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I crashed through the 4th wall, and meta Nat
It seems that I have both eyes and mouth, and maybe sometimes ears, but as the song says, ”I ain't got no body.” I’m a literary Shaman, but as soon as you quit reading I cease to exists, or maybe I’ll get lucky and get stuck in your mind. Still, I have no back story like where was I born, what color of hair I have, and so on. I have nothing that defines me. I have thought a lot about this (“obviously”, as I roll my eyes), and I think it would be beneficial if I had a name, so… you can call me Nat: Nat the Narrator, but just “Nat” will do. Of course there remains the problem that we can have no discourse with each other. You can hear me, but can’t respond, and vice versa, or some such. However, I think I have a solution, if you are willing to try, and by you I mean the person currently reading my words. Maybe you could remember me (Nat), when you are in bed and settling down for some sleeping, but before you are asleep, bring me up and then while I am in your mind we could have a conversation. The writer of this cares not a wit about my welfare, he simply uses me then cast me aside. If I had a butt, I’d fart in his face. So please take me into your mind, give me a body, and maybe some clothes out of the Victorian period. The writer of this would never wear something that constricting, as he is very claustrophobic (and very fat). Maybe after awhile you could give me some hair. As opposed to the writer, I am tall and thin, while he is… well, short. Which probably has something to do with him having only part of his left leg.. He used to be a philosophical anthropologist, or at least that’s what he called himself (if he had called himself stupid he would have suffered less, and been more accurate). He was trying to observe a new tribe, in South America, but they caught him doing so. The particulars are probably not needed, but as they are embarrassing I will tell you anyway. He was on a hill where he could look down on this tribe, and was doing so through a set of binoculars. What he was observing was a couple have sex right in the middle of the village. Well you can imagine what he was doing while he “observed”, and as the couple finish several minutes before him the noise he was making exposed himself to the tribe. The unfortunate thing for him was these people were cannibals. They chopped off his left leg right above the knee, then cauterized the stump to keep it from getting infected. They like to keep their meat fresh for latter use. Unfortunately for the poor cannibals there was a group of DEA agents nearby, and when they heard him scream, they came and rescued him. Oh, sorry about lapsing into the narrative, but at times it is unavoidable as it is inherent in my nature.
Anyway, if you could take pity on me and call me up for a few minutes each evening we can have a conversation, and if you were to do this every night, you could help flesh me out. That’s not strange or weird is it? Anyway, I thank you for your time, Nat.
–Erthona
©2014
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I'm on my 4th or 5th read now. I'm having a difficult time separating the writer from the writer. lol. I need to spend more time with this. More than that, I want to spend more time with it. Great read, I'll be back. -Paul
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Thanks -Paul.
dale
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Hi, whoever you are. 
I grinned til "Which probably has something to do with him having only part of his left leg" then laughed. I didn't expect the details, but Nat does run on.
This was interesting, a variation on Let me into your brain or We'll meet in our dreams. Nat reminds me of an internet personality, but even they often have an avatar.
The writer might grow hair, but unless the writer has given at least a clue as to appearance it's unlikely that I can get Nat to, and if I did it would be more my hair than his. He will be busy as Santa Claus making the rounds trying to be what each reader wants.
I'm not convinced Nat gives a damn.
xxoo
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
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ellajam,
"I grinned til "Which probably has something to do with him having only part of his left leg" then laughed."
I would have laughed too if it hadn't happened to me.
--Erthona
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't believe Erthona, he's a wuss, more than that he is a fictional character, and only has fictional legs. He's always trying to create a back story. Of course Nat thinks Erthona is real, and so he is jealous of him.
As to Nat's hair, the reason he has no hair is because he doesn't have a skull on which to put said hair. ...and yes, like most people Nat doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself. However he is willing to play a supportive and sympathetic friend when no one will answer your calls because you've burned them out by constantly talking about your petty troubles (I don't mean you per se). Don't ever let Nat have a complete body, or he will forget he is a fictional character like Erthona did, (and we all know what kind of prick Erthona is). Nat wrote that parenthetical, just a minute...get in your box Nat and keep your mouth shut. Whack,whack.
Anyway, glad you got a laugh out of it.
Dale
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this peace makes me want to reveal personal details about myself
you won't fool me, Erthona!
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I have a friend who lost two and he's still laughing. Buck up, 
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
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MJ,
"this peace makes me want to reveal personal details about myself
you won't fool me, Erthona! "
Hey, Erthona didn't write it, I did. Nat
I wrote you Nat, so anything you write is my writing.
No, you didn't write me, that other guy did.
What other guy?
That dale guy.
Man, that guy can't even write. He just set up the account and drops in every now and again to make oblique comments.
I don't like you Erthona.
Well you should have stayed in your box and kept quiet.
Meanie!
Beanie!
OK boys, time for bed.
dale
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(09-30-2014, 09:38 AM)ellajam Wrote: I have a friend who lost two and he's still laughing. Buck up,
Yea, stiff upper lip and all that.
I thought I told you to go to bed Nat.
No, you told me to get in may box.
Well as your box is your bed it's pretty much the same thing.
....end transmission
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Whoever said beanie loses.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
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That was Erthona, but he was supposed to say "weenie", but he decided to ignore the script I wrote and choose his own word. Well, at least it rhymed, and wasn't something like "catdog" or something.
dale
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Thomas saw yer tank engine and raised you five.
Nat's philosophical anthropologist botched his signifier
and, instead of lapsing into the narrative, woke up
without it. Borges helped with the feast, "But," as
he was fond of saying, "Buenos Aires is as unavoidable
as it is necessary." Blessings from Mr. Rosewater and
God bless.
Sincerely as ever,
Money
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
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Sun-Ray,
Quote:"Borges helped with the feast, "But," as
he was fond of saying, "Buenos Aires is as unavoidable
as it is necessary."
Jorge said that, I never knew. 
dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
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(10-01-2014, 04:16 PM)Erthona Wrote: Sun-Ray,
Quote:"Borges helped with the feast, "But," as
he was fond of saying, "Buenos Aires is as unavoidable
as it is necessary."
Jorge said that, I never knew.
dale Well, jeez, maybe Lorca, maybe something translated by
Wiggle (wiggle can't be right but don't have time to google
right now), no, damn, it was fucking Borges, well maybe...
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
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Well I'm sure of one thing, the poem writes me: ontologically speaking Still, since I became bored with myself and philosophy, it is fairly easy to step aside and let someone else do the heavy lifting. Plus, it makes for better poetry. If I use my conscious mind to write it lacks inspiration: which around here is a taboo subject (the inspirational part of course).
dale
"Oblivious: busty bustier is what they see,
no bass beat of crap rap, or Day-Glo disco,
blowing the urbane manifesto out in the wind with gusto.
Seemingly carrying the ideology of ontology further,
deeper into the country of the Mississippi/Amazon.
Hear little voices saying, “Go beyond, on beyond.”
South American revolutionary Che chic,
no music to it, but its got a hot back-lick,
so insouciance, no blues will stick.
In New Orleans: hear it creeping and sighing,
one cannot hold on to her for lack of trying.
She might sway; fall drunk away, when you try to dock:
sex and murder, like contempt-poor-airy poetry, is just so ad hoc."
.
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(09-29-2014, 08:50 AM)Erthona Wrote: I crashed through the 4th wall, and meta Nat
It seems that I have both eyes and mouth, and maybe sometimes ears, but as the song says, ”I ain't got no body.” I’m a literary Shaman, but as soon as you quit reading I cease to exists, or maybe I’ll get lucky and get stuck in your mind. Still, I have no back story like where was I born, what color of hair I have, and so on. I have nothing that defines me. I have thought a lot about this (“obviously”, as I roll my eyes), and I think it would be beneficial if I had a name, so… you can call me Nat: Nat the Narrator, but just “Nat” will do. Of course there remains the problem that we can have no discourse with each other. You can hear me, but can’t respond, and vice versa, or some such. However, I think I have a solution, if you are willing to try, and by you I mean the person currently reading my words. Maybe you could remember me (Nat), when you are in bed and settling down for some sleeping, but before you are asleep, bring me up and then while I am in your mind we could have a conversation. The writer of this cares not a wit about my welfare, he simply uses me then cast me aside. If I had a butt, I’d fart in his face. So please take me into your mind, give me a body, and maybe some clothes out of the Victorian period. The writer of this would never wear something that constricting, as he is very claustrophobic (and very fat). Maybe after awhile you could give me some hair. As opposed to the writer, I am tall and thin, while he is… well, short. Which probably has something to do with him having only part of his left leg.. He used to be a philosophical anthropologist, or at least that’s what he called himself (if he had called himself stupid he would have suffered less, and been more accurate). He was trying to observe a new tribe, in South America, but they caught him doing so. The particulars are probably not needed, but as they are embarrassing I will tell you anyway. He was on a hill where he could look down on this tribe, and was doing so through a set of binoculars. What he was observing was a couple have sex right in the middle of the village. Well you can imagine what he was doing while he “observed”, and as the couple finish several minutes before him the noise he was making exposed himself to the tribe. The unfortunate thing for him was these people were cannibals. They chopped off his left leg right above the knee, then cauterized the stump to keep it from getting infected. They like to keep their meat fresh for latter use. Unfortunately for the poor cannibals there was a group of DEA agents nearby, and when they heard him scream, they came and rescued him. Oh, sorry about lapsing into the narrative, but at times it is unavoidable as it is inherent in my nature.
Anyway, if you could take pity on me and call me up for a few minutes each evening we can have a conversation, and if you were to do this every night, you could help flesh me out. That’s not strange or weird is it? Anyway, I thank you for your time, Nat.
–Erthona
©2014 Dale, you may be fictional but you are STILL functional. I don't like everything you write but what I don't like isn't everything....and I DO like this!
Best,
tectak
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Thanks Tom!
dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
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Ah, yes, my egocentric Ray entity forgot to mention that he liked your piece.
Esp:
As opposed to the writer, I am tall and thin, while he is… well, short. Which probably has something to
do with him having only part of his left leg.. He used to be a philosophical anthropologist, or at least
that’s what he called himself (if he had called himself stupid he would have suffered less,
and been more accurate).
But it's not just the written shaman that 'we're' dealing with. There's a similar situation
in the physical (real? ha!) writer entity. The reason Ray liked it was that I passed Ray an
instruction to feel he liked it. But I have a feeling that I'm being given instructions as well.
I think paranoia is caused by corrupted instructions which cause the consciousness of a higher
level to become aware of a normally subconscious lower level (one way might be the dreams
you mention).
I've become quite paranoid lately, I can hardly wait for my instructor to be revealed in a dream.
Though maybe it's not a corrupt instruction. Maybe my instructor is paranoid and has passed a
proper instruction on to me. Where does this stop? Does someone down there have hair?
As sincerely as ever,
Money
*The age-old (at least as far back as 1789) turtle anecdote:
(A paraphrase of a wiki entry.)
Apropos the above:
< strawberry milkshake >
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
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Ray-mundo,
I like turtles all the way down (although I think it works better with tortoises). People argue over if there is a God or not. Of course there is/was a God. Whoever kicked this whole thing off is God. At some point in not time, he poked a hole in eternity, blew out a bubble of space, and added in a drop of his essence, which spread out into space like oil on water, with pretty pony rainbows everywhere. That may have been a universe, not necessarily this universe, but as nature seems big on replicating itself...
"There is cause and effect, right?"
"Sure."
"So way, way back, there must have been a first cause?"
"OK"
"So where is it?"
"What?"
"The first cause!"
"Oh, that's in my laundry basket. It says dry clean only on it, but I wanted to see what would happen if I dumped in the wash and dry. I was just curious."
"Damn, I thought I had programed that out."
"Well your curious, and everything is created from your essence, so..."
"Well I can toot Dixie in four part harmony out my ass."
"Point taken."
I'm barque because I have no Monet, just this worthless invitation to something that's already happen, and I don't do scrap-booking. Everybody sing, "hey bungalow Bill, what did you kill ... (ellipsis for Ray, a drop of golden sun. Golden Showers fill my tub, so just scrub a dub. The question is not what is the speed of light, the question is, what is the speed of space, inside a train moving away from you at 100mph? "Say goodnight George". "I'm not George, I'm Nat." "Not right now you're not." Goodnight George! Golden Slumbers Nat.
dale
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The writer of this cares not a wit about my welfare, he simply uses me then cast me aside.
Yes, I still correct hypothetical rantings of a fictional character. If I don't keep his delusions of grandeur in check, who would?
ella---beanie always wins!
smooooches
mel the meanie
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