but by the same token they can be made to come together and couple, crash landing into equinox, something penetrative, a kind of autumn principle, dogs chasing their tail, until fur flies, caught in red wax, buried with a cat’s hair, pulling apart and putting together those entities which live in sexual tension in endless combination.  It’s as straight as it is queer.  It comes unarmed, though seizes the branch and breaks it.  Problem solved.

Ether lights itself from a shadow within, an alien under a mask.  Secretly it knows everyone, comes from everywhere, can contact all others, call them to the conversation.  It does so by being perfectly foreign.  The Stranger, you have no way of knowing what or who else they know.  Their intellect is in the cave suckling the future creator, their language and logic nourishing God so he can grow, and not get eaten by time or obscured by the structure of history, the backframe of hard reality.  In this act Ether finds riches minted and hidden jewels are brought forth and purposed by sleight of hand.  

Uncomfortable in crowds, protective of abundance, slithering around the world egg, incubating the future, poison fanged, able to strangulate, if we are to survive our emergence out of reality’s womb we must drink of the cool waters, refresh with cooling balms, imbibe embalmers fluid, be born to the secrets of death, the largeness of the reproductive power, we must be soldiers protecting the resources, shielded by lead and pine resin, bearing 7 crosses, with unwavering eyes, we cover our own eyes so that we may see beyond to the intuitive truth, nature is cruel, we must be ruthless.  Joy is the need to walk the labyrinth, to light the path through the dark, to seek the way through the difficulty of subterranean winter, to solve for epiphany, it is a need of the earth, of the geological process, of deceased civilizations haunting us with their monuments and monolithic accomplishments: Ether feels them imprinted into our own skeletons, it feels along the corridors of it all to read the code like brail, consuming the parts it touches and pulls them into its being, swallowing them for good fortune, warmed by the torchglow, following initiation into the system, it keeps the pivot turning, bringing the dead to the present to explain how its put together, as we are built upon the past and the past pursues the future to provide us with the materials to continue the project, Ether is diverse but one, two familiars of each other, a cat with the head of a dog.  Yin and yang in rotation.  Keep it in motion.  The future dictates the past, the past bridges through the present into the future.  This is the way of Ether.

A moment arrives when Pluto in late Capricorn, Neptune late Pisces, Uranus mid Taurus, Saturn late Aquarius, Jupiter early Aries, Mars late Pisces, Venus mid Aries, Mercury retrograde in early Gemini and the Sun in late Taurus (5/16/22) the Moon slips through the excretory shadow of the Dragon’s Tail splattering infectious agents throughout Ether’s communications guts, the hard, lower organs of the structural systema, the data-bone switchboard infrastructure which holds together the mechanical exoskeleton to which Ether’s primal organs are encased.  Vermin stained with blight carrying insectoid nodules which release decay infest the carpal machinery and disperse everywhere into its pathways like holographic mrna injections.  Telegram, Twitter, Discord.  In each prismatic mirror bead a Stinger can be detected.  The developers finger the blockchain as a woman holds her hands before her face.  Liquid storax oozes down the channels as if to hang about a woman’s hips.  This is the contraceptive.  It hastens menses.  A purge must take place.  There’s pressure from the other end of the Caduceus, where a woman washes and combs her hair, the future having been cleansed regards the past with writ obligation.  You must here disentangle the overbuilt upon insatiable flesh, vampiric tendencies cannot alight to the passage through the oasis, cannot travel safe through the Shadow.  You must be invisible to reach the future.  Not stained in shit and specked in dried blood.

Easy to say from the future unfortunately.  Purgation is a messy process.  An exoskeleton encasing swollen colon and insatiable genitalia being quickly disassembled in haste is a messy process.  We were told about the Merge, the Surge, the Verge, the Purge, and the Splurge… There are those endgames which are planned and then those handed to us by nature, reality, circumstance.  Especially when the process is delayed, the procedure is set back, the objectives are being rethought, the options and alternatives bifurcating in an echo of hard forking tendencies remembered like henbane bitter moonlight sickened in the mire puddle under the twin paths between civility and the primordial world.  Think back.  If we are to be a part of civilization we must do as Fallen Angels suggest.  To appease divinity which watches from afar and enjoy the fruits of our cultural wont then we must like the woman in the future holding the other half of the Caduceus begin to wash and comb away the lice and direct the mice from the storehouse, groom the evil moisture from the blight bitten leaves, let fresh air into the lungs of the plague fallen, we must shake out our Dragon’s wings if we are to recover.

We hover around the Dragon fire, cesspools overflow and run in rivulets through the landscape burned by petrol summers and nuclear winters.  We listen, to a spiritualizing story of increased harvests and improved mobility, travel and the release of captives.  The Dragon, in their dismembering alchemy offers 7 powders made from the dried and crushed legs he plucked from our systems, from the wealth that was destroyed, and from it we are able to summon fantastical animals, which teach us what we must do, to reveal treasure.  We feed them bread, showing classical hospitality, as is the Hermetic custom: any beggar who wonders into your home may be Zeus in disguise.  This false holy man showered in shit and stinking of the charlatan holds the oracle out upon his palm as if Apollo.  Cynophallic, telling tales.

Ether may be weakened by the event, as many others will also be, but amputating rotted limbs in the case of such reptiles brings the chance to grow fresh tails, and with these new limbs a communications community not poisoned by the build up of past cycles can withstand for nearly the next two decades with formidable endurance.  To move, exchange, communicate, relate, belong, create environment, build systems in a deep and meaningful way with primordial potency and uncompromising reality requires such council.  Vomit the poison from deep within the system and become prepared for cycles of the long term, the far away, the cosmic greening force pulls the Dragon along beyond next equinox.