Lanquid totalitariso; poesis becomer topoi poplorist

***********The dust particulated on one of these dreidal candles is like traces of sinaitic sands, "just" features to sand media of chimera signatures. Kerouac's alighted language found mystics in another arabia, as other as a mystic unsealed, redeeming the once fallow whiling-away. The taxed eliciting box of time grabbing clock arm--history's wept orgone & the dao's vapors, our daylight for suss ing it, jumping-off of some sun's arrival in a world seen-through to mine. Clemency from that power it has over purusha, leaves of grass like haughty sundering elements in the present moment, just-a-moment. A star of david shaped one of mom's candles, mandala-esque, could perform on a frozen sea-- a self-same desert but with its entrails presumed a modus vivendi: what is found at its surface is adjured from hollowed depths, life in its most mercurial assertions. Seawater & dust--we are, magnetic earth, and fire to divine human perspective in silent smoke fluency as the ill-shared ancient mouldering reverence. A choice to thread the youthful notice of my "certain" skies "then" in thrall, bouyancy, smiles denials at survival ...embracing silence instead of confusion, but confusion & ambiguity rather than torpor. Sighs and glances, white-noise mischief, then a gradin approaches portal memory 'flect, blue-covers' skies throve all in a glimmer to frame an unnamed slumber--the dreamer now its ember's last hush. ******** ********--the loading begins then roseate upside attention, thinkin' don't leave it unsaid::: The Atlantic gets Pacific reputation, even if seas of serenity is the suspiring thing over our destiny. Without the news article intentionally framing a conscious hint that the Atlantic ever received the woes it belched from its bellowing aerobic pierced desert, endlessness capsulated in yawns of held breath before its power consumes, only spoke of splash, plurb, and verb of life still ever becoming, and a place for it to dream organically again. Water as baptism by fire: Abraham sat in Nimrod's furnance, flames licked without license to deny an angel's message. Prayer is fire, but the lotus is its enticement--the fire becomes a splendid cool bloom. Pain = analytical meditation is rank in appeal if existential crisis is become the lost director of thought's maturity. Salience = restored in the recessive attendant, objective reality uncolored to sample its deference to record the ascendant's vitality. Let's slash the abatement of benevolence with our machete writ! Out of an arising one of two doors, both shadows, one mind appearance, the other the hollowed potency consequence to any excess of Belief or Misbelief, whose quality announces delimitation--peace found not-only just around the corner, & cloud 9, contemplation is rational goal. *********** ******* I want a car that reflects all the lights. I want to take the trafficked this-world's denizens and reverse fates in our travelogue: I will meet the horizon, and this time nothing deprecare bore out of necessity, is a plain of experience rather where vessel alights toward moments of release--a blue-dome imminence is the truth nothing adduces. A horizon hangs the sky flowering discrimination of star approbation--our lives are stellar as its necessary accompaniment. Sentience is its unseen appendage, a star's reach and radiance thru mind appearance. There is no word for heart in my heart. A vessel contains anything but itself. Occasionally there is no verb for comportment to cross waters. My mind has no dialect if I were to tell but memories of sighs, glances, and whispers. The first verse temporal & green was image, the clay smell in the neighboring garden, "hallucination" and primacy in the deep aside. Flowers of constant summer observations, dust mote mortar to the more immense tabernacle. *********** *****A soul, this physical person--the ole guy succouring the fruits in respite, holding up the wall, supposing his work-a-day ethic, sisyphusian daliance professionally. A soul's garb handed-down, and the inheritor by two examples I know, wear deadmen's uniform. I'd say actually--and one of the dudes shared a smoke with the departed before he carried out his would-be identity effacement. An inane choice of assignations who we shall be in the experience of the cloudy migrational loam of society, earth-denizenship receiving memorialized spaces with more earth. Bldgs around us, but the ones in our dreams ignorred, there is everything to believe of white noise vibratory properties these bldgs become if salvation is lent upon any nomenclature the mind proffers. And images can't be anthropomorphic, in as much as sense discovers formlessness all too often. ********* ************Spare nothing but thoughts on enjoying life, the World of Silence waits with approval. Knowledge is sweet; the world is exclusive in its moderation. If one is born of joy and revelation, then appetite is untrialled while the ocean's report is known wholly by the path's thrum into origin's parturition --the radical puddle shed from her earth's garment of cloud's dust & water momentarily exiled. Your last best step at the place you've left behind is ok to jump from, and the last step before you committed a trespass, is another. Leaving yourself in the mindset - as to say behind - is easily spreading yourself too thin. Projecting those moments forward takes active thought. The paradox is the guarantee one sees past moments in the present--yet the imminent fact would have ronched the well-being of our history, where folks maintain their continuity, but not transition. *********** *********Israel rt before the first Intifada. Black turkish coffee under a banana canopy. In front of our usual field, a fathomable ardor under these West Bank desert skies, an unfortunate rat is kicked to death and displayed for ant comsumption. Raining langor and management's prohibitions to amble near the plantations perimeter. Rain and Palestinian lorries to haul a yield of spice plant cum mutant fruit. Week follows week, in all 4, signs in self-reliance & a skittering calendar, a day in each per 4 harvests in November's rain, lends day floes clear otherwise in 6 day intervals. This all seemingly an ironic coincidence. Fauwiz, a Palestinian farmer here to work for Shmuley like me, being in natural camaraderie with we pilgrims and slackers, led me out to a hanging banana bunch, say an 80lbs bunch, with its purple pendular unopened flower, thick and sap filled, to perform its circumcision and place its balm on my machete-cut thumb wound. My fellow traveller and I share Kent cigarettes to squat in repair under a banana leaf during down-pours, to smoke, and query a fertile crescent's missing sun. Subterranean modalities fuel a travelogue found as an ultimate sieve from the place of all my changes. ******** **********The tree outside my window strives vertical and is ornery with outstretched vagrant limbs, reluctant and elegant, impossible to sway. Silent coves in thousandfold orientations in sky architecture-- mollifies in this neighborhood haunted and w/lavender laundry olfaction. The woody trascendent, sentient what-if, leading to blue-dome sunder of a distant star-cousin's cellulose entanglement...in eudaemonian smile. It is observer-self. Here and now it is an integer, the Who of my unconscious, recognizable but not valid intellectus revenue. Lauded but not granting any sensory spoils usual assignations--truly iconoclast, the void within seeks discriminations just by being eclipsed. The "witness" one is evolving through finds observer displayed like margin's guard and in Indonesian shadow marionettes. It's too easy to say inevitably it looks all auyervedic, self-healing, when thought-image is music, shadows tied to voluntas and blood; the sounds jurist would otherwise want similar wane but fluid antedote to meet a fiery escape--thought angels elliptically dispatched. A listener hears prayers by prayer-rugs untravelled function say the blindman's hidden writ underneath it, its use only a shelter from present moment inclemency. But then rock n roll is a gospel Confession. And the East, man--the sinew to the blues you can't eat, is my key of renunciation reveling in the musterion of an exilic ethos. ******** ********When she's gone, then what... Once what gratified and gracefully replete, roseate so many times behind eyelids, yours validating unknowns in whiling tree-stands, has a thousand skyprone yrs of contemplation, when what was written within her is without her too--a cntr from without. Believe yourself, she wouldn't have known you so easily with release, say meditation, her vital ebb is likely where this man finds himself tethered--perhaps the cold light of thought was ornamented & sourced by her and self-preservation (thought's control) would be better esteemed by thought's angel. In times of her nature revealed, only you knew a life's guarantee of mega-transect makes conscious satellite of her placeless & unplaced fate for you. Consciousness is not owned, not its content. You're actually atrophying now to make room for you again in volatile I & I of agonist state... You're there, still--before her approach tho' some self of her is never met. One is tailored to only cultivate her myth. He just please him, telling himself an honest cult of self-reliance has her muse evanescence rendering this or that woman of her aulic eponymy in the book of dreams. ********** *******Having fought in Angola this friend once a soldier in South African army discovered a "terrorist's" fate for me. Only shaddered reflections work for me like prosthetic comportment. It doesn't seem like the same sentient greed to better my confidence, but inanimate liberated forms (thought graffitti) promising to restore me 'pon a cntr from without. The accused baptizing his consequencial self in a stream, I think. The one of extreme african environment, and suffering fount--this heralds what inner-scrutiny is in langor to that of midnight star-gazing--how it embalms neo-tree architecture, its sky thrum. Thoughts like tarrying stones are engrossed by a surface struggle, shimmering awhile like his lucidity, he is seeing jetsam as if the overstanding sky would still be obfuscated by distance. This jetsam coalesces around his hard guffaw, a smile recorded as if, but the sky-line now so apparent on the plastic surface of cool stream, is close, very close--the imminent threat was almost known too, the world squeezing in on him now. *********** *********I want a car that reflects all the lights. I want to take the trafficked this-world's denizens and reverse fates in our travelogue: I will meet the horizon, and this time nothing deprecare born out of necessity, is a plain of experience rather where vessel alights toward moments of release--a blue-dome imminence is the truth nothing adduces. A horizon hangs the sky flowering discrimination of sta r approbation--our lives are stellar as its necessary accompaniment. Sentience is its unseen appendage, a star's reach and radiance thru mind appearance. There is no word for heart in my heart. A vessel contains anything but itself. Occasionally there is no verb for comportment to cross waters. My mind has no dialect if I were to tell but memories of sighs, glances, and whispers. The first verse temporal & green was image, the clay smell in the neighboring garden, "hallucination" and primacy in the deep aside. Flowers of constant summer observations, dust mote mortar to the more immense tabernacle. *********** *******Spare nothing but thoughts on enjoying life, the World of Silence waits with approval. Knowledge is sweet; the world is exclusive in its moderation. If one is born of joy and revelation, then appetite is untrialled while the ocean's report is known wholly by the path's thrum into origin's parturition --the radical puddle shed from her earth's garment of cloud's dust & water momentarily exiled. Your last best step at the place you've left behind is ok to jump from, and the last step before you committed a trespass, is another. Leaving yourself in the mindset - as to say behind - is easily spreading yourself too thin. Projecting those moments forward takes active thought. The paradox is the guarantee one sees past moments in the present--yet the imminent fact would have ronched the well-being of our history, where folks maintain their continuity, but not transition.