Give Me A Lever And a Place To Stand, Series II Give Me a Lever And A Place To Stand: 12 "Who lives in the vault? Our dreams. Who exploits the glob? The Jaguar of life itself. The glob is thus surely not vapidity merely. It is the secret root of "ontological crystal." Can there be a Glob whose exploits turn Glob to intelligence and bless with mind the Mole and bring to an end intransigent Vapidity?" Wrench Boy's questions must advance to Saturation. Vapidity itself began to sprout small Violets. Crystal tried so hard to realize her own name, that no Vapid Refuse undermine the Globe that is her perfect nature. White Noise that followed her everywhere Bearing a tincture from Black Box, yet Black Lake remains intransigent however Noise does seem merely Vapidity to Wrench Boy. Each episode must proceed to its point of Saturation.  The Vault lined with crystals would be a Black Box. Exploitation does not yet appear to be but Vapid Exaggeration. Exploit that. But show the exaltation of Crystal above the Noise of the world? The world was once a Globe, a Fence about one's Violets. Crystal holds her mind beyond itself so as to seem a Black Box, a source of many dreams, not hyperdimensional, if elegant, Big Noise only.  Hammerhead's at rest as his Glob. He persists in a state of alarm, poised, unable or unwilling, to hazard the next step. Wrench Boy Refuses to rotate the fellow's Globe. The questions of all of us accrue to him; that is, he asks them. The identity of Nations is like a proliferation of Moles-- rats really-- in an over-populous metropolis. The true Glob, is at rest in itself, impassive, if not intransigent, ripe, in fact for deft configuration.  Wrench Boy will not Refuse to use his African Rattle to further our general inquisition. "I'll work my dreams," thought Wrench Boy. "I'll entertain whatever Melee exceeds Exaggeration. My dream: that the world is full of Moles, till I am wakened by The Bell. I don't think I know this."  Jaguars prowl in the form of hidden thinkers searching the Vapidity of Tongues still to be heard a-chattering through the Glob.  The Zoo has not reconvened in spite of the stream of ingenuity aroused with some assiduity to force it do so. What impends once again waits in its closet. The meaning of Black Box is a Black Box. Give Me A Lever And A Place To Stand: 13 Hammerhead gestates beyond his multiply instantiated desperation. No African Rattle yet can agitate his Abstraction. Initiation has long since carried Crystal across her Initial habilitation and beyond her Closet of vertiginous, magical Tongues. Her further initiation abstracts Initiation from the worldless Melee such a Closet might hold in store. Jaguar Refuses to stay in his Closet but leaps eternally from Black Box as if he were one of the Tongues the Closet allows in its familial darknesses and dusts-- the Fullness of a Last Initiation-- The Great Return to Black Lake where the intimate figure of Wrench Boy rides his Mole forever about the lip of it-- these images might be stored in anyone's Closet under cover of which Jaguar stages an intricate public Refusal.  There seem to be instructions for each of us. I am to proliferate distraction. Each thought, one Vault. Initially a Melee preceding or coming after Initiation: Concentration, originally a Fence around a place where Wrench Boy separates his Jaguars from the random Refuse collected in mind's Closet, formed into a vast Glob of dust, an extra-galactic Melee. Outer Space is like an African Rattle-- outer relative to what though? Fullness Closets Jaguars.  The Dream Closet cannot make Hammerhead quake. He is immured against the Noise of existence. In his closet, he just watches Melee.  Violet holds Noise tight in the nut between her purple petals.  A dusty Closet is what remains of The Zoo. This portends to impede the next Initiation, but a Bell resonates across the vast space that opens the mind of Wrench Boy. Wrench Boy Concentrates until he skries up Wrench Girl. Together they contemplate the progress of the Nations. Give Me A Lever And A Place To Stand: 14 The Globe no longer provides a place to stand. A Vault and its cognitive Noise lies hollow under the Grass. We wag our tongues but the Grass blows west when the Bell rings-- an empty lot where the Zoo had been, brown Grass, disconsolate wind Noise among the Grass blades, a random proliferation of Violets, desolation indeed, were it not for the Crystal Bell sound to recall an ancient Fullness and the Bell itself that Wrench Girl recovered from the lot and rang as an aid to Concentration one night while medicating her syzygy at a certain spot on vacant Grass with Mole and Jaguar in a move to reinvigorate Melee. Mole rang the Bell three times and Crystal was suddenly with them and that sense of Ancient Fullness.  But still no place to stand--a Fence where Jaguars assemble in Jaguar's vivid intelligence-- an aid indeed to a kind of Concentration-- a fist full of Violets-- though the Nation itself-- a Melee of Moles and random Bells in a crowded metropolis, whose essence was nevertheless more like so many vacant lots seemingly unfit for any sort of Initiation except that the Grass if properly contextualized, if one were seated back straight on mat or chair-- the session circumscribed and dedicated to an ontology transcendent from Crystal-- supporting Concentrated Distraction-- well-prepared, the Grass-- dedicated to an elegant inquiry-- the Valut Below lined with crystal-- Black Box -- Black Lake The Vault -- a fist full of Violets in everyone's left forepaw-- all this propaedeutic to another kind of Nation-- a place to stand, indeed-- An African Rattle in one hand, high overhead-- a Bell in the other, where, but in front of one's heart?-- the social circumstance something like a Glob; that is to say, without undue discrimination-- all unruly difference resolved by the presence of Black Lake-- all dissonance resolved in the sound of the Bell-- each participant accommodated if she carry a fist full of Violets. You could hide in a Closet, certainly-- some people do that a lot-- but the Bell does bring Concentration and a wealth of healing Dreams. In any case the Closet was no place for Jaguar, whose distraction was rather a kind of obsession with Abstraction as such and the notion that if only Hammerhead would come to the vacant Grass, we could find him a fist full of Violets and the Grass at that spot would rewire his head . . . Give Me A Lever And A Place To Stand: 15 "To initiate Hammerhead bring Black Lake to him." Been tried. It brought him something other than Infinite Fullness. He stared straight at it but all he saw was the vacant lot where the Zoo was to have been-- Fullness for him meant Fences-- and if dreamy fantasms of Fullness were rising from Black Lake-- he had no inkling of Black Box-- "Those Fences," he quarreled, "are meant to tighten Tongues and accelerate an adequate state of Concentration-- Fences to tame loose Jaguars and frustrate Dreams." "A Fence should be like a Closet," we thought, "to emphasize Fullness," but all he saw was Melee and a dark unsatisfied Crystal, albeit a fistful of Violets was proffered to him perpetually, a Fenceless Melee of Tongues ungraced by Fullness.  A Bell rang straight through our Dreams. A Fence of glass then of light no longer like a Closet. An African Rattle sprung up from the Grass. Quick-tongued creatures unhampered by Closet or Fence.  Wrench-Boy, light-hearted with Syzygy continued to elaborate his inquiry: "Shall I ride my Mole right up to Hammerhead, clean his Closet with the exuberant sound of this new-moan African Rattle? "Shall we all find Fullness in Abstraction, Truth through Excavation? "How far can I ride the vanishing clang of The Bell? Or is Fullness alone from Black Box? "When I set up a Fence, I find my Tongue. There is no termination to sweet Melee." Silent Syzygy listened. He paused for reflection, then continued his questions: "Shall I congregate a Nation where darkest Crystal can sublime an ontology of Crystal? "If I enter the Vault at last-- hear-tell it's buried beneath a luminous Fence and that to do so entails severe Initiation-- no scurrilous Mole can scurry under that fence-- and shall it prove a Black Box and tell us Why?"  Suddenly: Noise Glob Distraction Bummer! Red-Haired Melee raised her freckled arms and broke the Fence. The Vacant Lot was vacant no more but sparked with weird little creatures-- poisonous plants in their forepaws-- ominous screeching and grim insinuations lurking round the edge of mental Fullness. First Interval Alone on Grass in front of The Old Hotel Jaguar interjected, abstractedly, addressing the absences in the air: "Can we have an Interval?" Certainly. "I am just a little girl, I am just a little boy, and when we make our fingers touch, it is not only we who disappear." Whistfully he remembered this. Wrench Boy/ Wrench Girl in syzygy-- one glob to one globe of light-- She, inspiration for inquiry, not witness only, but the questions were hers, he but a bolt or lug nut to her torque-untwining cloven paw and was it she who put the questions? -- waterfall to water-wheel lug nut to wrench -- The issuance was light and its occultation -- dappled light and shadow on a way. No Man is Jaguar's shadow -- waterfall to water-wheel lugnut to wrench. Jaguar sighed and absconded with himself into the light. Give Me A Lever And A Place To Stand: 16 Every world its own principle of inquiry. In place of Grass, one stony goddess amidst a blather of attitudes. Who spins the Globe? The Mole concentrates and holds his own Dream like a monarch aloof above his Nation. My African Rattle, radically concentrated, enables its State. Concentration is not a means: Snap! And suddenly you are it. And the Mole can no more Concentrate Black Box or Great Nation for you-- For you have actuated yourself as No Man and the monster goes back to his Closet and there's no more pretense of a Nation.  A change in the weather: Storm clouds in Crystal-- a racket of Rattles out of Africa. Consolidation of adversarial submoieties. Ancient upstart Nations clang a thousand cracked bells. Fragmentation and dispersion renders Concentration trivial, local, little clumps of Violets merely, creolization of Tongues only just now come to maturation-- they wag in the outback. Wrench Boy stands on his rock amazed. I take Violet out of the Nation. Oh when will No Man come out of his Closet?  Weather clears. Black Lake displays Black Box. Discernment requires Concentration. The attitude of No Man. Heal the Bell and have your Initiation. Clear the Fence and hear all Tongues essentialized beyond mere Abstraction. When Black Box Concentrates, Jaguar leaps through the Melee, Glob glows, when Black Box Concentrates, Wrench Boy/Girl/Boy in syzygy happens upon Hammerhead. Danger: Another kind of Nation: Grass Grows Melee. Let Nation, rather, pass through Black Box.  After Great Distance a field with four-square Fence or circular. At the center just like a magic tree an African Rattle. Make this your sign for the Nation, then ring your bell. A Vault will open under the field and its Fence.  All Tongues are Noise save Wrench Boy's.  Abstraction will be Distraction till abstract Goddess stays put on grass among a blather of attitudes to complete Abstraction. Second Interval There is no last word but Initiation comes at the end. The company assembles at the rim of Black Lake. No wind. An absorption of all imagery sucked as light itself into the antithetical blackness. The fence, four-square and circular, the rattling tree in its center my instruction, distraction, misdirection, "Look over there!" where the wind is a bird that leaps into the air if you see it the noise of your eyes sends it packing. Initiation pertains to us all, the whole comitatus committed to an invisible excellency-- our noise is the world.