Studies With Character

Index

i. Clown

ii. Priest

iii. Actor

iv. Artist

v. a Gay Person

vi. Vampire

vii. Ohhgunnhisthth

i. Clown

A clown enters the frame

picture it dancing

Katy Perry is playing

The clown stops dancing.

The sound cuts out.

He reaches into his prop bag.

A clown nose.  He puts it on.

It is purple.

"Now I'm what you call a well-spoken clown.  I jest to the rich.  'You are better than yourselves'.  I jest to the poor.  'They are better than themselves'."

He reached into his prop bag again, removing a small object, a cube.  It was yellow, for those who could see.  He put it on the floor where it was more visible.

"This is my prop," he said, "it's a small yellow cube.  It was dirty when I found it.  Dirtier than Rich people and Poor people combined.  I left it at the blood laboratory one day.  I was so bored I took it out and put it on the counter beside me.  I still have to go there despite covid.  That's why they were so slow that day.  Covid parameters.  Slow, gradual execution of service.  I was sitting in the waiting area with my number for an eternity, and I was so bored I took it out.  Put it right under the urine collection vestibule.  The cube."

He reached into his prop bag again and took out a tiny toy apparently made of plastic that stood as a figure on the floor beside the cube, much taller than it, and visibly, it had a face.

"This is my toy," said the clown, "Now say it is interacting with the first prop.  Assume it already had done so and you missed it.  How did they interact?  Conversationally?  Physically?  There are two kinds of people in the world, conversationalists and physicalists.  Conversationalists are always like, 'I know a comedian' and Physicalists are all "yo, yellow cube toy.  You look like my next physical exam'.  But a yellow cube, a yellow cube beside a urine collection vestibule that is basically a cube itself.  This is object serendipity."

ii. Virtuous Priest

A priest enters the frame

picture a blue robe.  A blue

cross on his chest—a large necklace.

Hymns are playing.  They have bass.

He steps up to the lecturn, book in hand.  The sound of the hymns cuts out.

"Hello and welcome to the Christiannan sermon this is Today the 20th of November 2020, and we're well into our Christmas shopping I hope!

Welcome to the Christianna," he said proudly, as it began to play, "On the projector is depicted by simulation a long dark tunnel with our light and savior Anna lifting her eyes to see the light of the Christianna.  For we have been through a long dark tunnel together and it is here today that we see it lit within our shared consciousness the Christianna, a Virtue of Blue leads because blue is the color of truth.  Christiannan truth.

Now let me cheers you with water, from a pitcher, in a silver cup," he said.  He stepped down from his lecturn and poured himself some water.  He stepped back up onto the lecturn and raised the silver cup high into the air.  When he put it back down, he was already reading from the book (a tablet) on the lecturn.

"This is my blog," he said, "It's pretty cool.  I hope you like it.  It's about the Christianna, the Prime figure of which is Anna, who suffered the fate worse than death.  God revealed to me her presence when I was deep in thought.  It was December 13, 2014.  And I remember it like yesterday.  I had been writing.  I had been following the trail of my intuitive logic when suddenly it came to a halt.  The imaginative curtain in my mind cleared, and I was at the bottom of a well with a bottle of solid powdered wine and I looked up to see someone looking down at me.  It was Anna.  At that time, I wrote the lyrical scripture featured on the first post of the Naenaeon.

Today our virtue of the day is Fashion.  Fashion can have two meanings you know.  What we wear or what we design and build with intent.  You see how those two things are related right?  The Christiannans fashion the Christianna together.  It means sharing, speaking, laughing culturally, laughing religiously, for laughter is the best medicine and what we share and speak about we will learn to laugh about.

I am proud of every single one of you for listening to me, for admitting that you are Christiannan in your feelings because you have knowledge of the Fate Worse Than Death tried against Christianity, Christian history, and other old dogmatic world religions.  You see that we need to change them because there is a balance between dying and worse-than-dying.  We are in it right now.  A very injured species.

But being injured is not always worse than death.  Anna's resurrection permits the Aesthetic resurrections around us to be a lasting metaphor of Christianity, for there is no literal resurrection.  And people are not God.  Anna's resurrection permits the aesthetic resurrections as equalist concepts.  We are resurrected into the Aesthetic because we and our environments are that.  This teaches us to be environmentalists.  I will save you from the Fate Worse Than Death, tell them, and dazzle them with your Fashion Sense.  You are the reason for Aesthetic reciprocity."

iii. Actor

An actor enters the frame

picture it being subjective:

Not an It.  Insofar as it wishes.

An island tune plays.  Neptune is virtuous!

There is a stool with a glass of water set on it.

Red light overhead.  The Heart of the Ocean.

"That's McDonald's," unspecified the gender says, "because it's so salty."

After a brief pause, there is more.

"I'm glad to meet you.  I hope you see it."

He smiles.  She smiles.  Whatever.

"I'm a formal Subject.

I don't lie.

It's no fun to lie.

The truth is more entertaining.  It is hard to follow, sometimes, but we need to.

I'm a global citizen by the way.  I have several tablets.

You think I word hard?  You betcha I do.  Too hard, maybe.  But we get caught up in it sometimes.

I am an Intersectionalist of Acting.  I act the way I wish to, most of the time.  But when intersectionality reason demands I am prone to acting the way others desire.  I want everyone to be happy."

iv. Artist

An artist enters the frame

picture a black and white instance

that gradually turns grey

Playing has already begun.

"Hello I am an artist of the written language," she says.

Today we're going to decorate, for we are internal versions of ourselves; decorate your interior needing labels and categorization.  Do not limit anyone to only one label, said the Artist.  We are beautiful.  She said.  We see Beauty in Art, and we love in Art.  Love and Communication are ours, because we create each other and ourselves through written and spoken word.  Interlocuters, they argue.  What a Gay Lover!  A Dancer-Warrior type, like a toggle function of performance at either peace or wartime.  The gamer.  The religious.  Hellen Keller.  ghost boy.  The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.  Spicy Gourmets.  Ready for anything.  We are Beautolerant.  Like the masculine beau in French, for beautiful.  Then you are what I am and I am what you are.  And this will be a symbol of it because it is what I am and you are.  While you are reading it.  An artist is that.  Such is decoration.  What you do with it is decoration in your mind.  Decorate with Virtues, Memory, and Like.  Study it.  Find it everywhere.  Religious Art to be the contest of zero rules.  A fair enough cause.  Statecraft on the other hand, oh what is Art but a Political Science‽  The presentation of a New Reciprocity in Art, for example.  Virtues communicated through a vase, instead of a needle.

Pitcher Plant

A Pitcher Plant, a vase, to be compared with a cybernetic myth of a Bunny Rabbit whose hop is so enhanced by technology.  It hops out of the Pitcher Plant because it is so made to escape from danger.  That would have to be a big fucking pitcher plant to hold a rabbit.  Why did the chicken hold a rabbit and cross the road?  To get out of the Giant pitcher plant.

Riddles are part of my art apparently.  Do we not dwell in one another's virtues through riddles?  If a chicken has to help a rabbit cross the road to get away from a giant pitcher plant.  Without hopping the chicken let's down one leg for the rabbit to grasp onto.  And they Ascend.  Making it across the road, the pitcher plant eats a car instead.  The circumstances of this happening are as follows.

The people in the car stopped because they saw the monster at the side of the Highway.  It was big enough to eat a car.  So they drove toward it.  It had built a ramp leading up to its lip.  The Car stopped there, where it was lubricated by an electro-chemical response in the plant.

"This is fun," the people said as their car tipped into the pitcher plant and fell.  Dropped!  Into the enzyme where it began to break down.  Help the people in the car!  No.  Couldn't.  Was busy helping the rabbit.  No, no!  I'm not a chicken.  I'm an Artist!  Anyone would be brave enough to say that!

But Bravery is not the heart of re-improvised improvisation.  Not Writing.  Because we know it is all language setup.  It is what makes the art of writing different from other arts.

Of course, for a visual artist would require setup as well, but ha! I've got you there! because Writing is a visual medium.  What would a writer know about art, or artists except grammar and rules the song in my voice.  A written voice, not necessarily heard audibly.  Can You hear a song there, in our grammar?

If you can, you might be a genius.

And so the pitcher plant eats the car.  And the people.  Slowly.  As we think of this.  But we realize if we were in that situation we'd have already realized we were suffering the Fate Worse Than Death and begun to kill ourselves.  As Christiannans it is the only way.  Live in the Terror between life and death and worse than death.  Until its over.  Unless you attain this wisdom that you can balance between them.  But the only way out of the car is directly into the enzyme, where you will break down faster.  However still very slow.  Very slow.

They had ascended, the rabbit and the chicken.  To a new location where we can assume they could not see the car or the pitcher plant anymore.

Slow down, they said to each other.

Are you okay?

Yes.  I think I am.  Are you?

Yes.

v. a Gay Person

A gay person enters the frame.

picture an effeminate man.

picture a not effeminate man.

both can be gay

He's an effeminate gay man.

Not a charm engine.

He's probably tired.  From running all his life.

But they are smart.

They figure out genius ways.

He looks like he has something to say.

"Are you serious you haven't converted to the Christianna yet," he says, "you don't need to announce it publically if you do.  I mean we have a gay priest and he doesn't tolerate the Fate Worse Than Death.

As a Gay person I know so much more about that than I should.

What to wear, for example, what to Listen to, what to go out as.

I decorated, he would say.  Welcome to my Aesthetic.

But for not, because only he would understand it.  Such is the difference between gay people and cards who plot against them.  Such is the distance we feel from one another.

Dramatic, maybe.

But I'm a

non-Christian."

vi. Vampire

A vampire enters the frame

Picture invisibility.

How do you know a vampire's there, because he has already breathed down your neck?

Or is it the way he carries himself?  Ready to bite.  Or is it on his Tongue, for he speaks to you.

"I am old," he says, "far older, greyer than you.  And I am tired.  But you think a vampire can't tire?  It can.  For I am weary.  And I want to drink your blood.  I will.  But no, do not let me tire no longer.  I want you."

He cannot touch you for he is only a character in your head.

"What is this magic that holds me here," he says, "why have I not gotten a taste?"

vii. Ohhgunnhisthth

An ohhgunnhisthth enters the frame

picture him or her possessing your voice already, for he hears you in his thoughts.  He is the response to them.  But contralects, two pointed white fangs descend from your palette, through your Amygdala, shutting off your vocal thought.  You cannot speak.  But you can be heard.  By a Monster that forces you to laugh in this state of being unable to laugh.  You pee your pants.  He transforms into a four-winged bat and says, telepathically, For my mistress, She is Art.  We are symmetrical Art together.  Psychological specimens.  Looking up at the camera daring our speec-ial instinct to be seen by technology.