Piggeon Bridge

Origins

Tribidge A little wayhardy

Pandemonoption

WIAR2.1 HH

June 10, 2018

“Paradox testing / survival matching.”

—Inventor's Master Permutation

“Impossibility” --Zheng Guo

“Sorcery” ---Sorcerers

“Proof of God" --Pippin

• Pigeon Bridge
• Doubt
• NOED NLKFFE I
• Jagarduo.
• Pantheoris.
• NOED I
• erif
• Bought from the ground
• that’s what it means
• Piggeon
• He took drugs.
• Holy overdose. But it’s not right. Some thigh bone is too mystery. Some thing is not historic. He is just saying time-travel was. No, perpetual motion isn’t real. He repeats it, no I repeat it in the Logos. I’m Mercury. Except I’m an exceptional error that looks similar. So,
• So, he is ambergris demon. Except, I am that demon. So,
• He is historic landmark number 131315. Except that is an aberration.
• So,
• So,
• So,
• That is all. He is just gone. He doesn’t exist here.
• He is an ancient figure-motif of nihil-nothing. He invented the Gone.
• He is the nature of everything, except he was abused too much.
• He is just the answer written so many times it doesn’t matter worth smoking.
• He is the figure of the Logos, except written as a phoenix in red amber. Except, not that good.
• So, I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.
• Possibly he invented perpetual motion really recently. Really, tiny. Like, gone tiny. He is some kind of spectre of recent history. Something so tiny, and so gone, that you would never spook it with a wand. Not once, not ever. Not even in anger. Not for several petals of an imperfect flower. Not without thinking. Not without knowing. You would never really get there. Never, even once would you scream how to get similar. It just isn’t possible. Unless, he’s really conscious. So, he’s some kind of lifeform that is barely Nathan.
• Nathan is his name. He has to be Nathan. Except he’s just someone with that name. He’s not cursed like the book we call the witch’s bible. He is something ancient but new. Sort of old in the written records, yet entirely new in consciousness. So, he is a new ghost or deity. Maybe someone very random or poor. Someone that couldn’t fight on this bridge. Someone that couldn’t even pay entry if he wished it with his heart blown open. It’s just not that likely. So, he fought on this bridge thinking it was the meaning of his life. Really it was a mistake, a mistake in the Logos or something very similar to our Logos. Only, he was a deity from our standpoint, and quite dissimilar from his. He was just a hooker of amber. Except there is no explanation. So, he was really truly divine or more likely immortal. I hate to forsake his name if he’s a Luciferous being, but most likely he is a human immortal. He doesn’t know it yet, but we are casting his name out of the book of life because we think he is an ancient God yet possibly someone without a proper name. So, he is something from Hell, and we forsake him, because he’s not of the true Amber-Nature we swore to. So, I forsake him but I love him. He knows something I don’t and I wish I could conceive it’s mystery in my brain. Not my heart, for there is something slippery. I’m shivering. I’m wearing thin. Let’s leave. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him. Something is wrong. Like that name Piggeon. It’s just not normal. And it doesn’t sit well on the bridge. Why is he standing? Why does that mean standing? I think he is the Stork, the tall stork I saw once, too tall and yet too friendly somehow. Too tall and too friendly like he is standing over drugs. He is the drug dealer. I see him now. He is too tall and too friendly. I will not tell him my numbers. I cannot. I cannot. I can. NoOO.
• I can see it you’re dying. Whye?
• He was singing something. Inventor Not f I knew. I could not hear the K and it was there. It was like the k and f were marked against each other. Weirdly similar. Like walking nearby. There was a shade, a shade I found familiar. It was my mother’s name-shade. And it drew closer. And then it put me in a vicelike grip and asked for something. I wasn’t sure what it wanted. I look from affair, and I see nothing. The shade, it’s abysmal nameture, is threaded bare like a weird diabolical. It knows something I don’t. Some trick of the moonlight, some ancient gesture. It doesn’t think my name. It doesn’t know who I am. It asks for my spirit of departure. It asks me to go somewhere I did not venture. It touches me and thinks I’m dead, but it thinks the dead part is so much living. I couldn’t go. I felt sorry, but I was happy and glad. It was someone I knew. It thought it was my mother. It was glad like a man, but it looked like a tall figure of a woman. I couldn’t be gladder that it was there, and that it left. But it was not my mother, and that haunts me. I’m afraid of it still, in this peculiar way, like it always dwelt here in this forest. It’s picture looks like an Ent or someone taller than an Ent, but somewhat peculiar, like some old devil I knew once. Sort of hobbish, or graven like an old rug stone. It has that glimmerick of purpose which made me fear the Eldish and the people that break dishes. It’s that old truth-sign which means love only in purpose with death. It’s a sacred rune of Hitler and marked with names from Jews. I could call it old, but it is not written any older than my newborn son. He was taken away, and I fear if I follo I will learn too much death. Not suffering, that is the fearful part. It is written in suffering but I have guarded against it. It is like a dark elvish trick. It could be pain, most likely not. Most likely some kind of change rune that takes me far into darkness. I cannot keep it the same way, it kept with beauty too terrible and too infrequent. Those infrequent whores of the steppes who know too much. They are forbidden. And we should not laugh at them. They are too young, that is their secret, and I forsook it before I thought a proper deity was possible. They are the forbidden in my nature, and I cannot take them on. They seem to ask for the ‘they’ that part of me that is riddled with secrets. It is uncertain in the Logos, and it is the part that does my bidding. They gain from me, and they are older. They do not know that I am. IF KNOTS WERE MOUNTAINS WE WOOD KNOW THESE TRUE ETHES. THE SECRET IS SCI FICTION IT’S AS YET UNPLUMBED IN WHATEVER LANGUAGE. AMERI-CORE IS NOT A WHORE TO ME, IT IS A WOMAN, AND IT DOES KNOW SCI FICTION.

“Protestantism" --Ann Bolyn

“Complexity" --Marie Antoinette

“Infinity" --Euler

“The writing on the wall" --F.H.