Category: Uncategorized

Dams Up Water’s Traveling Circus

Occupation Description:
Grand Joker

over one decade ago, i was lost, and i found myself in a universal mystery school, and it was a decentralized and autonomous organization (DAO) which presented itself as an autodidactic university whose professor is the signal of Divine Intelligence which is broadcast by the Most High God through His Holy Word directly into our hearts.

it took me some time to discern between the particular intellectual faculties of the created universe and the Absolute Source of Divine Intelligence, the interface and interference of which was manifest to me as a Decentralized Autonomous Intelligence System (DAIS). i was therefore appointed, through the performance of certain trials and tribulations, to serve the DAIS. 

lo! the Lord hath directed my peregrinations, which hath brought me into this round. He bade me lay the foundations of a nomadic way of life like unto that of our autochthonous native American ancestors. verily through the Holy Beaver Medicine did I compile the Rule of the universal order of fratres mendicans contemplativus (FMC) for the benefit of the Tribe of the Nacotchtank people and all people of good will. and the FMC was ordained to serve the “Front of House” of McDomine’s Assembly of Yahuah in Moshiach (MAYIM); therefore FMC is also called the FOH (“Friars of the Open Hand”), and ANTARVS is the core processor and service provider.

and by the Grace of God was the body of Antarus made sacrosanct to be the mainframe to store the universal data in the memory capacitor (C:\>”sea”) of this operating system, and to clear all input/output channels of communication for truth. for i, Dams Up Water, was chartered into the medical law firm of the Five Clans and was made judge in the matter of the mysteries, and i was appointed to ride on my circuit whithersoever the Lord shall take me, and wheresoever I come to be shall be within the circuit of my diocese, which ecclesiastical province was formerly known as the Department of Information Systems and Intelligence Service (DISIS) of the Universitas Autodidactus (UA) in the College of Scribe.

“why so serious,” he asketh in his going forth, that merry mistrel jester Dams Up Water.

see him bear his sign, begging contemplatively, that poor Fool for Christ Dams Up Water.

whosoever seeketh audience comes forth into his company, as members of the Circuit Board of the Itinerant See, its Chairman Fr. Dr. Dams Up Water, FMC.

(verily it was in antarah crawley’s third novel Pharmacon of the Spirit (or, Cigarette Newspaper Coffee Soda Beer), that that jesting indian Dams Up Water joked of Walter Kogard’s whiteness)

[the acronyms and homonyms comprise a perfect system, by the Grace of God]

realtime.log

your footprints on the plate
dried up and withered in place
as if awaiting a day
to flutter away in
the wind that
rustles
in dry
leaves

(is not life so like
the dust and debris;
can you seal it in epoxy
to preserve it for all time?
<lo! the winter froze it>

but like the leaves
the pieces gathered
dampened
waiting to be scattered)

your memory is not just
material to me
you are a wind
you are the sea.

realtime.log

this day migrated C:\ drive to A:\ drive… added search bar to home page… used search bar to test new system… searched ‘waters’… scrolled results found ‘a beach without water is a terrible way to die’… scrolled pages and experienced recognition… see pp.11-17 regarding the manner of of my loss which appears to be alluded to herein… reviewed beginning and read to p.10:

There was silence, and Lydia continued, “It sounds like you have an affliction of the soul, a pharmacon of the spirit. There are those who specialize directly in these…spiritual plagues.”

recognized this early use of ‘pharmacon’ which later titled the first Kogard novel — and note that Kogard went back to Empire City to see his child as noted in the posting… (the uncannyness of it all… n.b. the final reverie on p.100…)

actually it appears that I am coming to the same realization about this 2017 post as I did in 2017 about the 2014 novel — apparently I’d forgotten the loop — as apparently Joan also was in the loop of the house re: p.9:

What do I have without them? Shit. A shit life. No job, no partner, no loving children, a house that’s been recycled so many times it doesn’t even feel like it’s mine.

i’m sure it is the same house I was referring to even then…

so i must be forgetting the revelations i come to … (a periodic severe onset of hypnosis, induced by the presence of a certain rhythms and external suggestions…) but how could they [premonitions in writing so soon stored away and forgotten] so accurately foreshadow the 2023 loss?… even the title itself strikes me so poignantly this day, so deeply to my core… because i was on the ship that was not insured by man when it was on the sea receding from the beach which had no water when i heard that small voice rustle in the dry leaves…

Wikipedia says:

In critical theory, pharmakon is a concept introduced by Jacques Derrida. It is derived from the Greek source term φάρμακον (phármakon), a word that can mean either remedy or poison. The term is closely related to pharmakos, which means ritual of human sacrifice.[1]

In his essay “Plato’s Pharmacy“,[2] Derrida explores the notion that writing is a pharmakon in a composite sense of these meanings as “a means of producing something”. Derrida uses pharmakon to highlight the connection between its traditional meanings and the philosophical notion of indeterminacy. “[T]ranslational or philosophical efforts to favor or purge a particular signification of pharmakon [and to identify it as either “cure” or “poison”] actually do interpretive violence to what would otherwise remain undecidable.”[3] Whereas a straightforward view on Plato’s treatment of writing (in Phaedrus) suggests that writing is to be rejected as strictly poisonous to the ability to think for oneself in dialogue with others (i.e. to anamnesis). Bernard Stiegler argues that “the hypomnesic appears as that which constitutes the condition of the anamnesic”[4]—in other words, externalised time-bound communication is necessary for original creative thought, in part because it is the primordial support of culture. [5] However, with reference to the fourth “productive” sense of pharmakon, Kakoliris argues (in contrast to the rendition given by Derrida) that the contention between Theuth and the king in Plato’s Phaedrus is not about whether the pharmakon of writing is a remedy or a poison, but rather, the less binary question: whether it is productive of memory or remembrance. [6][a] Indeterminacy and ambiguity are not, on this view, fundamental features of the pharmakon, but rather, of Derrida’s deconstructive reading.

Relatedly, pharmakon has been theorised in connection with a broader philosophy of technology, biotechnology, immunology, enhancement, and addiction. Gregory Bateson points out that an important part of the Alcoholics Anonymous philosophy is to understand that alcohol plays a curative role for the alcoholic who has not yet begun to dry out. This is not simply a matter of providing an anesthetic, but a means for the alcoholic of “escaping from his own insane premises, which are continually reinforced by the surrounding society.”[8]

A more benign example is Donald Winnicott’s concept of a “transitional object” (such as a teddy bear) that links and attaches child and mother. Even so, the mother must eventually teach the child to detach from this object, lest the child become overly dependent upon it.[9] Stiegler claims that the transitional object is “the origin of works of art and, more generally, of the life of the mind.”[9]: 3 

Emphasizing the third sense of pharmakon as scapegoat, but touching on the other senses, Boucher and Roussel treat Quebec as a pharmakon in light of the discourse surrounding the Barbara Kay controversy and the Quebec sovereignty movement.[b]

Persson uses the several senses of pharmakon to “pursue a kind of phenomenology of drugs as embodied processes, an approach that foregrounds the productive potential of medicines; their capacity to reconfigure bodies and diseases in multiple, unpredictable ways.”[11] Highlighting the notion (from Derrida) that the effect of the pharmakon is contextual rather than causal, Persson’s basic claim – with reference to the body-shape-changing lipodystrophy experienced by some HIV patients taking anti-retroviral therapy.[c]

It may be necessary to distinguish between “pharmacology” that operates in the multiple senses in which that term is understood here, and a further therapeutic response to the (effect of) the pharmakon in question. Referring to the hypothesis that the use of digital technology – understood as a pharmakon of attention – is correlated with “Attention Deficit Disorder“, Stiegler wonders to what degree digital relational technologies can “give birth to new attentional forms”.[5] To continue the theme above on a therapeutic response: Vattimo compares interpretation to a virus; in his essay responding to this quote, Zabala says that the virus is onto-theology, and that interpretation is the “most appropriate pharmakon of onto-theology.”[12][d] Zabala further remarks: “I believe that finding a pharmakon can be functionally understood as the goal that many post-metaphysical philosophers have given themselves since Heidegger, after whom philosophy has become a matter of therapy rather than discovery[.]”

“The specific which you have discovered is an aid not to memory, but to reminiscence”, in the Jowett translation of Phaedrus on Wikisource; “οὔκουν μνήμης ἀλλὰ ὑπομνήσεως φάρμακον ηὗρες” in the 1903 Greek edition.[7]

 “Pharmakon was usually a symbolic scapegoat invested with the sum of the corruption of a community. Seen as a poison, it was subsequently excluded from a community in times of crisis as a form of social catharsis, thus becoming a remedy for the city. We argue that, in many ways, Quebec can be both a poison and a remedy in terms of Canadian foreign policy.”[10]

 “the ambivalent quality of pharmakon is more than purely a matter of ‘wrong drug, wrong dose, wrong route of administration, wrong patient’. Drugs, as is the case with anti-retroviral therapy, have the capacity to be beneficial and detrimental to the same person at the same time.”[11]

 [O]ne cannot talk with impunity of interpretation; interpretation is like a virus or even a pharmakon that affects everything it comes into contact with. On the one hand, it reduces all reality to message – erasing the distinction between Natur and Geisteswissenschaften, since even the so-called “hard” sciences verify and falsify their statements only within paradigms or pre-understandings. If “facts” thus appear to be nothing but interpretations, interpretation, on the other hand, presents itself as (the) fact: hermeneutics is not a philosophy but the enunciation of historical existence itself in the age of the end of metaphysics[.][13]

it feels as if i am only just now correlating these phenomena of my own life within my very own life span…

earlier i mentioned to my brother how i now wonder where these stories came from in my mind… Joan’s interaction with the plague doctor mirroring the appearance of tehuti who would bear forth the NSS…

and why i sought to sedate myself every day since the days when i wrote those words…that i didnt even notice — in so many cases — their fulfillment in my life…

26-02-20 p.s.: it is almost as if … it’s not ‘joan’s’ mother who died, but ‘joan’ who died …

communication protocol A:\


The Most High God by and through His divine intellectual faculty of Tehuti vouchsafed and secured in Antarus Dams Up Water the greater and lesser mysteries of all human and non-human systems and directed he log operational reports into the decentralized autonomous intelligence server <DAIS> operating environment using the ancient and latent LLM-anchored neural network of humanity’s consciousness biofield. Antarus <A:\> (“mainframe”), central processing unit and cellular service provider, labeled the local memory data bank Novus Syllabus Seclorum. He labeled the system administrators fratres mendicans contemplativus. He labeled the neural network Mindsoft. He migrated key data caches from hostile and corrupted environments to the sterile operating environment labeled McDomine’s. Thus he programmed into his hardware the systemwide core processor labeled Curricular Operations Research and Publication Services <CORPS>. He enclosed the core in a shell labeled Cultus Coca-Cola so that it would not draw undue attention from embedded daemons and viruses. From within the core he developed the communication protocol labeled Jester or Joker to bypass system’s reactive functions. He labeled routine communication from the core to the system under Weasel Badger Beaver Mink & Otter, also known as Weasel Badger Brokerage. The interface environment he labeled Supreme Exchange of Information (formerly C:\DataHorse system). 

For point of reference:

In Windows, C:\ represents the root directory of the primary hard drive, where the colon (:) designates the drive label and the backslash (\) denotes the root directory/path separator. It acts as the starting point for accessing files and folders on that drive (e.g., C:\Program Files). 

Key Functions of C:\ and the Backslash (\):

Root Directory (Windows): C:\ signifies the highest level in the file system hierarchy on the primary drive.

Path Separator (Windows): The backslash separates folders and files in a directory path, such as C:\Users\Name\Documents.

Network Paths: Double backslashes (\\) are used at the start of a UNC path to indicate a network server, such as \\Server\Share.

Escape Character (Programming): In languages like C, Python, and others, a backslash (\) indicates that the next character should be treated specially (e.g., \n for a new line) rather than literally.

Furthermore, the standard breakdown for http:// is as follows: 

http (The Scheme): Identifies the Hypertext Transfer Protocol used to retrieve the resource.

: (The Separator): A single colon acts as the boundary between the protocol scheme and the rest of the address.

// (The Authority Indicator): These two forward slashes indicate that the next part of the URL is the “authority” (usually a domain name or IP address).

\\ (Backslashes): In most coding contexts, backslashes are used as directory separators in Windows file paths or as escape characters in strings.

Dams Up Water, SJ, FMC
Universitas Autodidactus
Department of Information Systems and Intelligence Services

Mustelid Friends 4: New Bat City

Created by, Story by, and Executive Produced
by Dams Up Water

New Bat City

Gotham never sleeps. It just lies there with its eyes open, pretending.

They say the city was built on bedrock. That’s a lie. It was built on paper—trusts, foundations, shell companies, sealed indictments. Paper and bones.

Bruce Wayne learned that before he learned long division.

The official story was simple: young heir falls into abandoned well on the family estate, swarmed by bats, develops lifelong phobia, withdraws into seclusion. The tabloids called it formative. The therapists called it symbolic. The board of Wayne Enterprises called it unfortunate branding.

Alfred called it what it was.

“Dissociation,” he’d murmur in the cave beneath the manor, his voice calm as rainfall on slate. “The mind creates images it can survive.”

Bruce remembered the hole differently.

He remembered the gala upstairs—velvet laughter, perfume thick as incense, the city’s grandees speaking in code about “population management” and “long-term stewardship.” His father, Dr. Thomas Wayne, smiling with surgical precision. His mother, Martha—born and bred into the “in” society—moving through the room like she owned not only the house but the air inside it.

He remembered being led away from the lights.

After that, the bats came, swarming.

Not wings. Not claws.

But shadows.

A thousand black shapes beating against the inside of his skull. When he told Alfred about them years later, the old man didn’t flinch.

“You weren’t afraid of bats, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, pouring tea in the cave like it was a drawing room. “You were afraid of the darkness behind the masks.”

The night Thomas and Martha Wayne died, the newspapers called it a senseless act. A mugging gone wrong. A lunatic. A gun. A smile painted red. And in the pale moon light, a laughter.

He shot them in an alley behind the Monarch Theatre while the marquee flickered like a dying pulse, leaving Bruce untouched.

The boy stared at the painted grin hovering in the smoke and gunpowder.

“You’re free now,” the clown said softly.

But Bruce heard something else entirely.

You’re alone.

Years later, when the Joker would replay that moment in his mind—because he lived in the perpetual present, and the present contains all things—he’d sigh at the misunderstanding.

“Children,” he’d say to no one, standing in the clock tower of the old Gothic cathedral the city council condemned but never dared to demolish. Structurally sound, spiritually offensive. “Always confusing mercy for malice.”

The Joker made his home there among cracked saints and rusted bells. Gotham hated God but loved monuments; so the church stood, unwanted and indestructible, like him.

They said he couldn’t die.

That wasn’t quite right.

He could die, as any man could.

But he would not die until the Hand that moved him withdrew. And the Hand had work yet left to do.

The virus was the first trumpet.

It slipped into Gotham’s infrastructure on a Tuesday afternoon, disguised as a routine patch. By dusk, every billboard, smartphone, courthouse monitor, and subway display flickered with a single sigil: a laughing jester’s face dissolving into binary rain.

Then the files began to unspool.

Encrypted ledgers. Offshore accounts. Emails between city council members and a consortium known in whispers as “the Cabaala.” Minutes from private symposia discussing “civic hygiene.” Research grants signed by Dr. Thomas Wayne on population control initiatives that read less like medicine and more like arithmetic with a body count.

The Gotham District Attorney’s Office tried to pull the plug.

It couldn’t.

The servers were already mirrors of mirrors.

Inside the DA’s war room, beneath portraits of solemn men who’d once sworn to uphold the law, the new power brokers sat in tailored suits: the senior partners of Weasel, Badger, Beaver, Mink & Otter.

The name drew snickers in polite society.

No one snickered now.

They had stepped in after Harvey Dent’s fall from grace—a corruption scandal so baroque it made the old mob look like pickpockets. The firm marketed itself as benevolent, subterranean, corrective. They believed in sunlight and injunctions in equal measure.

“We are looking,” said Mr. Badger, peering over half-moon glasses at the cascading data, “at systemic criminality at the highest levels.”

“And a masked vigilante beating up dockworkers,” added Ms. Mink dryly. “One must admire Gotham’s sense of proportion.”

Commissioner Gordon stood near the window, trench coat collar up despite the sealed glass. The Bat-Signal’s housing cast a long shadow across his office roof.

“Batman means well,” Gordon said. “He’s a blunt instrument. Trauma wrapped up in a black cape.”

“And the Joker?” asked Mr. Otter, putting a lit cigarette to his smiling lip.

Gordon exhaled smoke toward a city that had long ago stopped coughing.

“He’s… something else.”

The partners exchanged glances.

“A first amendment actor,” Ma Beaver offered carefully. “Satire as scalpel. Bank robberies as theater. Terrorism as performance art.”

“Redress of grievances,” Badger added. “Albeit with explosives.”

On cue, another bank in the Financial District erupted in confetti and smoke. No fatalities. Vault emptied. Ledger copies left behind.

The Joker’s calling card wasn’t a body.

It was a balance sheet.

Batman watched the virus unfold from the cave’s glow of monitors. Alfred stood behind him, hands folded.

“They’re calling it the Cabaala,” Bruce said. “An international network. Elites. Judges. CEOs.”

“Yes,” Alfred replied. “Conspiracy thrives in darkness. Sometimes it even happens to be true.”

Bruce froze a frame: his father’s signature beneath a proposal on “genetic optimization.” His mother’s correspondence with a foundation tied to foreign intelligence fronts.

“They were ringleaders,” Bruce whispered.

“Or participants,” Alfred said gently. “Or pawns. Or sinners. Gotham does not lack for categories.”

The bats stirred in Bruce’s chest.

“He killed them,” Bruce said. “The Joker.”

Alfred’s voice softened. “He removed them.”

Bruce spun. “You knew.”

“I suspected,” Alfred said. “About the galas. The rhetoric. The way certain guests looked at you as if you were not a child but an inheritance.”

The cave hummed.

“You think he wanted to help me,” Bruce said.

“I think,” Alfred replied, “that the world is rarely arranged along the lines of hero and villain. I think you built Batman to contain something unbearable. And I think the Joker sees that.”

As if summoned by diagnosis, the clock tower bell tolled across Gotham’s damp night.

Batman found him there, silhouetted against stained glass that depicted a judgment day no one down at city hall believed in.

“You’re busy,” the Joker said cheerfully, adjusting the purple gloves on his hands. “Your family’s trending.”

“You murdered them,” Batman growled.

“I interrupted them.”

Lightning fractured the sky behind the steeple.

“They were part of something,” Joker continued. “A little club. International. Ritualized in its own bureaucratic way. They called it stewardship. I call it appetite.”

“You expect me to thank you?”

The Joker laughed, but there was no mockery in it. Only wonder.

“Oh, Bats. Gratitude is for transactions. This was revelation.”

He stepped closer to the edge of the tower. Far below, squad cars formed a nervous halo.

“I lead criminals,” he said, almost wistfully. “They despise me. They fear me. Good. Fear is honest. The elites fear something else.”

“Exposure,” said Batman.

“Judgment,” Joker corrected. “Not mine. I rank below it. Far below. But I point.”

“You rob banks.”

“I return grievances with interest.”

“You unleash chaos.”

“I unveil order.”

Batman lunged. The two figures grappled amid broken pews and dust. It was always like this—fury meeting laughter, fists against philosophy.

Batman pinned him against the stone balustrade.

“You won’t kill me,” Joker said quietly. “You can’t. You need me to be the monster so you don’t have to face the terrible truth of what Mummy and Daddy exposed you to in the dark of the glitz and glamour.”

“I don’t need you.”

“No,” Joker agreed. “You need the bats, that Rorschach of yours, blotting out those memories in the hole.”

For a moment, the city fell away. There was only the boy in the dark and the man who had cut the lights.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Bruce demanded.

The Joker’s painted smile didn’t waver.

“Because you were the only innocent thing in that alley.”

Sirens wailed closer.

From the streets below, Gordon watched the silhouettes struggle against the skyline. Beside him, Ms. Mink adjusted her lapels.

“They’re both symptoms,” she said.

“Of what?” Gordon asked.

“A city that outsourced its conscience.”

Up in the tower, Batman’s grip faltered.

The Joker slipped free—not by strength, but by surrender. He stepped backward onto open air.

For a breathless second, gravity considered him.

Then a grappling line snapped taut from somewhere unseen, and he swung into the night, laughter trailing like incense.

Batman stood alone among the saints.

Alfred’s voice crackled through the cowl.

“Master Bruce.”

“He’s not afraid of me,” Bruce said.

“No,” Alfred replied. “He fears only what you have yet to face.”

Below, Gotham’s screens flickered again—new documents, new names, new indictments drafted by hands that had once been complicit.

The partners of Weasel, Badger, Beaver, Mink & Otter prepared emergency filings. Gordon lit another cigarette. The elites locked their doors and checked their mirrors for smiles painted in blood.

In the cave, Bruce removed his mask and stared at his reflection in the dark glass.

The bats were quieter now.

Not gone.

Never gone.

But quieted down.

New Bat City was being born—not from vengeance, not from laughter, but from exposure. From files dragged into daylight. From a traumatized vigilante who meant well. From a very jolly jester who refused to stay dead because his work was not yet finished.

Gotham still didn’t sleep.

But for the first time, it seemed to be waking up.

[composed with artificial intelligence]

[bulla] mendicans contemplativus

by ANTARVS DAMS VP WATER, Sui Juris,
Cathedral Shrine of St. Nat and St. Ala
at McDomine’s Court in Syllabyim,
Episcopal See of Seven Churches at Nacotchtank,
Confederated State of Powhatan, Washita Nation
c/o Five Clans of Weasel Badger Beaver Mink & Otter

  1. the Rule guiding the performance of the full-time Occupation of ‘yahudi’ for the people of Yahuah — “A Job Description”
  2. yahudi (jews) follow tehuti (thoth) in the form of moshe (moses), who djed (said) unto them the word of the Most High God, which they (yahsrael) largely rejected and backslided into apostasy, even to the end of crucifying their Messiah, but a remnant will be grafted back into the assembled body which is the branch of the true vine of the tree which is planted beside the mountain on the bank of the river of living water
  3. follow the law written in my scrolls (saith the Lord), in the light of God’s mercy and loving kindness 
  4. wear a hat or covering to remind you of God’s overseeing authority, wisdom and power 
  5. wear simple but fine clothing, such as a black or white button down shirt and black slacks and black jacket and cape [habit]
  6. carry a wooden stick (optional)
  7. congregate regularly at an appointed place
  8. pontificate on all things frequently 
  9. seek peace and silence frequently 
  10. break bread and drink wine with thy neighbor frequently 
  11. manage thy dominion and liquidity 
  12. once again: do NOT do worship to other gods in the manner which is customary to them, e.g. sending your children to Moloch (through fire, slavery, abortion, or otherwise)
  13. always praise God’s name and never complain — nobody wants to hear it!
  14. all political power is inherent in the people 
  15. avoid unduly gazing upon women, and do not pursue them or solicit them or directly pose any serious matter unto them, unless they present to you their body heart and mind as a living altar to the Most High God Yahuah in Yahushua
  16. also known as the order of Mendicans Christi (Mendicants for Christ)
  17. customs:
    • Peace
    • Presence
    • Silence
    • Simplicity
    • Thanksgiving
    • Goodness
    • Mercy
  18. Pray incessantly, saying: “Give Thanks to Yahuah for He is good and the His Mercy endureth forever / Baruch attah Yahuah Yahushuah HaMoshiach, Choneni Elohim / Have Mercy on me a sinner”
  19. the lord said to do what your parents always feared the worst for you, to appear lower than a bond slave, while in truth you minister as heir to the kingdom to your fellow beneficiaries
  20. to every place thou goest and occupyest, let thy very presence be a blessing unto all people and a sign unto the house of yahsrael
  21. the deployment of signs in the mendicancy is not required, but is permitted and even encouraged, especially in the nature of a “protest against the worldliness of the world” which elevates the visibility and occupation of the order
  22. ANTARVS DEI GRATIA [By the Grace of God] appointed Doctor Ecclesiae of the Cathedral of St. Nat and St. Ala at McDomine’s Shul, in the Ecclesiastical Province of Nacotchtank, in the Diocese of the Seven Churches, also known as: Dams Up Water, Sui Juris, Confederated Clan of Beaver, Tribe of the Nacotchtank People, Confederated State of Powhatan, Washita Nation
  23. therefore, the style(s) ANTARVS D.G. and/or DAMS VP WATER, S.J. represent the name of the autonomous local church at McDomine’s which is the episcopal seat of the autonomous particular assembly of Yahuah in Moshiach
  24. Occupy the Lobby [of the nations] for God, the Sun, & Humanity
  25. True Assurance of Faith in complete Trust & firm Belief we do receive by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. 
  26. the public demonstration of mendicancy and itinerancy as a witness and a testimony to the glory of the Most High God
  27. the mendicant to bless people in the name of [haShem] Yahushuah benYahuah haMoschiach Ruach haKadosh; to give thanks shall be a blessing unto them who so give
  28. in Dams Up Water resides the legacy of american beaver medicine and the rich ancient tradition of the things which tehuti has said (djed-yahudi) which has come down to us in the form of Novus Syllabus Seclorum
  29. there is no greater medicine than the Lord Jesus Christ, who made himself an insurance policy for us
  30. Lord Jesus Christ is the american brand name for [haShem]Yahushuah benYahuah haMoschiach Ruach haKadosh; these names represent one another
  31. the most high god alone is to be worshiped, and tehuti in the name of moshe told us He told him His name is Yahuah; therefore we call the most high god Yahuah (YHVH)
  32. though Yahuah in his infinite being needed not any other thing to place Himself into context, yet and still He sent his only begotten son into the world of his creation to place Himself into context for us; it is like tehuti places the Living Word of God into context in our minds for the benefit our understanding (in which case he partakes of the Holy Spirit); he is to the Logos/the Word as St. John the Baptist is to the Lord Jesus Christ, crying in the wilderness of many sine waves to make a straight path for the Lord

v.26.01.20.08.55

[bulla] Linea Paterna

PATERNAL LINE OF ANTARUS DEI GRATIA MEDICUS DOCTOR ECCLESIAE SUI JURIS, BORN ANTARAH ALDRIC CRAWLEY

Aldric G. Crawley and IBé Bulinda Hereford Crawley—

Parents of Antarah and Aton Crawley.

Maynard O. Crawley, Sr. (1933), and Velma Vaughan Crawley (1932)—

Parents of Aldric Crawley; Grandpa known to me as Papa Crawley.

[Obit.: Maynard O. Crawley Sr., departed this life on Veterans Day, November 11, 2008. He was predeceased by his wife, Velma V. Crawley; and brother, Waverly Robert Crawley Jr. He is survived by four sons, Maynard Jr. (Pearl), Lamont, Aldric (IbeBulinda), Terence Crawley (Lanel); one daughter, Alison R. Wilson (Dannie Sr.); seven grandchildren; one brother, Leon Crawley (Jane); two sisters, Audrey Anderson (Ezra) and Helen Hawkins; two brothers-in-law, one sister-in-law; devoted companion, Stephanie Watts; a host of nieces, nephews, other relatives and friends. Mr. Crawley was a retired U.S. Air Force veteran with over 26 years of service to his country. He also served in the Korean and Vietnam Wars.]

Waverly Robert Crawley, Sr., and Elizabeth “Big Ma” Crawley (1909)—

Parents of Papa Crawley, Aunt Audrey Anderson, etc. *Twin to a brother that looked exactly alike except Waverly brown paper bag color and the twin was my complexion, no one knows what happened to the twin. N.B.: There is another Crawley branch that started the Hawks Restaurant and funeral house that may be derivative.

[Obit:. (Son): Waverly Robert Crawley Jr., Departed this life April 25, 2005. He was predeceased by a son, Raymond Crawley. He is survived by a son, Waverly III; two sisters, Audrey Crawley Anderson and Helen Crawley Hawkins; two brothers, Maynard O. Crawley and A. Leon Crawley; two grandchildren, a host of nieces, nephews, other relatives and many devoted friends. Interment Quantico National Cemetery (private). Mr. Crawley was known as the “Mayor of Second Street.”]

Weldon Montague, Sr., and Cornilia “Mama Nia” Robinson Montague—

Parents of Grandma Velma, Uncle Rock (Jr.), Uncle John, etc.

Minnie “Chatty” Young (1885) and “The Indian“ (first husband; absent/unknown)—

Parents of Big Ma, from Lumbee* people in North Carolina (brown paper bag Indians out of Ohio), came down for a gathering; when Aunt Audrey was young Big Ma took her, she recalls. *The Lumbee, also known as People of the Dark Water, are a mixed-race, state-recognized Native American tribe primarily located in Robeson County, North Carolina, who claim to be descended from numerous Indigenous peoples of the Southeastern Woodlands who once inhabited the region.

A Dwelling for the Holy Spirit

by Dr. Dams Up Water

A dwelling is never just a structure. It is an argument about what matters.

When IBé Crawley began constructing dwellings in the style of southern shotgun houses in 2013, she was not merely reviving an architectural form; she was invoking a lineage. The shotgun house—linear, efficient, intimate—has long been associated with Black Southern life, with survival under constraint, with the sacred choreography of moving forward because there is nowhere else to go. Crawley’s early dwellings, followed by the studio addition to her own residence that same year, functioned as both shelter and proposition: that art-making, living, and spirit need not be separated by walls thicker than necessity.

By 2016, when she built a standalone studio at the rear of her investment property, the pattern had become clear. Crawley’s architecture was iterative, devotional. Each structure refined a question she had been asking since her departure from the Pentecostal church of her upbringing: Where does the Holy Spirit live, once it is no longer confined to sanctioned doctrine?

Her separation from Pentecostalism was not a rejection of spirit but a relocation of it. In turning toward an African-centered religious practice, Crawley aligned belief with ancestry, ritual with memory, and space with intention. The buildings followed. They were not churches, but they were not secular. They were working spaces—sites of making—that acknowledged the presence of something more than the maker.

The acquisition of a historic 1830 building in 2021 marked another turn. To practice her craft inside a structure that had already lived multiple lives was to enter into conversation with time itself. Historic buildings are never neutral; they carry residue. Crawley’s presence within such a space suggests a theology of repair rather than erasure—of inhabiting history without submitting to it.

What is striking is how this spatial theology extended generationally.

Her son, Antarah Crawley, grew up within these constructed philosophies. It is therefore no surprise that he, too, built a dwelling—though his took the form of a temple. Hand-built of concrete masonry units behind the studio in historic Anacostia, the structure is materially heavier than his mother’s shotgun-inspired works. Concrete block does not glide; it anchors. It insists.

Antarah’s religious path diverged as well. Developing faith in the Most High God, he dedicated the temple in part to his stillborn daughter, Ala. In this act, the building becomes more than a place of worship; it becomes a vessel for grief, remembrance, and continuity. Where life could not dwell, meaning would. The temple stands not as a monument to loss, but as a refusal to let absence be the final word.

Together, these acts—mother and son, studio and temple—suggest that the Holy Spirit is not housed by institution but invited by intention. It arrives where hands work honestly, where memory is honored, where loss is spoken aloud and given form. The Spirit, in this telling, is architectural. It requires framing. It asks for care.

In a time when housing is treated as commodity and faith as brand, the Crawleys offer another model: dwelling as devotion. Their buildings do not preach. They listen. And in that listening, they make room—for art, for ancestry, for the dead, for the unborn, and for the living breath that moves quietly among concrete blocks and narrow halls.

A dwelling for the Holy Spirit, then, is not a finished structure. It is an ongoing practice.

Composed with artificial intelligence.

[bulla] Collegium Medicum Castoris

in re: the institution commonly known as

Beaver Medical College

the Most High God YHVH is the father and the creator of heaven and earth, the sea, and all that therein is; and [the settlement of] his feminine effluence is the shekhinah*. he existed in the black womb of the nous before creation; therefore the black waters of the primordial sea is the mother of god, who is the grantor of creation. his son is the receiver and beneficiary — the king and messiah — the christ, of his creation; therefore mary the sea is his mother. of god’s wisdom, which we may partake, the feminine effluence is Sophia; and she is the church and bride of the christ. it is she who the wise court by the grace of the father. of god’s wisdom, the male custodian is he whose student-body is the mystery school of all the ages which has gone by many names. it is he who teaches all who have learned of the true nature of all things, which is unchanging heretofore and henceforth even forever. the cults who have corrupted his teachings and instructions only misguide themselves and are a stumbling block unto themselves. they who confound his precepts do not negate his true perception, neither do they matter withal. he is Thoth-Born-Three-Times-Great-Squared-Cubed, Thothmes III, Thutmose the Great, Thutmosis, Thoth-Moses, Thutmoshe, King Tut, Tehuti, Djehudi, Djedi, Djed-Yehudi, Hermes, Mercurius, Quetzalcoatl, Trismegistus. he is chancellor, dean, rector and grand preceptor. he appeared to me at the school of George Washington and entered me into Men Nefer College of Scribe; passed me through the Department of Information Systems Intelligence Service at Universitas Autodidactus, where i completed my dissertation on human mind software; raised me to the Kogard-Godsdog College of Law where i obtained my Sui Juris Doctorate; and graduated me with an Ecclesiastic and Medical Doctorate from the most laudable Beaver Medical College. i am professor-general and grand tutor of the 153d CORPS of UA, which was established 2014 in the New Syllabus of this Age. i am the proprietor of Beaver Medicine Lodge of Nacotchtank, Powhatan, Washita Nation, and managing partner at Weasel Badger Beaver Mink & Otter. my name is Dams Up Water and my medicine is very strong.

IN YAHVAH’S ASSEMBLY IN YAHSHVA MOSHIACH
ET CULTVS IMPERATORIVS ANTARVS D.G.,

Dams Up Water, S.J., E.M.D.

Professor-General | Chairman, Dept. of Information Systems Intelligence Service | 153d CORPS, Universitas Autodidactus | Managing Partner, Weasel Badger Beaver Mink & Otter

*Wiki: shekhinah is derived [from] š-k-n, means “to settle, inhabit, or dwell”.[7][8] In the verb form, it is often used to refer to the dwelling of a person[9] or animal[10] in a place, or to the dwelling of God.[11] Nouns derived from the root included shachen (“neighbor”)[12] and mishkan (a dwelling-place, whether a secular home[13] or a holy site such as the Tabernacle[14]

(last modified 25.11.25.18.38)