EXISTENTIAL, with BLUEGRASS Airport a Stone's Throw Away

Have you ever felt someone insinuates themselves in a way that eclipses that mundane venue a moment proffers? That is, you're quite sure this idealic domestic moment had been more cathartic til principals, like the 10s of relationships we have, make the time passage eclipsed. Like when it is become good enough to be reduced to a domestic task, yet when we consider having a reductive ambient transition--this duty to say "all is colluded with a chore otherwise just a merely lonesome broom," has your pantheonic acquaintance sit upon the spectral-look in comfortable self-scrutiny, recruiting you with recalcitrance--"you've gone ahead, yet left me behind...!" If anyone is left behind, none other than you is the vacancy. True we can find immediacy--but what proof do you walk away with that says, "but a dreamt day before you, is the current in a river of sight that has an infinite signature signed under a world in duress...," & meanwhile we've but risen into supernal langour, the room's fan is alight upon the same axis we call our center. But what is now is answerable as anything that takes antecedental facts, people places things...the exquisite dust as under the feet of strangers holding court--but the observable now is what in the end gets denied. Terribly at home in our head, in my mind--a fine mind, on some occasion after having read Isaac Babel's Red Calvary=about the Cossacks, I walk from the furthest point in our 1/2 acre back yard toward the porch, to proceed to unwind the collective thoughts needing the path of the long ends of the day, disabusing boredom. The sense of trees blowing in the trend the day makes replete in absurd patterns, the sentience from birds over-coming making a sky-line a new animate architecture, this "Now" is without any lag-- dreamed as was personas of self saying you belong - and are belonging thru self-preservation. Yet the now must relinquish that it is insoluably going to go away: meaning maybe it doesn't!! In the backyard, under this pretense I had then seen descended before me a footstep or two ahead me, Mom--like she was heralding this alliterative repose--is what I adduced in cosmogony, if sociologically we saw the connection to linear thought & how thru literacy "holistic-anthropos" had gotten mismanaged, marginalizing the feminine spirit. Thus, maybe I'd champion the fragmented academe that "now" was the life I lived & become--at the bottom dregs in a floor of consciousness. Is it hallucination if at the furthest reaches of ocular phenomenon, one affects a sense of symbolism in his immediacy...?--a thing, chosisme in French, projected!! The dull abiding of my spirit usurped, then with motive as prone as I'd already become to the nation of One(self), is laughable that such marginal awareness in affectation can have the pivot of student-of-life submitted to a common back-yard, under simple maples, by a garden run-down, and future in the advent of repair.
**the old-world having become recognizable**
She supposed I should at least make a gesture to acknowledge her: she was wearing her midnight blue polyester blouse with little bougainvilla flowers--so I jumped up, more of a skip actually, at her giant self & plucked one from her back. Her gift, or the sun's surmise of my sentient greed to be subsumed by the first bookcase my mind characterized...gathering the concept of a lexicon in sleepy consciousness where I reside in her house.
What is not in this, is a lax measure of male to female
> circumstance, as if to imagine someone like their
> gender succeeds his/her humanity--it doesn't, humanity is
> primary. Then I thought, precisely, my Mom was, as
> such, in her element to be friend & woman
> archetype, noticing her out on the limb of
> recollection, she'd be wallpaper to my
> daydreams...always there in my curfew to imbibe
> restraint & kindness, and mostly there in the
> seance of fleeting details behind the
> transcendental bridge of awareness. I shove
> irreconcilable notions that I see past lives of
> my significant other--Valerie--as Mother all-the-
> same/maybe the one--yet not really, into a philosophical box
> every bit just what I'd accord as something
> inevitable--& submitting that we switch off as teacher &
> student anyway... & in anyway familial.