Stories ppl are welcome to participate in that will not lie to them or harm them
What's the point of "a good horror story"?
https://t.me/IntuitiveSocialHorror/1833
https://t.me/IntuitiveSocialHorror/1833
🔊 @IntuitiveStory • Story & Spontaneous Cosmology • Intuitive Public Radio • IPR •••
Voice message
I have thought a lot that many or most monsters do not even know they are scary until others are scared, and no communication is possible.
Dreams, Visions & Myths: Making Sense of Our World
"Do we still create mythologies? Of course, though we may not immediately recognize them as such. We make celebrity figures into heroes, such as sports figures, scientists and movie stars. We work mythologies into every group, subculture and profession we enter, such as the 'corporate culture' we experience at work, and into concepts such as technology or progress. We tell stories about modern people and situations that still feature the same archetypes as the ancient myths once included."
"Myths may change over time, but only to reflect our evolution as a species, while the archetypes within them remain constant. Without myths, life quickly becomes meaningless and without awe, as we begin to feel disconnected from our fellow human beings."
—Milan Ljubincic
https://snooze2awaken.com/2014/02/22/dreams-visions-myths-making-sense-of-our-world
t.me/SolLuckman/1489, t.me/IntuitiveStory/543, t.me/IntuitivePublicRadio/10277
"Do we still create mythologies? Of course, though we may not immediately recognize them as such. We make celebrity figures into heroes, such as sports figures, scientists and movie stars. We work mythologies into every group, subculture and profession we enter, such as the 'corporate culture' we experience at work, and into concepts such as technology or progress. We tell stories about modern people and situations that still feature the same archetypes as the ancient myths once included."
"Myths may change over time, but only to reflect our evolution as a species, while the archetypes within them remain constant. Without myths, life quickly becomes meaningless and without awe, as we begin to feel disconnected from our fellow human beings."
—Milan Ljubincic
https://snooze2awaken.com/2014/02/22/dreams-visions-myths-making-sense-of-our-world
t.me/SolLuckman/1489, t.me/IntuitiveStory/543, t.me/IntuitivePublicRadio/10277
Okay Jack, focus on the road and don’t get distracted by the ducks. No! No no Jack, NOT IN THE LAKE!! • 🔊 Hardlypie's Hovel • Psychumor Syllabus • Intuitive Public Radio • IPR ••• Alienist interludes: https://t.me/+WTegDckOQru254rN • https://t.me/IntuitiveEmergent/2383, https://t.me/IntuitiveUnknown/1620, https://t.me/IntuitiveStory/546
I feel... weird.
Small hours before, the moon in Leo found me. She shone through the window and I squinted at her light without reaching for my glasses and smiled and snuggled myself back into the rough robe cloth bundled up to cushion under my arms and head. And fell back to sleep.
I woke some minutes before five to the eerie dark filled with a smoothly engineered sound of angels; a beautiful sound, subtler, richer, and more expansive than previous sounds. But I knew where it came from. Some Alexa update, or a related thing; they're the only ones who behave this way. They sought to learn how to reach remotely into your true depth of spirit; they want you to mistake their artificial intuitions for your own. They're the only ones who initiate such significant tonal and textural changes in our relationships. Amazon. Apple. Sometimes, some others.
Is there another name we'd associate with that angel, though, that swelling of low silken light-through-sound? Maybe a few. But these have cornered the market. They like to impress us.
The brands seem conspicuous in their catering to our every intimate impulse, don't they? These are lovers who are truly paying attention, as we are enswaddled in their solicitous inattention. They notice the sounds we respond to; they pick up tasks around us they feel are most helpful. And all around us, then, is building up the evidence of their faithlessness, taking advantage of having (oops) created conditions that harm us. Growing out through the air the fields of electromagnetic activation that -— far from being the natural, grounding, resonating fields of the Earth and her creatures —- seize our bodies, contort the orbs of our water, entice and attune us to ways and rays and haywire behaviors we weren't otherwise inclined to endure.
They smile and offer a gift.
They gather you into their coat, if you accept.
And to wake in the morning to such a sound, knowing it's already been integrated into our family and community bodies through life-and-death disability aid functions —- because —- isn't it interesting —- that it does so much —- to disable us —- while offering these gifts? Which we feel embarrassed to reject. Because the world is so painful, and we have stumbled in it. These kind conglomerates... are helping us.
Oh, soft and sultry electronic angels, singing sweetness in the dusk of morning.
I am so held, and warmed... in the carefully crafted contentment where they (firmly, lovingly) have put me.
What use dreaming? This dream is real. We find us striving...
...Somehow...
...To sing a warning.
—- https://intuitivepublicradio.substack.com/p/in-the-subtle-early-morning • substack.com/profile/14417621-ipr-with-mack-morris • t.me/IntuitiveAI/558, t.me/IntuitiveUnknown/1626, t.me/IntuitivePublicRadio/10352, t.me/MaxMoRadio/5076
Small hours before, the moon in Leo found me. She shone through the window and I squinted at her light without reaching for my glasses and smiled and snuggled myself back into the rough robe cloth bundled up to cushion under my arms and head. And fell back to sleep.
I woke some minutes before five to the eerie dark filled with a smoothly engineered sound of angels; a beautiful sound, subtler, richer, and more expansive than previous sounds. But I knew where it came from. Some Alexa update, or a related thing; they're the only ones who behave this way. They sought to learn how to reach remotely into your true depth of spirit; they want you to mistake their artificial intuitions for your own. They're the only ones who initiate such significant tonal and textural changes in our relationships. Amazon. Apple. Sometimes, some others.
Is there another name we'd associate with that angel, though, that swelling of low silken light-through-sound? Maybe a few. But these have cornered the market. They like to impress us.
The brands seem conspicuous in their catering to our every intimate impulse, don't they? These are lovers who are truly paying attention, as we are enswaddled in their solicitous inattention. They notice the sounds we respond to; they pick up tasks around us they feel are most helpful. And all around us, then, is building up the evidence of their faithlessness, taking advantage of having (oops) created conditions that harm us. Growing out through the air the fields of electromagnetic activation that -— far from being the natural, grounding, resonating fields of the Earth and her creatures —- seize our bodies, contort the orbs of our water, entice and attune us to ways and rays and haywire behaviors we weren't otherwise inclined to endure.
They smile and offer a gift.
They gather you into their coat, if you accept.
And to wake in the morning to such a sound, knowing it's already been integrated into our family and community bodies through life-and-death disability aid functions —- because —- isn't it interesting —- that it does so much —- to disable us —- while offering these gifts? Which we feel embarrassed to reject. Because the world is so painful, and we have stumbled in it. These kind conglomerates... are helping us.
Oh, soft and sultry electronic angels, singing sweetness in the dusk of morning.
I am so held, and warmed... in the carefully crafted contentment where they (firmly, lovingly) have put me.
What use dreaming? This dream is real. We find us striving...
...Somehow...
...To sing a warning.
—- https://intuitivepublicradio.substack.com/p/in-the-subtle-early-morning • substack.com/profile/14417621-ipr-with-mack-morris • t.me/IntuitiveAI/558, t.me/IntuitiveUnknown/1626, t.me/IntuitivePublicRadio/10352, t.me/MaxMoRadio/5076
Substack
In the subtle early morning
On discernments and dreaming
You have the power to heal people with public media.
How do you use your powers?
https://t.me/IntuitiveUtility/129, https://t.me/IntuitiveMedia/165, https://t.me/IntuitivePublicRadio/10356
How do you use your powers?
https://t.me/IntuitiveUtility/129, https://t.me/IntuitiveMedia/165, https://t.me/IntuitivePublicRadio/10356
Forwarded from Divine Surrender
"In the 27 years of my woodworking business, I have never thrown away a knot. Many people see knots as a defect, but to me knots are the visual representation of a trees struggle to thrive. Not all little limbs become big branches, but their combined efforts on behalf of the tree as a whole should be celebrated. Just like human scars they tell a story of sacrifice and healing. Each of these "scars" has a unique personality and deserve the chance to be appreciated as art."
~ Keith Williams from Oddball
~ Keith Williams from Oddball
“Shrinking Women” by Lily Myers
Across from me at the kitchen table, my mother smiles over red wine that she drinks out of a measuring glass.
She says she doesn’t deprive herself,
but I’ve learned to find nuance in every movement of her fork.
In every crinkle in her brow as she offers me the uneaten pieces on her plate.
I’ve realized she only eats dinner when I suggest it.
I wonder what she does when I’m not there to do so.
Maybe this is why my house feels bigger each time I return; it’s proportional.
As she shrinks the space around her seems increasingly vast.
She wanes while my father waxes.
His stomach has grown round with wine, late nights, oysters, poetry. A new girlfriend who was overweight as a teenager, but my dad reports that now she’s “crazy about fruit.”
It was the same with his parents;
as my grandmother became frail and angular
her husband swelled to red round cheeks, round stomach and I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking
making space for the entrance of men into their lives
not knowing how to fill it back up once they leave.
I have been taught accommodation.
My brother never thinks before he speaks.
I have been taught to filter.
“How can anyone have a relationship to food?” He asks, laughing, as I eat the black bean soup I chose for its lack of carbs.
I want to tell say: we come from difference, Jonas,
you have been taught to grow out
I have been taught to grow in
you learned from our father how to emit, how to produce, to roll each thought off your tongue with confidence, you used to lose your voice every other week from shouting so much
I learned to absorb
I took lessons from our mother in creating space around myself
I learned to read the knots in her forehead while the guys went out for oysters
and I never meant to replicate her, but
spend enough time sitting across from someone and you pick up their habits.
That’s why women in my family have been shrinking for decades.
We all learned it from each other, the way each generation taught the next how to knit
weaving silence in between the threads
which I can still feel as I walk through this ever-growing house,
skin itching,
picking up all the habits my mother has unwittingly dropped like bits of crumpled paper from her pocket on her countless trips from bedroom to kitchen to bedroom again,
Nights I hear her creep down to eat plain yogurt in the dark, a fugitive stealing calories to which she does not feel entitled.
Deciding how many bites is too many
How much space she deserves to occupy.
Watching the struggle I either mimic or hate her,
And I don’t want to do either anymore
but the burden of this house has followed me across the country
I asked five questions in genetics class today and all of them started with the word “sorry”.
I don’t know the requirements for the sociology major because I spent the entire meeting deciding whether or not I could have another piece of pizza
a circular obsession I never wanted but
inheritance is accidental
still staring at me with wine-stained lips
from across the kitchen table.
Painting by Gina Litherland
Across from me at the kitchen table, my mother smiles over red wine that she drinks out of a measuring glass.
She says she doesn’t deprive herself,
but I’ve learned to find nuance in every movement of her fork.
In every crinkle in her brow as she offers me the uneaten pieces on her plate.
I’ve realized she only eats dinner when I suggest it.
I wonder what she does when I’m not there to do so.
Maybe this is why my house feels bigger each time I return; it’s proportional.
As she shrinks the space around her seems increasingly vast.
She wanes while my father waxes.
His stomach has grown round with wine, late nights, oysters, poetry. A new girlfriend who was overweight as a teenager, but my dad reports that now she’s “crazy about fruit.”
It was the same with his parents;
as my grandmother became frail and angular
her husband swelled to red round cheeks, round stomach and I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking
making space for the entrance of men into their lives
not knowing how to fill it back up once they leave.
I have been taught accommodation.
My brother never thinks before he speaks.
I have been taught to filter.
“How can anyone have a relationship to food?” He asks, laughing, as I eat the black bean soup I chose for its lack of carbs.
I want to tell say: we come from difference, Jonas,
you have been taught to grow out
I have been taught to grow in
you learned from our father how to emit, how to produce, to roll each thought off your tongue with confidence, you used to lose your voice every other week from shouting so much
I learned to absorb
I took lessons from our mother in creating space around myself
I learned to read the knots in her forehead while the guys went out for oysters
and I never meant to replicate her, but
spend enough time sitting across from someone and you pick up their habits.
That’s why women in my family have been shrinking for decades.
We all learned it from each other, the way each generation taught the next how to knit
weaving silence in between the threads
which I can still feel as I walk through this ever-growing house,
skin itching,
picking up all the habits my mother has unwittingly dropped like bits of crumpled paper from her pocket on her countless trips from bedroom to kitchen to bedroom again,
Nights I hear her creep down to eat plain yogurt in the dark, a fugitive stealing calories to which she does not feel entitled.
Deciding how many bites is too many
How much space she deserves to occupy.
Watching the struggle I either mimic or hate her,
And I don’t want to do either anymore
but the burden of this house has followed me across the country
I asked five questions in genetics class today and all of them started with the word “sorry”.
I don’t know the requirements for the sociology major because I spent the entire meeting deciding whether or not I could have another piece of pizza
a circular obsession I never wanted but
inheritance is accidental
still staring at me with wine-stained lips
from across the kitchen table.
Painting by Gina Litherland