Meme syncs: Good Times Roll, Reality Temple, Blue Wizards

In his September 2023 post "Asenath vs. the Son of Baal-ox within the Sawtooth Mountains" (on the old, public blog), William Wright tells a story, which he believes took place in 2020, about Asenath defeating a Balrog in the Sawtooth Mountains and successfully bringing out what he was then calling the Sawtooth Stone. After this, he mentions the Cars song "Good Times Roll" and connects it with this stone:

The day after the successful mission of Asenath and her return home (April 22) a few Good Beings seemed really happy with the state of affairs.  After communicating a few thoughts, they referenced a well known song by The Cars "Good Times Roll", by saying basically just that:  "Good times to roll!"

The reference actually gained a bit more meaning and humor to me only earlier this year.  I had actually not connected the Sawtooth Stone with the stone cut from the mountain without hands (referenced in one of my earlier posts) until just a few months ago, for whatever reason.  D&C 65:2 is where we get the very Mormon reference of that stone rolling forth to the ends of the Earth:

The keys of the kingdom of God are committed unto man on the earth, and from thence shall the gospel roll forth unto the ends of the earth, as the stone which is cut out of the mountain without hands shall roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth.

I now believe that the Beings who said that were having fun in tying the title and lyrics of that song to the Stone.  A path had now been cleared for the Stone, which will create some Good Times, to do some rolling.  

Later, in August 2024, Bill would decide that the Sawtooth Stone is red in color and begin referring to it as the Rose Stone instead.

This morning (Tuesday morning here, still Monday in many countries), I checked a couple of blogs and found a meme post illustrated with this image:

There's that same line, "Let the Good Times Roll," and the picture is a skeleton holding what looks like a glowing red ball or stone -- a pretty clear link to Bill's own use of that song title.

The skeleton looks a bit demonic, and I wondered if it could be a synchronistic nod to the Balrog featured in Bill's story, and if pre-Peter Jackson artists had ever portrayed the Balrog with skeleton-like features. I ran a couple of searches for vintage illustrations of the Balrog scene. Nothing skeletal turned up, but I did find this very strange 1993 illustration by the Russian artist Sergei Lukhimov:

There's a lot that's strange about this picture -- for example, the fact that the Balrog looks like a cross between a flying monkey from The Wizard of Oz and Dark Helmet from Spaceballs -- but the main thing that caught my eye was the eight-rayed "star anise" nimbus emanating from Gandalf's wand.

Included in the meme post was this meta reference to that weird Reality Temple meme:

There was also this, which reminded me of "Two cunning wise ones, 'Wizards,' Blue gowned":

WanderingGondola is posting

Some time ago, the commenter who goes by WanderingGondola announced that she was starting a blog, and I put a link in the sidebar. She didn't post anything for a very long time, though, and I got out of the habit of checking it regularly. Today I discovered that her first proper post -- "Overarching views, part 1," dealing with her approach to Christianity, Tolkien, and the Book of Mormon -- is up. It was actually published on October 9, but I didn't see it until just now.

Signal Graces: The Rosary as a sync magnet

From time to time, I’ve run into the expression “signal graces” in connection with the Rosary. The first of the 15 promises given by Our Lady to Blessed Alain de la Roche is:

Those who faithfully serve me by the recitation of the Rosary shall receive signal graces.

I had always assumed that signal was being used in the ordinary adjectival sense of “striking” or “remarkable.” I’ve recently discovered, though, that most people understand it as referring to signals as a form of communication, and that in practice signal graces is a Catholic way of saying synchronicity. For example, Sober Catholic defines it thus:

A “signal grace” is a free gift from God (grace) that is extraordinary in nature and evident in some manner (signal). It may be a visible sign or deep interior feeling that a prayer has been answered or a direction you’ve been seeking has been given. Another name for signal grace is “God-incidence,” a play on “coincidence” as with God there are none, because God actually works in that mysterious intersection where seemingly unrelated events in space and time meet up.

A website called Signal Graces has this to say:

What are signal graces? I bet you've had signal graces before and just called them coincidences. What if that coincidence was God trying to encourage you or communicate with you? What if you could count on God communicating with you in this way? It turns out you can!

I was not aware of this apparently common Catholic concept when I wrote this on January 23 of this year:

Earlier this month, after more than a year of praying the Rosary every day, I decided to stop for a while just to see what would happen and to prove to myself that it hadn't become a superstitious compulsion. The main effect I noticed was that syncs stopped as if turned off with a tap. (I wish I'd known that trick back when I was trying to make new syncs stop for a while!)

My breakthrough into a state of more-or-less constant synchronicity occurred well before I took up the Rosary, but it’s still interesting that taking a break from the Rosary caused a break in the syncs.

Leo quoted that January post of mine in explaining how he, too, decided to give the Rosary a try, in his post “Praying like Tolkien (and WJT).”

As an example of this Rosary-sync connection, Leo — who often makes a point of saying that he is not a sync guy like Bill and me — just happened to publish this first post of his about the Rosary on October 7. You may know that date as the Tsar’s birthday or the anniversary of last year’s Middle Eastern unpleasantness, but to Catholics it means something else:

Comfort mask subverts imagination

As machine-translation technology improves, you don't see as much good old-fashioned Engrish as you used to. I saw this the other day, though:

It's a pretty literal translation. It says "comfort" (舒適) at the top, then a picture of a mask, and then "subvert" (顛覆) and "imagination" (想像) at the bottom.

The intended meaning, which it took me a second to get, is that these masks are more comfortable than you can possibly imagine. The word whose basic meaning is "subvert" can also be used in the sense of "defy," as in "defy understanding," "defy description," etc.

On this rock

William Wright posted about some dreams he had in "Going swimming and Silver Stein Books." I mentioned in a comment that Silverstein was a common Jewish name, and then Bill thought of Shel Silverstein, who is probably best known as a children's author but who also did various other things, such as drawing cartoons for Playboy and writing some well-known songs performed by other artists (most notably "A Boy Named Sue" and "The Cover of the Rolling Stone"). I never read any of Silverstein's books as a child, my parents having correctly identified him as someone to whom children should give a wide berth, so I know him mainly for the two songs mentioned. "The Cover of the Rolling Stone" is very well-written, and of course the title -- a "rolling stone" which is also something you can read -- fits right in with Bill's ideas.

Bill's dream was specifically about Silver Stein books, though, so I searched for some of his children's poems. One of the ones I found caught my eye:

The narrator of the poem loses his head and can’t find it because he no longer has eyes with which to look or a brain with which to think. In the he decides to "sit down / On this rock / And rest for just a minute" -- the joke being that the "rock" is actually the missing head.

This made me think of Peter for two reasons. First, back in August I posted "Where is Peter's mind?" connecting Peter with that Pixies song and the idea of a missing mind or head. Second, the Silverstein poem devotes a whole line to the words “On this rock,” which is a familiar turn of phrase:

And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it (Matt. 16:18).

Only after making those connections did I check Bill’s latest post and discover that he, for entirely different reasons, has also connected Silverstein with Peter. The title of the post is “Shel Silverstein, Michael’s Book, and Peter.”

I remembered that I had once used Silverstein on this blog as a general reference to Jews, but at first I couldn’t find where. It turns out it was actually the closely related name Silberstein, and it was in the March 2023 post “An odd stereotype from H. G. Wells: Orientals live fast, die young.” The post also has to do with quicksilver, or mercury.

An adopted baby and two whales

On October 9, William Wright posted “Whales,” which included the first page of a comic book his son is writing about Super Kid:

Once there was a father, mother, and a baby. But a few seconds later, the world was ending, so for the baby’s safety they put him in a volcano. The volcano exploded, sending the baby to Earth 2, where whales took him in. He got older and became Super Kid.

In the post, Bill highlighted the panel that says “where whales took him in,” which shows the baby and two whales. Using the whales to get a sense of scale, we can see that’s one really big baby.

Today, October 11, I was going through some books at my school and found a tall tale about Alfred Bulltop Stormalong, who is a sort of nautical Paul Bunyan. On the first page, a giant baby from parts unknown washes up on a beach in New England (the New World, cf. Earth Two) and is adopted by a normal-sized family. Then on page two we get this:

There he is with two whales. The whales aren’t the ones who took him in, and he isn’t a baby in the picture, but the text on the page calls him “the baby” and references his being taken in by a family. I thought it was a pretty impressive parallel.

Did Stormalong’s story begin with his real parents putting him in a volcano “for his safety”? I guess that would make as much sense as anything else.

W(h)ales

William Wright’s latest post is called “Whales,” and much of it is based on the homophony (in most dialects) of whales and Wales.

Just hours before reading that post, I had seen this meme on Barnhardt:

Further thoughts on the discipline of the Rosary

In his recent post "Praying Like Tolkien (and WJT)," Leo, a fellow unchurched Mormon, reflects on his difficulties with prayer and his recent experiments with praying the Rosary in Latin (without a physical rosary, but following the same sequence of prayers I use). There's a lot of food for thought in his post, and much of his experience parallels my own. Rather than write an inordinately long (and non-searchable) comment on his blog, I'll give some of my thoughts here.

1. Real intent of heart

Leo mentions that this passage from the Book of Mormon had made him leery of saying routine prayers of any kind:

For behold, if a man being evil giveth a gift, he doeth it grudgingly; wherefore it is counted unto him the same as if he had retained the gift; wherefore he is counted evil before God.

And likewise also is it counted evil unto a man, if he shall pray and not with real intent of heart; yea, and it profiteth him nothing, for God receiveth none such (Moro. 7:8-9).

I have a few things to say about this. First of all, note that if an evil man gives a gift grudgingly, "it is counted unto him the same as if he had retained the gift" -- not worse, just the same. In other words, if you're considering giving a gift but worry that your intentions may not be sufficiently pure, don't worry about it. Just give the gift; you've got nothing to lose, and the person who receives the gift may benefit from it. Likewise with prayer. If a may prays without "real intent of heart," Moroni doesn't say he'll bring down the wrath of God or anything, just that "it profiteth him nothing." That's the worst that can happen as a result of praying: nothing.

The most important Book of Mormon teaching about prayer is Nephi's: "the evil spirit teacheth not a man to pray, but teacheth him that he must not pray" (2 Ne. 32:8). If you're afraid to pray, lest, as Leo writes, you "risk doing it wrong" -- if your feeling is that you'd better not pray -- the spirit that teaches you so to think is not a good one. And conversely, if you feel prompted to pray -- even to pray something a bit strange, like the Dominican Rosary even though you're not Catholic -- that prompting is not from an evil spirit.

So even if you are sometimes guilty of praying without "real intent of heart," it's not the end of the world. That particular prayer is wasted, that's all. It's not something to worry unduly about. (In context, I assume that "God receiveth none such" means that God receives no such prayers, not that he will reject people who have sometimes prayed that way.)

What exactly constitutes "real intent of heart" is up for interpretation, I guess, but I think it should be taken fairly literally. Your intent is your purpose in doing something. It doesn't require that you be consciously thinking about that purpose all the time, much less that you be experiencing a particular emotional state. If, for example, my reason for establishing the routine of praying before meals is that I wish to pause regularly to acknowledge God as the source of blessings, that remains my "real intent" even though, routine being routine, I may often pray more or less on autopilot without experiencing any deep emotion of gratitude.

2. Doctrinal quibbles

Leo feels uncomfortable reciting the Apostles' Creed both because of the general Mormon belief that (as Joseph Smith was told in his First Vision) all "creeds" of Smith's day "were an abomination" and specifically because it includes a profession of belief in "the holy Catholic Church."

The specific issue with the "Catholic reference" is relatively easy to solve. Since my mother's family is Lutheran, and I've heard them recite the Apostles' Creed in their weekly services, I am well aware that not everyone understands the "holy catholic church" (to use the capitalization favored by Protestants) to be the Roman Catholic Church. Catholic simple means "universal," and the holy catholic church is the body of all true Christians, not necessarily corresponding to a single earthly institution. This is a Mormon-compatible concept: "Behold there are save two churches only; the one is the church of the Lamb of God, and the other is the church of the devil" (1 Ne. 14:10). The Church of the Lamb of God, however defined, is this holy catholic church.

In more general terms, of course anyone whose beliefs are significantly different from Roman Catholic doctrine is likely to have questions about some of the content of the Rosary prayers. I had my own issues with this when I was new to the Rosary, and I discuss how these issues were resolved in my 2022 post "Praying the Rosary in Latin." As recounted there, when I asked God directly how I was to deal with some of the off-puttingly "Catholic" aspects of the Rosary, I was told, "Don't worry about doctrinal quibbles. It's supposed to be like singing a hymn, not writing a theological treatise." I was also instructed to read a particular book by the French Catholic magician Éliphas Lévi, which I did, and one of the important passages I found there was this:

[T]he popular forms of doctrine . . . alone can vary and alone destroy one another; the Kabalist is not only undisturbed by trivialities of this kind, but can provide on the spot a reason for the most astonishing formulae. It follows that his prayer can be joined to that of humanity at large, to direct it by illustrations from science and reason and draw it into orthodox channels. . . .

Could anything alienate the true initiate from public prayers and temples, could anything raise his disgust or indignation against religious forms of all kinds, it would be the manifest unbelief of priests or people, want of dignity in the ceremonies of the cultus -- in a word, the profanation of holy things.

What I got from this -- the message I personally was to get from it, not necessarily applicable to others -- was that it is important to maintain some kind of connection with the prayers and worship "of humanity at large." To follow one's own intuitions and understanding, yes, but not to become entirely a quirky sect-of-one. Even as I pursue my own freewheeling "Romantic Christian" path, I place considerable importance on regular engagement with the Bible and the Rosary, and even occasional participation in public worship of various sorts.

3. The internalization of the Rosary

Part of the point of the repetitiveness of the Rosary is to make it part of yourself, like breathing. Even at this early stage in his experiment, Leo is starting to experience a bit of that. He writes:

Overall, though, I do like the experiment. I have found myself throughout the day chanting random pieces of the Rosary, even parts I don’t really understand or have fully memorized. Just little bits and pieces that come back to me even though I’m not trying to think of them. For some reason they come to mind and mouth at random times, which probably isn’t a bad thing.

This still happens to me, too. With time, though, what spontaneously comes to mind throughout the day is not the prayers only but the meditations, the state of mind. Valentin Tomberg wrote of the concentration-without-effort symbolized by the Magician card:

With time, the silence or concentration without effort becomes a fundamental element always present in the life of the soul. It is like the perpetual service at the church of Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre which takes place, whilst in Paris one works, one trades, one amuses oneself, one sleeps, one dies.

I quoted this in my 2021 post "Silent and spoken prayer," written before the Rosary as such was part of my life. I still think of of this as the ultimate form prayer should take -- the meaning of scriptural injunctions to "pray always" and "pray without ceasing." Now, after some two years with the Rosary, I can say it is extremely helpful, to me anyway, in gradually bringing about that "Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre" state.

Marcus Aurelius wrote, "The student as boxer, not fencer. The fencer's weapon is picked up and put down again. The boxer's is part of him. All he has to do is clench his fist."

The lowercase rosary -- the beads -- is a sword. The capital Rosary -- the prayers and meditations -- is a fist.

Why didn't Jefferson do the Old Testament?

It is well known that Thomas Jefferson went through the New Testament with a razor and cut out all the bits he didn't believe in, creating the so-called Jefferson Bible.

It's a pity he didn't do the same thing with the Old Testament. He could have added to his many other achievements an immortal place in the Tom Swifty Hall of Fame.

"I'm cutting this whole book out of my Bible," said Tom ruthlessly.

Quick sync notes: pentagram geometry and toothy worms

To get a link for my last post, I searched my own blog for seal of melchizedek. One of the search results was my December 2022 post "More weird student telepathy/coincidences," which included this photo of a geometry exercise I'd been doing:

Minutes later, I was skimming a /pol/ thread titled "Space Nazis" (never change, /pol/) and ran across this image:

Then this afternoon, I was browsing /x/ and found these two images side by side in the catalog:

(The threads are here and here.)

I don't have any ideas on how these two syncs relate to anything, but they're both so specific that they seem worth noting for future reference.

No, actually, I take that back. On second glance, that "Parasites are Conduits for Demons" thread does include a reference to a familiar theme:

The other sync is also about a "star" -- a five-pointed one, but I found that old post by searching for seal of melchizedek, which is an eight-pointed star, just like the star anise.

In which I am unexpectedly given a blank red book

My wife has been doing these "dot mandala" paintings for a while now. Yesterday, while I was at work, she bought a blank diary with a red cover and painted this on it:

Notice the eight-pointed star design, suggesting the Seal of Melchizedek or the Star Anise.

She dropped by the school last night just as I was closing up and showed me the book. She doesn't read this blog, and I haven't discussed any of my red book or eight-pointed star syncs with her. She usually paints on paper or on stones. This time she chose a red book cover for no particular reason, just on a whim. She said she didn't have anything to write in it and asked if I wanted it. So now I have this book.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to write in it, either, but perhaps that will become clear with time. In the meantime, I'll resist the temptation to fill it with "I like ham. I don't like ham."

The polygamy escape clause

My thoughts on this troublesome verse, largely inspired by the ideas of Jeremy Hoop, are up on my Book of Mormon blog.

More Dr. Seuss Bowdlerization

Found this "improvement" in the second edition of The Tooth Book:

It's not even diversity-related this time, just good old fashioned stick-in-the-muddism.

Interestingly, the 2000 edition with new illustrations by Joe Mathieu, while it has some of the expected diversity tampering (changing the chap with the mega-Irish name "Mr. Donald Driscoll Drew" to a Black man and, more bizarrely, portraying a "little girl named Ruthie" as an ancient Egyptian wearing sneakers), it does restore the "Bite someone else" text to its original purity.

Carrot sticks indeed!

The Book of Tooth

In my September 26 post "You'll find them in a lion's mouth," I mentioned that I had been reading The Tooth Book again and again to a child who kept requesting it. The post title is a line from the book, in which them refers to teeth, but I reinterpreted it as referring to books, and specifically to sacred texts.

My next post after that, "The eyeing d'Epstein -- plus Bonifacio Bembo and Optimus Prime," included this short video from the Morgan Library and Museum about the Visconti-Sforza Tarot cards:

My reason for watching the video was to see the 14th-century French casket in which the cards are stored. However, the talking head in the video mentions that Antoine Court de Gébelin "traced the imagery on the Tarot deck back to, of all places, ancient Egypt, specifically to the Book of Thoth."

I don't know how you pronounce Thoth, but the most common pronunciation I've heard rhymes with both, with the initial th pronounced the same as the final one. (One exception would be former Internet atheist Martin Willett, who in his SmiteCam project -- calling down the wrath of various gods in the hope of being smitten live on video -- shook his fist at the sky and shouted, "Thoth! Thquath me like a moth!") Those with more Continental influence may pronounce it as tote or taught, with hard t sounds. What I've never heard, except in this video from the Morgan, is the pronunciation "tawth," with a hard t and the beginning and a fricative th at the end. This anomalous pronunciation obviously brings it very close to the English word tooth.

So I began thinking of The Tooth Book and the Book of Thoth together.

This connection was reinforced when, on September 30, I was at the same school where I'd been reading The Tooth Book and saw that they'd put the phases of the moon up on the wall. This one caught my eye:

The Chinese, which is the same for both the waxing and the waning crescent, is 牙月 -- literally "tooth moon." Thoth is of course a moon god, and is specifically associated with the crescent moon. Most Egyptologists believe that the reason Thoth is depicted with the head of an ibis is that the ibis's beak resembles a crescent moon.

I've also been finding some syncs connecting The Tooth Book with The Nephilim Looked Like Clowns. The very first page of The Tooth Book asks, "Who has teeth?" and answers that "red-headed uncles do." In the rest of the book, the majority of the people in the illustrations are redheads. Throughout The Nephilim Looked Like Clowns, Paul Stobbs emphasizes how bright red hair is associated with the Nephilim. At one point, he discusses the discovery in the Great Serpent Mound of

a six-foot skeleton with two rows of teeth (a genetic marker standard in Nephilim), but it was missing its wisdom teeth. The archaeologists and biologists who examined the strange skull concluded this was an adolescent who had not yet lost their first set of baby teeth.

The Tooth Book talks about how you will grow "two sets [of teeth]: set one, set two." (This gives each person a lifetime total of 52 teeth, the same as the number of ivories on a piano. The skeleton lacked wisdom teeth, though, so it would have had only 48.)

The other day one of the bookcases at my school caught my eye. Lettering on the side of the case, put there by one of my employees of her own initiative some seven years ago, reads, "Grab a bite to read!" This can't really be considered a sync, since it's been there all along, but still, referring to a book as "a bite" fits right in with the Book of Tooth theme.

Another idea that came to mind is that a "tooth book" might be a book that requires "teeth" to eat, that is, a "hard" book. This could be related to the well-known "milk vs. meat" metaphor from the Epistle to the Hebrews.

Hairy anatomical holes

So, uh, yeah. That’s the sync theme du jour. Don’t blame me. William Wright started this when he had a dream about Eric Cartman saying, "Oh my God, my asshole is so hairy!" and then decided to do like three posts about it.

Today I read this in The Nephilim Looked Like Clowns by Paul Stobbs, winner of the 2024 Best Title Ever Award:

When one imagines larger-than-life humanoid sightings in the modern era, the most mainstream example is the hairy apple of every cryptozoologist's keen eye: Bigfoot.

The phrase "apple of one's eye" was originally an anatomical term referring to the pupil of the eye -- that is, to a body part which is, like the anus, a hole.

And it's about Bigfoot, because of course it is.

Be careful around the fabric of reality, Garfeld

 I randomly ran into this this morning. It fits in with the old warp-and-woof black hole theme:

When I tried to find the original Garfield strip this is based on, my first searches just turned up countless variants on this "fabric of reality" meme, so I guess it's fairly popular, although I'd never seen it before.

I did eventually track down the original strip: March 2, 1979:

Based polygamy denier

My baseline assumption tends to be that anyone who gets called a "denier" is more likely than not to be right -- because really, when have people saddled with that label ever been wrong? (Please don't mention the elephant in the room in the comments! Yes, that included.) Anyway, right or wrong, "denialism" (a.k.a. challenging the dominant narrative) is unquestionably based, and I support it.

In the specific case of "polygamy denial" -- the position, contrary to that of both the CJCLDS and 99% of its critics, that Joseph Smith never taught or practiced plural marriage -- it's a relatively hard sell for me. I'm pretty well read in the mainstream narrative and find it convincing. I'm open to other possibilities, though, and Jeremy Hoop has piqued my interest with his new video series setting out to disprove Joseph Smith's polygamy once and for all.

His first video lays out his position and summarizes the game plan for this extremely ambitious undertaking:

The second reads the Abinadi story in the light of Jacob's polygamy sermon in a way that is very clever and plausible, and which has implications that go beyond the polygamy question, and about which I may post later:

I'd say the series is off to a good start, and I look forward to seeing how he develops it, and how he deals with all the evidence on the other side -- which he is clearly both very familiar with and very confident in his ability to debunk.

Star anise

This morning, I checked William Wright’s blog and read his latest post, “The Star Anus.”

Bill tells the story of how his family got some bratwursts which his wife refused to eat because she (and she alone) could detect the flavor of some spice she didn’t like. A day or two later, she finally identified the offending ingredient: star anise. She said it tastes so bad it should be called “star anus,” hence Bill’s title.

(Mrs. Wright is spreading dangerous misinformation, by the way. I am reliably informed by Wikipedia that “Star anise enhances the flavor of meat.”)

In a comment there, Leo tells a remarkably similar story about his own wife. Leo had just switched to a new “all natural” mouthwash made with various spices, and his wife kept smelling him, trying to identify one of the ingredients. Finally she decided that it was, you guessed it, star anise.

About 20 minutes after reading these two star anise anecdotes , I went out for lunch. Bill’s post had mentioned BLTs and had left me craving that prince of sandwiches, so my first thought was to go to a place I know in Taichung that makes excellent BLTs and excellent coffee. It’s about 40 minutes away, though, and going that far during a typhoon just for a sandwich seemed a bit extravagant. By now my craving for excellent black coffee was stronger than my craving for a BLT, so I ended up going to a coffee shop closer to home.

I placed my order and then happened to glance up at the wall behind the counter. Even for someone as jaded to coincidence as myself, this was a bit much:

Yes, that’s star anise. There are several other pictures on the wall in a similar style, but they all depict coffee beans, coffee grinders, and the like. What does star anise have to do with coffee? 

The name of the coffee shop is Donutes, suggesting the word donut (even though they don’t sell that product). A donut has the shape of a ring, which is the etymological meaning of anus.

As I’m sure Debbie will already have noticed, star anise has the shape of an eight-pointed star. (The spice’s Chinese name is literally “eight horns” or “eight corners”; the same word can refer to an octagon.) Star anise is basically brown in color but sufficiently reddish for Bill to have connected it with the “spices of red summer” in the Wallace Stevens poem I recently quoted.

A red spice in the form of an eight-pointed star made me think of the Red Hot Chili Peppers logo:

RHCP bass player Flea is known to be a fan of Kurt Vonnegut, and there are persistent rumors (denied by the band) that the logo was inspired by Vonnegut’s famous doodle of, what else, an asshole.

Ellen and the thousand ships

Yesterday, William Wright posted, "Ellen DeGeneres, the face that launched a thousand ships, Cartman's hairy a**hole, and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" As you can see in the title, he takes a short-haired not-very-feminine celebrity named Ellen and links her to Helen of Troy and to the famous line from Doctor Faustus about how Helen's was "the face that launched a thousand ships."

A couple of weeks ago, I ran across this on /x/. I won't link the thread, since I don't want my Australian readers to go to prison for reading it, but it's easy enough to look up on 4plebs.

That's Ellen Page, who now calls herself Elliot and claims to be a man. The post says that Page, who used to be quite pretty before she was sacrificed, "should have launched a thousand battle-ready ships" -- referencing the same Marlowe line that Bill had used in connection with another short-haired lesbian celebrity Ellen.

Notice the roller skates in the picture:

Roller skates have been a major theme on Bill's blogs. And his Ellen post even mentions a hurricane that recently "rolled up Florida."

Bill's post also mentions Carmen Sandiego, who came up because of an error; he had dreamed about the South Park character Eric Cartman but thought his last name was Carmen. (Interestingly, the only real use of of carmen as a common noun in English is in the phrase "a carmen and an error.") This reminded me of the old shareware game Where in Hell is Carmen Santiago, which was both a parody of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego and a no-joke introduction to the layout of Dante's Inferno.

I guess if you have a Carmen and an error, you end up with Carmen in hell. Carmen's name was changed to Santiago for copyright reasons, and that name just showed up in my dreams ("James, Santiago, Eru, and Charles Wallace").

James, Santiago, Eru, and Charles Wallace

I got to sleep in this morning (day off for the typhoon), which means an extra dose of dreams. Here's what I can remember:

Vignette 1: I was supervising a group of children of various ages who were "writing scriptures." This meant they were copying out Bible verses as a handwriting exercise, but the phrase we used for it, "writing scriptures," can obviously have other meanings. One of the children wasn't writing anything, and I kept asking him, "James, where's your scripture? Where's your scripture, James?"

Vignette 2: A man called Santiago, the patriarch of a large family, was telling me how one day, relatively late in life, he "turned on," started using the name Santiago, and adopted his wife's son to be one of his own sons. I think he had 11 sons of his own, and his wife's son made 12; or perhaps he had 12 of his own, and his wife's son made 13.

Vignette 3: There was an aluminum box with a slot in it, and you could write a question on a strip of paper and put it in the slot. I wrote, "Eru, when did you become Eru?" and put it in the slot, not expecting an answer. (Eru is Tolkien's name for God.) The voice of Eru did answer, though: "Like you, I was not created but born. Like you, I have existed for all eternity, but it was at the age of five that I 'turned on' and began acting as Eru."

Vignette 4: In a hypnopompic postlude, there was only a voice, with no visual component: "At the age of five, he became truly conscious. He became able to meditate and began to understand the nature of things. And that's the story of" -- I thought we were still talking about Eru and was surprised when the sentence instead ended with -- "Charles Wallace."

Comments:

Santiago is the Spanish form of the name James, and both names originally derive from Jacob, the original name of of Israel, the ancestor of the 12 or 13 tribes. (We have 13 distinct tribe names, but each list of the tribes includes only 12 of these; which one is left out varies.) In connection with "writing scriptures," the Book of Mormon refers to scriptures being written both by the Twelve Tribes of Israel (Jacob) and by the Twelve Apostles of the Lamb (two of whom, in New Testament tradition, were called James).

In the dream, I understood the "turning on" references as meaning that an already existing but latent consciousness was suddenly activated and became truly conscious. Of course, the phrase can also refer to using psychedelics. I also thought of the Simon and Garfunkel line, "Pigeons plot in secrecy / And hamsters turn on frequently."

Regarding Eru's answer, it's hard to know how to interpret "at the age of five" in reference to a someone who has "existed for all eternity." I guess it means five years after he was "born," even though he existed before being born.

Charles Wallace -- who apparently also "turned on" at the age of five -- is a character from the novel A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle, which I haven't read since I was nine or ten. His name showing up in the dream was quite unexpected. I don't remember too much about this character except that he's a sort of child prodigy and psychic, which I guess fits with his apparently becoming enlightened at the ripe old age of five. Incidentally, the title A Wrinkle in Time refers to the idea (called a "tesseract" in the novel) of traveling by folding the fabric of spacetime, a theme that has come up a lot recently.

The name Charles Wallace also made me think of the poet Wallace Stevens, and upon waking I took down his collected works and opened it at random. I found myself reading "World Without Peculiarity," and these lines jumped out at me as synchronistically relevant:

The red ripeness of round leaves is thick

With the spices of red summer.

Leaves aren't usually described as "round," but on August 8 I posted "Round leaves and chip monks," introducing the "chip monk" idea that William Wright would later take and run with.

Like clowns

Today I downloaded Paul Stobbs’s new book The Nephilim Looked Like Clowns — because, well, how can you know there’s a book with that title and not want to read it? If it had been called The Demonic History of Clowns, or even just Clowns and the Nephilim, I might have given it a miss, but something about that title, The Nephilim Looked Like Clowns, is just irresistible. It’s like the Snakes on a Plane of books.

Shortly after I’d downloaded it, one of my very young students told me she’d been to the circus on the weekend and seen clowns. The circus? When was the last time you heard of anyone going to the circus?

Later the same day, in a different class, a student said (in Chinese) to a classmate who had been blowing his nose a lot, “If you keep doing that, you’re going to look like a clown! Because clowns always have red noses,”

No idea what this means, if anything, Just following my usual practice of noting coincidences.