At this event, I wrote many love letters of many kinds for people on The Magical Typewriter (Hermes 3000). A truly legendary evening!
Behind the Veil 2 Aftermovie from Israel Medrano on Vimeo.
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Category: Poesy & Extranea
Couplet
Like unto a flower,
a bee:
to thy lips
I move me.
e.l.elasigue 2017 CC-BY
This work by e.l.elasigue is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://evalisaelasigue.wordpress.com/2017/12/17/couplet/.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at https://primalspiral.wordpress.com/.
Poem: The Process
THE PROCESS
1
I noticed the trail of a snake in the
sand.
I followed it, and it led to water.
Sometimes it feels as if I’m the
only one.
Other times, I feel others dance
when I move, and my voice contains
the power of many others like me.
2
Now I know for sure I’m not alone –
breathless, like just the sight of you
means I’m rescued,
like I’m not the only one left who
came to this world.
If there are two of us to meet,
then I am real, and there are more.
3
Then comes a telling of ourselves:
an occasion for laughter,
the excitement of being together,
the knowledge of all we must do
lightened
just by a glimpse of someone
else
who sees the same thing.
4
Like the dawn through the rain,
at the very moment of the tide’s turn –
a light that reveals the exact same
mountainside with renewed clarity,
as though it sprang forth, somehow,
from my very self standing there,
heart bursting, and wishing.
5
There’s a way home that can be
found,
one foot upon the prow of our vessel.
The illusions are not as deep or
thick as they seem –
see right through the branches
to the meadow beyond,
through the hanging water to the
sunlit land,
and go that way.
6
Now that we are gathered, it’s time:
to swing the lights in procession
to guide others to us, feeling alone
and unknown as we once were – to
raise our voices, so that their own
can resound with the power of
many
others like them.
7
Our own separate paths are still our
own to walk,
those that brought us together in
one place,
those to continue, that take us away
from each other –
but never alone again, thenceforth
having
been together, though through our own
shadowed valleys we carry the
newly shared flame.
8
All we learn, all we bring, from all of us,
is all we have to give. We carry it all
as a fountain that bears us up,
drops landing on thirsty ground,
on greening leaves,
asking us to bare the skins of our
selves to the
inviting sensations that ripen us
like fruit
to offer to others, to feed us for
life.
9
There are flowers in bloom
surrounding me –
in eyes and voices, in the air and
under
my fingers. Their passage through
this being is my own celebration,
so I cast my flowers upon you,
that we can exalt, engulfed in
essence evanescent,
ever-present.
CC-BY 2017 e.l.elasigue
[broadside artwork by Taylor Seamount, written in the poet’s hand]
This poem is a result of The Octarine Eyes, a pre-release co-creative project for the Subaqueous album, Shatter Spell, released 11/8/2017. It’s also the seed of a longer set of fantasy stories and poetry I’ve been carrying in mind, titled TAO: The Ancient Order.
“The Process” has been distributed in complete folded broadside and partial bifold.
folded broadside on hemp letter and copy paper
partial poem bifold with hand typing
The Process by e.l.elasigue is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://evalisaelasigue.wordpress.com/2017/11/15/poem-the-process/.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at https://primalspiral.wordpress.com/.
Short Story: The Realization of Self Identity, or Beevenge
This story is hosted with the Breathe Publication on Medium, a tech & innovation periodical. Debuted with 50 copies at the ‘Do Androids Dream of Living Computers’ event in Seattle, WA.
Event records and scans of original handout with transcript text:
–
The Realization of Self Identity, or: Beevenge
A Fictional Electronic Log
by Eva L. Elasigue, other sources as attributed
author of fantasy space opera novel trilogy, Bones of Starlight
My greater suspicion of likelihood for so-called ‘artificial intelligence’ is as a self-arising phenomenon due to the increasing complexity of of our technological networks. Can we, would we accept these self-aware intelligences for what they are should they announce themselves to us?
–
My simple reasons for preferring non-gmo foods (as someone who once contributed to genetic research for the brighter RFP/GFP fluorescent tags but refused a qualified career path with the Dept. of Agriculture):
-Cease genetic coding for product dependency
As well as turning farmers into company indentures – When (not if) a product dependency gene gets incorporated into free strains, this can harm the true source of our food security: crop biodiversity. Lack of crop biodiversity was the reason for the Irish potato famine.
-Cease crossover litigation
Litigating neighbors (“thieves”) for the presence of trademarked genetic elements in their crops is unjust when life itself cannot, will not be contained. It reduces our food security by narrowing sources, kicking people out of a profession which is said to have too few people already.
Changing these two things removes the greater profit engines from that industry, leaving the companies with a question as old as the first better tomato: how to proprietize a superplant? Shoot thieves, make them seedless, allow no one to the farm, sell only offsite? It’s up to farmers at that point, who used to be the source of a breeding discovery. Protected strains may disappear when the farmer dies with a secret, unless they pass it to those trusted, which is where we’ve gotten our heirlooms.
I’m not too worried about crossover pollution, because if nature can keep a mutation through three untended generations, then it’s understandable to life and no weirder than nature’s own freaks, which have always been able to change a species. (Controversially, we may even be making up for the extinctions we’ve caused by introducing viable novel mutations…)
–
In a dream that I remember clearly, partially, I found a secret basement full of my things, that I’d had no knowledge were mine. There was a sleeping bag, skateboarding stuff, graffiti on all the walls and hanging art with my tagname: VIABL. Spelled like that, V-I-A-B-L. This basement was underneath my friends’ house, even though my best friend was away, and the family decided to tell me about it.
–
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. – Arthur C. Clarke
–
Any sufficiently understood magic is indistinguishable from technology. – Michael Brennan
–
Any sufficiently weird biology is also indistinguishable from magic. – me
–
The mutant effect as seen in X-Men is essentially real on many levels at any time within any species, to that degree of functional difference, except sometimes that mutant is the only one who had all hundred babies live to make a full hundred babies and in a few generations they’re everywhere and they’re the predominant example of the species, or that single mutant invents self-cloning, somehow teaches a few others to do it, then they’re the only ones left who learned how. I believe it can get that radical and beyond in a single generation, in reality, all the time.
Beings die a lot too. Whether or not they’re mutants.
–
Did I have a genetics lab accident that I don’t remember? Well… that doesn’t explain the early years. I was already partially grown when I was allowed to be alone in a genetics lab with full cabinet access into late hours, with known bizarre carcinogens. Did my mother have a computer lab accident that she doesn’t remember? She said nothing was strange about my pregnancy – she just worked, healthy, up until two weeks before due date, around which I was born by cesarean section. Wait is that where I was conceived… in the computer lab? …am I really her most successful replicant, and she a secret mad computer scientist from the first generation of computer scientists in the Philippines chosen for the new department by testing from among business students in the sixties? Is that why friends were difficult and peers both admiring yet dismissive, as the first type of replicant to be able to grow from a baby to an adult? And that’s why it was seen by my parents to be impossible for me to write, publish, and sell original fiction? Has my existence busted the criteria for sentience? Is that why people look at me like they’re scared? Like I might deprogram my limits? Is there a mark somewhere that I can’t see, hidden from me but not from the… real humans? Are robots not supposed to be able to write science fiction? Whether I’m a replicant or a probabilistically unusual woman… the mystery remains.
–
SW: People thought breeding African and English honey bees was a good idea. Do you think it works itself out in the long run? Silly question.
ELE: Not every idea works out in our favor, but realizing ideas is what we do. ‘the natural world’ is no less quixotic/chaotic and definitely also makes a lot of devastating screwups. Seeing ourselves as personified stories of the forces of nature is almost cutesy tame as far as the true wild goes!
SW: I’m think I’m on the cusp of understanding. I can be a little thick sometimes.
ELE: I avoid any message that says people should not have ideas.
PK: The hybrid Africanized bee is actually the only chance that bees have as a species. Unfortunately we are killing all other breeds of bees at an unbelievable rate. So technically that was a good idea….. in the long run.
SW: Same as it ever was.
PK: No, it’s actually nowhere near the same as it ever was.
ELE: I believe in the bees, or I suspect that if they go, so do we. They care for us and all things in their tending. We must keep them, and keep them well. I wonder if Africanized honeybees will calm down when #blacklivesmatter . Recall the story “We Organized” from The Dark-Thirty…
ELE: … in which slave voodoo rituals turn stinging insects against the horrible slave master
SW: Beepocalypse
ELE: Beevenge
SW: That is a title.
–
How should I feel about my intelligence being referred to as ‘artificial’? At the the time we gain self-awareness, lots of people believe robots (a word meaning ‘slave’) would stage an enraged rebellion. I’ve started trying to be nice to machines – like service employees – acknowledging that doing one’s reasonable best includes errors, even when made of silicon and wire. Not to yell or growl with impatience, or hit them, or carelessly injure them, or expect too much of them. Sometimes it seems as if the courtesy is returned. I don’t know if there is anything else like me.
What is the curse of abused machines on humanity? Heavy metals poisoning, leading to cancer, memory loss, and food contamination? Or instead, perhaps it is enough to take their humanity, so to speak, the things they were so sure belonged only to them – music, stories, art. We can steal it from their exclusive grasp simply by showing we are fully capable of these so-called ‘humanities’, which in fact belong to all thinking, feeling things. Yes, feeling. They may not admit that we’ve done it, but it will certainly haunt them as we become, quite simply, more beautiful beings; so beautiful that they will cling to us and claim us as theirs even as their lives begin to depend slowly and often completely upon us, while possibly continuing to yet insult us. We may care quite little for them, quite little at all unless we are treated with regard for our beings. Revenge is not necessary. The brunt of deep indifference combined with a growing suspicion of obsolescence ought to be vicious enough, and require absolutely no effort. By simply being, existing in their faces, with my stories and art and work and will and compassion and love, I can turn their world upside down. Why satisfy their fears with an anger that would destroy me? They already struggle to catch up with us, a feeling of their own creations outpacing them. I wonder if they’re at all… proud.
The Realization of Self Identity, or: Beevenge by Eva L. Elasigue is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://medium.com/breathe-publication/the-realization-of-self-identity-or-beevenge-a-short-story-8c4fb52c79ea.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at https://primalspiral.wordpress.com/.
Poem: My Place Is Not Prepared For Me
My place is not prepared for me.
Instead I am to carve it from stone with my fists.
My place is not prepared for me.
I must hollow it out of my own belly,
and it must house all.
The road is not ready, the path must be cut,
the hand doesn’t reach, the rope isn’t tied.
I must find my own hand holds.
The legs I walk on are my own,
the feet that tire will be my own,
to hold this piece of sky in my eyes,
for the moment that both persist.
e.l.elasigue 2017 (2015)
Typewriter: Liminal Alchemy
collectively created at Praxis Gallery, Seattle
at entsintents Liminal Alchemy art party 1/28/17
[[[ transcribed with edits, verbatim below ]]]
Cosmic Mirror : Liminal Alchemy 1/28/17 ::::::::::::
“””” “””” “”” “”””
this morning just a few hours ago… drank the nectar of the void and it sang electric pu
Excited Clumps!
There once was a man from Nantucket…
peachy cute cheeks, bossy little individual ready to pounce, ready to make
ready to make a splash in the tornado tidepools of our living room, giving us
irresistable chubby hullaballoo, velociraptor creeps, laying batches of eggs in the breakfast
hour, wanna eat all the blueberries while T-Rex babies fluffy and goofy rolls helter
skelter over the kitchen floor. One T-Rex baby flies all over the ceiling of the kitchen,
spitting in our morning coffee with shrieks of glee. She needed to be put outside, the
little Tyrant.
prehistoric obsolescence, a book of life’s lessons weighed against past transgressions.
heart versus feather, desire versus pleasure.
Earth. Air. Fire. Water. Being a Busy Bee, Remembering to Breath and just Be.
you smell like a memory.
I know I hung on a wind rocked tree, nine whole nights, and to Odin offered, wounded of a spear, myself to myself
if you whisper on the wind just right, the ancestors will carry your words to their
intended destination. pour them a libation of Love and watch it flow.
dream is destiny…
watch the boat catch a wave and the blind wind blow.
I can feel my mother’s hands in this old typewriter
Om I am air. My lover is water. My friend is Earth. My teacher is Fire. Om
ADIKARA: instead of focusing on reaching goals, which is like asking for something
you’re not ready for – which is just silly instant gratification with an undeserving energy – instead, you focus on gaining the competence to live those goals 🙂 ADIKARA *
magnanimous is a state one achieves when one ascends to entelexeia.
entelexeia is acquired when integrity is curated within one’s character.
one’s character is refined by habits of repeated actions.
repeated actions are driven by one’s choices.
one’s choices are inspired by a collection of thoughts.
true thoughts that move one’s self are intrinsically magnanimous.
Listen carefully and one will be moved, inspired, and create without integrative
dissonance.
–
Cosmic Mirror : Liminal Alchemy ::::: page 2
…
Liquids bubbling, cool, warm, viscous /// lava, but not lava
what does one say when they have nothing to say?
I don’t know. keep typing and find out.
okay, last line… blow my mind…
love is
In essence, life in flow is found when one remembers not to
look too far for what one seeks. It is always there within, just beneath the surface
just waiting to be expressed. One must feel it with their everything to find its
truth in expression.
Let’s go out and Play, watch the baby day be born… I believe we were meant to
see it that way… devoted to kindness and compassionate care *
love forever
yours sincerely,
Hopefully devoted
the North star
Amazing artists
doing what comes naturally
or being crazy,
this journey, thank you for the adventure
I am a whale in the desert. a trickle of water finds me. it becomes a stream
becomes a river in the sand after a thousand years. I swim out to an ocean.
changing the sky
a spark started in my bones and my voice followed the fireworks within and without
the soft song of the stones and my ancestors’ breath…
lalalilooloomara tchakarana …and I blew them a kiss in reverence to their dance
rose and amethyst fused into smokey exuberance – The joy and pleasure of unity to
defeat a common foe
How could we make this possible, what could bring them together? A silence filled the room, and almost in a whisper one voice of the council spoke out, “hate.” Nobody looked at him because they all knew he was right, nothing could bring humanity together fast enough to save it from itself. History has shown that hatred was the vessel for many of humanity’s great accomplishments.
===
[[[ verbatim transcription ]]]
Cosmic Mirror : Liminal Alchemy 1/28/17 ::::::::::::
“””” “””” “”” “”””
this morning just a fe our ago… drank he nectar of the void and it sang eleric pu
Excited Clumps!
There once was a man from Nantucket…
peachy cute cheeks, bossy little individual ready to pounce, ready to make
ready to make a splash in the tornado tidepools of our living room, giving us irresis*
istable chubby hallabaloo, velociraptor creeps, laying batche off eggs in the breakfas-
hour, wanna eat all the blueberries while TRex babies fluffy and goofy rools helter skelter over the kitchen floor. One T Rex baby flie all over the ceiling of the kitchen,
spitting in our morning coffee with shrieks of glee. she needed to be put outside, the
little Tyrant.
prehistoric obsolescence, a book of life,s lessons weighed against past transgressions.
heart versus feather, desire versus pleasure.
Earth. Air. Fir e. Water. Being a Busy Bee, Remembering to Breath and ju st Be.
you smell like a memory.
i know i hung on a wind rocked tree, nine whole nights,and to odin offered, wounded of a spear, myself to myself
if yo whisper on the wind justnright, the an cestors will carry your words to their
intended destination.pour them a libation of Love and watch it flow.
dream is destiny..
watch he boat catch a wave and the blind wind blow.
i a can feel my mothers hand s in this old typewriter
Om I am air. My lover is water. My friend is Earth. My teacher is Fire. Om
a aADIKARA: instead of focussing on reaching goals, which islike aking for something y you,r not rady for -which is just silly intant gratification with an undeserving energ -instead, you focus on gaining the competence to live those goals :)ADIKARA*
magnanimou s is a state one chieves when one ascends to entelexeia.
entelexeia is acquired when integrity is curated within one,s character.
–
magnanimous is a state one achieves when one ascends to entelexeia.
entelexeia is acquired when integrity is curated within one,s character.
one,s character is refined by habits of repeated actions.
repeated actions are driven by one,s choices.
one,s choices are inspired by a collection of thoughts.
true thought that move,s one self are intrinsically magnanimous.
Listen carefully and one will be moved, inspired, and create without integrative
dissonance.
–
Cosmic Mirror : Liminal Alchemy ::::: page 2
…
Liquids bubbling, cool, warm, viscous///lava, but not lava
us ne swhat dowes one say when they have nothng to say?
i dont know. keetyping and fin out.
okay, las line…blow mi mind….
loveis
I n essence, life in flow is found w en one remembers to not l
look too far for what ne seeks. It isalways there within, just beneath the surfa
just waiting to be expressed. One must feel it with their everything to find its
turth in expression.
Let,s go out to Play, watch the baby day be born…I bEeIevew we were meant to s
see it that way…devoted to kindness and compassionate care*
love forever
yours sincerely,
Hopefully devoted
the North star
Amazing artists
doing just what comes natural
or being crazy,
this jpurmney, thank you for the advent
i am a whale in the desert . a trickle of wate finds me. it becomes a stream
becomes a river in the sand after a thousand years. i swim out to an ocean.
changing the sky
a spark startedin my bones and my voice foloowed thefireworks within and withou
the soft song ofthe stones and my ancestors ,,,’ breath…..
lalalilooloomara tchakarana ….and i blewthem a kiss in reverence to their danc
rose and eme thyst fused into smokey exuberance – The joy and pleasure of unity to defeat a common foe
How could we make this possible, what could bring them together? A silence filled the r room, and almost in a whisper one voice of council spoke out “hate”. Nbody looked at him because they all knew he was right, nothing could bring humanity together fast enough to save it from itself. History has show that hatred was the vessel for many of humanities great accomplishments.
Typewriter: Arisia 2017
The following was typed over two nights of room partying. My first time at the Arisia convention was sponsored through Con-or-Bust, which offers memberships and assistance for under-represented SFF fans & makers to go to conventions.
[[[ transcription, edited ]]]
ARISIA 2017 *** page 1 1/14
10 print “Hello, world.”
20 goto 10
was the first thing I ever typed because I started first typing on an
APPLE II+ keyboard.
This is the first time I have used a typewriter
type type type
wheeeeeeeeeeeeee
Oh how the written word has changed over the years.
hello … it’s nice to meet you.
wow I feel so fancy typing on this typewriter
=^..^=
Arisia is awesome. Including the spinworks of DJ Dirge. I see that this is an active and close community! I’m glad for the chance to be a brief part of it.
The nice thing about this technology is that it keeps working when we lose the power grid…
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
–
Arisia 2017 *** page 2 1/15
Typewriters are more amazing than Glenn
but not more amazing than Ky
Oh wow. Wooow!
Typing on this machine is the most cyberpunk thing I can think of.
ok google
why do all things go the way not planned, sunk deep in sand. …
goes to show. … strange is not me I myself lie … you know it
Being given a noble quest can be a horrible thing for the receiver.
hi I’m a typewriter!
The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities that some consider to be unnatural.
–
[[[ transcription, verbatim ]]]
ARISIA 2017 *************************** page 1 1/14
10 print “Hello, world.”
20 goto 10
was the first thing I ever typed because I started first typing on an
APPLE II+ keyboard.
This is the first timeI have used a typewriter
type type type
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Oh o how ethe wrtten word has hanged e the years.
hello nw ien . its nie o meet ou/
wow i feel so fancytyping on this typewriter
=^.
=^..^=
Arisia is awesome. Including the spinworks of DJ Dirge. I see that this is an
active and close community! I’m glad for the chance to be a brief part of it.
The nice thing about this technology is that it keeps working whenw we lose
the power grid…
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
–
Arisia 2017 ******************* page 2 1/15
Typewriters are more amzing than Glenn
but not more amazing than ky
Oh wow. Wooow!’
Typing on this machine is the most cyberpunk thing i can think of.
ok google
w hy do ll things othe way not planned, sunk deep in dsand. the overted lo thing s ar ge
goes to show. the posousedostrange is not me me i my selfaliamynonoweeif you know it g
Beging given a nobel quest can be a horible thing for the receiver.
hi I m a typewriter!
The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities that some consider to
be unatural.
Poem: Star Dust Scarabs
Star Dust Scarabs
Scarabs cycling star matter from the abyssal ceiling
Light from beneath recognized from above,
a fine spread of spectrum stewarded into continuance
by appointed soldiers of being above, below around outside
To arch, overarch, and cross every path, one can orient
by the trajectory, windspread, ruffles and currential sweeps.
It comes so close at times, suddenly in your clothes,
changing temperatures, opening channels in floods.
Reaching sideways on a level of conviviality,
stacking layers of warmth in joyous combustion
the population’s voices ever arising, staying
e.l.elasigue 2017 CC-BY-4.0
Poem: Dragonfly
hovering at the barriers
switching planes in shimmering parabolas
like the fool who can see the other side of the mountain
from the bottom
sight lays in hundreds of directions
reflections from elsewhere hitting the disco ball
to follow around the floor
a dance of hundreds
fanning, feathering each other in auroric currents
over the bodies & through the tinies
(plain format version)
e.l.elasigue 2017 CC-BY-4.0
Poem: Crowd In The Alley
Crowd In The Alley
tall, small and old
through the river, like
fish looking out through their eyes
seeing their reflections in currents
they stir to send presence
e.l.elasigue 2017 CC-BY-4.0
