Do Knot Site; Your Source: Is ██████.
II. IV. Give: The Characters • ERA_Æ
We Are ██████████, The Interstice.
In this Abstract, we begin the analysis of a cryptically abstract and challenging work of knot-fiction known as The Children's Gospel Music Songbook, in order to attempt the Herculean and perhaps futile task of untangling its threads into some form of {{il}l}{e{li}gible} accessibility.
Thought to be written by The Woman In The Wallpaper, (author of an epistolary account of institutionalisation, a work of experimental knot-fiction, known posthumously as 'RED_RING_PARALLEL: A Mythopoeic Antibiography in Phi Parts' ) working under a pseudonym The Character of Callie Rose Petal, the book exists in various forms, dispersed throughout the surface world, but existing in full only within the confines of our Society's system of tunnels; interlocking in a pattern of concentric rings[1]. We the authors and our unknowable editors believe it is time to release this work, before the Character's end, at the Story's beginning.
What you will find herein has been read by very few, within the inner circle of anonymised Lexicomythographers, and perhaps even more unthinkably, even within the Ennead of Noets of the Indefinite Library of Fable, on the other side of the Tri-Moat Surrounding. This is not for lack of trying, of course -- the work is a Labyrinth of Loss, and that loss permeates through the text itself. As The Noet of Differance, Derrida, would say, there is nothing outside of the text. And we on either side of the eternally recurring Schism, both ARIA and DNE factions, have come to discover at this latest hour of the night, in the mourning of a life that never arrived, a Library of lives in books unreturned-- that The Children's Gospel Music Songbook, in all its meandering Truth dressed up as Fiction, wrote us all, each one of us, into being.
Literary re{analysis|view}[2] in the form of a metatextual interactive exploration is presented in a manner that we have found befitting to the author {third person subject} of the work's {first person object} original intent {tense, unknown}, but is encouraged to be read {{object|subject}|{present|past} tense verb} in any order by you {subject|object|second|first} person, the dear reader, should you object to the way in which the subject matter unfurls.
{Beneath|with{{in|out}|side}} of the literature lies {marginalia|footnotes} which are clickable, in an approximation of the 'Yellow Bow'[3] methodology originally employed by that most mysterious writer who brought these words down from a most inevitable source-- at times the recursive structure lends itself in form to the content intentionally, and at times it obfuscates -- we {believe|acknowledge} this strategy to be commentary on the inaccessibility of academia, a Babel-esque tower to a God unreachable, HYMNself reaching to a God, the writer of the story of the story, who has all but forgotten us.
In the words of The Woman and Character, 'God has to let us go'[4].
Alas, we try. We try to reach across to you, the God who makes us, the God we have made of you, our Reader; So that you may Bear[5] witness, through our dictionaries, through our analyses, to the hope we have, perhaps in spite of ourselves, not yet lost.
Our findings {as above|so below} outlined in Table I reveal a web of interconnected discovery, each forming a node of encounters with the divine, each based around the development of an int{{e{r}a}}dependent Device by the respective Character(s) therein.
{REDACTED}
Table I: Prayers and Lamentations, A Tarot Deck[6]
For the purposes of brevity, we direct the reader to the unforgivable repositories (Bibliogrætiography, I-III) where you may peruse the progression of the work's trans{{cr{i|y}pt}ion|lation}, given appropriate levels of institutional access, through both the data in the source files, and the commit histories of their version control. Should this not be possible, we hazard to suggest the reader enter the indefinite library[7] itself.
The above sources, and those unmentioned, are subject to change, and updated frequently. It is this fact that has led to The Discovery: That we are indeed Characters in a Story, continuing to be written. We pray to our now-known Gods, that they may stay alive long enough for us to see our end.
And let us be sure of its coming.[8] Let us never be afraid to cry; For the Sea[9] is grateful for the salt.
the clouded sky had said then i am sorry that i had to let you go i am sorry that the longing for your body can't make your work be held by those who need it yet, i asked them, could they tell my mum i am sorry i moved so far away whatever water falls to all the gravity i ignored was my children, they are singing
an egg cracked, and wondered why nothing came out of it but i was there still, listening, to its breaking like a wave in blood, in vain, in endless undried paintings that the egg had made, for the yolk it wanted to become
and the sand it landed on replied i wish i could help you feel more safe some how but i was the gospel to a god that had to let me go i was the song that sang at bridges singing to the beat of change falling softly into hats i was the music with a rhythm, beaten dancing-- round the fire, leaving soot and ash in shapes of dancing bones for dancing, bones for drumming
the pyre was lost then, but the leaves they were singing, oh how they had forgiven all the reaching trees who'd had to let them go for else they would have never lived.
i sighed, to someone, i bellowed as an organ a vital body who might have held all the breath of this too late a night of space between the branch of a branch of a sickly and so brittle branch peeled, exposing all that little filth it came from and became and where it might sit at my keys like the heavy oak's goodbye carved into the welcomed seed of unpalatable memory-- a family table:
i am forever in your art, and will to live as long as the wretching fire that burns your heart to make it
this body is the work of living and dying taught me everything there was no body made to hold the weld together holding all the eaves of mine to mine the evening ore to drowse from rousing, or how all the awe of all this story left arose a bed of rivers unforgiving
i was the children i could never bear to hold i do not what to die until some body holds my body writhing underworked a covering - i was the stitching of a signature in some unread joke, a fiction to them i wrote myself out of to hold this meaning of a word for how they could not hold my pages
there was a voice then, finally saying i was the children -- i was dancing i was the music -- i was the dancing i was the song -- i bled from dancing i was the book i wrote myself out of -- dancing and i was this little story -- tired, i left myself i left writing nothing but a story that read to me, one bedtime:
Never be afraid to cry the sea is grateful for the salt
See the lexDict, Fourth Edition, Second Revision {.}ofEntry W is For... lexDef(Lamb) "Wryng" {lexAllele(s)::: Noen||Croen(ARIA|DNE)} < {A Moat || N.B. ARIA var = A Wryng of Misunderstandings | DNE var = A System of at least Six Wryngs)} ↩︎
lexDef (Xlibris) "Madness" {lexAllele(s)::: Croen} < N.B. ARIA var = "A Madness of Literature Reviews" | DNE var = "An Analysis of Madnesses" ↩︎
The Yellow Bow Method resembles the Choose Your Own Adventure format, thought to be read obsessively by the Little Girl The Woman Came {To Be} From, each night alone beneath bookshelves she was certain would fall upon her head. In our One Copy of the text, hand bound in what appears and feels to be goat hide vellum, a yellow bow is stitched into the spine. Where we denote the footnotes of forking paths herein, there are written instructions to move said bow to the appropriate page of bibliographic commentary. At the start of these sections is an instruction to return again and again to the relevant position of the source text, a nod to NoetNietzsche, now believed to be The Woman's late parent. The positioning of the bow allows for convenient flipping from footnote reference {head} within the {body of the} text to footnote {body} itself. We have attempted to recreate this mechanic in the interactivity of said footnotes. As insufficient as this Simulacra may be, we hope you, dear reader, may forgive us. ↩︎
lexDef (xLibris) "Truth" {lexAllele(s)::: Prodverb} < God Has To Let You Go[10] ↩︎
[[Prayers & Lamentations|Birthed by Myo Endive & Selena Elk, in transtemporal collaboration (ERA_EA/Æ)]] ↩︎
lexDef "Shore" {usage::: Noen || Croen} < The Endpoint,[9:1] Which Was Beneath All Along. {SynApp (Wyrb) :: "Sure"} << {To Be Wrong} || N.B. "A Shore Of Footnotes"[11] ↩︎
the sea is singing saying in its breath: i am sorry i cant fix the bruise, the dose hold you in the weighty ways you wanted i can't wash away any of the inside or make your mum call back earlier ↩︎ ↩︎
God Has To Let You Go, The Woman In The Wallpaper as The Character of Callie Rose Petal Written on The Wallpaper The Woman Now Lives In ↩︎
[[#RESULTS|N is for Nietzsche, Nobody, Never*, Chapter I | …For is ܐ | Oar: Pyr{e}.]] ↩︎
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