Time IS what we NEED

Say in one way reading flow of consciousness type descriptive writing means to you only what the author derives. That can take you as far as enthusiasm allows, but how ever long that is will not suffice. But then take a look around you! There is a measure of ULTIMATE restraint the formidable time & place leaves off diminishing any prescriptive illustration for which you'd want to gain expression. Restraint. Now one would have to break these bounds--& only by actively, mistakenly, & dryly w/ half thoughts proclaim: I AM. For instance, bridging the gap to give security in your disconnect due to your condition. We want unity, and equality is outside of us. (The embellishing psyche always prevails, equality is not a state of mind.) We are enough alike to believe in this illusion (of equality) that your compassion is motivated from the same principles as another. It seemed others held for me the condition of my asceticism: "the rosy-colored mourn of old women" (Kerouac) holding court in the synagogue, & I half expected living in a valley of tongues i.e. under the spell of Aaron's blessing, as he was the one unswayed by miraculous events in this life's report, perhaps in sounds-arriving which I would illustrate, & they collude in a half expected half vainly pursued theophany.---The NOISE of Language. Time & place is a very odd thing (think restraint, again), at a certain point we see people who no longer vibrate on, they may not even define a path for themselves: they fall behind the threshold of time, they become late. These people then yield to & confuse the time element w/ place. They appear in YOUR world as reflections of you, & as individuals (?) who cannot be commiserate with doors in the Unity of mind-space, which have now been blown open. I drove down a treed avenue, a young fellow seemed squeezed out of pain, & therefore come to a peninsula of averages, my reflecting upon-him. Not that one could not observe MORE benignly, but then Aaron was the face looking back at me, and I said to myself, "Aaron," a station I toe-hold just like when I had a paper-route in Cardinal Valley & I walked the streets dreaming-alive the boy asleep back at home with no clue that he'd only be projections of others & cease to make his own gravity. We are in fact all judged with the comprehension of a one-organism consciousness. A black couple now walking behind me, whose feet I noticed stirred nothing on the terra-cognita (my word), had just touched the earth (descending), where I waited with my plans to live up, to be beyond exploiting my body-temple as a tool--...simple animals don't behave like spiritless machines, or if we do we become wisps behind greater ephemeral & AWAKENED BEINGS whose places act as guiding stars, which puncture one's experience had we deigned to ignore its quality.