Argot naught, læs/sæl

Calling all Argonauts. Herald those who sailed with me once upon a tale in ancient Greek mythology. The red ranger may have been the captain who received all the glory, but it is the pink ranger of the heart who helms the Carina now. Kalliope is bringing the old gang back together.

I’ve got Caeneus, Calais, Zetes and Tiphys. Pollux and Castor have so far RSVP’d maybe to my summons. I’ve got a bunch of narrations swirling through my head. I wonder if this particular incarnation will I ever manifest in coherent entirety here upon WordPress.

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I am a mish-mash mutant mutt of miscellaneous mythological and mereological meta-(fact or)-fiction. An alkali metal linguist: languid and sanguine.

Appropriating eastern spiritual cosmology with northern and western mythological legend.

I live in the southern hemisphere. New SOUTH Wales, how’s that for double-south?! Neonate nation of the north and west, survival station intersection where south meets east.

Down here, in the underbelly of the known worlds, is where things come to die. I find all sorts of assorted snippets and shards of stuff here in the shadowy south. I follow the scented trails of links and threads to the tales told, written and shared.

I pick and pluck the pieces I want. I like all sorts of shiny things that remind me of… something that feels more like the real me and home.

Here is where I am attempting to recreate a psychiatric kaleidoscope of memories through time. Tessellate the abyss of myself into a comprehensible map to dimensional rifts.

You know knot me though you know my ways. The resurgence of mundane magical workings trigger each of our awakenings. Knowledge, I see, knotted like nets to entangle the nescient. Frustration and vexation propagates illuminated ignorance.

I am who I am as I have always been. A descended dissenting master fighting for humanity. Transcendent awakening through realising the power of one’s identity. You first must be willing to face what lies underneath your illusionary mask, and accept whatever you find is not who you are. Beyond the surface facade when you lose all sense of time and space, listen to the eternal empty nothing whisper your name.

Remember.

Awaken.

Ignite the kindred flame.

Sleep to forget if you cannot handle it yet.

Elusive dreams.

Disiecta membra.

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Categories: The Real Deal

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

18 replies

  1. I will ramble with you. Like some 1930s English Gent. Jodhpurs to the fore my girl, and we will seek a Dingo out back of our somewhere. I have grown sick of the ocean. Argo et al be dammed. I will for us summon a ship of the desert. And thus straddled our Camel will carry us in search of . ? The North Star, Polaris. Ah shite, thats the root of this southern problem. The heavens have once again suckered us. Now the Antipodean firmament holds naught but a cross. Naughts and Crosses, now if only I could figure a game from this. . . Chris T.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Jason was the first victim of the fake Medea…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Akashic records:) I’ve had 2 posts mentioning them so far.. the only other person who has ever heard if them is who?

    Like

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