Boughs with unlikely thousands of coves

Cold-cool destiny is all that vigilance having so little to do with the present moment and yet, whether the now then-revealed was expected answers, one is certain something more auspicious is in order of a preachment in theoria. Lent of an appreciating meditation, makes vigilance a goal like being concealed in one's car while the window frames this or that day's horizon, & nothing properly pedestrian. Vanishing space in artwork finished--an etiquette & posturing of a mystery, and not to be out done by more interpretation. As to say, no path is safe without a natural tarmac. Here unknown ledger of truths born to die in the pivot of one shadow in one life's egress thru travelogue of traipsing across merely one room (or region--or field of possibilities) are to extinguish but one bliss craven candle lick.**************** **************Jumping from the Presbytarian church roof into sorta the courtyard tho' born out to a couple of acres to the road, a terresterial threshold of a greater yield toward my caprice after the ascent into the steeple, seemed vital--on the ground--thru stars of living nations emulatiing sky-light tincture, I first tasted my world-view in a blast of the syncretic. My fellow night-raver had provided a cer tain soup of his Dad's liquor stock, filling up our canteen. I maybe indulged reasonably this once, usually neglected on the whole--this fascinans specter, libations, was mystery beyond the label or consumption. A spiritual thing otherwise had proxy on the dionysian, I didn't need to be as certain as the bottle yielding a bleak commonality and cultivating of such as contentment & answer. If intrigue is what obliges a living lens--manifesting appearance just as availling animicule & creaturely wanderers project into "it"-- namely consciousness without form, the observer is an event of gloss and atrophying monadic industry within. It may take a riquer in certainty to view this much of one's distraction in such micro-relationship, a handful of stars broadcasting only hopeful origins, in katheno-primacies, to coin a word. I was happy over a reeling illusory, rapt that I would achieve something there anyway. A journal too decidely would remain placed in the high sky oriented peak--having nothing poetic enlisted in it, & there it remains. If your excuse while life's railing illusion as the climate of what powers-that-be demanding something of you challenges with new responsibilities, rights over your time, the losses you've taken to suppose the iconoclast..., tHere is tHis: observable release.************* ***********If ever I had to invent myself from a desperate moment of emptiness, it was during my slacker trek to Luxor, Egypt. Sitting out in front of a tea house, prone to desert sands and my imminent release from a growing state of confusion, I'm high from hashish to give it further nuance. Just the taste of feta is in my mouth, sweet tea (chai) in weird water--probably fossil water or the Nile's ancient infinite flow, hubbly-bubbly pipe full of the same along with phantom turbercular users before me and its coals are darkening. I actually felt lucky to recognize this sorta void and searing damned inevitability: I promised a refined matriculation having this new demand to jump out of time with intensity, which gives relics of what was beyond a graying shroud--hidden but not cowering in my own purdah of distance strung. I'm tHis, but tHis will not be a slavish loss of what could ever be, I thought. Maybe a not so cliche looking-glass got jettisoned, discordant and ill-preparation shunted however it would be seeking a runaway statement of presence... A "pharonic" slap in the nigh houses of eternity, Valley of Kings & Queens just out of town, beyond the River of Life in curt denial, I never made it across to visit.********** ******* **look up kathenotheism and you'll see why "katheno" primacies might work. G*d isn't necessary in its place.*********** *************Last night I felt animated, but while having much to learn about the constant of empty solutions to real problems, willingness to orient to things more readily unpacked remains my goal. Just stardust memories--no mutual arisings to suggest her in distant langour or happiness. No departure as to rally the time I'd sit here waiting or mountain conquered as if the day we would meet again is in the advance vision down-from-it. The rocky refute demands clamor out of trialling solitude. Life eludes in the irony of slow fidelity, too slow to know why she or I would care where it will lead.*********** **************The long haul toward a star unseen**** If you find yourself playing King of the Hill alone, as in your youth, expect the knowledge that your kingdom is in transition of your enslavement with gratuitous palimpsest migrations.************ *************I think I am on target with what Tolstoy develops while corresponding with Gandhi, but may be from The Kingdom of G*d is Within You. Whittled down only slightly he says, your compassion causes me violence. A thought--chohan maybe:: Why would I have asked you to recommend my respite, when it was your guidance that made me find this only absolute release, solitarian but prone, upon a cntr of awareness within, tethered to consciousness & relationship without? Absolute Release could be terminal or momentary, tragic or loving-kindness, I imagine. ******** *************Just realize dear reader, there's a lot to get here, & no I'm not confident anyone may fathom the blah blah. Imagining an existential duty, I bet he or she would feel equally untrialled in the artifacts of their creation... ******After the Rain: Lexington in your absence--night coolness barely bridged a sublime porte if human nature would nurture green alchemy: The overcast morning is pretty e nough, possibly encumbering too so that an inevitable gray skein that could reduce acclimation with a sense the favored sun always evading its seeker, still has the allowance earth denizenship can't be agonist yet. Halo dreamy and undandered, the trees look mushed as an oil painting, serene as the opaque, disappearing sky veil. The silent spaces, dust underfoot at tree's base, spaces of splendid life, now have the same heatherly hidden flow in the whoosh of tree boughs, coves still in languid yawn. If the trees were the people, the sentient have lifetimes to wander alone under their reach, of privy over emptiness of sky-fount machinations.************* ****************The grammar of my concept is as unique as 10,000 objets de plastique which may have an immense repair, the ocean, but sometimes the context in its quality of faux desertification (the vessel is more likely a promise)--because I may not have entered. And yet distances, that void, evoke the choice between two fountains, the white thread revealing the terribile decisor of relationship in what constitutes the temptress flower or star tincture blinking siren eyed release, sorting out eternities past the dark thread margins.*********** ***********Rand Paul your family came from other countries bringing a work ethic--your party's plan is endemic for its misapprehension of need for arts, sciences, and the rest of of it....stealling people's opportunities for like exceptions to the American norm, right under your nose that for some brainwashed biblical lens the "other" in your narrow view is jettisoned. One pluralist America. Of course the Ta ng family from Cambodia making those donuts for you & your sweet family, you love so much--they are exceptional because they made opportunity, and experienced conveniences in their American dream with USA infrastructure built by people who may prefer something other than sugary pastries...and political fastfood. See, those roads didn't build themselves... ************* ************Dying, but by the usual self-effacing marauder: I've been intoxicated by fear and terminus as long as I can remember: I was thinking of my memory's predeceased state, a kind of ode to Mom. It was desperation I felt as she laid on her death bed. Hers I could know, mine I was excersized by--levelled by loss before I could reconcile the lapse of mind appearance. In short, I was in a very remote, mayb e surface and unleashed way as I looked at her hErE from a life supposedly in rallying potential. I think of her death as strangely less obscene to me than others: she's been in mind before and since as opposed to her legs born to the ground one trods--as the adage, "You know you are on the ground if you have legs." salves nothing, she is become a heavenly accord I endured from my childhood in Texas--my first 6-7 yrs in Mom's dutiful & beautiful orb.*********** ************* Jumping from the Presbytarian church roof into sorta the courtyard tho' born out to a couple of acres to the road, a terresterial threshold of a greater yield toward my caprice after the ascent into the steeple, seemed vital--on the ground--thru stars of living nations emulatiing sky-light tincture, I first tasted my world-view in a blast of the syncretic. My fellow night-raver had provided a cer tain soup of his Dad's liquor stock, filling up our canteen. I maybe indulged reasonably this once, usually neglected on the whole--this fascinans specter, libations, was mystery beyond the label or consumption. A spiritual thing otherwise had proxy on the dionysian, I didn't need to be as certain as the bottle yielding a bleak commonality and cultivating of such as contentment & answer. If intrigue is what obliges a living lens--manifesting appearance just as availling animicule & creaturely wanderers project into "it"-- namely consciousness without form, the observer is an event of gloss and atrophying monadic industry within. It may take a riquer in certainty to view this much of one's distraction in such micro-relationship, a handful of stars broadcasting only hopeful origins, in katheno-primacies, to coin a word. I was happy over a reeling illusory, rapt that I would achieve something there anyway. A journal too decidely would remain placed in the high sky oriented peak--having nothing poetic enlisted in it, & there it remains. If your excuse while life's railing illusion as the climate of what powers-that-be demanding something of you challenges with new responsibilities, rights over your time, the losses you've taken to suppose the iconoclast..., tHere is tHis: observable release. **look up kathenotheism and you'll see why "katheno" primacies might work. G*d isn't necessary in its place. **********************************Kerouac's got the deed on meritable travel--a life worthy to trod: Everybody knows where you've been, not why you came--"everybody knows there's a meter on your bed." Leonard Cohen, this last quote, and a healthy dose of Neil Young influencing why I want to go there. If I were a clownish ubermensch, like a sarcastic poet so to speak, & if this life paints me in these garments of existence--the very anonymity of rank appearance crawling upon displayal identities, I'd be the guy called My name is Nobody supposing my identity in positive light making me a rather shrouded traveller. In this sense, I'm nowhere, knowing but not overstanding necessarily this is nowhere. I haven't many places demanding my attendance, different than most who may imagine "placeness" & identity. It is rather stark clarity of the outward fact having the ascendant imagine she's delivered to power-spots, but a trailling recommendation to assume having one just arrived with only ungainly passporte. This palimpsest migration is a life foundering in Maslow's depiction of primary need in our shelter, with destinations as chance extent to the place of her becoming.******* ****************Travelling is meritable--knowledge being attainable commerce in what sweet differences lend to the supra-pedestrian anthemic acquisitive conduct, knowing folks in brief comportment, ours astride old definitions of our going away. I'm lucky to grasp the pulse and commiseration with the folks there, still there in Egypt, one of whom took me to a ramshackle remains of some synagogue in Cairo or al- Kahira, the Victorious. In Luxor, where my brother & I watched a wedding--and on another occasion smoked hashish with a local clerk, white collar guy in town, proves our license, we thought to leave town, on one occasion, but scampered back without getting too far into the local agriculture. But also, we secreted our way into an empty mosque in an out of the way part of town, being sure not to touch the prayer rugs... nothing much within anyways. Whiling in the current of memory & wanting verity in my historical well-being, my heart feels bliss that I stood in this holy chamber (masjid) if this one could eek out of inevitable opiate stupor an otherwise strange nod to the conscious crowd organism where religion breaks its true value into crumbs.*********** ************On recommend from an ABC news article, avoidance and cleanliness, the hantavirus may be upon us. Rodent fecal... mmm mmm!! The industriousness or "exceptionalism" in the American dream in just a subtle example of whose fire to blame. Of course "bionic rats," if Tic Toc Teac has something in the way of clarion preachment to say, are in the garden--and what is a king if egalitarianism is sought keep ing the elite kleptocracy from denying ecological balance? A philosopher first, so not a king but rather a lauded permiss of education in how an economy might and must support green industry & science. The environment after all its nuance and balance is torn will have the purchase worse than mysterious tribulations of dis-ease, industry spells out very clearly what the prone consumer is going to be like to be poisoned by incorporate identities.************ ************** What about Providence? Creator being will, by his/her Name, put on offer a life worthy to retrieve. But then Confidence is an even greater decisor absolute. I know manufacturing motive is ultimately thoroughgoing, making relevant an otherwise potential mind. A rhetorical sense organ if thought breathes the fear in the thinker, if only to exhale the white smoke of thought's control, the ease of convenience. His mischief of treatment to well-up a world with recommends to moderation is the mean of experience usually hiding a risible event of caprice. One might see not much going-on, if he or she looked. And in the end, the very end, the closer the seeker surveys truth, truth is become the qualities of natural education and in our best attention the student wants Provenance!