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scintillafly
25 May 2011 @ 01:58 pm

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Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt (On the side of a hill in the deep forest green).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground).
Without no seams nor needlework (Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain).
Then she'll be a true love of mine (Sleeps unaware of the clarion call).

Tell her to find me an acre of land (On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Washes the grave with silvery tears).
Between salt water and the sea strands (A soldier cleans and polishes a gun).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather (War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Generals order their soldiers to kill).
And gather it all in a bunch of heather (And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.

Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt (On the side of a hill in the deep forest green).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground).
Without no seams nor needlework (Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain).
Then she'll be a true love of mine (Sleeps unaware of the clarion call).

Tell her to find me an acre of land (On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Washes the grave with silvery tears).
Between salt water and the sea strands (A soldier cleans and polishes a gun).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather (War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (Generals order their soldiers to kill).
And gather it all in a bunch of heather (And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.

(Simon&Garfunkel) 

and thus,

Circa1651 "The Wind Shall Not Blow My Plaid Away", "The Elfin Knight" 
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
He (she) once was a true love of mine.
Tell him (her) to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Without a seam or needle work,
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine.
Tell him (her) to wash it in yonder dry well
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Where water ne'er sprang, nor drop of rain fell
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine.
Tell him (her) to dry it on yonder grey thorn
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Which ne'er bore blossom since Adam was born
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine.
Tell him (her) to find me an acre of land
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Between the salt water and the sea strand
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine
Plow the land with the horn of a lamb
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Then sow some seeds from the north of the dam
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine
Tell him (her) to reap it with a sickle of leather
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And tie up the sheaves with a rope made of heather
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine
If (s)he tells me (s)he can't I'll reply
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
"Let me know that at least you will try;"
Then (s)he'll be a true love of mine
"Love imposes impossible tasks,"
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
"Though never more than your own heart asks,
And I must know you're a true love of mine"
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
He (she) once was a true love of mine.

 
L,
  -A    1341HRS 25 MAY 2011
 
 
Current Location: The Center of the Universe
Current Mood: ecstaticecstatic
Current Music: Simon&Garfunkel "Scarborough Fair"
 
 
scintillafly
20 September 2016 @ 02:06 am
Happy Natal Day, you resistant lug!

Love, www.avatarmuse.com
Your friendly, neighborhood, Christian Buddhist Nun!
Splat!
You've been had!

L,-@
 
 
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: You Are ALREADY There
 
 
scintillafly
CREAMATION
The urge to bilocate can naturally be answered through bilocation itself.  Right now, consciousness is willing, but the flesh is weak.  After 18 double shifts in the past 21 days, the bag of bones is suffering with pneumonia.  The fever has lingered for two weeks now.  Three appointments with the doctor were canx.
Yesterday saw the creamation (sic)- the cremation of a friend.  It should be spelled c-r-e-a-m-a-t-i-o-n.  After all the flowers and money are stuffed into the coffin on top of the embalmed Buddhist corpse of our dear ba noi, and after the morticians ratchet you up level with the door of the cremator, they open the door to the oven, and all the while you are reminding yourself that thank G-d this is not Auschwitz.
It is just the second day of a two day ceremony with the high pitched intonation of the saffron-robed monk chanting prayers and blessings for the dead as well as the living, and the background tones of the reprise sung with the whiny mosquito voices of diminutive Vietnamese girls and women with their pale bleached white skin dressed in black silks and blue pajamas.   It seems these vibrations need a little WD-40, but one does not mind as they lull you into the mechanical nasal hum of their "NAA-MO-AH-DEE-DAH-PHUC-BO-TEA-ROW"  (sic) incantations with the wooden sticks keeping time and the intermittent sound of the tinny gong indicating the proper time to bow in honor and reverence. 
The cream part came when the flowers were too high in profile for the delivery of the disposable coffin, so the morticians unceremoniously stuffed and jammed the floral funerary arrangement flat upon the light blue, painted pine box, and with some difficulty abiding resistance, finally got Madam Le and her orange and white death posies delivered into the fire pit.  They sealed the door with the metal captain's wheel resembling an autoclave of mass destruction on the deck of the crematorium.  Prior to this, slowly, a plunger above the metal tube forced the chain upon which the massively heavy door is lifted into a fail-safe position.  The door is lowered.  The seal is made, and the undertaker, with stoic piety born from the stillness of his professional situational awareness, flips the incineration switch.  Poof!  You are on your way.
One hundred and fifty pounds of human flesh&bones takes about an hour to burn @approximately 1600 degrees F.  If you are concerned about the temperature of the creamator, there is a small rectangular LED indicator @ the forward end of the creamator on the left side of the hatch. There is a second chamber that cares for the exhaust, and no loose carbon is emitted.  It is all connected to two molecules of oxygen and given off as H2O & CO2.  The bricks are serviced annually.  No jewelry is allowed.  There is no odor.  The machine is quiet after the hydraulics are over and the door is shut.  If you stand close, one may hear the fire rumbling.  There is a mandatory cooling down time required between procedures.
There's more.  I am tired.  Simple, whambamthankyou, ma’am cremations run around $1700USD. $5KUSD for the fancy coffin rental and all the other stuff to make the fam happy in their grief.  Then they remove you from the rental and proceed to incinerate you directly.  Each subsequent rental gets a brand new, polyester satin ruched shroud. 
The Hindus and the Buddhists make a party out of it while they all crowd inside of the creamatorium (sic)-(crematorium) to film & photo & gaggle & grieve & bang & chant and say farewell to your molecules.  It is a campfire and you are the marshmallow. The graham crackers and the chocolate are on the altar in the hallway and will remain so for 100 days of mourning.  Girl Scouts are optional.
The Vietnamese males make little to no audible sound as they weep, but the women and the girls make a very high pitched mournful moan that rattles your very own bones and sends your soul to that lonely place in the center of the Earth where the roots of grief are anchored.  It was an honor and privilege to be part of the ceremony.  Pictures were taken only with my eyes, as I feel it morbid to capture the dead.  What are you going to do?  Go home and blow it up and put it in your living room?
I planned my funeral today.  It was pleasantly enjoyable.  The obituary must be paid as a third party fee.  Bummer, right?  The tombstone will say merely "Thank You" and a big honking marble angel will be holding the stone with her head thrown back and her chin up as she looks up and laughs with an open mouth at Heaven under a big blue October sky.
12SEP16 1100HRS-2216HRS EDT,  A Monday with pneumonia and death by "Andromeda Mobius"™ AKA  Andrea R. Campbell
©2007-2016
 
 
Current Location: Venus
Current Mood: weirdweird
Current Music: Nothing Compares 2 U
 
 
scintillafly
25 August 2016 @ 05:03 pm
You are sucking my Paloma.
My eyes are melting out of their sockets as you roll around in my sheets.
The Irises are blooming in the height of the good old Indian Summertime.
Here I am with my tootsie wootsie,
Babe.
The art is flying upon the walls.
The walls are flying us.
We are flying the walls.
Sweat rolls off of our bodies in buckets
As the electric fan takes the Mississippi Queen ride across Andromeda
All the way to The Southern Cross.
Pining, we enter the wake of the riverboat,
And surf like spotted dolphins
Diving and spinning
In the eternal wakefulness of near consciousness-
A lucid dream-
As Pablo is ticking my neruda in
New Zealand.
Faith, you say, is the aphrodesiac.
Emily is awake now and not receiving any visitors.
When you disembark from the boat,
Remember to carry my heart with you
Since that mandolin is rough around the edges.

El Aye!

25AUG16, A Thursday, 1616HRS EDT
Copyright 2007-2016
Frank L. Stellars
 
 
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Paloma Faith Only Love Can Hurt Like This
 
 
scintillafly
15 January 2014 @ 01:23 pm
VoicePost
316K 1:55
(no transcription available)
 
 
 
scintillafly
15 January 2014 @ 12:40 pm
Add a subject in a voice of supplication.‏

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Scintilla Fly
11:39 AM
[Keep this message at the top of your inbox]
To: OK Scintilla Fly, Avram (Noam) Chomsky, Frank Stellars FranklinLibertyStellars The Anarchist's Anarchist and Partisan
Picture of Scintilla Fly

Sam Johnson AND FLAMING LACE



Sam Johnson strolls into my room with his big red balloon,

And catches me cinching my corset.

Wait. Wait. I say. Not quite ready today

For the heady sashay through my charcoal briquette.

He grabs me a few fine times and tugs on my lines

Like a barge toting Key limes soused before sunset.

Oh Dear! You’re in here! Loused, we both forget.

He’s tangled in mine before I have time

To finish the cinch of my purple corset.

The balloon pops quite loud

Before I’m allowed

To tighten my lines

And forget.

Sam Johnson, I say, you must go away

Before we are fraught with regret.

Nonsense! He cheers and then nibbles my ears

Like a rabbit in Alice’s play.

Tangled in line, he’s tackled my lips,

And caught, I allow him to stay.



He sheds my corset

And lights my briquette

With a bright blue flame

Lit for me.

And as you now see

These lines flame for thee

As the fire Sam has set.

Remember to forget

Blowing my briquette

While You burn This corset

On the sea.

1109HRS EST, 15 January 2014, (Paternal Natal Day)

Andrea Rebecca Campbell

©2014



Sam Johnson AND FLAMING LACE



Sam Johnson strolls into my room with his big red balloon,

And catches me cinching my corset.

Wait. Wait. I say, Not quite ready today

For the heady sashay through my charcoal briquette.

He grabs me a few fine times and tugs on my lines

Like a barge toting Key limes soused before sunset.

Oh Dear! You’re in here! Loused, we both forget.

He’s tangled in mine before I have time

To finish the cinch of my purple corset.

The balloon pops quite loud

Before I’m allowed

To tighten my lines

And forget.

Sam Johnson, I say, you must go away

Before we are fraught with regret.

Nonsense! He cheers and then nibbles my ears

Like a rabbit in Alice’s play.

Tangled in line, he’s tackled my lips,

And caught, I allow him to stay.



He sheds my corset

And lights my briquette

With a bright blue flame

Lit for me.

And as you now see

These lines flame for thee

As the fire Sam has set.

Remember to forget

Blowing my briquette

While You burn This corset

ON THE SEA.

1109HRS EST, 15 January 2014, (Paternal Natal Day)

By Andrea R. Campbell aka Frank Liberty Stellars

©2014



L,-A



ThAT is BEING "DIFFICULT".
 
 
Current Location: The Moon
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Music of The Spheres
 
 
scintillafly
06 August 2011 @ 09:26 pm
Come, fly. Again. I AM
HERE WITH YOU
NOW.
Today is the seventh of August, 0111HRS EDST. Where was I? I was with Doctor Pool. Mrs. America of Georgia in mourning. Korea circling the drain. Chocolate Dauschunds (sp?) and Teepees. A Federal Witness. Two lawyers. A dead baby. An adopted son. A bunch o' idiots that dropped the BIG ball. A chiropractor. A lost child. A communications specialist. A bunch o' fuzz. The D.A. Some guy named Lord. Dawn, Maggs, Erica, a prostitute, a piano, three murderers, two Marines, a nuclear Naval dude, and a Partridge in a Pear tree. Lord Have Mercy! I did it, and I got it all done. My nails are a MESS. I looked like a bad Macon prostitute AND "Special Ed" called while I was working, and HE missed HIS engagement. Very funny, nonetheless. (frag.) You get it. I KNOW IT. Sheet. Happy Birthday.
If I had it in me to record it, I would. Decision pending. My tired has tired.
"SoySauce" LIVES in raspberries and figs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Hope you favor the new T.L. buck boots.)

Birthday Psalm

I remembered when We knitted you inside the womb.

We were there when you escaped to your lonely room,

And as you faced life’s questions, confusing you, unanswered,

We held you safe in Our hand so still if you per chance stirred.

We loved you when unlovable, and when rejected you fell

We opened Heaven's Gates to save you from your created hell.

We stood by fast and caught you well when you plunged the surly depth

We gave you breath unceasingly as you met the face of Death

We backed you in the wind and sheltered you from frosty cold

We stirred the youth inside your bones and strengthened marrow old.

When you ran to farthest reaches and saw no light in dark,

We burned a fettered flame for you and stirred you with a spark

When saline tears ran racing down your pale and fevered cheeks,

We took upon your yoke and carried it for miles, nay even weeks.

When all your wells ran dry- dusty gray ashes on your precious head,

We sent a favored rain to wash you off and give you life instead

When you forgot who loved you and those whom you loved

We sent stars falling from the sky, and they, as comets, proved

You were always born in Our hands as We had formed you in Our hearts.

We sourced you, Beloved Son, and drew you from the holy parts.

6AUG2011 2124HRS A.R.Campbell
COPYRIGHT 2013 REVISED


Happy Birthday.

Love,
-Andrea
 
 
Current Location: The Center of The Universe
Current Mood: I know. It needs some commas. Little bitogrammarr
Current Music: Silence.
 
 
scintillafly
06 August 2011 @ 09:26 pm
Come, fly. Again. I AM
HERE WITH YOU
NOW.
Today is the seventh of August, 0111HRS EDST. Where was I? I was with Doctor Pool. Stacy, Beth, Jerre. Mrs. America of Georgia in mourning. Korea circling the drain. Chocolate Dachshunds (sp?) and Teepees. A Federal Witness. Two lawyers. A dead baby. An adopted son. A bunch o' idiots that dropped the BIG ball. A chiropractor. A lost child. A communications specialist. A bunch o' fuzz. The D.A. Some guy named Lord. Dawn, Maggs, Erica, a prostitute, a piano, three murderers, two Marines, a nuclear Naval dude, and a Partridge in a Pear tree. Lord Have Mercy! I did it, and I got it all done. My nails are a MESS. I looked like a bad Macon prostitute AND "Special Ed" called while I was working, and HE missed HIS engagement. Very funny, nonetheless. (frag.) You get it. I KNOW IT. Sheet. Happy Birthday.
If I had it in me to record it, I would. Decision pending. My tired has tired.
"SoySauce" LIVES in raspberries and figs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Hope you favor the new T.L. buck boots.)

Birthday Psalm

I remembered when We knitted you inside the womb.

We were there when you escaped to your lonely room,

And as you faced life’s questions, confusing you, unanswered,

We held you safe in Our hand so still if you per chance stirred.

We loved you when unlovable, and when rejected you fell

We opened Heaven's Gates to save you from your created hell.

We stood by fast and caught you well when you plunged the surly depth

We gave you breath unceasingly as you met the face of Death

We backed you in the wind and sheltered you from frosty cold

We stirred the youth inside your bones and strengthened marrow old.

When you ran to farthest reaches and saw no light in dark,

We burned a fettered flame for you and stirred you with a spark

When saline tears ran racing down your pale and fevered cheeks,

We took upon your yoke and carried it for miles, nay even weeks.

When all your wells ran dry- dusty gray ashes on your precious head,

We sent a favored rain to wash you off and give you life instead

When you forgot who loved you and those whom you loved

We sent stars falling from the sky, and they, as comets, proved

You were always born in Our hands as We had formed you in Our hearts.

We sourced you, Beloved Son, and drew you from the holy parts.

6AUG2011 2124HRS A.R.Campbell
COPYRIGHT 2013 REVISED


Happy Birthday.

Love,
-Andrea
 
 
Current Location: The Center of The Universe
Current Mood: I know. It needs some commas. Little bitogrammarr
Current Music: Silence.
 
 
scintillafly
VoicePost
339K 2:04
(no transcription available)

On this day, she felt the longing in her sinus cavities
As the membranes began to condensate
With the damp fog
Of a morning missed.
On this day, through the multiple layers of personal responsibility
And adult pretense
She felt the child fold.
On this day, hot in the dry scorching heat of the Black Hills
And with the breeze of buzzards
Lofting for thermals,
She reached out her hand
To wipe the sweat from the brow
Of the broken miscreant.
Still he held
Fast in his place
Broken in her embrace
And when she knew he had relaxed into letting go,
She held him ever tight-
The tightest she had known-
A child
A wayward lover
A horse thief
A broken hearted
Pitiful soul-
She drew the bowl of water
And he drank with the unquenchable thirst
Known only to him alone.
He would not let go
While in her hand
So slow, so tight
As he took flight like buzzards do
Finding the perfect breeze
Above the trees
Underneath
The skies so blue.
She let him go,
And
He
Flew.
15 July 2013, A Mondayishness
A.R.Campbell
© 2013
Breathing through it.
Fly above it.
Glad to do it.
L,-A
Tag. You are "IT".
© 2013 M
 
 
scintillafly
VoicePost
209K 1:18
(no transcription available)

Smudge me with the Summer wind
Brushing past your lips
For every tree you see
With you I leave
For every bird that flutters by
With you I am now winged
For every note that plays below
Your heart knew all the chords
When I could reach with Nothing left
I knew you'd get it right
When skies dumped hail
Like ping pong of the ball
And you stood paddleless and bare
I knew you knew it all
The scales were weighed
And weighing still
We'd place you in the balance
A thousand years
A million yesterdays
And none would come
As close as you
For bringing me to tears.
0228HRS 20 July 2013
L,A.
Copyright 2013