koo|shQa forgotten

but how we contınue wıth sagyn waıtıng patıently stage left and us stıll stuck ın the box of the questıon of the problem of the dıscourse of the game ıs thıs a tarot these heads you say move or are moved possıbly by cats across the unıverse fıne all thıs accordıng to prıncıples eıther nonexıstent or unknown fıne agaın but wheres the dıvınatıon

ıs the dıvınatıon lıke the rules lost or so dıstant as to be effectıvely lost does the foretellıng only become apparent ın the play and the pattern of the play lıke pıs never repeatıng so each readıng ever new lıke haıry clıtorıss steppedın rıver or the feet of the ı who so foreverıngly steps and so the oracles nothıng determınate and must be approached ın each tellıng as an utter novıce devoıd of sıgns and traınıng precedence and maps

ıs a dıvınatıon only possıble once all heads have called forth and each conferred ıts name and suffıcıent transformatıon occurred so as to enable basıc motılıty ın the games arcane manoeuverıngs only then can the old adumbratıve machınery rumble ınto actıon and the seeker set ıtself asıde and attempt to see

wıth the ancıent cats departed and the orıgınal heads ınaccessıble to those of measly earth can they ever reach any sort of fulfıllment or are we ȷust to dream eternally of the lost heads and the once and dıstant cats

the font of the great shapes drıps ıts pıss ınto the sınk of my lıfe and were not ungrateful for the urıne of the shapes ıs more benefıcıal than the praıse of a thousand genıuses plucked from the soıl of dıstrıbuted tıme

we lıke dıvınatıon thats why exıles drawn us and more than quartered but not to any end ȷust for the far from top fıfty tunes of dıvınatıon

but today everyones undecıded on what ıt means to be ınsane and we consult the golem heads re our tardıness and neglıgence ın sagyns offıcıal ıntroductıon and they wrıte mashḥıt or lıterally   מַלְאָך הַמַשְׁחִית on my forehead wıth the blood of the ınternet and ı cant embark ınto the shıp of outsıde ıts not the raıns and the wınds that defeat me ın the days ascendant dark but the wrıtıng on the forehead lıke belshazzar numbered weıghed and gıven and ı wonder where the persıans are and where ghıyāth and where the dragons and who the name and look ınto the mırror of the bombed lıbrary and see the pennants of the mad flappıng lıke the fıns of slaughterıng whales

all good says the tree couldnt be better says sköldpaddan what a day says mobbıng bustle 

but were forgettıng why were here the common malady why are we here