h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Inspired by Willem's dream journal, and other marvels of journal writing around here, I once again feel moved to present fragmented scraps of scruffy daydream...... which I sometimes describe as thoughts and wordpaintings from the Middle Way Cafe. . Not sure to whom the journal is addressed, when I write the word your, just abstract I think, writing to imaginary spirit guides. .


And somewhere between the silversparkle symphony of your smile, and the jagged scarlines around the edges of my uncertain yearning, I point my camera at the sun, and the dazzled lense reacts with a fractured purple light effect. I tell you that this is one of the most artistic mistakes I ever made. You say I should enter the photo in a competition, and smile that addictive silver smile of yours, and the jagged scarlines of my uncertain yearning begin to look almost poetic in the mirror.

tbc

cc

A daydream journal is a fantastic idea. I look forwward to many enjoyable ramblings.

Hey Hyp darlin'

And here am I, who tries to be a photographer, spelling lens with an e at the end, and once I get writing, then anything can become a stream of daydream. . Peculiar fiction mixes with fact, as I hurtle through space, chewing spearmint gum and reading dogeared books about the afterlife.

The photographer who spelt lens with an e at the end was a friend of mine. He looked like a Dave McKean graphic, (pretentious name dropping) . He was a peculiar angel. He lived in a converted windmill with no sails, and devoted his life to photographing the green sheen on the wings of birds. He left many journals, written in pencil. No-one knows why he spelt lense with an extra e and the end. Once he spelt greeen with an extra e. Perhaps e was his favourite letter. Perhaps he was just different. He was, after all, a peculiar angel.

I used to do the stream of consciousness thing sometimes to see if it would get the old inspiration revived. Some of that can get pretty wild. As for adding e to the end of words, I've been guilty of that, as well. I was never the best speller. Add in spending decades reading history and then chatting with folks across the pond who spell thing a bit differently and now I spell even worse. My typing is horrible and my proofreading poor. My posts are often an adventure for my readers.

hope you don't mind me lurking on your daydreams

*leaves sloe gin this time*

Uh oh, Peanut has forsaken the fake baileys for the sloe gin. . Give us a glass then, luv. Slurp. Thanks! Even though it is five in the morning. . If you have any daydreams to add, please feel free to present here ... lovely to see you.

Yes, spelling. I prefer American spellings. I always write words like color, or meter or traveler in my notebook. It connects me to something, that part of me that is in Arizona, sitting in a cafe with an imaginary spirit guide. .

Some writers use their own spelling anyway .... try to find an example .. (on the brink of a very intelligent moment here ) like .... like ....

like Peter Orlovsky? (Allen Ginsberg's partner). I'm not well read in his works, but I know there is Frist Poem, which sometimes gets wrongly corrected to First Poem.

Yes, writing stream of consciousness. I know a few people who write this way every morning, to wake up their creative skills. Then they take any interesting ideas that appear, and work them into a crafted creation.

I write this way all the time, but once I have written it down, I make my excuses to the writings, then ease away from them, perhaps to eye them from afar, or maybe I will abandon them on the luggage rack of a train. .

She left 934 pages of scrawled daydream writings on the luggage rack of the London train. A fellow traveler found them, and published them in an anthology of writings by mysterious travelers. Two people wrote to say that they related to her output, and almost became fans. Some said they thought the writings had potential, especially the bit about the darkwater lake with the waterlilies. It was the 43 pages about a plate of pink meringues which confused the reader.

I am being so stoooopid this morning. It's all Peanut's fault. More sloe gin please luv. Thanks.

I love the way that stream writing surprises me, takes me on a journey. It is a like a waking dream. I think it's the cousin to sleep dream. It's why Willem's dream journal has set me off. .

how I wish I could write down the doodlings of my mind, but the confusion that emanates from within, would even scare me on the outside

heheh. Ah Prof, a master of stream writing! The inimitable ProfStream. The ProfStream Dream. That would be interesting, to dream in ProfStream. ...

I think that happens sometimes, to dream the same type dream as someone else.

I haven't experienced it. Wish I had.

Like, say, if a friend tells me that last night he dreamed about a dalmation, and I could say, strange coincidence, I just had a dream about dominoes, black spots on white, or something.

What? ..

sloe gin for breakfast, that'll put hairs on yer chest

can't have you drinking and getting all hairy chested on your own

*pours *

uh oh ... Beware journal! Peanut and cactus are on the loose, and getting hairier by the minute.



(cue sound effects of two hootoo researchers (who have had sloe gin for breakfast))on the loose in a daydream journal.

When I was a kid, I thought it was slow gin, when I heard people talking about it. What's slow gin? I thought.



The Gateway of Shimmering Illusion (Via a Golden Grinning Camel) (stealing influences here)

Do you ever have those days when life seems to spin round and around endlessly, like a nightmare ride on an out of control fairground carousel? You are riding a golden grinning camel and you are scared to jump off. And the camel grins, and the carousel spins, and you want to wake from the nightmare, but you can't, because you are already awake. Or so you think.

I had onesuch day just recently, although I did jump off eventually. In so doing though, I cracked my head against a purple leering horse, which was next to the camel. I must have cut out for a moment, because I entered another dream.

I remember seeing a shimmering gateway, rather like a pi-shaped henge. There were cryptic symbols carved into the stones, representing a formula, although I could make no sense of it. A man stood beside the gateway who introduced himself as the Gatekeeper. He reminded me of my photographer friend, who looked like a character from a Dave McKean graphic novel.

Go through! go through the gateway! he whispered, in a kindly way.

Come with me then, I said.

So we went through the gateway together. It was rather like an airport x-ray, not entirely comfortable at first, and yet I felt somehow healed, as if renewed by an incredible energy.

Am I dead? I asked the Gatekeeper?

No, he laughed. You just entered the Gateway of Shimmering Illusion.

Explain yourself please sir, I said.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

oh ....... husband just called out soup ready!! lunchtime! ....... soup man from Porlock. .......

tbc .......

Of course I never heard the answer, because I woke up with a howling headache.

I was lying on the ground, beside the carousel. The purple leering horse was complaining that I had dented its face.

It must have been quite an impact, I said. I'm sorry to ruin your beauty.

I'm not sure about this ending, said a soft voice to my left.

I recognised the tone. It was my photographer friend, looking like a character from a Dave McKean graphic novel. He was always suggesting I changed the endings to my stories. We used to write together. He was already planning the photographic illustrations. for our joint masterwork.

Too late now though. His sudden death confused us all. Where had he gone?

The last time I saw him, we were walking through the fairground. He was photographing the carousel. The purple leering horse had come out blurry. We agreed that it was a vain horse, and would have preferred a more precise portrait.

Illusion in motion! he said! and laughed. Like riding the Wheel of Time on a golden grinning camel! Might as well enjoy the ride, while it lasts.

I'm scared of that Wheel, I said.

I wish I could have told him about the Gateway. He would have loved it, although he might have teased me about the phrase Shimmering Illusion.

It would have inspired photographs. He was crazy about henges and ancient mysteries.

So how do I end this story? Perhaps I shall leave it open ended. He would prefer it that way. Illusion in motion.

I feel somehow renewed though, having written it this far. I am changed.

Perhaps I will wake up now. Unless I'm already awake.

PS

Meant to say that this posting was a follow on to my previous posting. I was interrupted yesterday by a very tasty parsnip soup, served to me by a very nice husband. but the vision returned to me today. . thankyou vision spirits. Plus Willem dream journal and slow gin. . hahah. I wasn't so hungry, so there are less hallucinations. . I happy am.

you have amazing daydreams, and parsnip soup

I have today, on a health kick, resting after the water skiing and yachting games before getting into training for bog snorkling

. Ah yes, bog snorkling.

Bog snorkling?????



Conclusion. Daydreams can help with life, same way dreams can.

I didn't expect this. I was just making this journal to contribute somehow to hootoo, inspired by other journal-writers..

Yet now, to cut a long story short, for once, . I just embarked on a radical life change. I found the clues in this daydream, (plus Willem dream journal and slow gin. haha). The formula!! The pi-henge, the cryptic formula on the stones..... etc.

I have begun to study maths, which will include algebra and it all.

I have blocked out maths for fifty years. I never even made it o level. My grandmother allegedly one scored zero percent in a maths exam.

I am starting at the beginning. I can already understand simple things from all sides of the equation. hmm Keep it simple.

And onward ....

I have some books already, (from the kids' Back To School shelf in Smiths ). Plus I have checked in for evening classes in September.

I'm not very good at learning. School wasn't easy for me.

When I left, I decided to teach myself the things I need to know, following from the inside. The path with the heart.

I have taught myself to write the way I want to write, I have taught myself to take photos the way I want to take them, I have taught myself to to sing and write music for keyboards.

However, now I am already getting my head around equations, fractions, mental arithmetic, pi, square root, infinity. .. OK, so I might never be Einstein , but it's my own journey.

No-one ever told me that maths is magic! Algebra is magic! The universe could possibly be made up of ..... maths.

I am very happy. I think my word paintings are equations. I think maths is inside me.

And it seems I can still remember my times tables, all these years on, so perhaps I did learn something at school after all!

hmm

See you round the bend.

Let x=x. . That's my fave Laurie Anderson track.

See? h2g2 is good for something.

According to the person who coined the word, psychedelic means
"mind manifesting", (hallucinogen for skeptics). Considering that, I want to declare this journal psychedelic.
It is altering my perception of reality. I´ve never before considered a smiling camel in a carousel and all that frolic stream of images painted by Cafetina. This journal is also the product of some psychedelic mind state, I don´t know if it has been achieved by means of just pulling barriers down, or if Peanut´s beverages have something to do with it all... no lo sé, whatever it is, pour something for me, just in case.

here:

Hullo! Pythagoras here. . (in my daydreams) ....

Yes! yes! h2g2 the best best best!! Journals lead to life changes. And friends. And permanent bliss. .

Ah Maria, dear lady, you know I thought about you a lot recently, because we went to Gran Canaria for our holiday and we tried to speak a lot of Spanish, and I bought a dictionary. And this guy said that we were good at Spanish.. Well, actually he said that my husband was good at Spanish, and I should study some more. . . hmm.

What a compliment! and thankyou! to call this journal psychedelic is such a compliment, really it is. I never did drugs of course. (apart from raiding Peanut's bar ), just born with the brain type, good to have a place I can express myself, like here on hootoo.

It is sort of like the way of seeing, yes!, Holy Spirit greeting me, despite the odd imagery. .

This last daydream took me by surprise, for sure.

I suspect a lot of the big secret of art is play. Allowing myself to let go and play. It's because I am so old. . .

So here's a thing, OK. I'm sure you all know it already, but multiply any number by nine. Any number. Even your phone number. Add up the answer. Should always end up as numbers related to nine, like 18 or 27. Whatever the answer, if you keep adding, and reducing, it will always return to nine. That's mystical I think.

I wonder what the golden grinning camel would make of it. It would probably bite me. .

Oh, have to go eat fruit salad......

it is so unfair, I have been a little experimental with psychedelics and my unimaginative brain type still didn't come up with anything like this

once or twice I have felt like I was on a carousel though

so true, maths is , I find it difficult, the pleasure when it comes together and I can say I get that, or I can do that, I'm not sure I always understand properly what I am doing but am doing it right , that's a good feeling

I once did illegal maths, but it was an innocent mistake and not psychedelic at all

I once did illegal maths, but it was an innocent mistake and not psychedelic at all

Quote Peanut.

You see, I think that sentence is so brilliant, I am going to chuck away everything I ever wrote, and start over. .I might write it out and make a poster.

If Maria could translate it into Spanish for me, I'll write that out also. Plus various takes from the others. Like, the Science Fiction take. ....

If it were my sentence, that would be the start to my masterwork.

People I know who have tried psychedelics tell me that all that really matters is that one travels to a point of unity, beyond the sensory trip, beyond the duality, and you return with this massive love vibe, because you aren't scared any more. Massive love vibe?? . Well, hey, so I was 13 in 1968. . Too young to go there, but old enough to listen.

If I had ever tried psychedelics, (and I do believe that in the right context they are sacred, like the Native American Church etc,) I would pray that I would return with a sense of good grace, compassion, forgiveness, despite the 6,432 (hah! maths!) purple spirit ants that were trying to enter my soul via my left ear.

Hmm. Do you agree?

It's not for nothing, I guess, that my Bible is Huxley's Doors of Perception. hmm.

Now, the people I know who have tried illegal maths, well ...... I am waiting for their story. .



Maths Journal

OK, so Fermat's last theorum. No problem. I get it. . .

Hmm

It seems my maths workbook is aimed at the 11-14 age group. Pre GCSE. This is good. This is where I left off, in fact. I am doing well.

I wonder if I will work towards the GSCE? Is this necessary? What does a 57 yr old lady need with a maths GCSE certificate? I could use it as a dandy hat, in the rain. I could make it into a raft, and navigate the rivers of life.

I am in love with the spirituality of maths.

Two negatives make a postive???? Of course they do. They do??? Yes! This could help with conflict resolution.

Three minus minus-four equals seven. It does? Took me an hour figure that one this morning. I was in the coffee shop. A friend came in. I told her that three minus minus-four equals seven was so beautiful to me I think it might be an Archangel.

ok, this is Peanut´s sentence:
I once did illegal maths, but it was an innocent mistake and not psychedelic at all.
which in Spanish is:

Yo una vez hice matemáticas ilegales, pero fue un error inocente y nada psichodélico.

To which my mind can´t help saying:

I was trying to find a new subversive way to reach the transcendental number PI, and doing so, I entered the
realm of the number PHI, which as everybody knows is a complete irrational one. Fibonacci threatened me with reporting
all that to the police. I quickly left that place of bulbous flasks and floating numbers in misty air.


::

Cactus Cafetina, I also think that Maths are mystic. Take geometry. I´ve learnt recently that magmatic rocks before getting out to the surface, take geometrical forms, just as some crystals. And what about fractals? I can´t think of anything more artistic formed by nature.
I came to terms with Maths at university, studying philosophy. I finally understood why they are so important. But I don´t know much maths. I disconnected from learning them at Primary education, I had an awful teacher who would punch and slap every now and then to the students, only the boys, how considerated. I hated him and his subject for too long.

It fascinates me too, the Golden number, or ratio, that PHI number which Fibonnaci made clearer.. well, for me it´s still a hyerogliphic, but the gist of it all is amazing.