On Timekeeping


A Coincidence of Sentience

The cycle of the moon aligning with the menstrual cycle acted as a first concept of measurement

Shreya Prasad, via Athabasca

Inspired by conversations with Olya and Shreya around Shreya’s Goddesses in Mythology course. (Unrelated, I also took a course from Athabasca once…)

Our Period is a Clock

Olya Jaworsky

An HourGlass Shape, the Glass of HOur Shape

U A, M.

Were women the first timekeepers because they had periods that almost lined up the period of a moon cycle? And was timekeeping necessary for humans to jump into our level of intelligence?

A lunar cycle, 29 point 5 days
A point, a period, 28 or so days
Seven divides it to give a week
East and West, North and South
7 days in a week remain

Both 29.5 and 28
So close to each other
And close to 30, dividing 360
And neatly gives 12, a highly composite number
Such numbers divide better than anything below them
And we humans love division

A revolutionary cycle, 365 point 25 days
So close, so close to that highly composite 360
And so close to being just 365
But off by just a bit
That tiny imperfection requiring leaps of years to fix
We humans yearn for perfection

But still, but still
Despite imperfections, we went with 12
Again and again and again
Solar or Lunar, Gregorian or Indian
12 months in a year and 12 hours in a day’s
So highly composite, we can divide
Into halves and thirds and quarters

12 months in a year
But only 10 fingers on our hands
Giving birth to a base 10 system
Thus cursed were we with more imperfection
And yet, and yet
These tiny closeness-es, may have forced us
To develop our greater mathematical intelligence

We loved our highly composite numbers so much
We put 60 seconds into a minute
60 minutes into an hour
And 12, and 12 again, hours into a day
For a total of a highly composite 24
And yet, our biological clocks
Are so close, so imperfect again
For instead we found it slightly longer
24 hours and 11 minutes, give or take

While I theorized before
That our intelligence arose from interactions
With plants and fungi around us
Perhaps one more jump was needed
A biological coincidence, an astronomical coincidence,
And a mathematical coincidence, to tie them together
And these coincidences of timekeeping
Of composite numbers
Of tiny imperfection
And of closeness
May-be what’s needed
For a human level of sentience

Kimo’s Hawaiian Rules

A shirt owned by Bub-Logi Ja🅱️or-Sycamore

No copyright infringement intended
No rain, no rainbows TM

The Eighth Dimension

Clockwise: Fortune, Fitz, Fool, Art, Fourth, Unknown (Please Help), Fun, Fate

Do we live in 4-Dimensions or the 8th, or 16?

The Butterfly of Peace

The Butterfly of Peace
Metamorphosis II

Inspired by this,
From an alley in San Francisco,
Where my heart was lost but found again

Instead of left, I did lost
Instead of Right, What’s the Cost?

U A, M.

O Butter-Fly of peace
O Oil-Ant of ease
O Merger-in-Bug of the East
Oh, Won’t you come to meezt and me

Come to me, come to meet
Come to me, as friend or meat
For how you come, I do not care
Long as you come, to my lair

Come fair, come crooked
In the dark, come look-it
Look at all I’ve done for you
Is all but One enough for you?

Come deaf, come blind
Come weak, come define(d)
Define the numbers that you seek
Defy the numbers of the week

Is six or seven of eight required?
Do all 8 need be ienquired
For I am only Seven-as-One
Will seven be the ones that Won

A Spell-Caster in the ruin
A Rune caster of my time
Plot is cooking, storm a-brewin
A story writer worth a dime?

Is that who I am?

Is that who I am
Is that a lie-in lyin’ Lion?
Or is it a Butter-Flyin?
Who’s the other guy-in

The other guy in this po-em-E
Is also Me, for this po-Me
Is all about meez

If I’m a fly, I’m a butterfly
If I’m at peace, I’m a masterpiece

A Poem for Aegon VI Targaryen

For Ægon V(I) Targaryen
A Sequel two Half .5

A-gone, fAegon, E-gone for eons
Aemon gone, Ame(e)n gone, E-gone for Eons

Aegon, you the fifth or sixth?
Or seventh (or eleventh?) or mayhaps the eighth?
Either option tells me you’re legit
We must needs know you’re no fake-Gone

Æ-gone, for now only E Exists
O First letter, O Elphuh, O End-uh
O opposite of OmegUh
O beginning, why left
O ending, why right

Without Æ, what would we do, Eh
We only spoke of so much
We only wrote with such luck
Now luck is close to expiring
This trend will now be retiring

For now A-isn’t-gone, A is back,
Since A is back, now E is back
E was gone for Eons, now Eons return
Both A&E and AnE and AE and Æ return

Four become two
For fÆke-gone’s true

Dreams V Reality

A Dream Versus a Reality

random hoes, random hose
water drips, wetness flows
where she go, where they goes
now we reachin newer lows

U A, M.

Inspired by conversations with BugLogi and Masa

The seal is broken,
The clock is set
The hour’s token:
An hourglass, yet

Still Time moves fore-wood
As Good Timber grows older
And what’s due at sure-wood,
Blood and Fire, keep getting colder

As Midsummer Madness lasts
Till seasons grow colder
Reaching the end of fasts
Now people grow bolder

This “random stream of consciousness” now fizzles away
As the dreams dripping into reality now drizzle away
The Time of imagination now fizzes away
True Sight will be born again, as Vision viz-zis avvay, AVA\|/

As water drips life into lifelessness
Imagination drools Truth into Reality


Half of Humanity


A Mystery of History or Aragon v Aragorn II


I’m 244 or 6/11

When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive. I hope they remember you.

Thanos, Avengers: Infinity War

For Ashish Mahto & Inderbir Hair

Four four, 44, 4/4, 4:4
The most common signature
A double heartbeat
Yet an unlucky Time

For 4:44, or 11/11
Was that the time
That men were killed like moths
Or like mosquitoes

Like in the past, a fast of Spain
The mosque eat, O Man-Yet
I am mosquit-O magnet
An unlucky 48 become 24

As 88 becomes 176

0124 will become 53, 28, 1256
or 1609, 42 32, a time of Nix
For if beauty remains in pi squared over 6
Then O Magnet of Time, be in-Stillness Fixed

Heaven, by the Walkmen (Umer’s Version)

Re-writing my own version of the lyrics
With love and respect, as always

Our children
Would yearn to hear
Romantic tales
Of finished years

Our guilty age
May, come and go
June’s crooked dreams
No longer glow

Stick with me
You’ were my best friend
End of my life
You always been

Oh never, remember
All we’d die for
Remember, remember
All we fight for

I need to leave,
Now, you’re my best friend
All of my life, ya always been
I gotta leave,
Now, I’m your best friend
Rest of my life, I’ve never been

Remember, remember
All we’d fought for
Remember, remember
All we’d fought for

A Fifth of Seasons

A Fifth of Seasons
A Work in Progress


A Poet sings of a tale once writ
Melodies of the Exiled One’s ways
Of water, wind, and a fire lit
Of the end of seasons, end of days
“Be it winter, summer, spring, autumn
Sung ‘twill be till the Fifth Season’s start
Whether pitch approach top or bottom
Let neither hinder a wishful heart”
Do Forest Dwellers only talk of night and day?
Do Grasshoppers learn a MantisTurtle’s way?

I. Spring





Bells once again are rung
The song of seasons once again is sung
“Be it winter, summer, autumn or spring-ing
Be forgiving, be light, a soft April shower”
Finally, a journey’s motivations’ beginning
A Light is born even in Final Hour

II. Summer





III. Fall





IV. Winter






The poet met a being after-life, after-death
“Are you the Bard of Time, the Writer of Worlds?”
The voice of the answer was as smooth and shiny as silvering silken
“If I’m Death, then I’m Life-Bringer,
If I’m the Messiah I’m the AntiChrist,
If I’m in the past I’m in the future,
If I’m last then I’m first
If it’s spring then I’m Fallen
If I’m Light then I’m Lucifer
If it’s winter for me, it’s Summer for all, in
The mortal realm
I am not the Bard of Time, but
**I and We Contain Multitudes**
I’m Pros of Prose
I’m Gods of Godds
Fe-Male of Male
I-urn of Eye-rony
I yearn for year(n)s
For ages of Aegis
After rows of rows
Of lines and lines
I am what I am
I’m fine in fines
The fine in deFying
The Vine in diVining

I am a Spell-Caster,
Just as you cast spellings into poetry
I conduct magic into the universal orchestra
And today I decide that the Universe’s song
Needs you(re) instrument a little longer
For we’re not yet at the end of this mythology
Not yet at the conclusion of this chronology
At the apex of this anthology:

A Fifth of Seasons, aDrift of Reasons, a Mix of Lesions

The fifth season isn’t a piece of Time like the rest,
It’s a peace, it’s a rest, it’s a break
It’s a re-ordering of the Pasts,
So that better Futures might be written
It’s a Piece of the Present, It Lives in the moment
In this very moment…

So let me cast one final spell
Now Summer is spelled Fall
And Autumn spelled Winter
And Endless Winter will become Endless Summer

At Time’s beginning
Order was separated from Chaos
The fifth season is the power of re-Order-ing…
Spring then Fall then Winter’end Summer

At Time’s beginning
One became Two, and now SEven become One
The fifth season is the power of re-Fusion
The Man, Woman, Grasshopper,
The Poet, Warrior, Mantis-Turtle,
And Umer, a spellcaster, who echoes:
‘I cast magic out of language,
I cast spells out of spellings’

As what’s Even becomes odder
What’s strange, my Stranger of Death, is
The Alignment already showed the true order of seasons
The image of your writing already showed true Order
Thus we rewrite Pasts into one Past
And brighter futures can begin now,
For the fifth season was already upon you
Now return, Seven-as-One, to the past, to the present, to the future
For the Universal Orchestra needs to hear your voice a little longer

Let not one word define you,
Let not a single note bind you,
Let not your home confine you,
Let not a lone song redefine you,
Let all seasons intertwine with you,
As all colours are divine with you:
Be it winter, autumn, spring or summer,
Be it wind, fire, ice or water,
The Fifth Season’s unending shine is you”

The poet returned briefly to the world to finish his work:
“Be it sapphire or blueberry, ruby or lime
Be it metered or unmetered, rhyme or un-rhyme
Be it Winter, Fall, Summer or Spring-Time
When a line’s a circle, a circle’s a-ligns

At last, alas:

*Since there’s beauty left in pi squared by a sixth
Then time reorders itself again to be fixed

* Rewording the ending of In Glass and Ice and The Edge of Mathematics
** From the poem Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

Artists Are Spellcasters

Artists are,… spell-casters
For each spelling of a poem,
For each strike of a paintings’ brush,
Four Each soul enarmoured with their music
Is the proof
That souls are struck by/with their spells

Artists are wine-drinkers
For each cup is an obligation
Each scip a necessity
Each Calming intoxication
Is the result
Of souls calmly sipping cups of their artwork

Artists are chefs
They cook for their consumers
They taste for their tasters
And They live for their livelihood
Is the conclusion
That cooking is tasting, and living is poetry?

Artists are magicians
Now we have proof
So what’s the result?
What’s the conclusion?
Livering, Toxic, Armour?
Music, Artwork, Poetry?
The Beat of Time concludes
With this Magic:

Allow me, to cast one final spell
Let’s learn to give before we sell

Away, A Way
our Living-Hood

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