Found me a new house...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
And Yet It Keeps Moving
Gazing pensively out the window, a sun-dappled morning in the spring, shadows of new leaves spread generously… Krusty has a Deep Thought.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever hit anybody—“
I stare at him incredulously. His shoulders are three times the width of mine.
“Twice.”
“Oh.”
Falstaff, strongly reminiscent, a big character, roaring with passion and life-be-damned enthusiasm for any number of colorful chemicals, a man pigmented by the hues of his fierce appetite for such things.
-- So what, are you packing that thing?
-- I found something.
-- What’s the story with the heat in this house? It’s roasting in my room.
-- We made some nachos. Knock yourself out.
What did the magic number mean, we only smoked twice a day, if we were awake in the middle of the night? No, there was a different stripe of ideology to resist. You never wanted to hear about a crystal again as long as you lived. Remembering the Drainbow.
-- It’s about the comfortability.
I remembered in time not to cover myself. I had no need of self-protection, any thought of vulnerability was an illusion. I am not a hijabia. So, I understood, you stand where you know you are right, and you don’t give an inch. However, Real Life may not call for such a combative outlook at every moment, and this may alienate fragile people. Besides, when you do give your inch and feel bad about it, you must have some capacity for self-apology or some such. Because, yes, you will sustain through this moment, and you should have enough room for yourself the next day. Embarrassing as it is to express. But I will be back on that couch at some point. Lord, you can see that it’s true…
I am so tired.
Why do you say you left your heart there?
Truth seemed to be clearer there. It was closer to the Source.
What do you mean by that?
It seemed that there was less fragmentation between the Source from which all things originate and their eventual destination in the sand. The things which were good were extraordinarily so, the tastes, aromas, appearances of the place would sear themselves on your experience. The honey was of some transcendent substance, a smear of simple magic collected safely in a small glass jar, provided in accommodation with cakes for breakfast.
…
The word of the evening will be reification. By this the process of distinction is highlighted; the transiently, vague border separating the belief from the superstition is made distinct. So we abandon our comfortable wishes, we cease our stubborn disregard of what is plainly incontrovertible, and we gather familiar stones and make a fire pit.
Repetition of closely held values is typical; in case there was any doubt. It’s all about the comfortability.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever hit anybody—“
I stare at him incredulously. His shoulders are three times the width of mine.
“Twice.”
“Oh.”
Falstaff, strongly reminiscent, a big character, roaring with passion and life-be-damned enthusiasm for any number of colorful chemicals, a man pigmented by the hues of his fierce appetite for such things.
-- So what, are you packing that thing?
-- I found something.
-- What’s the story with the heat in this house? It’s roasting in my room.
-- We made some nachos. Knock yourself out.
What did the magic number mean, we only smoked twice a day, if we were awake in the middle of the night? No, there was a different stripe of ideology to resist. You never wanted to hear about a crystal again as long as you lived. Remembering the Drainbow.
-- It’s about the comfortability.
I remembered in time not to cover myself. I had no need of self-protection, any thought of vulnerability was an illusion. I am not a hijabia. So, I understood, you stand where you know you are right, and you don’t give an inch. However, Real Life may not call for such a combative outlook at every moment, and this may alienate fragile people. Besides, when you do give your inch and feel bad about it, you must have some capacity for self-apology or some such. Because, yes, you will sustain through this moment, and you should have enough room for yourself the next day. Embarrassing as it is to express. But I will be back on that couch at some point. Lord, you can see that it’s true…
I am so tired.
Why do you say you left your heart there?
Truth seemed to be clearer there. It was closer to the Source.
What do you mean by that?
It seemed that there was less fragmentation between the Source from which all things originate and their eventual destination in the sand. The things which were good were extraordinarily so, the tastes, aromas, appearances of the place would sear themselves on your experience. The honey was of some transcendent substance, a smear of simple magic collected safely in a small glass jar, provided in accommodation with cakes for breakfast.
…
The word of the evening will be reification. By this the process of distinction is highlighted; the transiently, vague border separating the belief from the superstition is made distinct. So we abandon our comfortable wishes, we cease our stubborn disregard of what is plainly incontrovertible, and we gather familiar stones and make a fire pit.
Repetition of closely held values is typical; in case there was any doubt. It’s all about the comfortability.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
More Mumbling
I can almost hear my eyes creak, opening to blue slices of pale sunshine through the thin blanket. The pattern on the couch is familiar, still glimmering darkly from last night’s festivities. Growling, I pull myself to my feet and look around the room. Empty beers, something cheap, crowd the table and cluster by the feet of chairs, ashtrays overflowing.
-- What happened last night?
-- Ambushed by lysergic storm troopers.
Of course. Why I still feel bubbly, wobbly as a Jello salad. We observed the table as some distant coral reef.. And giggling we recalled when, with unreliable gait, I found myself stranded on a glacier, which was really an icy driveway.
-- Any of that crummy dust left?
-- Some, but you can’t both sneer and smoke.. Pick one or the other.
-- Jeez, won’t you have some coffee first?
We saw the edges glistening in shy suggestion of another realm, we saw the pinpricks of the cosmic light that gleamed through the wispy substance of this veil, we laughed at the massive cosmic joke. Then one character began speaking only in gibberish.
Some sniffingly disdain such people as those who resist growth, who seek to maintain their youth in the perpetual Now. There may be some purchase to this analysis, but my own idealist pragmatism stays unchanged. What good does such a conclusion do me? Am I to avoid the very people who offered me their shelter and shared with me their food? Such is the burden of the informed: what do I do now?
-- What happened last night?
-- Ambushed by lysergic storm troopers.
Of course. Why I still feel bubbly, wobbly as a Jello salad. We observed the table as some distant coral reef.. And giggling we recalled when, with unreliable gait, I found myself stranded on a glacier, which was really an icy driveway.
-- Any of that crummy dust left?
-- Some, but you can’t both sneer and smoke.. Pick one or the other.
-- Jeez, won’t you have some coffee first?
We saw the edges glistening in shy suggestion of another realm, we saw the pinpricks of the cosmic light that gleamed through the wispy substance of this veil, we laughed at the massive cosmic joke. Then one character began speaking only in gibberish.
Some sniffingly disdain such people as those who resist growth, who seek to maintain their youth in the perpetual Now. There may be some purchase to this analysis, but my own idealist pragmatism stays unchanged. What good does such a conclusion do me? Am I to avoid the very people who offered me their shelter and shared with me their food? Such is the burden of the informed: what do I do now?
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Jingle Bulls...
Wow... Check this... Thick clouds and snow in the Grand Canyon... The world is crashing. Finally.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Double-Sided Stone
The idea that multiple sclerosis may be caused by some form of
infectious agent is supported by several interesting observations.
On the Faroe Islands prior to 1920, MS was essentially unknown.
Subsequent to the invasion of British troops, the incidence of MS
increased dramatically.
It occurs to you later that the moment of learning is inevitably transformative, intrinsically so, apart from all the other crap you learn later.
Anyway, the logical flaws in the composition of this article are interesting. Never mind the clear conclusion that the only MS was brought by the British. The critical premise regards the desire to be aware. Dismiss the popular urge to prevent, to avoid....Then why this neoPuritanism? Can we not embrace our life in safety and moderation? But I relinquish my stump. I question the fundamental utility of this research. (I am satisfied with my fatalism, though I understand the curiosity. But look! Ain't fuck-all to be done about what has happened to me, what I lost, what was taken. It fucked up a good thing, and I'm still a shade bitter. But things are not bad right now.) Consider these two relatively diametric positions.
This is the first I have heard of symptomatic relief.
Then there is the other one which regards a putative cause of the condition. My question is: what now? Just keep taking your meds and quit whining.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Interstitial Pudding
What stretches on with infinite patience, sprawling between moments, what attenuates to translucent obscurity, though you may try and try to engrave such grasping words, are they not but written in the clouds? What else can possibly sustain you? It is (hopefully) enough to strive for the most meager moment of emotional release, inasmuch as the starving man may be sustained by the thinnest of broth... In the desert the merest drop of water will be an opportunity for celebration, or at least the climate is fierce enough to demand your notice of this.
Now that I've signed over a chunk of my identity, or surely some subtly momentous change has come about...at any rate I feel a shade more peaceful than when I was working there.
I AM SO GLAD I WENT THERE FIRST!
Today has already been productive. All you ever need is one day.
I wonder who reads this... Probably no one.
Now that I've signed over a chunk of my identity, or surely some subtly momentous change has come about...at any rate I feel a shade more peaceful than when I was working there.
I AM SO GLAD I WENT THERE FIRST!
Today has already been productive. All you ever need is one day.
I wonder who reads this... Probably no one.
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