Versant

🗓️ 25-07-05-Sa | 21:46 PST | ☀️  Sunny | 🌡️91° – 61°  | Northridge, CA | 🌔 Waxing gibbous moon is in ♏
Week 27 | Day 186/365 | 179 Days Remaining
National Day 👙 Bikini Day


✍🏾 MOOD

Golden hour stillness. A day wrapped in sun, memory, and minor rebellions. The mind lingered in reverie, and the body, for once, obeyed the call to rest.


🧭 THEME

Elegance in the excess — finding poise amid geegaws, noise, and nourishment.


🗝️ KEYWORD

Countervail

📚 SUBJECT
The tension between aesthetic indulgence and disciplined restraint


✍🏾 RMSDJ


I was rather surprised to sleep in until a little after 8:00, clocking in nearly nine hours of rest. No medication assisted this deep sleep—only my standard potassium and magnesium. And yet, the night offered stretches of quiet depth, though not without some restlessness early on. I must begin taking both supplements earlier—at least ninety minutes, perhaps even two hours, before retiring, in order to slake my body’s demand for repair and deeper recovery.

I sent Bobby Smith his annual birthday message, as I always do on July 5th. True to form, he responded promptly with gratitude. It’s a small gesture, yes—but these iteroparous acts of connection, revisited each year, affirm continuity in a world always shedding its skin.

Turning my attention to the letter from Steve Harrison at Amazon KDP, I was startled—though not ungratefully—to receive it on Independence Day. Instead of barbecue and family, he had evidently chosen to correspond with me. Or at least carve out a moment in his holiday to ensure The Fasting Life and Questions of Value stayed on his radar. I replied with thanks for his thoughtfulness and commended him for his continued support. He closed his letter with a reference to the Analogy:: game show, which lifted my spirits. I told him I’d be happy to have him as a producer, should that align with his ambitions. And if not, there would be many books to come. The letter ended on an upward inflection—a kind of narrative catastasis, just before the possible climax of renewed collaboration.

I delved into the blue light glasses debate. The results? Less than dazzling. The research I found countervailed most of the marketing hype. I may very well return them to Amazon for a full refund—let us call it cognitive decluttering, the removal of well-packaged geegaws designed more for placebo than protection.

My morning stretch went smoothly. I reached for a yellow exercise tube I’d had for years but only now began to appreciate. With it, I performed leg extensions, curls, triceps work, and various isolations. There was flow. Focus. Precision. Slowing down each movement and maintaining core tension throughout the forty-minute routine proved to be transformational. A minimalist approach yielding maximum returns. The band, modest as it was, became a rakish ally—disreputable in its age but undeniably effective.

Meditation was equally productive. Seventeen minutes of full-body scanning—drifting between consciousness and reverie. My mind wandered, yes, but with grace. Following this, I transitioned into a supine plank with abdominal stretches—forty-five seconds each for lower and upper regions. The result: centered, present, strong.

During my fitting session with the trousers I wore in my twenties, I noticed something quietly triumphant—room to spare. A small victory, sewn in fabric. I ran my fingers along the waistband and laughed. Even brocatel couldn’t wrap such quiet satisfaction. This was no ornament. It was evidence.

Later in the day, I returned to the task of assembling images and documents related to the beachfront property. I uploaded the photographs, paired them with last year’s correspondence to the City of Los Angeles regarding the disheveled conditions, and began preparing a digital packet for future depositions. Everything now lives neatly in the folder—awaiting only the final form. The project’s slope, its versant, is now clear: upward, meticulous, and inevitable.

At 14:20, an unexpected knock. Terry, the maintenance man with a shock of white hair and matching mustache, stood at the door. He came to replace the shower door with a curtain. However, I explained that Frank and I had spoken the week prior and agreed to retain the door—I simply needed three additional braces to stabilize it. Terry inspected the issue and agreed to follow up with Matthew to confirm that Frank had indeed ordered the necessary brackets. A case of crossed wires. When Terry arrived, I was—how shall I put it?—in my birthday suit, reviewing vocabulary words. Quite the tableau. A bit too much petto on display, perhaps.

Later, the Bonsenkitchen coffee grinder staged a rebellion. It wouldn’t grind. I had to manually remove the beans, reduce the load, and only then would it comply. A reminder that machines have moods. I considered returning it, but it’s currently unavailable. A suspicion lingers—perhaps another company acquired the model. No matter. I shall revise my approach to coffee grinding. Like so many things in life, improvisation reigns. And perhaps that’s the way of the iteroparous soul—returning, refining, redoing.

Evening brought a late workout at LA Fitness in Reseda. I began with fifteen minutes of work on the Matrix abdominal machine, followed by twenty minutes on the assault bike, and a brief leg-focused stint with the Life Fitness seated extension. That was the time I had—and I used it well. I returned home a little after 7:00, hungry and grateful.

To wind down, I watched the Barbara Walters documentary—halfway through at present. It’s intriguing to see her command the screen and, in many ways, eclipse the male titans of journalism like Walter Cronkite. I look forward to the conclusion, to learning more about the woman who taught the world how to ask a question and listen for the soul behind the answer. Her work often illuminated the inamorata behind the public mask—the beloved essence, waiting to be heard.

All in all, a day of movement, meaning, and small triumphs—woven together not with brocatel, but with stillness, structure, and the quiet confidence of living well.



📖 WORDQUEST

rakish
/ˈreɪ.kɪʃ/
Charming in a disreputable, unconventional way; stylishly bold.
From obsolete English rake (a libertine) + -ish.

🧠 Picture a windswept poet in a crimson cravat stepping out of a cloud of scandal.

🌍 He wore a rakish grin as he entered the party two hours late and three rules deep into mischief.
🔎 Implies bold charm coupled with disregard for convention.

🔥 Her rakish defiance in the boardroom undid a year of bureaucratic rot.
🔎 Suggests daring disruption with an irresistible flair.

petto
/ˈpɛt.toʊ/
Italian term of endearment meaning “darling” or “beloved.”
From Italian petto meaning “chest” — implying closeness to the heart.

🧠 Imagine whispering into the collarbone of someone you love — the word petto falls like silk.

🌍 She cradled the kitten, murmuring “petto mio” as it purred into her scarf.
🔎 Evokes intimacy and affection from deep within.

🔥 His voice, roughened by years of war, softened only when he called her petto.
🔎 Figurative use shows emotional disarmament.

slake
/sleɪk/
To quench or satisfy, especially thirst or desire.
Old English slacian, “to become less eager or intense.”

🧠 A dry desert tongue drinking the syllables of cool water.

🌍 The lemonade did little to slake the thirst left by grief.
🔎 Literal use expresses thirst both physical and emotional.

🔥 She sought to slake her longing with applause — but the hunger returned.
🔎 Figuratively expresses unquenchable yearning.

inamorata
/ɪˌnæməˈrɑːtə/
A woman with whom one is in love.
Italian, feminine of innamorato, “in love.”

🧠 A candlelit balcony, her silhouette framed by a storm — your inamorata awaits.

🌍 He spotted his inamorata across the square, her laughter lifting like music.
🔎 Indicates romantic longing in a poetic way.

🔥 His nation was his inamorata — adored and betrayed in equal measure.
🔎 Figurative use for idealized devotion.

geegaws
/ˈɡiːˌɡɔz/
Showy trinkets or baubles, often lacking in value.
Origin uncertain; likely imitative.

🧠 A cluttered shelf of glitter and nonsense.

🌍 Her dressing table overflowed with geegaws — costume rings, faded feathers, empty perfume vials.
🔎 Describes ornamental clutter.

🔥 They decorated their arguments with ideological geegaws to distract from the rot.
🔎 Figurative use shows empty decoration masking decay.

bane
/beɪn/
A cause of great distress or annoyance.
Old English bana meaning “slayer.”

🧠 A beautiful plant with poison roots.

🌍 The constant hum of the neighbor’s leaf blower was the bane of his Sunday mornings.
🔎 Literal irritation made lyrical.

🔥 Her self-doubt was the bane of every triumph she tried to claim.
🔎 Describes inner sabotage.

catastasis
/kəˈtæs.tə.sɪs/
The part of a drama just before the climax; dramatic tension’s height.
Greek katastasis, “settling or establishment.”

🧠 A violin string pulled tight just before the final note.

🌍 The third act opened in catastasis — every line quivered with impending collapse.
🔎 Indicates narrative brink.

🔥 America now teeters in catastasis, breath held, awaiting its next line.
🔎 Describes cultural suspense.

versant
/ˈvɜːr.sənt/
A region on one side of a mountain; a slope.
French versant, from Latin versare, “to turn.”

🧠 The sunlit shoulder of a sleeping mountain.

🌍 We camped on the southern versant, wrapped in alpine silence.
🔎 Literal geography rendered lyrical.

🔥 He never crossed to the darker versant of his own past.
🔎 Emotional terrain, untraveled.

countervail
/ˌkaʊn.təˈveɪl/
To offset or act against with equal force.
Latin contra (“against”) + valere (“to be strong”).

🧠 Two titans locked in perfect stillness.

🌍 Her calm demeanor countervailed the chaos of the emergency room.
🔎 Literal equilibrium between extremes.

🔥 His poetry countervailed the tyranny of public silence.
🔎 Art as moral resistance.


iteroparous
/ˌɪt.əˈrɒp.ər.əs/
Producing offspring multiple times in a lifetime.
Latin iterare (“to repeat”) + parere (“to bring forth”).

🧠 A tree that blooms season after season, undeterred.

🌍 The iteroparous rhythm of robins filled the orchard each spring.
🔎 A natural lifecycle, rich with rhythm.

🔥 Her career was iteroparous — each decade birthed something luminous.
🔎 Creativity recurring through seasons of life.

brocatel
/ˌbrɒkəˈtɛl/
A richly figured fabric often with raised design; a type of brocade.
French brocatelle, from Italian broccatello.

🧠 A tapestry whispering ancient gossip.

🌍 The altar cloth was made of brocatel, its gold threads catching candlelight.
🔎 Describes sumptuous fabric in sacred context.

🔥 Her language draped the truth in brocatel — ornate but obscuring.
🔎 Figurative for overembellished speech.


🏛️ APHORISM

Baruch Spinoza

The more you struggle to live, the less you live.


🔎 COMMENTARY

Spinoza suggests that life resists being forced. The more we contort ourselves in pursuit of permanence, pleasure, or proof, the further we drift from presence. To live is not to wrestle life into submission—but to move in accord with its quiet rhythms.


❓ QUESTIONS OF VALUE

Why do we keep mistaking ornament for meaning?

🔎 The shine distracts us from the soul beneath.

🛠️ PRINCIPLE IN PRACTICE

Resist the reflex to decorate your decisions. Say yes or no without brocatel. Let simplicity speak with strength.


🪶 POEM

Versant

On the gold-lit side of the day
I stood still—half-sure, half-shadow.
Desire curled in a bowl of sun.
No one called, yet I turned.
The other side waited—
Not dark, but honest.


✍🏾 ELEGANT TURN OF PHRASE

To countervail with grace

She didn’t resist the insult; she countervailed it with a silence that rang louder.
🔎 Responding with restraint created moral equilibrium.

They brought noise; he countervailed with one note of truth.
🔎 Suggests quiet defiance through clarity.

The storm raged — her stillness countervailed it, as if stillness was a storm.
🔎 Poetic inversion of power.

🔎 INTERPRETIVE SUMMARY

Elegance doesn’t oppose chaos; it balances it.


🏛️ STILLPOINT

The Stoics would nod at Spinoza. Life must be lived in agreement with nature—its cadences, not its costumes. Zeno taught that tranquility is the reward for right alignment. When we cease resisting, we start living.

🔎 Like water flowing through stone, life lived well requires no force. Strength lies in the unforced rhythm of being.


🧎🏾‍♂️ REFLECTIONS OF GRATITUDE

I am thankful for the slope that doesn’t demand the climb.
For the fabric of days, woven in silence and sun.
For restraint that softens the blade of desire.
For every geegaw that reminded me beauty is not always truth.
For the stillness that answered what words could not.


🪔 AFFIRMATION

I will not decorate my soul. I will wear simplicity like armor and speak in the fabric of truth.

RMS DEVOTIONAL

Title: Versant (2025)

Medium: Digital Art
Reflecting Randy Sydnor’s application of his unique technique, Mnephonics, this medium blends visual storytelling with symbolic language to evoke memory, learning, and reflection.

Style of Art: Impressionistic Realism with Symbolist Undertones

Dimensions: 1024 x 1536 pixels

Copyright: Randy Sydnor, The Mnephonist

Description:

(Opening Statement – Establish the Central Theme or Emotional Tone)
On the edge of golden illumination and quiet shadow, Versant captures the threshold moment between who we are and who we might yet become. The piece reflects a soul suspended in mid-turn—unbeckoned, yet compelled—poised at the liminal slope between certainty and truth.

(Medium and Technique – The Artist’s Craft)
Created using digital textures and techniques honed through Mnephonics, Versant employs layered light and subtle gradients to blend the sensory with the symbolic. The image distills the philosophical into the visual: contour becomes concept, shadow becomes suggestion. Randy Sydnor’s technique draws on visual repetition and symbolic layering to evoke a memory not yet lived but deeply felt. The use of contrast—particularly the interplay of saturated warmth and brooding blues—invites the viewer into a tactile reflection of turning points, both interior and exterior.

(Central Figure or Focus – The Visual Heart of the Piece)
The silhouette—Randy Sydnor himself, rendered as archetype—stands mid-slope, half-lit, half-shadowed. The posture evokes calm readiness. One foot slightly turned, the figure does not climb, does not descend. He countervails the pull of inertia with quiet intent. Like a rakish hero cloaked in contemplation, he inhabits the versant: a slope of both elevation and risk. There’s no visible path—only terrain, raw and symbolic. This man is not lost; he is simply unhurried.

(Supporting Elements – Symbolic Imagery and Details)
The composition makes deliberate use of visual geegaws—a golden flare here, a softened ridge there—not as ornament but as reflective tension. The absence of trails suggests that the journey is internal. The mountain’s versant becomes not just a slope but a question: does ascent require motion, or merely recognition? The shadowed pines below speak to past versions of the self—nested, complex, and no longer the only truth. Above, the sun bathes the unseen summit, slaking the hunger for clarity. The viewer finds themselves in catastasis—drawn into a still moment before a turning.

(Philosophical or Artistic Reflection – The Soul of the Piece)
The piece evokes Marcus Aurelius’s reminder that “the impediment to action advances action.” Here, the figure’s stillness is not passive—it is philosophical. Just as Hildegard of Bingen charted mystic revelations onto the landscape of the mind, Versant offers a visual echo of quiet transformation. Truth does not announce itself with spectacle. It waits on the other side—not dark, but honest.

(Color and Composition – The Visual Language)
The composition divides itself along a subtle isocolon: warm light on one side, cool shadow on the other. Golden hues suggest longing and potential; indigo tones signal introspection. The silhouette stands as fulcrum, balanced but ready. Sydnor’s Mnephonic palette is carefully attuned to contrast—not just of color, but of emotion. Every gradient echoes the internal tilt of doubt toward decision. The brushwork evokes texture even in digital form, allowing memory to be felt in the wrist as much as the eye.

(Closing Thought – Invitation to Reflect)
Versant asks no question aloud, yet it lingers in the mind: Which side of the ridge are you standing on? And what waits—not on the path ahead, but within the step you haven’t yet taken?

© Randolph M. Sydnor
Prints and digital sale of work is available
email for more information: rsydnor@mnephonics.com