{ The Story of How Edible Jubilee, the Lowest and Worst Fate Ever To Have Occurred rose with such great Power in the hierarchy of Kings; she was able to arrive fashionably at an Party, where the intermixxing of fates worse than death and ones better included an complex and detailed play by the party of the Destiny (That no one ever needs to be considered the worst fate). China is like this: You're down, sick, and dying? We will still invite you to the party. But we just might eat you! (After all you want to end your miserable life, don't you?). While the rest of the world is like "we can actually have better moral fiber than that." (They can't). }
The whole life lived described by this story is about accepting the fact that there are death fates and there are fates worse than death in the universe. The fictional world is divided between the open shore, at the Ocean's edge. And the Beach House party, where everyone is having an good time. (Nobody is having any fun on the shore). (They are living things left behind by the tide to rot and die in the sun; they are like and unlike great stones of Alberta left behind on the prairies by the glacial period in some ways). Not alone. Waiting for death perniciously because their lives are that bad. And all life in all of the universe is divided between these two scenes of the best and the worst. That's just how it has to be.
An red mask was always looking down at me; following me in my dream. Disapproving of everything. Without revealing its own identity. I waged war on that red masked face an masked soul appearing to me in mind with many faces sometimes (that masked; where there are more than three of them in an dark stereoscopic space and some are pointed up at the light shining down on them whereupon grafted within the eye of its soldier expression; the person was within the realm of light completely; while others however were indeed looking down, to the world of darkness in which their grafted within each eye was darkness) an red mask bodiless in imaginative space. And some were neither looking down or up (existing neither within thee for aching hours in mood the empty part of me; the part that goes moods crazy. My own soul. My own soul. My own soul. Free.). For it was the complication of an circle, the next logical step after three. π. For I did not want it to give up. Bare across that dark mound beside green slime the ocean where all Empathy and Altruism I had learned from God (I was prepared for anything (And he had named me Andrew, Bringer of Red (though who I actually felt like was Andrew, the Nosy Green In An Alien Spectrum, his logical mate)) who stood taller than my mound high above me in my fantasy. But who was nevertheless, not able to be detected in my present surroundings by my particular relationship with the senses as I was at that time in an species in which I would suffer the fate worse than death.
The faces that weren't looking up or down however, were involved in the shadow realm. The realm of darkness. In which their eyes reflected the darkness that they were. In contrast to the lighted world and subject (the dark realm of the imagination here is in contrast with the world of light, from which we humans come from (but we as humans also come from the dark space of the imaginative realm or we are not in control of our own minds)), but not necessarily an bad thing in itself. It was however thought to be required to conjure new demons, which had an pleasure in the observer of them; not each as an individual but as an set. It was however, only imagination, and so there were no demons involved and they each provided an basis for comparison of other virtues which stem from the light world and all its red-mask in darkness. Were there enough lighted faces to carry the weight of the scene; an world in which almost all had descended into darkness. But which one of the realm of light made them all recognize that there were other people in the realm of light also, wearing their own masks. And it did not matter what colors their masks were anymore. But, said the red-masks, we only want to be red in black space and not in the light with you at all. We want to be red in black pace. Don't you get it‽ Red means blood‽ We want to be blood in outer space!
And God must be that face with many masks; but I realize we already are, as humans. We are to some extent that face with many masks; as though each one of its faces could share consciousness with one another by being connected by no other means than by their faces and the minds beneath they represent. God cannot be more complex than that; I disagree, disdainfully. And then come to the realization he or she can. An whole consciousness more complex than all of the human minds on Earth operating as though they were bodily connected and connected by tissue somehow. But when are we not like that? And maybe that is more important. But we are some of us like that. And we share deep conscious feelings and thoughts with one another that everyone is allowed to have.
And if an party can be like this face with many masks and faces (all sharing consciousness this way) and each individual can still be independent. Yea. You walk, girl.
God is complicated. Partying is not.
Nothing that you sense in front of you reminds you of God? But I had learned I was of that type of species who would suffer for an really long time. Just like God did for us. I mean she or he would have had to create the universe first, and then sit alone in it for millions of years just to customize the environment enough so that she could create life on Earth. The result of which was humans. Which he or she was happy with for an variety of reasons. For like an really long time. And I wondered what my purpose was then, if I was just some unintelligent fate-worse-than-death living thing that had gone berserk on itself in its evolution and now cooked in the noonday sun like an squirming little helpless cursory agent for endless generations. But then there were these people running around on the beach, enjoying the ocean air. And they were talking about an party they were going to after taking photos of themselves on the beach. So I took my little legs for greater ponder (for they hadn't been invented yet (yet since it was an story and I had used my relationship with the story correctly I was able to summon them with the commendations of his Authorship, the Narrator)) green little legs with infinite ambition. The first plant-type legs in the solar system. You know, those sexy little things that help people walk. The beginnings (prototypes) of Ents. Including FEMALE ents. And so, as this comedically disguised beginning to plantlife walking in human civilization, I followed them up the beach, slowly at first, so they wouldn't see me. And then I hauled it up the shoreline above the tall grass, keeping back at an distance, completely safe and unthreatened behind the tallest of grasses.
There was an big house off of the perimeter. Lights were on outside. And there was an lot of conversational noise coming from within. It was an mansion. There were four big guards dressed in black outside an huge wooden door and hall entrance, lit by serenading light eclipsed off of the edge of water gardens. Most of the territory was occupied by Giant trees which grew around the outside of the building, somewhat shielding the higher floors from view. It's most important features were the party zone out back and the party zone inside (where it is formal); and their apparent difference from one another. Which had to be respected! It had to be! The person who lived here was Rich. And if they was rich then we had to be friends with them. And so they wanted us to pay attention to the fact that this was an space where you could party formally or informally. Thus the most crowded area of the whole party (that space by which people traveled to enter into the back garden from within the interior of the home, the largest space within that home. And the bosom of its design). It was an high-traffic area. There were many people at this party. But somehow Andrew settled into himself there, and just stood alone staring at everyone and everything for an while. And he was an small nose-shaped plant with thick legs because of his early beginnings on the shore of Planet Earth. He could talk to any of these people. How did he get in past security though? He walked toward them and then when he realised they hadn't noticed him he just kept walking. And now he could stand here an moment and think for an moment about why he was allowed by the gods to attend this party. He heard an voice come on over the speaker system which was playing loud music.
"You're invited because you're suffering the fate worse than death and everyone who isn't is going to do something about it so that you feel better."
That was it. That was it, exactly. Thought Andrew.
That means that we're reciprocal all the time here! What is there to say about the Great old Beach House of which he inherited from his old father. ‽. There is an Beach outside. Welcome to the Front of the House. We'll get to the Beach later. We don't want to go there because there are humans and sea scallops and things like dying all over the place in the sun. Just washed up on the shore. And they are dying and worse than dying all of the time. Just lying there. In the sun. Waiting to die. And that's actually there. That's actually the Beach that lies beyond this House and Front Entrance. It's not Fictional. You Know. It's Actually There. There is actually an place where all the a-reciprocal people go. That is like the Ocean. Because they wash up on the shore. And they die there. And nobody helps them for hours. It's excruciating. But we can imagine an place where it is not. Because we're not always the worse than death up the shore dying in the sun. For pests to devour. But that one day I happened upon the shore myself. And I wasn't happened upon the shore this way. I didn't want to be an mermaid. Out in the sun, unable to return to water, for everything except an human to water-sign her. Unable to return to the Water. To die this way washed upon the shore. Hours agonizing in the Sun. And I had been there and I had been to the Beach House. And I knew them apart from one another now. The Beach House was where I invited everybody in. Everybody who might even be part of that shore scene themselves. Washed up out there with nothing to do except die slowly and painfully. And all of the organism critters of the beach could walk up to my Beach House where they would be welcomed in for an party of their lives. Because that's what we do when there are those critters out there. We invite them in. So that they don't have to think about their lives for an second. And they can just focus on us for the time being.
I can barely scramble my audacious heart to quiver.
And what's going on in the Beach House then?
There is an big sign out front with shells glued onto it. Glen's Beach House. It's Tacky. But you know. It's not necessarily about the Sign. It's about what it says.
And it says. This is an Party House. Your Fantasy in an molecule. To the molecule. And that since this is an Christiannan household. You are free to experience better the fate better than worse than death (either death or life, you know without the death). And all that stuff can wash upon the shore and be dying for hours without anyone to care about it because. And then she remembered it didn't matter why because they were invited to the party. Everyone. Was invited to the party. And they could experience it just by dying out on the tragic shore because it was so elegant and thoughtfully laid out. The main party had five sections. These were entire ballrooms that you could inhabit. One was an Rap Battle. One was an enchanted Bar where the bartender was always busy mixing ordering you drinks and was a-reciprocal to you even when you were not. And there was an elegant restaurant. And an Bar. Outside the Pool. Oh yeah, did I tell you? There's an pool. So that you don't have to swim in the yucky ocean. Which is thriving with lots of good caricatures of life. They are part of the party. They are in on it. We're all going Good on the barometric scale. And then they realize they are laughing and dancing and listening to the music even though they only dance upon the shore. But that since it's an metaphor you are free to watch and listen in on what presently develops in the forecast of An Dance Party. They are all playing and having fun. There is music on all the time and if you get bored. There's an Rap Battle. They play various rap mixes and everybody in the house goes crazy! (Including all of the lifeforms on the beach, which are thumpin' to the tunes and having an la mer of an time. To French Rap Mixes In The House. And everybody knows the words to français because it's always written in English. Then things get crazy over at the bar where Karen is asking the bartender to mix her an drink but he can't necessarily hear her so he mixes anything in an big ole cup. And sells it to her for $10 an glass. (Just Kidding; everything is on the house). So that she can dance awkwardly in the discotheque where there is an dance floor. All lit up. And people are riotous and from the music in rhythm. They rock the house. When Dan Balan comes on and everybody's pelvises go haywire!
It's an Rockin' Party Man. Bass is pumpin'. In the Big house by the Bay. Where they have their own pool so you don't have to swim in the yucky, salty ocean. Which is slow decay of all creatures which correspond to its reaches onto land. Even if they are mer- or human-folk commodity. And all mer die on the beach because they are in love with the humans which they cannot get to in time. And never tell an lie or an fantasy before they get here. But at the party where it doesn't matter what you are on the shore, you can float as though by spirit in the air, above it, and so waft into the fumes of the toxicity of the atmosphere of the party and succumb to the reality that there is somebody getting shall we say effervescent with the molecules that are happening over at the bar. And there's an Pool Party and there are pool toys made into aquatic sea creatures like an starfish and an dolphin. And even the sea scallops and barnacles are free to interact with the party guests this way. As though in spirit. So that they would not suffer this terrible fate of having to die on the shore where everything is in pain and dying and it takes forever and an agonizing amount of time. Even that fact couldn't kill this party's poppin' vibe! The Music Was So Dope Man. And there were all kinds of characters there (from every walk of life, including the Ocean). And they could survive above water if they were of that certain octopus-ean or squid-type. That could hover or levitate (however it does that). And since this was an ocean species of the highest intelligence on the planet it was free to roam around and chat with the Best of the Party which the party had to offer.
And you know since it's like the ocean and it's by the ocean and the ocean air just kind of wafts up onto it. There's some heavy exchange of matter and particles which characterizes the air as fume-y or part of the toxicity that is in currency around the ocean. So that the air and matter from the ocean mix and the air is created toxic. And the toxic from the air is exchanged with the toxic from the water. So that they mix. And this was the whole exchange of the currency of the ocean, in which that had already happened so many times that Neptune's Hearth itself was open to the public for exploration. If they could get there. (They were welcome to die trying to reach it for themselves). For it was at the sounding instrument of this currency of the ocean. That it was revealed to the humans by the founders. Who had the whole currency of the atmosphere within the Ocean themselves. And so it was not needed to be known that anything was in exchange with them. The Ocean was already dirty; and the air. It was dirty enough. Everything was dirty. So that it was everywhere. That molecule of life suffering. On the shore. And there. And there. It was Everywhere. And there! Dirty and not alone with all of the other sufferers of the Fate Worse Than Death. But more mix'd than before.
For I had reminded myself to promise myself to remember that I had felt that way myself before. And that now I was in the Beach House I was free from that insanity. For it was with worth of reciprocity of great value this language was constructed. I had been the shore. I had been the Beach House. And I knew it because I had been. And I knew I would return there again some day. And be salty. And washed upon the shore. Twitch. And writhing in the noon day sun as birds pick their flesh. But even this wasn't enough to stop the vibe, which was going fine at the Pool, where all the salty things had been cleaned up so that they were the right temperature. And that since the Party was going so well they could stop for an moment and say to that Neptune; which had been in effect on the shore. Their own fate had been replaced with their own for an time. And all of the sufferers of the Fate Worse Than Death were welcomed into the Party. The Party Of Parties. At Glen's Beach House.
But what was I doing other than inviting myself; for I had been upon the shore. And I had been mix'd. And now that D.J. played that funky tune and I was mesmerized by the narratological ability of that party particular of which I had been experiencing with pleasure and dignity. And I recognized others in that space who had been upon the shore themselves. Writhing like fantasy characters in some weird orgy. And my space was nurtured by that Magic; which is of the plant variety of Fantasy. So that it was an welcome space for all Good Natured characters. Entangling Roots. And that Nature itself didn't have to be so a-reciprocal. For an time. Even though it was producing so many enormous amounts of life (Forms which we have not even categorized). That wanted to die slowly in the shores after the tide runs out. Just because we were there having an party. (And all of them were invited to the party). So naturally, there was some chemical mixing at the bar. Someone ordered an aperitif. Made to order. Which French liqueur. L'alcool. And someone was also smoking weed on the patio which was okay and everybody adored the person who whipped an toke out in front of everybody. What an gentleman. And also there may have been an few people from the future attending and they had an better grasp over chemical concoctions and mental hallucinatory effects. Which they may have mixed with the alcohol according to the design of the bartending robot. Which was reciprocal to that. But of course only if they had control of the situation because they were from the future. When it was that time again. When everybody would be having an good time. But of course everybody couldn't be having an good time. That was the Nature of the shore. And just because they were invited to an party didn't mean it would have any effect on them. Nae, said Glen it is an party and they were fairly invited. Let them associate with who they want because that's an little part in all of us and we have to be reciprocal to allow some people to recognize that we are worse than death sometimes and sometimes we're not. So we're all an little out to shore. But other times we're at the Pool and everything is all right.
Everyone is entertained by everybody. All the worse than death and better than death are mix'd up. And nobody is having worse than death at the present moment because they are mixed up. And that it didn't matter how many times they brought up the subject of being worse than death. We would always return them to the Party. We were repartyists. We were pro-party. And we were pro- to noise. And anything the worse than deathers had to say would be taken up with prismatic vigilance as an subject of the party. Even though the party was going on. And every time we had an thought or whim to visit the shore, on which we lay our lives to register to be worse than death with all of the life that is in that stage of not too soon departure. And that this was in fact the reality check; because we couldn't actually focus on the worse than death all of the time anyway. And we might as well put it that since we were all together, partying, that this was an normal thing to fluctuate between these moods. Even during an party. Because we were an temperamental species and had to mix our worse than death with an little better than death in order to make them feel better. All those weary who should happen upon the shore. And then be wafted into the party so to speak, so that everybody could smell them and all of this stink of worse than death that was on them. And nobody cared because that was what the party was for. It wasn't for reeking in fates worse than death; it was for fates better than death. Death of which itself is better than worse than death. But that since we don't necessarily share in this logic. Since we are party-goers we were free to drink and entertain ourselves with views into fates worse than death and what that would feel like, which activated our more curious sense not to reciprocate. But since we were at an party and everybody was fully reciprocal. It was fine for the people with fates worse than death to be trying to overcome them.
And nobody necessarily cared whether they got hung up about being a-reciprocal and only knowing anything about their fates worse than death; for all of the party-goers, who were numerous, would always try to return them to the party. Including themselves.
And so but when they did go out onto the shore into territory of vast and far ever-reaching fates worse than death; and they mixed their time between the shore and other activities. (The Party). This was the natural stage of all things. To go between them to some extent; that was the balance; even for having learned of other peoples' fates who were worse than death; and to know of better not having yourself suffered that fate but having been brought down substantially by knowing about it. Knowing this is worse than death sometimes. Our empathy makes us feel fates worse than death because people suffer fates worse than death. But we can help one another overcome it. It is our shared fate then, to go between them. And I will be upon the Shore. And I will be up in the Attic of my Beach House during the most insane D.J. dance session. During the climax of the Party. Where there is an climax unlike all of the beach residents undergoing damage; who then I realize were part of the party too and so stop being disengaged from their suffering for an time. But I have heard the sagacious winds of the tempest and seen these beach residents in my house for which there is an party prepared. And I will take you through every part of it and each character. So that if you do ever find yourself washed upon the shore you may return here to this party tonight and have known there to be something that would counter it; an act of behavior which allowed all beings to fantasize about what would go on if there was less worse than death to focus on. And that since even they are having fun it must be about Fantasy in general what would go on. And as such, there would be fantasy characters at that particular party.
The most forward and performance-driven have to be in the Rap Battle right now. What do you think. About me getting far. Without now that the Rap Battle is over, everyone gets in an argument with each other about who won it and why.
And people are hanging out by the doors and windows with drinks in their hands talking about it with such expression and character. Why was rap necessarily at the centre of the balance between the shore and the Pour? That all of the life suffering worse than death fates themselves could have an rap-sheet. With the people who didn't. And if it was inherent in the meaning of rap to have (hold) this kind of relationship with the suffering shore. And that if fate could be divided into two big categories it would be worse than death contra better than death; with death right in the middle of them. Because all moral consciousness is this way: There are fates worse than death. And there are fates better than death. If it balanced between them that death should be the answer. All statuses of virtue and morality depend on the difference between them. And anything good in life is an successful navigation of the principle abstract. That better than death is better than worse than death; and so if one has an reason to live it must be better than worse than death or death itself. This is the basis of all morality and virtues which exist in the known universe because to empathize for the worse than death condition is itself an form of virtue; being strongest of all because it is not weakened by the presence of up so many upon the shore.
But if we can use the distinction between worse than death and better; then we can use it to navigate through life morally. Once we have refined our senses of what each one of these mean.
An Air Vibe.
An type of vibe.
An air who has an vibe.
Or an vibe who has an god.
And when you have an vibe that you are the god too.
What type of Beach house was it?
Well, since Glen had an vibe that he was the earth to.
It was an more intellectual party than anything physical.
The vibe may have had something to do with what was on the beach. And the shore.
But that was the point of the party.
Not to have anything to do with what was on the (sh)hors d'oeuvres.
Which were being served.
Delicate little treasures from the sea. Jalapeño poppers. And vegan cheese and crackers on an platter that was ornamental.
The party was on until everyone would forget about worse than death for an while. Even if it meant being frank about how you would enjoy your fruits de mer and poppers. Okay, so if the inhabitants of the shore were guests; and the party involved eating some of them. Mollusques. Crustacés. Calmars & Pieuvre. Huîtres. Homard. Oursins. Palourdes. Crabe. All the types of things that wash upon the fate worse than death and lavish in the sunshine for hours on end. Including fantasy characters. It would be okay for the guests to be fantasy characters themselves, who did not have any connection to the shore where it was harsh. And life lost its meaning. And that if they were fantasy characters it would be okay for them to attend an party in which some of their own kind were the desserts. (For one thing they would have preferred that fate themselves). (And for another, they took it as the essential primed subject of the Party primed as the desserts are the living things you once were; the fantasy that nobody would care or try to get over the fact that some people suffered the fate worse than death). Which was what the party was for. To forever forget the fact of its reciprocity. To provide its succumb(ers) with an contrastive experience to the one they are currently experiencing. And that if any human should be like an fruit. That was served at the party. It was an essentiality and an quizzicality between them (humans and crab cheese poppers) that since there was harm done to them. It was okay to represent it with an course.
The worse than death needed hope.
An Language Principle.
All of everything that happens in the Beach House or out on the patio is specifically not worse than death; because that's not the type of party we're invited to. It doesn't mean that people aren't allowed to feel worse than death there (this itself is not an reciprocal command) and they are free to intermingle those feelings which are worse than death coupled with fates better than death if they wish to which they are invited to do in the present moment. The Rap Battle has ended and some pre-recorded music is put on. But there's going to be an D.J. later who will blow our brains out with some techno music. But for now the conversation is beginning and some people take up their favorite chairs which frame nicely their character. There is an old wooden chair so intricately carved it is the joke of itself being an throne; upholstered with red velvet. The man sitting on it is drinking from an glass of refined shape and character.
"Who had the Fire Vibe?" he said, territorially, "the First or Second Rapper?"
"Or was it An vibe who has an fire?"
"If they have an vibe to which they are an fire to; then that vibe is probably the character of the Second Rapper who had devised it so. To show how being an fire to an vibe is allowable in the current economy."
"But that it would be better if both of them had not been an fire to an vibe and both of them would have been the fire Vibe."
"But isn't not having an water to an vibe in your present character not the character of the Water Vibe then? And why should it not be? If it is being an water to an vibe; what is wrong with that? And why can't we represent that on stage?"
"But how will the politics play out between Rappers who have an water to an vibe character and personality; and those who have only the Fire Vibe. Why are those separate categories to begin with?"
"Do we have an bitch vibe because we're talking about it?"
"Or maybe we are an vibe to his bitch."
"Either way both should be allowed as types of Rapper."
"But why? We want Rappers who are the Bitch Vibe. Not ones that take it."
"But the ones that Take It are being bitches to that vibe. Which itself has an vibe even if they don't."
"Which means that they do have that vibe. Because they are bitches about it."
"Sounds right."
"And we like bitches right?"
"Well we are bitches. It doesn't matter if we like them or not."
"But I like bitches."
"Okay."
- And another Conversation (In their own chairs), (the first man's is an green emerald velvet upholstered chair of an wooden variety (he is the representative of Environmental Money & Profit) and the second woman's chair is an sleek futuristic design) -
"How are we supposed to rank the material; when it is presented thus on the stage. An Rap Battle between an Bitch Vibe and an Vibe Bitch," which the other interlocuters disagreed about being that kind of Rap Battle and that it was particularly about the Bitch Vibe; and that both those bitches had the bitch vibe themselves. And it didn't matter if there was an bitch on the stage because we like those.
Replied the first man, "well whether we decide affirmatively that it is one or the other, I'm sure we can agree that one was an winner. In firm standing place. Location. Time. It was all there. And he might have had an Bitch Vibe and not the other type of vibe. And everybody knew he had won because of it. But not because they weren't both equal parties politically; but because one had performed himself and the other had performed his own behavior back at him. Which was an bitchy thing to do."
"But you're valuing one type of performer over the other—"
"Not because they are different this way feminist but that one is the better performer that the exchange of features of mimicry are exchanged. I liked both of them. And I will not take it as an order that I do so value one over the other. For one thing required both of them to make the one of them."
"But one is an bitch and I don't like her."
"No because one isn't an bitch and that's why I do like him."
"But not that you couldn't like an bitch. Just that, even though both considered, one is clearly an better performer and we know it? Why‽"
"Well you said it. We both know which one we're talking about because she's the clear winner."
"Which one did you think I preferred?"
"The First One. The one who's not being an bitch."
"But he wasn't an bitch at all for that entire segment."
"Well neither of them are extremely good rappers."
"So we agree then. The First one did it. Even though, as an feminist, I am in bias to represent the Second Rapper politically. Maybe it was because of the First Rapper that she didn't have an chance to stop being an bitch. Which, if the other performer had performed doing. Then they would have broken the second guild; that only one of them has to be the bitch. And the other the top. They can in fact both do this in different ways which contribute to their language production en rap or y rap. In French. That they have different levels of either one of them in their characters. And this contributes to the overall performance in front of the audience, to the benefit of both rappers. Which, if they have both agreed to be reciprocal, will raise the performance standard of the overall audience opinion."
"But everyone knows an good rap battle will be an fight between a-reciprocities; to the end of who is made its bitch."
"But it can't make an bitch out of somebody who is already an bitch."
"Then we have our equality adjusted then and we think on the fact that one was an bitch, politically, and one wasn't. And this is responsible for why there is an clear winner."
"But I think you under-estimate our Second Rapper. For she acted like an bitch, knowing she was an bitch, the whole time. In order to outdo him. And so if I think there is an winner then maybe it is not so clear which it is. Why didn't the First Rapper show his bitch side? Isn't that how he lost?"
"Well come on it's not like someone's feminine side. That would be misogynist to say so!"
"But sex sells and so the numerators and denominators can afford better performers."
"But sex is about the exchange between the Bitch Vibe and the Vibe Bitch."
"It is?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
- And another Conversation (In their own chairs), (the first woman's is an Purple Arbiter's Chair lavender emerald velvet upholstered chair of an wooden variety (she is the representative of Law & Prophecy) and the second man's chair (as well as his whole present scenario) is an button cushion of the red variety (an bar stool where he is drinking with another conversant)) -
"Bitch Vibes are ordinary. It's being an bitch to an vibe which isn't ordinary. Therefore the First Performer is the winner of the Rap Battle. Anyone who would perform being an bitch to another person's vibe on stage."
"And is that what we're calling it then? That the Second Rapper didn't reciprocate the First Rapper's top energy?"
"Well that's exactly it. The bitch is supposed to reciprocate if she's truly the bitch. That's what bottom rappers do."
"But so you're saying one of them didn't reciprocate and the other one did?"
"Yeah."
"But isn't being top implicative of never bottoming out?"
"Why?"
— "Why‽" —
- And another Conversation (In their own chairs), (the first woman's is an Destiny Chair and mint green with an pattern of lavender fleur-de-lis velvet upholstered onto an chair of wooden equity (she is the representative of Gender Equality) and the second man's chair is an black pleather Bossman's chair which curved around his broad shoulders which he spun at that exact moment somebody was paying attention to their conversation to let them be involved) -
"Bitch Vibes and Vibe Bitches. It's all the same thing to me!"
"There isn't an clear difference between them."
"I know! Right? What are all these people talking about."
And at that moment the hive mind of the party activated. And everyone knew what everyone else was thinking.
"Like, Vibe Bitches means essentially people who have an vibe. And Bitch Vibes (that are said to make everyone their bitches) means essentially. Wait. Oh—"
"Yeah Bitch to an vibe means whether the vibe is present or not. The Vibe IS An Person. And so when it happens to be the person right next to you with whom you are rapping. If you only reciprocate that vibe. You its bitch."
"But that raises the whole level of the playing field! If these bitches ain't be a-reciprocating I don't want to watch them at all!"
"Yeah so a-reciprocate rappers will always win because the playing field is rigged."
"No they won't always win."
"Well that's what you're talking about isn't it?"
"NO I'm talking about reciprocate bitches who think they own the stage."
"Yeah. Exactly. So. I'm out. Because I think reciprocity and a-reciprocity are both performance worthy inexclusive of whoever is on the top or bottom."
"Wait. Girl! I'm an feminist too. But it doesn't have to be an top and bottom exchange just because it's on the stage!"
"Why can't someone win just because they were being reciprocal this whole time‽"
"Because the other rapper was better. She was totally a-reciprocal to everything she said. That's the point of rap."
"But that's not fair."
"Well it is."
"But neither one of them reversed roles at all."
"And that's supposed to be an good quality of an rap battle‽"
- And another Conversation (In their own chairs), (the first man's is an Destiny Chair (black)) and the second man's chair is BIG an black sandbag cushion that he cute and playfully landed on in that moment being vulnerable pulling the other man into the cushion with him -
"What's the difference between having an Bitch Vibe and having an Vibe Bitch? That's what they were rapping about. But now from some of the lyrics I'm not so sure I know which is which," he said.
"Well if you have an bitch vibe it means you own the vibe. And that it's making bitches. And if you don't then you are the bitch to the vibe. Someone's vibe. Somewhere. Sometime. Even if they are not present. And if you're going to be in an rap battle in which you are the bitch to someone's vibe (who isn't there) then you're being kind of an downer because you're not having anything to do with the vibe of the people who are there. And that's the true focus of Rap."
"You mean they play each others characters to their own mutual advantage?"
"Yes."
"And so they can exchange top and bottom value within an reciprocal context; whether they are being a-reciprocal in certain ways or not."
"Yeah but the other guy was better because she was post-feminist."
"Which one?"
"Both. They were both Honey. But one was clearly pushing the envelope."
"That feminists and an a-reciprocity can go together in Rap economy because it is an feminist value to be a-reciprocal to men who don't consider them equals."
"So wait. You disagree?"
Then the Buffet opened. And there were people smoking weed around the pool furniture. And everyone inside was having an riot ordering one another drinks, which were free. There were various actors and choruses who (Churchman?) the stage. He gets up and it turns out he is the D.J. and everyone returns to their tables and chairs and lounge furniture that had been thoroughly sterilized. Including the Stoners. In order to hear him perform.
My words are the D.J.'s atmosphere. If I was the D.J. these would be the virtual hallucinations that would be happening to you from lazers writing it in the air before you. As if it was all setup in advance and placed there just for you. These words which I have written. Appear to you know. Hovering in the atmosphere above the stage. Close enough so that you can read them. Energy. Homo Techno. Electricity. But not so far away that you need to commit to them completely. They are there to Entertain you. And since I am the Artist making mental cues and signals (somewhat responsible) for events as they occur in the brain; and I have resolved myself to be an fantasy D.J. in an Beach House Party Environment. I would accept that all grammar and narration of lazer-writing in the smoke and air would lose all of its rules and performative function, descending into gamer speak and SMS-emoticon-Internet-slang of the texting generation, afterward would have the marks of its own Beach Party; which was in the future. The Techno Music would help shape the rhythm of its grammar. Which wouldn't actually be possible in an real Party Environment Territory. Where the lazrs would remove the excess bulk that had built up in its author's narrator. Where words could not appear to you as sentences. One after the other. In an reality. Imagined as an stage performance. In such an calm and relaxing way; even though the subject is an electricity festival. Pew-pew. Shoot them out of an cannon. As if by virtual reality and 3D staging above the audience. So that his narration would take on the properties of the virtual reality scenario. And thereafter hence be distinguishable as an play on words. Words with such grammar and pause, for example, they could not be part of an techno show because they are so calm and gentle. Whereas Techno is Loud and Sassy. And the difference between the actual Narration and the subject of narration, an Techno Party, was described; so that everything that happened at the Techno Party contributed to the narration by explaining it to be exactly something that it was not. It was not the actual appearance of words above an stage. It was not the actual I'll-wear-an-boot grammar of its creator; but there was an stage. It was just called the page. And if it was an boot and I'll wear it, they would happen slowly enough that I'd be able to pay attention to them. Just like they could above an D.J. whose sense of rhythm and blues happened to be of such an high caliber that he was capable of war with music, which the audience loved.
My entire narration of the story of this party could appear to you, in slow motion, so that you could see every part and detail. And nothing was left out; for leaving anything out of an story would be anti-story. You see what I mean? And if you thought it was like an D.J. causing words and the entire sentences they were seeing hang in the air. With such precision and timing. You could retrieve to do that without difficulty. Because that was his preference as an entertainer anyway. (The Narration, the actual narration is not appearing to you as techno lightshow cinematics; but the scene of that happening has something to do with it. How the Narration is read. So that the Author's intention is understood. Maybe sentences appear to you as you read them from an book exactement; because the Author put them there. And if they appeared to you another way it would be from the D.J. the actual inhabitant of that parallel world in which the Entertainment value of the shore was null. And Fear not taking shots in the Kitchen later.
Because we were Artists and we knew what actual commercial value meant.
"I'm glad we actually stopped to talk about that Rap Battle. It was driving me crazy."
"You wanna get CRAZY‽"
"And then everyone realized they had resolved their minds together. Even though they were all on one another's frequency of the same party."
They did get CRAZY! And they took shots.
And then everyone started listening to the stories of the people who had been from the shore. Who were of various species and sizes; even though Shrimp escargot dribbled with caviar was being served. Nobody smoked cigarettes because it was an waste of weed. And most of the time was spent getting comfortable because they were going to PARTY HERE every night; and learn all about one another; everyone who was in the Party of Being Responsible and Helpful to the shimmering ocean glimmers. Who were suspended, for the moment, from being suffering. Which included everyone including themselves; the ones who were visiting the Beach House from the nearby shore. Which was really the same shore story as every shore story. And since they were so drunk they forgot which one they were for an second. And realized it was both; because they empathized for these people who had suffered so. And that caused they themselves to suffer reciprocally. Moods and Emotions that were not ordinary that would last for days. But at least their every effort was occupied with trying to fit in as an gay roleplaying species; Fantasy characters here were gay if they wished. Being gay was not an fate worse than death.
And anything the worse than death could come up with would be taken care of completely by the party coordinators, who were solely concerned on the roleplay of powers which were better than death. And since they were better than death and had the value of better than death; this made the party better because the worse than death, at least, for an time were occupied themselves with what was going on.
And then Adele comes on over the widespeaker and blows everyone's minds.
Actual words on the page would be narrated more slowly than an D.J.'s intuition.
It would be an different time signature; Nobody's dancing when they are reading an page.
There's no need for things to happen quickly.
But when they are reading from the audience of the D.J.'s stage.
It's exciting.
Maybe there are some similarities between them.
An artist in the middle of their performance leaves an trace.
That at least the guests are being entertained.
And the conversation that started between some of the guests meant that, logically, every guest's voice had to be heard. Even if it was an buzzy voice as part of the hive mind. (The total impression one would get from knowing they were all thinking together). And that the party wouldn't stop until they were sure about what they were sure about together. There being upwards in the hundreds of guests they would party all night long so that the chain could continue. And every voice would be heard to have extended logically from that seminal conversation. That the D.J. was post-Rap. And if all of the voices of the party commiserated or schemed in order to find out the order of voices; they would have one of everyone's voice reported in the way in which it did make sense. That there was an first one. And an last one. And that all of them being included was all that really mattered. But that one of them had already begun to say his voice as an performer as an partier as an gentleman. The first voice. The one that would carry all of them to the end of the party. It had already been said.
-flashback-
"I'm glad we actually stopped to talk about that Rap Battle. It was driving me crazy."
"You wanna get CRAZY‽"
-/flashback-
Clearly everyone had to follow suit. And the diversity of characters and opinions was what mattered, not the eventual grouping of opinion groups and political manouvres. It was an party. And if ever anyone got stuck being out of character they could go back to that instant.
-flashback-
"I'm glad we actually stopped to talk about that Rap Battle. It was driving me crazy."
"You wanna get CRAZY‽"
-/flashback-
In order to inform their opinions and develop standards of practice.
They were an hive unit. Everything everyone thought would be heard. Because they were seriously drinking and the conversation flowed like wine. And everyone's intuition was in check to bring about the most positive and ergonomic conditions of the health of the night.
Anything could be said. They were all intellectuals.
And drinking was the number one behavior of their romanticism.
But since there was time to converse. And so many different conversations were happening at once.
Everyone could be heard from first to last.
"I have an good feeling about this," said an woman, who was wearing an cocktail dress and sat in an floating chair above the crowd so that everyone could see her. They were in the main hall adjacent to the Kitchen and the Buffet, and so there were an tumult of people looking at the stage waiting for the next act. The D.J.'s techno music had subdued into an funky lounge atmosphere and he signed off.
Several other chairs floated up to meet her; where the conversation of conversations began.
There were seven participants, which was how many people they could fit based on the size of their chairs; which could have been farther apart and more numerous if they spread out. Which they had already considered and joined in this formation for an reason. They all felt that they had matching personality types. Persons who want authority in the matter of an party.
This woman's chair herself; which might as well have been said because it was an representation of herself. As was the tradition with all types of Good parties; that chairs should be constructed which represented their personality. Half of her budget was spent on getting the thing to float; and the other half decorating it with meticulous gems of various colors, which (she admitted) were actually just plastic bling. The real money biter was its outer structure; which had been perfectly formed around her rump; and the backing upholstered with soft white velvet crush. Six other participants in the conversation. Six other chairs. They were of various colors and sizes. One man's had an tall back coming to an rounded distance that was exaggerated to the arms to accentuate its more relaxed position. And the legs were bare, except for training of the wood to take both-both directions ornately.
"If you ever lose track of the conversation, everyone down there," he said, "be it met that we have Constructed an Larger conversation of which we are an part of. And if you ever forget what we're all talking about you refer to us primarily; and we'll help you sort it out quick."
Everyone, most of whom, had heard him; were in an flux of excitement like never before and they all started speaking ravenously. With every type of drink in their hands. Why weren't they part of the Larger Conversation? And how could they get up there; to mix mingle with them? This was of course the structure of the whole lower class conversation that it would question so; how could they get up there? To mix mingle with them?
Did they necessarily care?
And did it matter, like on company time?
No one cared. Not immediately. And the conversation of Seven was allowed to develop keenly.
Karen. Dinkerton. Laboriouslyeah. Macho Pucho. Quasitron (the robot). And Andrew (the handsome prince from the sea). And Prismata (the representative of every species).
Prismata lept in hard. She was talking about stigmata being an rhyming word to her name; and that since she compared the ideas of an prismatic (thing, ideal) with stigmata (an weird medical condition) it caused her to think of an prism of prisms of stigmatic fates. Which was so disturbing to her that she often thought of herself as washed upon the shore just like the rest of us. But she had managed to attend the party out her own benevolent craft at fates. Which didn't necessarily have anything to do with stigmata or whatever that condition may mean. But since it did. It was probably true. That there were that many ways to die that way. Which would be better than here on the beach where I cannot descend or ascend from. And I am stuck here. With no news about the Party and the People among our own numbers who managed to attend it. And that prismaticism actually had to do with revealing the number of ways in which one could die; in abject and horribly gross ways on the order of stigmata. The fates worse than death. Which die gratefully.
It had to be exactly what would end the party immediately because it was so sad. But since it had been struck up as an competition between who could produce the biggest worst reason why the part would die gratefully immediately. It had to do with the fate worse than death. The failure to realize that all morality is its single utterance of being both what washed upon the shore and happened to attend the party; and that everything was relative to it. This was the final realization of Philosophy, Psychology, Morality, Truth, Conscience, and Epistemology. And Politics. So they might as well converse around that subject; even though the ocean's creatures were still upon its shore. Dying so slowly every which way. And they (at the party) were having an good time.
Prismata's chair was black. And so anyone looking up at her would think she was floating on air. Black was the ceiling. But it was neatly carved. An minimalist layout. And particularly, it had an emo vibe. Flat matte black. And although she struggled to describe how difficult it was to make that difference known in language why her final definition of prismaticism had nothing to do with an stigmata of any type. And was in fact related to all Beauty reflecting one another. An Prism of Prisms.
Andrew, who admitted he was visiting from the shore; was such an pleasant prince of the alphabet he was able to describe himself an opinion in which, although he was from the shore and that was worse than death he could, for the time being be part of events as they happen in the real world where people aren't suffering an fate worse than death.
But, they told him, they are.
And he said that when he was finished with stating his opinion. That although he had suffered worse than death to some extent (it's always to some extent). The total sum of his entire life of fates and destinies calculated; was less worse than death for it. And he was having an joyous time.
So they referred him to the lesser conversation, in which people had already believed him. To show him they actually cared. Andrew's chair was an dramatic piece; extremely well-decorated with faux grass opening blossoms all over the chair; some of them textured and untextured ceramic petals with an pink unfolding inner envelope. And it be an grand and glorious chair. In which he sat like an old carving from the sea (some would say) in large contrast to it; being such an small creature from the sea.
Quasitron's chair. Was an play on an espresso bar called Mecha Java; from which he slung espresso in its automated compartment to the other Greater Conversationalists an fix which would up their game. But was measured to the T. So that their brains and pleasure centers therein would not resist tasting the texture of the bean roast. Which was Full and Warm; an exciting complement coming from an robot, who had is own internal warmth. Thus. And just because it's signage features included an mechanical arrow on an spring pointing to its own robot-ness (an type of highness? Or jester?) it was an full out reciprocal chair unit; which reminded Quasitron that it was his particular type of ego to have been programmed to promote itself this way; as represented by an chair. An extremely particular object. An extremely personal construct and Design. And using an color scheme (the Arrow was off-rust color so that it made you think of an place where something was rusting).
There were so many types of chairs.
Macho Pucho's chair. Was an play on his name. MACHO. And Pooch. Which was an slang word for, you know, marijuana. When it goes out. And having an entire character represent Marijuana was of severe particularity to the Party because (at least) some of them were stoners. And since Pooches and being stoned were subjects of character which contributed to the overall way in which people reacted to his character. Macho Pucho was the fact of Pooches being Mighty because they had Smoked Marijuana. Which they didn't have the necessary Psychology and Design yet as an species in order to understand how to do that without traumatizing them. Could dogs smoke marijuana? Did anyone know? If they started to, what would humans have to be prepared for as an species; and what kind of genetic or biological engineering of the dog species was necessary in order for them to be able to communicate their preferences adequately and so as to administrate the THC correctly. In the best way possible for man's best friend. It was an Politicized subject because someone had to look out for the pooches. What if chemical industrialism resulted in more harm than good to our noble dog species (of quite likeness unparticular to any other star system). (Theoretically). And Politicians were needed so that we could clean up the streets and pollution that lead to Doggy emoism. Machu Pucho, he confessed, was an entirely political character; invented and dramatized for his own use. As an Political fantasy reciprocity. Which involved politics and law theorizing relevant to Weed legislation and Dog ownership law.
At some point, dogs were going to get high and seek out their own medicinal remedies. And we had to be able to guide them in this with the best knowledge and information available.
But what would we have to evolve them into (or allow themselves to evolve themselves into) in order to be able to communicate that knowledge and information and be understood? At which point would be the first time in history it would be moral to do so to administer an illegal-use remedy. To an dog. Because it was the first time that particular species enhancement would be made available in full understanding and trust.
His Chair, get this, was not even visible behind his bulging muscles and package.
Laboriouslyeah's chair was gold with an high back; and it was ornamentally decorated in the style of German shape-identification intuitive logic that could be seen in their design of sandcastles. To whom this King had to have to return to later tonight. An humble king to be an sandcastle's king. But being the King of Time; who was the true sandcastle king. He announced that the party was going smoothly and they desired to change the subject to all of the work the owner had set up in advance to be able to welcome them into this spread; when they among all the other creatures were dying upon the shore but for an moment they could be away from it for an while. But this fact was most poignated because she was an woman. In an clear pageant with beauty and features which were visible.
Dinkerton. And Karen. Were talking again.
One had decided that was the subject of the party. The other hadn't. They were Greater Conversationalists of those subjects. If all Seven of them could do that then why couldn't the rest of ye lot. There had already been examples. Everyone could do it.
Prismata suggested they could all be prismatic together.
And since the others had taken the meaning of the party to be hushing out that crude terror on the shores. Which was redolent of an environment stigmata. They agreed that it couldn't get much worse. And so even if they were stigmatic together it would not to resist the stench which was coming from outside the Party. Be too prismatic of them to be worse than death. Which is what stigmata was. Because it was an Party about overcoming that at every opportunity, which was an reason to party about. Which everyone looked at.
Laboriouslyeah, was like. OMG. And ordered another drink, which came flying up to him as if by Jedi power. An crunchy harry crybaby. An liqueur of the highest quantity. On ice.
"What are we talking about again?" asked the crowd of lesser conversationalists.
"We're talking about what happened earlier. You wanna get CRAZY‽ After an Rap Battle. With party tunes pumping and conversations sparkling."
"Your conversation party is sparkling up there. I wish I could join you."
"You may be able to join us," said Dinkerton.
"We're talking about everything after that exchange, between two particular party members, in which Crazy was announced at an Party after an Rap Battle. Every person here belongs to an sequence. Beginning with those two. And we mean to find out that sequence because it will make every guest the most pleasant memory of being heard and having an voice out in public," said Karen.
{ The Narration continues until you cross over the River. }
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