RidicuRyder

Dual Purpose, Dual Personalities Sporting Duality With Motorcycle Therapy & Entertainment


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I More I Learn The Less I Know

ridicuryder:

Scott is a cheesy, half thumbless bastard.

I really like him.

Originally posted on Scott Williams:

People ask me how I could believe in an afterlife when I am a huge and daily fan of science; and the reason is, because I want to. Call it cowardice or pie-in-the-sky-when-you-die and I can take it, but know that I have spent my entire adult life studying and I am still such a complete idiot I’m waking up to the fact that I may not be qualified to discount the supernatural, just because it seems ridiculous to my puny ADHD brain. I have, of late, begun to understand how completely little I know about existence. One thing that happens when your drug of choice is learning is that many and varied worlds begin to open up in areas you didn’t even know existed. The more I learn, the less I know.

I had no idea I was this ignorant. There were five or ten ideas I convinced myself I…

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The ice cream scenario

ridicuryder:

Ashana is a wonderful spirit coming into a larger self together with her parts after decades of living with dissociation. The beautiful language used to describe moving beyond pain is some of the most thought provoking material I have ever read.

Originally posted on The Daily Headache:

Charlie feels I did not explain things well in my last post. He feels I ought to try again. So I am.

I want to imagine you are choosing one of those tubs of ice cream with a good friend. You must, temporarily, pretend that there are no small containers of ice cream available. You cannot get two single servings that are different. There are only the large sizes suitable for a family, and you must agree on the variety. You must also pretend with me that you and your friend each have favourite ice cream flavours that the other hates.

The decision-making tree will go differently for this scenario depending on whether you are collective or two individuals, and the best choice of action will probably be different also. There are still two basic choices about how to go about this, but they will look very different depending on…

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Our ethical bankruptcy is going to kill us, not a virus.

ridicuryder:

I’ve been a bedside RN for over 20 years. Incompetence is regularly appointed because the existing bureaucracy likes company (it also makes sense to surround yourself with a thick layer of scapegoats).

A sweeping correction is needed.

Originally posted on The Order of Turbulence:

Johann_Melchior_Füssli_(1677–1736),_Sketch_of_a_Cordovan-leather-clad_doctor_of_Marseilles

The United States has the most capable health infrastructure and the most capable doctors in the world, bar none,” Lisa Monaco, President Obama’s senior counter-terrorism adviser, said at a White House briefing. (“US Ebola outbreak ‘extraordinarily unlikely’, White House officials insist.” The Guardian)

You might wonder what a ‘counter-terrorism’ adviser is doing vouching for the quality of the US health system. It is an indication of just how badly this issue has been framed since the first report of the latest Ebola outbreak, which began in March of this year. Nor is it helpful that the current head of the CDC keeps insisting that an Ebola outbreak couldn’t happen in the US. And even more laughably, there’s a DA in Texas who looking into pressing charges against Thomas Eric Duncan, the Liberian who fell sick in Dallas.  Let’s hope he lives long enough for that to…

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Buddhist Wedding Photographer Motorcycle Therapist (BWPMT)

20140203-052012.jpg Kimmie Lou, BWPMT and Klute The Mostly Mute KLR near Nakusp, British Columbia. Kimmie Lou, “What’s wrong with Klute, he hardly has anything to say?” BWPMT, “Ugh… too many ‘why’ questions, he sorta got stuck in that toddler/preschooler stage of development and was constantly bugging me so, I did an aftermarket exhaust to muffle him more. I mighta overdid it a little.” Kimmie Lou, “Yeah, I was pretty chatty with my first owner, I think it was why he let them repossess me.”

Howdy Myst,

After the double rainbow in Kaslo we rode to New Denver, which is just across Slocan lake from Valhalla Provincial Park. Kimmie Lou has never been to British Columbia before, but she’s heard several people “ooh” for the past week as we have discussed destinations making our way west. We go quiet when descending towards town…the mountains of Valhalla are emerald and these strung out clouds wisp between that fucking blue that only sky can pull off and to ice the cake, all of it reflects over the blueberry lake below us. “So there’s something to this whole ‘God’s Country’ business, huh,” says Kimmie Lou as we hold in her clutch, absorb the vista and wonder if we should stop and get the camera phone out.

[insert your imagination jpeg here]

As we roar on along Highway 6 towards Nakusp we discuss how BWPMT has been reading the blog. Kimmie Lou asks, “Do you think he’ll just be up in the Smokies, like most regular readers or will posts from 2013 and 2014 have floated back through time into his reader? “It’s hard to say how much RidicuRyder’s Straddling Worlds energy will affect current reality,” I say. Ridicu and I cross eyes briefly and we drift out towards oncoming traffic (Kimmie Lou hardly notices our hourly suicidal impulses anymore). “There can be a pretty good time vortex swirling when one world is closing and another opens…December 21, 2012 is only 4 months away, he may know some stuff about the new world,” adds Ridicu.

We are regularly hanging out with the same people at the end of most worlds, BWPMT is one of them. We won’t use any of his old handles in case some of those really ancient warrants somehow surface. So far in this world we know who BWPMT is…he just doesn’t seem to know who he is, but that’s okay. Maybe he wants to sit this round out, we don’t mind if he acts dumb, we’ll play along however it goes.

The Nakusp Municipal Campground is easy to find…Motorcycles everywhere and a lot of them look our way when we start circling the camping loop. We stop beside this wonderfully flat-chested rider oiling the chain of her Suzuki DR-Z400. “Howdy miss, we’re lookin fer a geezer from Vancouver who rides a black KLR…he’s sorta Buddhist.” When she stands up there are pine needles stuck to her knees so it takes us a few seconds to let our eyes drift up along the most spectacular set of child bearing hips this side of the Mississippi. In a few steps she runs her hands through her blue black hair until they come out clean. Her elbows have us completely speechless, then she reaches out to shake our hand, “Howdy boys, I’m Maude…only, you may remember me with Claude.”

The forest starts a slow spin as Maude’s right foot sweeps Kimmie Lou’s kickstand down…just before we pass out.

Claude

Claude is a killer and so is his sister Maude, sometimes you get the pair in one round, sometimes one, sometimes none. The fact that at least Maude is here means Annihilation is at hand. Far beyond any other Indivisibles, Aliens or Machines, they always do most of the killing.

It’s nothing personal.

It’s actually nothing at all to them. A little species extinction in the morning and it’s off to play tennis in the afternoon or an evening at the Cosmos around the corner (maybe wipe that one out too…while they’re in the neighborhood).

They’re extremely nice, slightly sarcastic of course, but overall a pleasure to be around. They will be so invested for the realization of man one minute, like you expect it to happen any second. It’s like no one has the slightest indication that plan A (Annihilation) is their objective, everyone gets so wrapped up in their optimism, their warmth and then, WOW…didn’t see that coming.

When our eyes begin to open we can see that we have been dragged through the campsite and laid up against a tree like we are having a nap. We’ve been out for a while, Kimmie Lou is completely unpacked, she is yakking away with BWPMT and the Suzuki who is kinda gushy, “I still can’t believe I’m talking with KLRR…a motorcycle who blogs! An actual Moto-Moto-Journalist, most of the bikes here say it can’t be done, how did you manage it?” Kimmie Lou scoffs, “I’ve been watchin da Morons peck away all summer, it’s no big deal.” “How far in the future did you write your post again?”asks ZuZu (Suzuki’s are notorious for losing track of time). “Two Christmases from now” says Kimmie Lou.

BWPMT just sits on the picnic table laughing as the bikes go on discussing writing. “I’ve been thinking we should get some editing, do a book for this first leg of the Devil’s Triangle Run” says Kimmie Lou. ZuZu shimmies on her center stand, “That would be sooo cool…would you autograph one to me? Kimmie Lou thinks about it, “Yeah, I could probably work something out.” BWPMT leans towards the bikes a little more and says, “Keep pressing that idea with the boys Kimmie Lou, I think you’ve got something here, who knows with a little sensible syntax, punctuation and whatnot…maybe this round gets interesting.”

We sit up a little more and everyone looks in our direction. “So how many machines are cranking over That Which Is Whole in this campground?” I ask. Then Ridicu, “Where did our lovely hostess wander off to?” BWPMT’s thumb juts towards the showers…”You two are next,” he taps our Deuter pack sitting beside him, “You boys are pretty ripe.” “Yeah, it’s almost like you had to wrestle a Zombie Shit Weasel for breakfast or something” says ZuZu chuckling.

Getting to our feet is tough. We stagger over to the picnic table and sit downwind of everyone. “The Machines aren’t supposed to know…we made a deal with the Aliens” I say. BWPMT shakes his head, “Yeah, I really liked how you guys and Angle handled everything back in Robbinsville.” He turns back into the table and looks at us squarely, “Y’know… I was settled into this notch pretty nicely like you. You two weren’t even sure I’ve been aware of my Indivisibility…I’m just riding things out and thinking ‘kinda boring’ , but I’ve been okay with it.” “Then, last night, I’m setting up camp and I notice the ferns have that quivering delight, the moss is bubbling and the trees are twisting their roots like infants mouthing the breast of the Earth Mother.”

We sorta know what he means, the Earth is really alive in these parts.

BWPMT continues, “I’m taking it all in, the stars throbbing and everything when I notice her standing beside me…you know that thing she and Claude do where all of a sudden they are there, when you think you are all alone?” Ridicu shrugs his shoulders seductively, “They’re quite the slippery pair alright, we’ve only caught glimpses of her though – just a handful of times – across all these worlds. Its been ages since we’ve seen her, the last time was back in 187 where we crossed paths briefly, just before everything went dark. We threw her a wink, she smiled and then went right back to business.” BWPMT smiles, ” Yeah, she said something last night about it, ‘When Claude’s your brother not many guys swing sauce in your direction’…or something like that.” “So anyways” says BWPMT, “3 seconds after she materializes beside me, I think of your posts from the future as an inside joke you’re playing or some residual Miami energy weirdly intact elsewhere. I figure this round has about 4 months to go, so I can stop pretending to be a regular individual. When I tell her what you’re up to, she laughs at Nature’s last minute play to call off the notch and put you two in…totally unprepared.”

Maude is beside ZuZu – like she’s been there all along – applying a slash of eyeliner using a side mirror. “I said, ‘only three guys have ever swung sauce, these two and that guy who always shows up as a florist from Cincinnati. It takes everyone a few seconds to realize that the regular florist from Cincinnati hasn’t been around for a couple of hundred rounds….

We keep looking for Maude, we hear about her all the time, but now that we think about it…we’ve only been bumping into Claude in the last five hundred rounds and he never seems happy to see us.

The eyeliner disappears and she straightens up from the mirror. “I have also been taking it easy here, no one has activated me to shut this world down.” She’s talking in that earnest and reassuring way. We all know the next thing will be the rug being yanked out from under us. At the same time she fills us with hope and beauty and we believe her completely. The sheer scope of where she might apply her energy is the sexiest thing we have ever encountered. It’s so wild…Ridicu must take over narration.

We have been laying off objectifying women lately, you’re all so goddamn beautiful in all your personal ways, but we gotta describe Maude some here for literary purposes. She’s short, 5’2″ or 5’3″, standing beside ZuZu we notice her navel is around the height of the bike’s seat…there’s no way her feet reach the ground when they are stopped. Kimmie Lou: reading our thoughts, “They don’t slow down much, she hops off ZuZu when she has to, but she has fantastic balance.” We remember her balance, Circ de Maude…a lovely little spin in a crowd and “Whump” thousands of bodies go down. In these few seconds as our eyes are drifting over Maude she is smiling. Her front teeth have a good gap…soft, soothing words occasionally whistle a little, it isn’t exactly a lisp, not quite a slinky speech impediment, but we swoon when air moves around her teeth in certain ways.

BWPMT has come around to the idea that Maude isn’t activated, “So you’re on vacation in this round, where’s Claude?” Maude looks at us with these eyes that are caramel around her pupils then lighten to green along the periphery of her iris. They are the warmest eyes when she smiles, but we have seen them become ice with the flick of circumstance, like now. She says, “Everyone knows Claude started enjoying his work a little too much in 697.” BWPMT looks at us, “Yeah, he got a little carried away…how’s he doing?” She softens a little, “pretty decently overall, another 80 billion years of rehab before he’ll be back on the job though – if ever.”

It seems clear Maude has dropped back into living a fairly normal life in this round. We just about piss our pants laughing when she describes her ascent to Vice President of marketing from an entry level position selling door to door life insurance policies over the past decade. The wind dies off and we start noticing our funk. We get to our feet and swing Deuter over one shoulder. BWPMT claps appreciatively (but sarcastically) and Maude exhales a soft whistle that awakens every hair on our body. ZuZu’s left handlebar wiggles towards us a bit, “But, skip shaving…we like our men scruffy.”

We glance back at Maude who releases the slightest smile – mostly with her eyes – as her untrimmed eyebrows bounce a little. The spell is broken when Kimmie Lou suggests, “Spend some extra time in the crack of your ass though…another ride or two with that level of swamp-ass and my seat will need to be re-upholstered.” Our step quickens towards the showers, escaping the roars of laughter behind us. We hear ZuZu ask, “So what’s a notch again?”

“A notch is where individuals are left to destroy a world and each other with very little help from Indivisibles, Aliens or Machines,” explains Kimmie Lou. BWPMT adds, “Ultimately Individuals destroy every world, by not recognizing their true nature – indivisible from everything.” “Depending on how things are set up” continues Maude, “We may be called on to ‘end things with a flair – something that will be burned into our consciousness – to help guide the next species beyond previous mistakes.” ZuZu ponders this, “So all these worlds over trillions and trillions of light years across millions of galaxies around thousands of cosmic corners is just one great big Research and Development lab?”

The conversation continued around the wily nature of Nature. The idea of That Which Is Whole breaking itself apart to see how long it takes for reformation was really popular with the machines. They liked the mechanical aspects of reformation. The idea of a consciousness dissolving in order to evolve was not digested as well. Eventually BWPMT reaches down and picks up a stick, he draws a circle in the sand near the fire pit. “Let’s say this stick is an individual and the circle is That Which Is Whole…you need the stick to draw, but you must accept that the circle could have been drawn with a wine bottle, a rock or my finger.” Our collective knows the circle exists…the Whole is realized when no element is excluded from the circle.” He drops the stick, “It’s about achieving a balance between the Individual, Indivisible and TWIW…. Whatever interplay takes shape after that is anyone’s guess, our priority is to work on the balance.”

Kimmie Lou rolls back and forth enough to crunch a bit, “So, worry less about the shape of things and be open to that harmonic which happens when elements are at play?”

A Woodpecker, off in the distance starts a hypnotic whacking, just as the campground noise simmers. For a while the Woodpecker fills the Universe.

Eventually ZuZu pipes back up, “What about the Aliens…where do they fit in?” We sneak back into camp, nowhere near as slippery as Maude, but we managed to surprise ZuZu from behind by reaching past her back wheel and grabbing her shock. BOING! A little squeal shoots out her exhaust as she leaps into the air. She lands with a huff and scowls at us. Whenever a woman tells Ridicu she’s into scruff any propriety (what little he possesses) scoots elsewhere. We grin through 4 day’s growth at ZuZu. Everyone laughs. “Scruffy with a generous side of sauce.” low-growls Ridicu. ZuZu blushes as I answer, “Aliens are solidly Indivisible with great streaks of Individualism. They consider humans the surprise element. They think of us as wild cards and they get a huge kick out of how we can turn the game on a dime.”

“Enough shop talk.” whistles Maude, “Reformation, evolution or various other goofs gotta wait…I’m hungry!” We agree to meet at the hall for supper in 17 minutes and 52.5 seconds. BWPMT and Kimmie Lou have set us up at the front of the campground, our new MSR Hoop tent is all sporty and fresh, “Hiya Hoop” we say as we settle Deuter inside (tents are pretty thin on conversation, but are all billowy and soulful otherwise).

20140226-151432.jpg Hoop, Kimmie Lou and BWPMT rooting around in his tent for some kinda lentil digestive biscuits before supper…. Vegetarians – sheesh!

The folks at Horizons Unlimited put on a great Rally, we register and opt for the lunch and supper meal plan. Inside the hall we find Maude sitting with Brendan and Colette from New Zealand who arrived in Long Beach California 5 weeks ago. They’ll be riding east across Canada like us after the Rally. They’re on a big BMW GS 1200 and like Frank n Hank on the trikes, they go a lot faster than our poke-along pace with Kimmie Lou. At any rate, they seem fairly clean cut and a little too establishment to hang out with the Antichrist. BWPMT makes a point of directing them to our blog though, Maude chimes in by saying she has only read a handful of posts, but our psychosis is hardly noticeable. She pats our shoulder and asks “So what are you two gonna do when the world doesn’t end? Then she turns to Brendan and Colette and mouths “Split Personalities” but actually speaks the words at low volume.

A rider from Oregon named Kurt is setting up his presentation on a trip he and a friend made to Prudhoe Bay Alaska last month. Brendan and Colette excuse themselves and move a few tables closer to the center to get a better position for the talk. BWPMT leaves us and joins a few riders from Vancouver near the back of the room. This leaves us with Maude, sitting with our backs to the wall on the left and all alone. We are three tables from anyone and we notice Maude place something on the table that looks like a garage door opener then she says, “I wonder if Kimmie Lou will have any problems receiving us in here with these Power Point presentations…they can jam up telepathy at times.” Maude flips the switch over on her telepathy jammer (which closely resembles the Alien’s units) just as Kurt starts his talk.

Maude’s legs come up on the seat of her chair…at first it looks as if she will be crossing them. Then she swivels towards us and her right leg shoots across our lap, her heel lowers into our left thigh and our chairs scrape together as she pulls us towards her. She moves so swiftly that the next thing we know our right arm is being balanced on her left knee and somehow we have a handful of her hair at the base of her neck. Ridicu and I have barely registered how her left toes have burrowed beneath us, the curve of her shin sloping into her ankle fits the shape of our ass perfectly…or maybe Maude’s perfect – she’s probably perfect – our ass certainly isn’t.

When our eyes connect we feel a calm. Ridicu and I interface when we choose, but there are situations and people who unify us…. We think, feel and converse in unison rarely, we can’t recall the last time this has happened – its been a while.

It dawns on us that this woman has been in our nostrils since before the big bang…and probably most of those other bangs.

The presentation continues, Kurt is discussing how they packed fuel along on days where the available gasoline stations were further apart than the motorcycle’s range with a full tank. Our right hand is almost asleep, yet feels milky with Maude’s hair – her knee has dented our triceps where a bruise might be forming on the bone. And this is when we sense that the swim between our eyes has been splashing a while, not seconds or minutes…almost an hour or forever…it’s hard to tell.

We don’t let go of her hair or move our arm. When the applause comes and signals the passing of the entire hour it doesn’t surprise us. We might still be here tomorrow catching bits and pieces of presentations. Maude’s right hand slips up under our shirt. She doesn’t break eye contact with us as she comes off her seat slightly to reach her right hand across our chest and around until it stops just short of our spine. We are still almost perfectly at peace when the pain comes.

Maude’s claws are hardly noticeable even though they are drawing blood. We don’t exactly flinch except this quick locking in our core where our eyes absorb all the memories of her kills. She has killed everyone…at least once…so…elegantly. Maude’s eyes haven’t hardened even while she tears into us. There is a widening of her caramel as it oozes around and somehow out beyond everything. She balances the whole in a way few Indivisibles can. Ridicu and I sorta careen about with everything. We aren’t quite juggling on roller skates, but our presence isn’t as smooth as a lot of Indivisibles. BWPMT is standing beside us when her hand comes out from under our shirt, he watches her suck her thumb and then each finger on her right hand until the blood, skin and tissue is gone.

Our eyes haven’t left hers. Everything within us has been absorbed by Maude, yet we don’t feel drained – just slightly rearranged. She has released everything inside her towards us, but like all men we haven’t built our platform to receive a total woman. At some point we gotta layout the right space for Maude, somehow we have to have all of her.

Now she retracts her legs and springs up to stand beside BWPMT, her eyes gently start to leave ours. She is smiling and kisses BWPMT on the cheek and says “uncle.” She walks away with a sway in her hips fuller than before, which hardly seems possible. “Did she just…” “Impregnate herself with your tissue?” finishes BWPMT. We watch her walk out of the hall, she never looks back, but knows we are watching her. The telepathy jammer has been left behind, BWMPT picks it up off the table, switches it off and pockets it.

“So, what did you guys think of the presentation?” says BWPMT. “Mind blowing…we’ve kinda heard of riders doing this sorta stuff, but we haven’t experienced travelers of this kind for quite a while, says Ridicu. I’m dabbing at the rips across our chest with a dinner napkin while BWPMT and Ridicu go on chatting about making an Alaska run some time. BWPMT has positioned himself in a way that shields us from the hall while I get most of the blood dried up. I know we are not going to keep any of this from Kimmie Lou for long, I sense Maude is open to Kimmie Lou knowing, but only on certain terms.

Riders are milling about in the hall, waiting for the next presentation to begin. BWPMT introduces us to a handful of people from Vancouver and we chat for a while. Finally there are Zella and Naomi. We’re guessing lesbians at first, but they could be biker butch straight. We know there’s something breezy yet disturbing and strange about them…something yummy. Zella is from Northern Ontario like us, we hug like she’s known us forever and holds our elbows just long enough to swirl some 5th dimension dust in the room. Zella has brown hair and eyes like ours, she has a long torso and shorter strong legs like ours. Her energy overlaps us so neatly that we understand a recent sibling connection exists…maybe even right now.

According to our birth mother, our birth father displayed quite the moves…he may have spun into Zella’s Mom at some point.

Naomi and everyone nearby sees the connection we have with Zella. When she slowly extends her hand to shake ours Naomi says, “it’s really nice to meet you, BWPMT turned us on to your blog a few weeks ago…we’ve read it all right up into the future.” There may or may not be an Adam’s apple at Naomi’s throat, her face is pockmarked and angled in a way that suggests well managed misery. She has stringy, dirty blond hair and steel blue eyes. She and Zella are bigger than most of the bikers around us…it might be fun to start a rumble. We quickly learn all kinds of things, like they live on Saltspring Island between Vancouver and Victoria where they run a bed and breakfast. Naomi crafts pottery and Zella writes – poetry mostly, but some short stories. They both ride Honda TransAlps. It takes extra effort not to stare at Naomi’s throat.

“We’d like to talk about evolving the species tomorrow morning…if that is good for you,” whispers Zella as the next rider begins his talk. We look at her for a minute, she is smiling as we try to place her. “699,” I whisper back…”you and Nathan were scouts.” Zella pulls back, her smile is around 66.6% maniac. She leans in and speaks quietly to Naomi. Naomi laughs and whispers in our ear, “I haven’t been Nathan since 699…is that why you two were gawking at my neck…for an Adam’s apple?”

Scouts are beings that shift cleanly between prominent Individuals and Indivisibles in any given round, they are sorta like diplomats except they don’t give a shit about outcomes. It would be somewhat fitting to say they are translators, but most ego-inflated Individuals have trouble relating to TWIW. It’s why they make such a big deal outta whatever slender slice of everything they can cling to. Scouts aren’t quite scorekeepers or referees either, they more or less sense the tone of the match and do what they can to keep hitting below the belt to a minimum, while encouraging eye-gouging and punches before and after a round’s open and close.

We whisper with Zella and Naomi for meeting tomorrow then wave goodnight to everyone before exiting the hall. Our ribs sting when we hit the evening air and the throbbing along our left chest intensifies with each step towards Maude’s campsite. Days are long in August around this latitude so the light rolls across the horizon softly…like a tadpole’s tail at twilight swilling sun into the tops of the evergreens. Smoke from Maude’s campfire sifts through the boughs along the trail as we walk towards her.

When we get to the site ZuZu is gone, a small fire is untended, but her tent and gear are still here. We look for her in neighboring campsites. We turn towards the front of the campground and see her walking down the slope from our site. Her sway with her decent is so beautiful…she begins beaming when she registers how mesmerized we are, then at once she is beside us…not to startle us, its more like we appreciate each other THAT MUCH. Maude gap-tooth smiles at us, “Claude and I move with love, do you see?”

Ridicu’s three favorite things to juggle are love, women and particle physics. As he launches into his spin, Maude maneuvers us to sit against a log near the fire at the back of the campsite. “We are all at least 1% madly in love with each other, but don’t get too hung up on percentages because as an individual you’ll slam into a wall at around 100 people.” Maude nuzzles into us, her heat and the heat from the fire encapsulate Ridicu and I…we are very near merging. “This sliver of yourself changes with each person, no two slivers within you are the same, but there is plenty of overlap. You don’t always experience the love as love either…it can be more like indifference or even hate. Love is at the base of all emotion and logic, diminish hate and you arrive at love, but love cannot be diminished…it’s not that weak.”

Maude wraps her arms around us. Our chest wounds tingle like micro-patches of molecules are getting superheated, but only for instants here and there. “Scientists ponder a ‘General Unifying Theory’ …when you drop the theory away and examine your environment for the grandest unifier…you encounter love.” “The acronym,” explains Maude, “is GUT…whether you say General or Grand unified theory…which means we find ourselves examining our gut.”

I’m beginning to wonder if Ridicu and Maude have been hanging out in a universe to themselves at some point, I don’t mind if this is the case…I really don’t – eventually everyone hangs out with everyone. We are all intimately associated a millimeter or two outside of our standard consciousness. Indivisibles know this, the playfulness of it is something we revel in. At the same time we honor the Individual (not exactly the way most would like) by letting them destroy world after world on the path to better understanding. Actually it’s kinda un-understanding…I sorta know where this discussion is headed.

Ridicu continues, “research also shows us that if you ask enough people a question…any question, the right answer will be evident collectively.” Ask a group of highly educated people – lets say 10 or 20% of the worlds population – what unifies everything and you will hear dozens of sophisticated theories observed from individual perspectives seeking some indivisible result. Whether we’re talking Higgs fields or layered theories across multiple branches of science, accomplished scientists usually prefer results to yield more questions…’the more we discover, the more we understand we don’t know’…not knowing eventually settles in as the end goal for the pursuit of knowledge.

Maude chuckles, “Claude and I thought it was hilarious when this Higgs fellow came along and the ‘Higgs boson’ was proposed…we’ve been calling these little weirdos Huggy Bozos since forever.” Cuddling closer, she continues, “Everything that has mass affects neighboring elements…everything connects in delicate ways that structures or deconstructs our environment.” Trying to figure out the exactness of Nature is a game of constant revision….

Maude takes us by our right wrist and draws our hand off her shoulder down onto her sternum where her heart blows rhythmic kisses at our thumb. “All of it is suspended by love.”

“When you want to theorize about how things are connected you get uncertainties…when you connect with love a delicate, powerful and terrible certainty exists.” As she speaks these last words our triceps goes numb again. We can’t feel anything from our elbow down. The uncertainty of our hand along her chest is as unsatifying as you might expect.

Maude lets her head settle onto our shoulder a little more and whispers, ” The trouble with most people is that they greet each other by saying things like ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ or ‘hi’ instead of asking…’are you madly in love with me?’ then responding: ‘of course I’m madly in love with you’ …if we did, it would open our universe far beyond what scientific inquiry can accomplish in a thousand years.”

As we flow through one another the log at our backs starts breathing (after several dead years). The soil beneath us rises gently as our energy sweeps around the fire. Our slow waves of excitement are mirrored by the flames flickering brighter and faster with the rhythm of our connection.

Eventually, Maude repositions our hand, “I’m carrying a child, which gives me the option to sit this round out. I’m not sure what I’ll do if we have to shut this species away.” She guides our hand down into the crease between her thigh and her belly. “What should we call her?” she asks. Our fingertips dabble over her uterus for a few beats.

Simultaneously Ridicu and I reply, “Killer.”

Maude laughs pretty hard, doubles into us…eventually she pushes off to take a seated position, then looks back at us. She manages to snort, “What a horrible name for a girl!” She stands in a flash and strolls around the fire, still chuckling…half of her can’t believe she is going with our name, half of her is delighted.

“You know Claude and I aren’t quite killers right?” She is glowing, overriding the firelight where the embers and the logs and the flames are burning brighter in her heat. Stories of Maude and Claude are as numerous as blades of grass, but they are all green. They kill as if cresting every wave across any ocean, all rivers and lakes…even mud puddles at the same time. TWIW has no bounds and yet these two play at the outer arcs of consciousness to an extent that Essence is conveyed when they smile across a room in your direction or across the universe. They inhabit whatever they choose completely because they so cleanly sidestep conventional forms. They land in almost every world as brother and sister…they know each other immediately…connect across networks most Indivisibles hardly know exist and remember previous rounds better than any of us.

We are captivated by Maude with the fire…they’re exchanging energy a meteor shower would wonder about. She is a magnificent creature, finally Ridicu offers, “There are a lot of ideas about you and Claude…people like to talk.” I add, “mostly, you two just seem on another level – not by design – we all know that, just in your beings…in what you do.”

At once she is sitting cross-legged between us and the fire. We only see the flames waving over her shoulders to us at intervals. “Are you still are in contact with Claude?” asks Ridicu, he has changed our posture and now we lean towards Maude in a slouched Lotus position. “We talk every decade or so,” she says, “his retreat to a parallel existence is mostly self imposed.” We know very little of Claude’s predicament and are hesitant to pry. We’ve heard that he is out for a few rounds…he began some “experimentation” with shutting down worlds that didn’t go well.

Maude’s shoulders rise and her back arches like her spine is stretching…this opens her center somehow, the warmth we experience is greater than what the fire could generate if she weren’t blocking its heat with her body. Her head tilts almost imperceptibly to the right and our body becomes lighter on the left side at a cellular level. She inhales deeply a few times and our breathing becomes an afterthought. When her eyelids soften our nervous system goes slack. “Claude and I alter those around us by accessing the love in our surroundings differently.” She releases a smile and our heart nearly explodes, “we track through matter differently…originally we were twins. Somehow we learned to amplify and direct love in whatever environment we found ourselves in. It may have started in the first womb.” Suddenly we are slowly rotating around like a seed in Maude’s uterus and a perfect pinkness envelopes us….

Joy…calm…joy…calm.

“Death from us opens you tremendously for your next existence,” says Maude as we float out of her reproductive lounge, “We deliver an opening where love suspends things differently. Some people get to take quite a lot with them.” Indivisibles know that love suspends things differently through death, time, space and all kinds of horseshit. Maude continues, “The energy one has around love is what moves us to reconnect in familiar ways, sometimes an Indivisible will go through a few lives mainly as an Individual and only mildly sense the whole…Claude was heightening people’s experience of love – at death to boost what they could carry with them into the next world.”

Ridicu and I cross eyes for a second too long and we almost pass out. “So from 697 Claude has been ‘boosting’ people’s experience for love and wonder so our lightest Essence carries us through death with better gas mileage?” “Yes, and let me just say for the record that Claude and I never bet on any rounds progressing to evolution beyond common levels. We find it to be a really absurd pastime.” “Ridicu and I do all kinds of warped shit, but betting on worlds failing isn’t one of them,” I say. Suddenly Ridicu sits up,“HOLD IT A SECOND…….did Claude get all this rapture shit started?”

“Some really weird ideas about ‘The Rapture’ have sprung up in the past couple of rounds…Claude’s tweaking billions of departure gates recently maybe the culprit” concedes Maude as her legs extend towards us. Her feet are bare where a second ago she was wearing runners…which are now parked under her tent fly. Her toes are painted electric blue and they seem to arc in the firelight, her feet have settled against our belly, her heels slot into our inguinal folds…another perfect fit. In all of this I haven’t noticed our legs have straightened and we are also shoeless, the bow between our calves and inner ankle conform to Maude’s hips as if Ridicu and I represent a keyhole she has been looking for. Maude reaches behind her and holds our soles to her firmly as she leans back slightly so our toes dig into the dimples at the top of her ass…a trigger is pulled. When Ridicu unlatches inside of me I immediately curl my fingers around Maude’s insteps, her arches root me in the moment. If it weren’t for the log behind me I would be flat on my back. My upper back and neck are jelly and my head has flopped onto the log, my hands are holding Maude to my center with perfect tension and she shoots off me like…well…a shoot, if someone came along and rolled the log away from the fire we would be its branch pointing skyward.

Looking up through the tunnel of evergreens I encounter eternity…now.

Sparks from the fire floating up into the night sky clutter my delicious stillness, it doesn’t seem I am returning to the moment and my surroundings, rather my lifetime has briefly interrupted everything. Maude and I are in union. I am fairly sure Ridicu is the sap between our rings unless he slipped out of us and into the fire, it would not surprise me if he has elected to be burnt away in this perfection.

A handful of stars are giggling and I don’t notice Maude and I have come apart until her luminous face comes into view. Her knees are at my groin and my erection is indescribable. My body begins a wakefulness I have never known and my head comes off the log to breathe her in. Maude’s thumbs press under my jaw as her fingers encircle my neck…her hair descends over my temples and ears. Being an Indivisible means understanding the illusions of many words…like separation.

The tiniest gap exists between our lips and I feel Ridicu unfurling inside of me, he wants to kiss her as badly as I do. The hesitation is excruciating and worlds of energy are spent holding us apart. With nowhere else to go, the heat between us sweeps into the fire and flames leap beyond the tree tops, the entire campground illuminates as if it were daytime and our eyes lock. Shards of our brown stir her caramel into greens…the forest around us is smiling.

Billions of years of spiritual foreplay laced with outright crushing and somehow we decide to stop short of kissing. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…the anticipation has been so exquisite, what’s the hurry?

We hold each other and laugh away the darkness while the fire dies. Maude whispers things to us as the embers soften, things we hardly remember…many we haven’t encountered before.

We expect to awaken in better alignment, but as we absorb the morning, a grim awareness that she’s gone crawls under our kneecaps. The dew has less sweetness to it where her tent was, but the air still feels electric. She just recently slipped away. We still feel her warmth in our belly. Nothing in this round will ever taste the same.

Ridicu curls back into a ball inside of me, for all his brashness, he’s terribly vulnerable around this love business. We both know Maude’s gone and not coming back. I am slipping our sandals on and a small note gets crinkled by our left toes. Ridicu stirs a bit as I extract it:

Freaks,

Let’s hang out sometime…AFTER you evolve the species.

Killer
xxoo

BWPMT Part Two coming…stay tuned :)


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Bank on It

ridicuryder:

Hands down, Entope (aka A.R. Williams) is my favorite author/blogger, although I can’t bring myself to read her erotica…Amazon’s freebie “peek inside” short story damn near killed me.

Originally posted on entropy: the other constant:

It’s been a long time since I talked about certainty and fear when it comes to making decisions.  Fear makes bad decisions (unless the decision is to avoid swimming with hungry sharks and an open wound).  That sounds simple enough to apply, but there are a lot of times when fear can sound like certainty, so how do you tell the difference? 

It’s a hard question.  Scared isn’t a good measure, because the choice borne of certainty is often terrifying.  Fear is always there in some part.  The best example I can come up with from my own life is the book.  I’ve been scared the whole way.  I’m still scared.  What if it isn’t good enough?  It almost doesn’t matter who likes it…  I can’t think of an external voice loud enough to cure me of the fear that it isn’t good enough. 

But if I had stayed there…

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