Please understand this is the deepest expression of my hope I could publish on this night.. that the woman who has been kindest and most beautiful to me may read this and be assured freedom to return to this moment.. even if the thought of eternal return is fearful to her, to the author of this writing, to much of the academic community, and self defeating even for God our god. Yet please remember I'd wait forever if only to never die, that I may keep the memory of the passion I'd known ov my own lips, the most beautiful passion I remember, though not the most joyful. So please tell the most beautiful woman you know of this page, even if you fear she is if only in a spiritual sense.. all too much like her I've written this to; and please do not insist she read this text when she doesn't want to; though please allow this page to remain as long as you believe she or even our god may wish to know the truth of what happened.. at the time she was born.. 6 days.. Sarah.. before the summer solstice.. the past life memories.. of Thea.. born Aaron.. 6 days after the summer solstice in the year 1991.. become Aara, who understood the name Catherine in relation to past life memories, though would never wish to be known the husband nor wife of her.. the empress, though he was born with the name Alexander, the famed ancient emperor.. the thought of a story written in the stars, a Star of the word of God, though known only ov our god ov the holy roman empereror who was recognized as Caesar Augustus, who had suffered epilepsy, had only he counted deeply enough to understand the political problem ov the number 19|91, roman numeral XIX; ov the thought of infinity, eternity (8).

Please forgive my enemy, he who would sooner think forgive me my self empowerment sooner than he would recognize how deeply I sought to empower everyone like him since age 16.. though could not prove it by age 20, nor by 33.. sooner than I could prove life was statistically correlated to DEATH (33-20).

Please forgive my enemy, he who wishes to be regarded as strong, to know I've been weak; I have never been weak. Even while locked in a building, accused of madness, without hope of ever proving I'd predicted this same existential condition arisen ov the same depth of academic concern I'd known while a student at the University of Chicago, I had prayed for eternal return, knowing it would be the deepest offense to one I could not hope to apologize toward soon enough.

without wasting a method of my own design, this is the image I'd published upon my page yesterday, an apology of sorts.. for having a christmas wish that didn't come true any year since age 16, almost 17 years ago.. just waiting for a sign.. to know empathy for even she, even he.. who valu'd reason above rhyme.

This was the potential I understood back at the University of Chicago at age 20, that every graduate would have a personal web page; and then if everyone understood this architecture.. the architecture of machine logic didn't feel like a very deep problem though.. it was far more deeply concerning to see modern motives sustained in equilibrium, and so again and again I would return to a dilemma, needing the books I was intending to write to gesture toward true motives against modern motives, needing to work toward a true architecture of machine logic to prove I still understood efficiency in relation to modern virtues and my own virtues,- elegance, beauty, a balance of chaotic theatre and refined etiquette - yet I was too slow or too slow. Having just finished revising Two Roses of Sable this month, I haven't felt this happy in almost 17 years, back when I was 17.

Please don't feel obliged to help just by reading as quickly as you may.. please also don't feel obliged to buy any of the books immediately, though if you do enjoy reading on paper and know others who prefer natural paper as well, please do consider the time of the mail carriers and order maybe 4 pairs of books for old friends and new loves.

Had we arranged our cities by true principles, every window may've had a view of acres of trees and flowers.

I've written toward a new kind of community where instead of having most people drive most days past lines of buildings they do not use, we would walk through the garden to foundations we visit often,- among these could be the theatre, the office, the school, the library, the beauty salon, the studio, the lounge. Given the need of far fewer buildings, far fewer roads, our communities could express wealth within the beauty of nature.

Two Roses will be a community with only 290 buildings—20 foundations, 70 banquet halls, and 200 manors—built within a 2400 acre garden. We may enjoy here both natural beauty and the labors of others who may fulfill every need,- we may walk through the garden to see our doctors, to see actors perform in the theatre, to have clothiers fashion clothing for us in the boutique.

The book describes the ethics of the community,- the division of labors, the economic architecture, the calendar, the paintings presented in the foundations, the process of determining the community's schedules.

This book is written toward a potential nowhere expressed in modern society, with the hope of gathering a community of individuals who'd prefer a life in the garden.

TwO RoseS of Sable is free to read.

If you prefer to read on paper, books are available here; and may I suggest for all who are suffering.. to rightclick the second link, then open it in a new tab..

This myth tells a story of how the gods fell from grace, how life arose of this fall.

My hope for this book is that someday it will be present upon the shelves of the library of Two Roses. I believe this myth can only be wholly and beautifully expressed through the labors of a community in the garden.

Story of The Stars is also available as a book.. and may I suggest to do the same with this one: rightclick this second link, then open it in a new tab..

How this happened, a story in 6 photos

One day, metaphorically, twin arcs of lightning came down from the heavens, and these immediately struck two random pieces of trash very near me, and I understood an exact conductive pattern ov the arcs of lightning; miraculously, the trash on the street began to collapse, and it was as great a marvel as when an innocent man was crucified on the cross, exactly what everyone was secretly hoping they'd see.. dreadful suffering.. senseless loss.. as when lightning suddenly struck and brought down the stone temple..

I knew then I would need to become a divine prophetess, and indeed, I had known before it was my calling to become such a prophetess, if only to speak against the trash that our god had already condemned, yet to speak as a prophetess, of the day when there would be heaven on earth, the land cleansed of waste, the wine dark sea pure.. as it should have always been.

Parcels! Use.. parcels! Somehow it didn't make sense as anything but a satire. Cloth parcels that didn't need to be wastefully recomposed by modern industrial methods, aesthetically superior to modern bags.. less wasteful too.. It would need images.. someone to help make the images would help.. otherwise I could do those myself if really no one wanted to..

Look! our work can be better than modern work! No one believed me; it was too outlandish, an idle fantasy of one clearly fallen into madness.

'but then you'd have to look at the screen again..' no one was bold enough to admit could be enriched by time at the screen. no one until me.. thought Thea.

'is it like a comic book?' people would ask. 'no..' I would begin how may I politely suggest I hate comic books? without offending anyone retrospectively..?

'Look!' I wanted to say. 'Progress is possible even without a corporate sanctioned reward!' look.. I thought.. what satires with 'look'..'We all know the burden of walking to work each day, our commute a pleasant saunter through the hills, our home surround by trees.' though sadly, not enough people would see it as anything more than arrogant mockery.. though it truly would help.. we'd have more freedom, more time, more fresh air, a healthier and more natural way of life.. if only the most arrogant among us, the elite, had a sense of imagination.. one could dream.. not for my father, but in relation to my father, ov my father..

The thought was a noncorporate takeover of stores; we would offer to compensate them for more than the goods we take from the store - if only they would make the process easier for us,- we just need to prove we were scheduled to be there using our phone and then we can take one parcel full of stuff? the checkout process is dramatically simplified and no one needs to waste their time or be compensated for disgruntling boring labors?? Simple! one store will be chosen.. or one mall.. to test the schedule architecture.. giving individuals freedom to work without disruption and redundant labors,- every family balancing budgets? when there are economic realities obvious at the time homes are sold in neighborhoods? nope, it shouldn't happen.. so was my hope

Then of course you need to make it cool for the middle class to like and create art too, because they have no idea.. again.. the children are our only hope.. children, in unison, squeal with delight! though sadly they did not in that moment; how would the children ever communicate to an adult who could not simply command them to immediately squeal with delight?

It was an ancient dilemma, steeped in academic and mythologic concerns,- the academic need of lemmas, the mythologies that spoke ov crossings of language.

Yet in some strange and fateful way, it could be modern too? Cool even? Hot? Even hot? ..now the children do squeal; now they squeal with delight; they love that it may be cool, but also very.. very hot.

Omg! Make playlists while you're working overtime! Study bands you love! Propose a concert and see what venues others agree with! All while you're just keeping up with your empathetic concerns? count. me. in. yet you beg to differ? you want to be counted out? it's not cool enough to stay indoors? the air conditioner's broken? or you're too brimming-with-ideas to even think aboout leaving the place you are? fine, I'll sleep outside. at least my labor's better than yours Thea thinks. I hope no one thinks I'm spiteful after this.. I still love everyone.. I still do..

What I had hoped wasn't needed, 6 more photos.. (6+1..)

(oops, the last line got cut off. it says '..the flask. she knows what's good for her; so do I; I need this; I need what's happening..)

[private email hoped to reach the intended recipient privately, though sadly the intended recipient no longer owns starrysoso88@..com] I thought you of all people would appreciate the bitter irony of a woman scorned.. hopefully not because you have ever felt you've ever been a woman scorned, but simply because.. because you care. How nice would it have been if.. for someone who graduates from the University of Chicago with honors.. a computer science major.. if they were invited to share their thoughts.. instead of a numeric question,- how would you rate your internship with the IT department? 1 2 3 4 5 - if instead they ask, well, hmm.. about what you would imagine social media would look like? Like, what an official page could look like? You have proof you've graduated, proof of your identity, access to any information so you can automate finances for you and any number of your peers, even if they graduated from other universities! I finally made a little presentation last night (how convenient.. they saved the save time 12:32am)—what I may've imagined this page would look like.

please, only you would understand the humiliation I've endured.. to have lost an email address.. now so publicly revealed.. here.. my old email address theaaara8@gmail.com; no one else would email me before reading the books, and sadly no one wanted to read the books before :(.. everyone else, please read the books first; my new email is written in the books; okay.. but actually, I've never been so happy as when I was writing to you or reading something you wrote to me; I know we never wrote with each other.. but I kinda do want that now.. something more serious.. like writing a book together.. even if it is kinda a long distance, on again off again thing.. passionate literary trysts.. lost in each others's words, and sometimes even.. the thought of each others's eyes kindly regarding the words we've written together.. *drinks tea, as though to say now it's truly this serious*

Here are instructions (for one individual only, and she knows who she is) 1) open the email client now and create a draft with the address theaaara8@gmail.com, cleverly name the subject, then 2) return to this page; you'll need some time to sift through your thoughts, so may as well finish this first, okay?

[text from image above] 'okay, but how will it make money?' 'the children'
'everyone speaks of the children; but how is your ideal going to help the children?' 'two focuses of education—vocational and political—resolving across 4 levels of schooling'
'let me guess.. 4 levels of schooling—elementary, middle, high, university—without strict limits of age of graduation? the government mints—' 'that's exactly what happens.'.
'..the government mints a coin for each child, and the child may trade the coin for a room in a true home? providing they prove sufficient understanding of vocational and political labors?' 'yes, that's what I expected you to say..'
'do you have pics?' 'of course I have pics; however, I wish your concerns were of how you could help..'

May as well share the intention publicly at this point; [this is kinda a flashback btw; I'm about to become homeless] I know I'm about to be publicly humiliated anyway,- the impending homeless-ness, the onset of the epilepsy.. yes.. even the tarot cards conspired, statistically conspired against me.

I would need to become who I always had been.. who then people told me I would have to be more like.. sadly, the thought brought no joy.. and I couldn't fake the joy I'd felt. Well, I'd endure homelessness then. Hopefully 8 years from now I'd be able to gesture.. or maybe 12.. or within this lifetime or any lifetime I may hope toward..

Eviction Notice: end of month

At least there was irony..

At least now I'm evicted..

How though to humbly speak of the thought I'd had.. that as I kinda just.. was a little flexible and a little biased toward nature.. a home where I could walk to work every day, even if it was a long, refreshing walk.. as anyone in this highly preferrable situation doesn't really need a car.. not often at least.. well.. if 50 neighbors would naturally each invest ~$20k in a car.. together, if they all lived near their work or worked from home most days, they could afford together a luxurywealth car.. scheduled to be used for every event a driving distance away.. and the extra rooms in the homes could be used for more artistic and needed labors,- making films or paintings, writing books, little home salons or boutiques.. refining the machine logic of the schedule architecture..

At least there was the hope that someone would understand.. or, well, if they didn't understand that, they would.. *that* or, well, if they didn't understand that, they would.. *that* hmm.. a predictible pattern, at least I hope I don't see another 'more common predictible pattern' too predictibly; though sadly, even this was too much to ask for.. the men.. how they treat you.. it's 'very cool', 'sexy..' that voice again.. 'Thea's.. hot'

Did you need another visual cue, besides, you know.. the buldging eyes that arose after enduring months of hunger actually make me less hot and the epilepsy isn't helping me.. not even in any foresable eternity.. helping me seem more calm, composed, predictive, empathetic, wary, self confident.. and maybe I had had the sense to predict that all of those things would help yourself feel more expressed? I could have taken time to to sift through government paperwork, but I felt the least I could do to gesture was to return to the work I had rational motive toward instead of begging for money from people who felt they couldn't help with their time. I've never liked money..

The premise of this book.. what could one individual in my position possibly have done to help propose an inaugural address for the president elect without fear that he would feel no one has empathized with him,- that they would seek to belittle him and praise 'the little guy' through putting on the teleprompter a series contradictions,- common sense advices that are 'divinely sanctioned',-

'Don't repeat yourself too often' 'Don't feel need to help us' 'You have pity for us; how is that not arrogant?'

though in all of this, my original intention is lost.. that I'd feared the modern corporate culture and felt a 'man empowered by need to control' would be ridiculed was actually a horror to me back in college when my 'philosophy' was already 'too good' or 'too arrogant' to be granted serious consideration. 'A lot of women would be disappointed to know you're trans..' was the deepest 'reassurance' I was given; 'what is fear?' the deepest question I was asked. Somehow I feel a man 'empowered by the need of immediate orders' would understand my position more deeply than someone who 'empowers me by generally empowering women'. oh, I'm sorry, given that every biting of hands is involuntary.. which you can simply pretend isn't true.. because why would I want to try that? 'why would anyone choose homelessness?' 'except self aggrand-izement, eh?' is now the mockery, 'enough.. divine consent' to do anything.

*the prophetess ascended, feeling divine bliss, then fell from grace, sleeping behind the bushes, having succumbed to her darkest desire.. whoring.. whoring herself.. while feeling.. nothing*every girl's wildest fantasy!..

Then, one after one, thought experiment would manifest as truth,- a black man stole a white man's laptop while he was sitting in a coffeeshop. At least I could hope to avoid another conversation with someone,- a therapist - who asks 'are you afraid to sit in the coffeeshop?' 'were you ever?' um, well.. I didn't want my laptop taken from me.. and another thought I've no time to express though that's not to imply I often like the rationality and cadence of black men and women.. 'You're smiling' the therapist observes, believing (or at least hoping) she had helped me find myself.

My worst nightmare now may be, across eternities.. too many become too quickly satisfied, first with their study of words, then also with sport, with freedom.. yet unwilling to accept their boredom as their own, they resolve instead ov the analysis of a simple statement, echoed across eternities.. a mere act ov a more ancient age.. 'in her fantasy | she must desire | her words understood, | that they made | powerless by the | god-like presence of men, | whether in army | servicing her protection | suffer damnation, wishing | only to be | of help to her..' yet we are of no help to her! hide from her then the truth of herself!..'and we..' it need not be spoke hide the truth of ours, *as two men cry alone*.

(3x10 + 4 words, 2 kept secret), that this fear alone would overshadow the truth of the joyful principle I've written toward (9), by simple calculation of 'positive' and 'negative', 'maliene and feminine' (34+2 v 9x4-2+1) rationally always only the distance of one contrast, black ov light (b l)

'We serve you by our service in the army, your queen.'

MODERN TRIBUTE

My favorite actor as a youth was Robin Williams. He sought to gesture toward empathy for they accused of suffering madness, and I found that very quickly, one begins to understand 'madness' simply by sifting through the concerns of one accused.. Unfortunately, after we actually are accused, people dismiss our deep-rooted empathy as something trivial,- 'of course you understand ''empathy'' now.. we're literally telling you what's wrong with you' or 'can't you be grateful? hasn't this given you some sense of purpose?' though sadly, my concern still rests with the one who would have doubted me before I had time to prove my original intention, the value of a first memory in nature and having time to sift through one's feelings without the distraction of the modern city below or around you.

I felt my first book Laughter was deeply misunderstood, that when Sable kills herself on the very last page, afraid her lover Aidan would have felt confident he may propose to her in that very moment had he understood how deeply she loved him, had he understood her last hope was that he'd not felt the same depth of fear she did.. he falls to the floor, into laughter, laughing uncontrollably and even joyfully after she kills herself only because he felt they would be reunited even across death, even if only archetypally.. that he would never love anyone as deeply as he had loved her, could never hope to have anyone understand him as deeply as she had.. I feel I would have fallen into a horrible depth of despair had I not found time to prepare toward self expression as cautiously and privately as possible, had I not expected fame to be a kind of horror, affirmed by the deaths of individuals who clearly found death the most artistic way to express the 'need of the famous' to live on only in the memories of others, that their work seeks to empower every individual, yet they are dismissed as quickly as others express a desire toward fame,- 'how would that be an obligation? I'd love to be rich and famous!'.. If it's any comfort, I felt true joy before I ever believed I would be famous.. and my only happiness had been the thought of communicating beautifully toward a true garden, toward a true progress that remains forever. Please help me labor independently, and seek to empower anyone who expresses an honest desire to help, even if they're famous..; it is all I'm asking.

I'll end with my most spiteful thought. If you must share this on social media, know that every christmas since age 17 my deepest christmas wish was that she would be there with me..; so in honor of the season, only share this page on christmas.. never on halloween.. never in between those days.. unless.. on christmas day.. you want my christmas wish to come true.. moreso than hers.. that she not become too famous on social media.. that she lose all sense of privacy.. just as I feared.. so only share this page once each year.. only on christmas eve.. if you can remember.. your holiday cheer.. and mine.. what the fuck? I'm not a ho..'ho!' says an asian man in exactly that place in exactly that tone..Mulan?[cut to thundercats],my dreams lost forever.. because someone wrote a post.. on christmas.. and didn't think of me, Moon Empress.. Dom.. Thea aarA

Could we make this a thing? that every parent in america ask their child after first watching a Robin Williams movie together whether they were an actor in a past life? that this is how there's kinda a first hope of reincarnation in the United States? and ask only that time.. instead of asking each child near the end of high school whether they want to enlist in the army against the wishes of some ancient queen.. even if she was great?

page up sometimes to have time to review the images this time?