More Work With Setting

My ideal sexual setting

    Narrated by me, an influence of blue, basically non-not-blue and very slow.  Like the ocean.  Sparkly.  Restored From Sinking.  For the Ocean always sinks for that is what it is.  To sink.  For All Things Sink In It, Including Itself.  Salt or whatever but let's not talk about science.  Let's talk about Art.  And Culture.  My sexual setting is Cultural.  What kind of Cultural?  The Artistic kind.  You might wear a black hat.  I might wear nothing.  And we'd talk and cook and chat all evening.

My ideal childhood setting

    Burping allowed from everybody.  Full diapers all the time.  Hip & Breath.  Performance.  Latitude and Longitude.  Play time.  Not-Play time.  Play time goes like this.

    "I am a Champion Knight!"

    "Look at you."

    Not-Play time goes like this.

    "I was a knight champion.  Now I am not.  That is Imagination, to have been a Champion Knight."

    "I'm a Champion Knight!"

    "No, no.  Now is Not-Play time.  You hear the siren?  That's why."

    Discussion afterward, hopefully.

    Theatre.

    Privacy.

    Visitors.  Friends of mine.  Just one today.  He has a green puppet.  We entertain.

My ideal formal setting

    Chairs, chairs everywhere.  Psychological accuracy.  Limitations.  Politics in play.  A long life.  For both of us.  English literacy.  All of us.  Many people.  We wear whatever we like.  We think whatever we want.  These two serendipitous monsters.  For they are meetings of serendipity every time.  Blogging.  God.  Angels.  Man.  Heaven.  Earth.  π, Version of experience.  Calligraphy.  Paragraphy.  Storytelling.  French.  Canada.  En-Aboriginal.  Charming.  Funny.  Spiritual.  Religious.  Cultural.  Logical.  Play and Not-Play time involved.

My ideal Play and Not-Play settings

    All of my toys in a row before me, I consider each one individually.  My TV.  Clown noses.  Crystals.  Gold and Silver.  A plastic blue diamond.  Buttons.  A bracelet with three dolphins on it.  Someone to talk to all the time.  Not the bracelet.  I mean, maybe a shield.  Or a popsicle.  An hourglass.  These are all toys I have acquired.  Why?  Because they I play with Narratologically, Psychologically, and Literally, and with declining action.  I see rest in it, to play, and I need that often.  To play is not to need the mind, sometimes.

    Not-Play time needs the mind all the time.  All of it.  For we are mortal spirits and lessons need to be learned the fates and destinies we mix.  When you know you need Play right now you can do it whenever you want.  That is what Non-Play time is here to teach you.  It is the ability to play any time when it is needed because Play is Essential For Logic, and Reason.  We learn things through Play.  More to the point—We are things through Play.  That's why we are subjects with minds, and psychology.

My ideal setting

    Food.  Taco stands.  Music being played somewhere.  Blogging.  Vampires.  Ohgunnhisthth.  Werewolves.  Vauthrils.  Dragons.  And other fantasy creatures.  Fairies who need help all the time are self-selective of that category.  Pixies share standards.  Radio flies setting everything up and more.  I wish my fantasy to be part of me.  In my ideal setting.  The Aesthetic Beauty of Nature is my creation too.  Butter chicken available.  Green onion cakes.  Pop.  I am a Cylon.  Everyone knows me.  Research being done.  Analysis being recorded.  Books being read.  Shared consciousness.  Pissy gentlemen.  Everywhere.  Video games.  Leading edge.  Viridian.  The Christianna.  The Middle Between the Middle.  Leprechauns.  Elves.  Futuristic beings.  New Reciprocal theorists.  I would wake in the morning and be followed by it.  Gay feminism would prime me.  Feminism would do my makeup.  Heterofeminism would listen to us all and respond, Lass, you have a so blue, What is it?  Is it like mine?  And I would say blue is a prismatic color.  And I would go to bed and dream a blue diamond.

My Most Intolerable Setting

    I cannot be free to use my imagination because I am busy at work.  All the time.  And it seems to go nowhere because nobody likes me.  And I just keep going because I need to, but I don't want to.  I wish it were different.  I wish it were all different.  I want time to myself.  I want time with others.  With.  For I am Valuable.  And my work is good.  Why can I not have my freedom in the land of the free?  Even There I am not free.  I must be scum.  I must be the epitome of non-music.  I must be dirt.  I must be nothing.  Not an identity!  Not a superstar.  And I will grow alone this way, and be the remaining of my species and die alone like that with no one to care for me.  And nobody to care for, I will rot and whither away the other way from itself, healing and dying in more and more precise quantities of suffering until the Ages all suffer with me, the Petunia in his garden, the marriage of our specimen.

My favorite virtual setting

    My glasses are on.  They protect me from a blue screen.  My keyboard is in front of me.  My coffee, in my favorite mug, is beside me.  I think of a riddle.  It's stupid.  Not worth writing about.  I am sweaty from a day spent writing, and walking in the park.  Alone.  All day.  But there are people on the Internet.  And I feel like I'm spending time with them all the time.  Even when I am alone.  I have a strong imagination.  I can interact with them.  And what I take from memory I can pack up in a winzip and give it to people on the street.  Like everything about how I act, is the result of my work with writing, my genetics, my status as a Canadian citizen.  Virtually, I am free to listen to whatever music I desire.  I am free to plan activities.  To contemplate Time.  To interact with a user interface or a video game.  The virtual setting is forests, ruined castles, hellfire dungeons, blog spaces, places of citing and reading news.

My favorite non-virtual setting

    I arrive without difficulty.  Music is playing.  My inkset is out with instruments for making art.  I have a map in front of me, to tell me where I am going.  Setting-Hunter.  It sounds like a computer term.  It sounds like narrative jargon.  Settings being psychological programmabilities in the mind.  Hunt them brave Humanity.  To might need to every day.  Something triggers them.  A scent you are drawn to.  Non-virtual scent.  An aroma.  A sighting.  A word.  A comment.  A phrase.  A paragraph.  We need to be in our aromas more often because it is part of cooking, to share the aroma of what is eaten, a phenomenon skewed by the fast food economy and instant gratification scenes.

    The Park

    When I go to the Park in Canada.  In Alberta.  In the Winter, there is snow everywhere.  This is a play habitat for children.  No one is there in the Winter.  I walk through it; I walk right up to the Trees, Up To God.  And I ponder my cybernetic environment.  Connected to the supercomputer.  Am I on satellite?  In a park.  Wifi signals probably don't reach here.  But there is a garbage can and a place not to play hockey.  All I ever wanted in Canada.  In Alberta.  In me.

 

    A Restaurant

    You hear the cook's voice before the waittress's.  You are there when it is open.  The waittress sounds Aesthetically pleasing.  You order.  From several ethnicities.  From several cultures.  From several dialects, vernaculars, Englishes.  But I'm feeling French.  Kind o' waivy.  And I want to eat everything.  My burger arrives.  It smells like bacon.  It is bacon.  I eat it.  All up.  And then I think, how much of their time am I going to waste?

Setting Final Thoughts

    I am in my soul between the bowl of my own consciousness.  One being opened and the other being closed, as I pass into death, with Horror I lift my hands from my sides both open and palmup.  Screaming into darkness.  The Fate Worse Than Death will set in and I will realize it is my last moments.  It could be an hour.  I'm under a bridge that collapsed.  I'm dying right now.  But, Fate Worse Than Death sets in, and I am forced to act, whether I can or not.  My final scene.  What a spirit will say to me, that she is me, and I am a spirit.  Listen angels, we are part of this picture too.  I am here forever.  Will that be my death or have I already opened the afterlife and installed myself into reality this design.  I am in; itself provides the afterlife.  And Below that Unspeakable thing the ability to park that shit.  The skull will be insignificant for your interpretation and which is a higher, Clearer cause?  My cause is a higher, Clearer cause?  Than blood.  It is Empathy.  It is conscience.  It is soul and then broken, breaking, Breaking! the soul in that moment of departure.  Nothing more is said by you.  That's all that death means to me.  When I am at the end of my setting I am at my death.  For Setting Is Everything.  And when it comes to an end my treasures are in heaven forever to be seen upon my death forever what is missing after that moment passes.  The last scene I will ever populate.  Space.  My last thought.  Or will it be?  Whatever that thought is I will live it out to its end.  It's end of setting.  Why are you all setting each other and not me?  What is, the Last setting?  A Monster, or Anna?  A Nopester?