Feed the felines

Squirrels are out in a nicer day, jubilant under redolent pines where there's a robin whose beak pivots like a pitchfork; a liittel splay of pine needles emanate before its thrush forward. A very loud crow just cackled, went over the adjacent school roof, instead of landing on my sluice concept negotiating shoulders. This lil drainage canal makes my ground perch spooky by its blackened 3ft bellowy tunnel, chthonic, more hidden than my thoughts would retrieve. From cool weather and weathering issuant cold now, hot when hot, cold then sensorial & alive, Abraham's story of Nimrod's fiery cauldron-come-lotus bloom, bare a calculus of memories older than weariness.**************Bob Marley's water-crossing message, self-empowerment, tho' in just this morning's listening leisure from his "Zimbabwe" of Survival, political transition (then boom Zappa's Son of Orange Cty), in his music he could flatly call disco, has this subtlety & primacy to my audience, that I can't even stumble to some sense of beat concern, casual but in funks opening up. All the bubbly, black ryddim bouncing, one-drop, which avails world-view while particularly resonate in intensifying my youth, now leads into soft-machine, gloss morning sky, hipster Marley wagging his finger over a moral landscape. I wish I could fly.**********************Mind bloom upon whose place of respite I design to achieve one thing, is the last place making sense divining her attention, surrounded by her leisure. She's accomplished the task, if vain or in patient masquerade for someday tacit and infinite, before my hand assents. The shade of past outside of me into the begin of begins, Mother's proud land and her progeny self-reflection, the vended me of the morning to collect my soul, all-done, that my thoughts are in an array of evanescent contest and lightning born of yesterday's sky guffaw. . .the now barely a shore-line to evince the deep.*************So thatwhich is creative Beings made closely of is what constitutes the entirety of what most the universe is made, ...among things going their way, drawn in fidelity of reins on Chronos where we traipse in exactly one world of land & sea, as opposed to the one you're thinking (one of...), mineral purveyors in their indefinite chorus suffering darkened doorways in a concensus world. Why this plain swath present-moment traducing langue of empty veins, as words endure tea vaporously, the old house, one main room drafty in temporal aerobatics bearing word virus emanating faze outdoors, whose grappling wind sweeping away my Dao unintention--is dumb splendor lived, then into otherness selah as inert reason. What of nothing--and somewhere to go--in the jive of ex nihilo, is an inflationary nothing (nee' Funkadelic's cosmic slop)? Energy does that (the particles of your physical success), so that every place is cosmic central, cloud notional if to make consciousness anymore alienated than the tote of her deep-aside or nigh from microbes building human existence, you the aquatic vessel built more of them than you: Expansion and diminution.***************I remember being there then nowhere in the place where people walked. I have 5 mirrors all cultivated under the star ceiling from which I prised my footfall down 4 hallways. I am full-up once, then no one of a deep-aside, trough of blood. At once recording the lament from leaving at the leisure of the cosmogonic house pushing me to her margins, Sisyphus guts the dormant mind. A complex in organs of consciousness work against itself, manages oblivion as one then through the exile of thinking agency.*****************When you think you didn't listen, you only adapted to filtery shadows, which translate your silence (interval of mind pouring thru mind), until layers in exile well out of it (moment's other shore) are tracks leaving impressions in time's immediate pugs thwacking an evident path. What of nothing--and somewhere to go--in the jive of ex nihilo, is an inflationary nothing? Energy does that, so every place is cosmic central, cloud notional if to make consciousness anymore alienated than the tote of her deep-aside or nigh from microbes building human existence, vessel more of them than you. Expansion and diminution. So what if nothing is no space and time of material void? No quantum laws--light moves neither from here to here, neither within or without monadic ground of existence--only to remember reality goes on whether we do or not--in renewed definitions in nothing going on. So thatwhich is creative Beings made closely of is what constitutes the entirety of what most the universe is made, while things going their way in exactly one world, as opposed to the one you're thinking, suffer darkened doorways of a concensus world. Langue of empty veins, a word acts as word virus--dumb splendor is lived, then into otherness selahs as inert reason.*******************I wish I am licit in the first perhaps Shivite flames Proto-australoid (Indus). In Michener's The Source (near east), Gomer is present outside the temple, now the temple-future--a sensual lens through iron age journey to neat pretensions that my well-being is so accomplished in her ply anonymity. From Cochin silk painted of my henna devotee image frames day spilling ingredients of days over books, Zadie's shelved, glassed-in bookcase & a cheap one figure as power-spots soon. To animate arising writer's writing their lone spirits are wrested from night and ready as vibratory blooms, conveniently a few self-same books are free in my Kindle Fire, techne's library in lights.*******************I've heard from more than one person who had taken LSD (now yrs ago, but elicited conversationally & ecstatic) and come out of their trip saying they had seen a troll or troglodyte from space of microcosm to that of imagination. I'm experienced, true, but again over 20yrs ago, and I only saw mind-sore and a lack of agency, interesting enough. This morning of usual trafficky tidings, I look over where the school places a Tolkien-like statuette in a flower garden-to-be this spring, and the blech of institution is teased by eunomic witness & almost a full moon. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds play Night of the Lotus Eaters in barely a midnight having just happened yawn. Our mythic figure, likely all but unadmired--w/only this tale of thought's funk--is inanimate, tho' it blames musterion day's beginning in concretion langue anyway, I find out how rawk emotes. *** approve this message while discerning the psychedelia of its bombast... lol*******************People, joggers, walkers, out the abyssal flap of sidewalks, true democracy occupiers of americana porches, all look like cosmogonic starlings. They suss resource on top of earthly loam, lost in it as if submerged in origin's land ocean, season's rigor-aside in deep cadence of bouncing avians. All of what human beings are made is just the same as what we know the rest of the universe is almost entirely made. Elementally not-especially what one says of the gold their egos recreate. If you held your thumb and finger together, a dime-sized hole, look through it with a powerful telescope, you would capture light fields having sped 186,000 mls a second from 100,000 galaxies, just so. There are a hundred billion in the universe. So, you are lucky from a certain immensity, which hasn't taken place until you've subscribed to its diminution thru mission that it was meant for you--but you are that. Why?************************I took license talking about you. Said whatever I thought. I ended taking out a poesis report. Your mind & body is bliss doing whatever thou wilt. And time is my cuff to the fugue of your love, however accomplished, but poured over the streets of freedom.*************************Saw a mosquito yesterday when I went out to my porch to play my cunga, last early evening. I am certain--and what the hell? On a family vacation when I would have been maybe 13yrs old (prolly down I-75 likely), Dad had parked the motorhome close enough to a boggy area, mosquito ubiquity entered it and completely covered the ceiling. The ceiling seemed to have grown in a thready insect heavenly cover, while I lay wondering what-next under mine. In my view, this is an existential thing, I am rather thinking some thing "other" is happening to our bunch--a plague, I'm part of a general malaise, I'm the youngest but not certain what that gets me anymore? Once, so many yrs later, Robbie Loco & I take a row boat down the Nile, while we are warned not to touch the water. I did and tho' I heard about the threat of schistosomiasis, the water is ablutional, or a certain touchstone, watery grasp of conscious map in a beautiful way.*********************Wondering on theosophy's integer self-realization currency: why say, Creator-being is closer to objective reality & shrouded mendicant amongst purveyor life's cloud, than he or she is with their soul and the purity of their body? 12th century place to jump from. Soul can't be whet. And whose appetite gets-done when it redounds? This intimately may be an expression of immanent dissolution: what-if soul traduced in the world that we know, held by the center appreciating by tent-poles of consciousness, while temporal high dunes of constant change, change before unwearing this mask of eternity, and for no reason? Which is reason sharpened at its own expense. Good music plays: I don't feel I sway like a sleepy candle and its light-contest of lost encounters. Energy is satori inventive, that wordless place tho' only visually if the sugar-blues fogs my attention, like honey making me strong then weak. The mantle-beginning, sound's interval w/quietude in definition rather than emotion's sensorial relief in sound, is curiously normative--life's posit within a day, moment elapsing into that nuclear age sojourn moment's calculus prone moments of eschaton fascinan's answer. Thought nomenclature is felled light in water's maternal world whose body-human, like an answer, a lauded message from an ancient ophan, angel, portrays a concentrical yantric drop impossibly digressed that a direction magnificates when you are really unable.****************Our front yard tree moans in folds in the ice then lightning damage now several yrs on. Underneath its tawny tremors, vital pores portray blood-water of its developing existence. Accidental shade looks convincing of splay space anyone at liberty from her crying canopy in its leafy green choral vox architecture.********************Her eyes are waters bloop-flat surface, the plain of a lake, but ebullient, and selah trance makes allowance, sourcing her appetite in my star-visage. I hope one day on a dreamy shore we could roll in emerald rays, just kiss. Your fullness is a pile of gems, all day they burnish into light's fluency unto shadows, the sun arises again shone in their bloom.***************My discursive brain seems ill-composed as I drag M C Escher's depicted dragon excising itself from its inculcating box, in this way making me lurch "liquid language awash" (Wallace Stevens) without disgression. The reproven Arabias but alighted in other places too, mystics arising w/eminent sundering midnight viral words, if only perspective illicit or not reduced to enjoin the renewal Vatican, Mecca, say, or haKotel (Wailing Wall), like tremors to self-realization efforts found in the sieve of ronching teeth 'pon expression.********************And those feet, walking through dharma morning, testing seas of temporate qualia, cool and acrylic to touch. Path fraught and implicit how immediate, even as your change is only the path meeting body's explanate step, thwack, the ground met more episteme ascendent, than departure from now-on. My brain, electric cipher of mantram's "take-over" with no place to be - "that" in me in overstanding expression with greedy release, thrum of no-language, words untied, all unplugs kaleidoscopic big floating copper pine needles before I awaken from ole brown shoes, w/my shadow dialect poised amongst lapsed buildings.**********************A Mother of the latest spectacle airplane crash victim speaks to reporters, but in tremendum interlocution, she bares the Fu Manchu face that everyone is ideally proscribed by hearing her plea. It seems unusual but natural too she imagines in transformative pain, everyone knows her in this lamenting standard. I do--and just like the Afgani yoiung girl barefoot with Winter coming-on, her father looking on to BBC reporter, says, "She won't make it here--she'll be dead in these mere few months." While the child in glowering sad eyes knows moments assigning her end-days, but can't care it's her fate a world can't reach. This dialect with anonymity is all but allowed in what one endures exactly what could be known about inevitable loss: blind spaces convened through people of lost consolations.**********************Squirrels are out in a nicer day, jubilant under redolent pines where there's a robin whose beak pivots like a pitchfork; a liittel splay of pine needles emanate before its thrush forward. A very loud crow just cackled, went over the adjacent school roof, instead of landing on my sluice concept negotiating shoulders. This lil drainage canal makes my ground perch spooky by its blackened 3ft bellowy tunnel, chthonic, more hidden than my thoughts would retrieve. From cool weather and weathering issuant cold now, hot when hot, cold then sensorial & alive, Abraham's story of Nimrod's fiery cauldron-come-lotus bloom, bare a calculus of memories older than weariness.******************