Hai hai Jiddu K

Imagine climbing out of a moment of appearance despite living in the ellipsis of reception lurching off the plank of eternity. ***********It's only instinct to eat or be eaten--the teeth in my room's mural made wrathful sight muted like last morsels of cold fat. ...morsels of cold fat, victuals beplated & denied on the hearth, lies on gnashings of ashy wood desiccation, candles spent, time united like yajna flames guarantee. In the event your geist replaces choice, doctrinaire august, I tell her, by the soft machine...your journey shall prevail, say upon me--you are earth--life's voluntas of luminal season's boasting skies. Mundaneity glossed at her approach, sources in pitch theatre, a mind resolves to pry the light from every event of the opaque fabric of this-once patiently removed-objective reality. No-mind communication, "choiceless awareness."-Jiddu K. The escaping char from parchment impressed in natural genesis tinctured inky sky, millionth star-self at the crystaline marmalade of sensorial calvacade enlists the lot of my redounding fate. Strung distance clomping in yesterday's shoes. An angel did bequeath ole brown. The conversation by my lights I asked the spirit, rather made my case in a pleroma of silence, some intercessor no meaning in pedestrian mile, no portents I made a path just-so only yesterday...just the shoes, thanks. By my nich'ville rd gait, car streak lighted glyph, vessel spilling night chimera fissures, the integers of spry sounds like flaque birds reify what dreams may come. **********Remembering Mom's last visit, at the end of 2011. I'm in the bathroom at the house/shop actually now a yr and 1/2 on, same shadow of malaise. Walking out of the garage into the house, leaving Mom unstreaming after a stony conversation, the mirror talked free: "I don't get to know her anymore." I look at the same contrarian profile, my shadowed head plied to the aqua tile, and Mom's light doesn't anymore design the solitarian apparition. I thought she was the voice fluent in recesses, this place to turn to from the popular light hallooing over the same day's threshold. I mean really: Imagine climbing out of a moment of appearance despite living in the ellipsis of reception lurching off the plank of eternity. What dreams may come. I am lucky to have that mother love shelter, mother night, sensorial smile...memoria. Mothernight. from the other day--that night I reread it and cried resourceless in stow, the vital horde - compassion's maya, it is bogus--the vandals stole the handle. Or as Paul Kopasz put it, It isn't that there is no gas in the tank--it's that the tank has been stolen.--trying to b more stellar than depressing... ***********Whether you wanna know, I rewrote my first impression on yo' doo. I'm rewriting what part of these backpages--your musterion-- that are never timely...So time must yield like a Salvador Dali clock. And you... I mean your salon chic doesn't cut your bangs enough. She must be stopped. Your fresh face does look mysterious, definitely mature, blade of sserenity. That you are beautiful, is behind my eyes--until they're cut open in the revolution of your presence. If you grew your hair long again... seriously that pic w/ you in comfortable den repose, aloof and hope-blissed down to Sidney. Baby, in all I'm imagining everyway but the given--here speculating out of white noise vibratory properties--you are a marvelly beauty to a certain east, both our origins. You may have come thru the gates of forest as certain an incarnation as any butterfly pre-crysalis blessing in ablution to its metamorphosis into the day. *********Theory: Progressives do more with identity than Conservatives. Why? Because Conservatives want to void its endangerment, while Progressives say, Look how I've changed from its tragedy. **********Some ams I'd walk from my street to walnut tree-lined Lane Allen intending on Gardenside's Kroger, going to have a juice. Close to morning sunrise the garbage trucks groaned thru the slumbering streets, and were my only companions at least from its animal call locality, and as they contravened otherwise comely streets. Like meat mechanically removed from an ecstatically dying prey, the guffaw of the beastly truck in oceanic primacy chains my attention and footfall, consumes me. In one approach at the back of the icecream store (my first employer), the rusty white neighborhood's usual alien by its dumpster treasure, toils and screams in auditive taut ropes grappling by replacement circadian thoughts, brainwashes me in the tremendum of immediate conflagrating embrace. More phenomenal or interesting, but my feet seem unfastened thru its sluicing gleam sound veil, hugs me in increasingly gooey ply in the machine of the sensorial. **********My nephew went to the transformative Ravi Shankar a few yrs back. The Egyptian met in once flourished wanderings, Adel, his face rather ornery in mind's eye, turned away now down Nile fugue in time, but like in an arc in dialect something avails overstood in his lightning gaze. Adel has all the temporal paint out of luminary Shankar's mind of fire. If the heart can break when it is empty, in my case, it can open even when love's meditation seems available defying release relenting tho' in normal expectations--the ambulations of her acceptance, music, I'm prone while back o' wall temptation's bluff is barely trialed. He said to effect his heart opened up. **********In the broadcast of a swathe of emptied roadways thru part of my old neighborhood, I clamored toward Krogers to get a carton of smokes. I like the truant vibe, one lone man hunkered aft into the morning wind, as if he's taking to the streets while students allow phantom assignations from the recent morning hustle and bustle traffic terminus. **********Religion is rational: the ascendant imagines and then asserts Time Place and Community. Did you ask yourself to be present for something, a meditation of your well-being, at the "time" of memorialization, this week's pilgrimage, amongst those who will have offered understanding, that your contemplation is received...? If the mind has an expectation for this, in a half thought even rapt toward the answer, you've indulged in a rational event. Thoughts Feelings and Actions are allegory to Higher Ground. No reflection is possible until the question in your nerve is lit. Only a fool rejects the facility of her mind erring to rebuke reason. The thought-graves dug in the airwaves, the aerobatic ocean communicating where the mothership would land. Interred in the floe and plash of crowds and power sleeping by the anomaly in dreams of an elastic hero living in strange temporality. I'm just pretending to be more curious than other people--I think it is a manufactured motive. One's existential burden is the "creative" fact... But I need intensity more than I am compelled to imagine that no one has it--and that is a lie. *********Imagine climbing out of a moment of appearance despite living in the ellipsis of reception lurching off the plank of eternity. No vivid recurrence this dreamt place consolation of familiarity, thru the midnight blue lateral chimera chromo, to dream's palette of pine green, still the loading did begin. Wee hrs hoofing around Whitehall CB drew me first into this restorative sub-consciousness, out of maintenance grunt work divined a certain escape draws me in landed even impossibly enlisting circadian ardor, star-starved under UK. Catacombs I call it, but that isn't quite fair to me had these mostly brothers breeching the same nights registered less antagonistic. Smell of elevator polish is musky redolent, compartment's surface graffitti fingered in her academician hustle... No-mind like the disappearing spaces all shadowy in the margins of renaissance painting having the whole element of that sentient time choking to be known, bark of fire suffuse thru slumbery skein of dust off of cavefloor. I woke this afternoon prone to this theater, day's ascent momentary open to Dalai Lama's plain-mind valuation by way of his long time interpreter: what has this life become. *********Fates deigned in core-culture? Re-living: awe in Ours is a Living G-d, how self-actualization is monist if true to the "other" arising conference w/arguably different measure in Who & What is Creator? It is contrived as the persistant god of the gaps if one isn't wrought in iconoclasm just to suppose an alien Higher Ground and then go there. We are all relics of recent history. People going away etc. I'm more mindful of that than ever. Imagine all the kids getting slightly corralled toward the same effect. Imagine also that identity meant under rarified share in resource is a gift making negligible ours more-privy while seeking commonality and reason for reflecting on change exercises the intentions of the enduring conscious crowd. For those who are sundered by gravid reward having deigned a fate reductio ad absurdum, breaking out of usual patterns is being broken by the patterns of our impermanent record. ************Misty morning: I come dragging in here early this morning, my head still thought conversing before the commission of white-noise silence rent from drizzling rain. I go into one of our work-station rooms, sit in the cat's chair and stair at the ground. Now drifts of sounds arrival start registering but I can't find it externally. Like a myriad message born out of thought's ameliorating vox, I still don't reckon a daemon reception. I glance at my shoes and then the sense of recesses emptying of fraying concern lends the present moment. Just ole brown getting done with tromping gray morning, "charged" corporeally, my neighbor's feet of a 90 yr old man it seems. Other environ's trek is time abbreviated (shrouded traveller fascinans), space lost in it like me a stranger to a uniform black film unrisen sun's earthly backside. *********The propriety to filch something around campus just provoked me to gainsay this event (I stole an iron doorstop--mid 90s--put it back weeks later). I'm always respiring in Pence Hall to study, aum uncontrollably in sounds arrival clash absorbing and fracturing continuity in rather an analytical meditation (coarse lilting presence). Chromo mean, letting go in daylight specter, in all rallying sensorial hypothesis but ebullient yawn of yellow summer mashes a spectrum into suturing roads comely exteriorizing. Grays dry in a visual anomaly, white and black ash the dreams sundering night, wakeful in the neo-mundane lens of days plying monist--there were others gods, but I knew of only one Mercy. LIGHT plateau - dark CORRIDOR; white black white black: I watched what I saw! The last TIME we gave ourselves to the moment may have been our last reFLECTion before the veil of tears reMINDed us that IT had been a Karmic death. A place in the climate of academician power, my own vehicle. On my early 70s then restored Schwinn 10speed in a loop out past the airport pendulum swing apposite my Beaumont neighborhood, I get to Little Texas and a tremendum report from gun blast raps past my gaunt frame--I thought I get to die now. Washed up from the intensity to escape, by the end of yasss Dedman Ln I look at my arms imagining full physical success. A tobacco barn is in front of me toiled by live-long elements, black and splintered, hushed right upon the road's margins. Looking at my back tire, it had blown and apparently with explosive force... Trees finesse into this mediate palette, eating air - burning in my chest, nodding into the pitch of my throttled heart, and now the gray refrain in every glance in all the days hence molds to recesses in ever courted tableau, interior trance. In me now labyrinthine--not raising the stakes to convene a center, however blandished, haze-interred without. ***********I am however radicalized --to sit and wonder--"ponder" has no account, it lies like a stream drowning me--wonder in exercise of surprise is the stuff. I'm slightly sacked presently in consequence to self-preservation, the laxity and challenge of auyerveda sounding it out in cloud attention lilting attention on my Dali print The Broken Bridge & the Dream. So just now. In dreams one is not alone near pinnacles availing and wrought. Still, residing in everywhere unmet desert distances repair an ascendant prodigy... If nothing's got your back in an arabia--note another context of Dali's subject with his hollowed-out trunk framing the vast likely Mediterranean--his cane becomes realistic device, stellar to temporal kundalini, to his pedestrian struggle at an end albeit 'pon the ocean's possibility, a void as uncommitted within as without. One stands like the specter of self-possession alighting to no where intervening. Defining stupid phLSphY a drop of ocean & particulate at a time. The principle in the conversation on energy, city streets softly veil a din of thoughts by all dreams lasting langor making a bed of populist transcient suturing silence in guffaw of night immuring the present as an artifact of light daliance on our spiritual moon's uncompassed walls. ***********Since X-tians suppose water is once transformed into wine, in a similar tho' unconscious impulse when I sneaked glugging down milk from its bottle out of Mom's refrigerator, somewhere between a sigh and a wail I'd encant "whiskey" to fawn appetite in the valley of my tongue. Laterally but now in more refined diet consciousness, soy milk (what I can drink w/o allergic symptoms) has become milk. Cultivating space: a compass of self-reconciliation: Does one divine physical success like the stone on the tongue to sate thirst? So, appetite molified. And as one experiences having just arrived doesn't body consciousness redound creaturely and vital like sight is bluey pleroma and eyes observe from solar satellites? Mountains solution incumbent singularity: you are not alone near pinnacles availing and wrought. Residing in everywhere unmet desert distances repair an ascendant prodigy... If nothing's got your back in an arabia--note Dali's subject with his hollowed-out trunk framing the vast likely Mediterranean--his cane becomes realistic device, stellar to temporal kundalini, to his pedestrian struggle at an end albeit 'pon the ocean's possibility, a void as uncommitted within as without, one stands like the specter of self-possession alighting to no where intervening. *************Burning a single leaf in the garage is cedar votive. I imagine having served the most elastic part of the day with the rich flames, and innocent smoke. If hooks 'pon the ceiling defining an omitted eudaemonia, having lost the ration of inquiry on change, then the fire I once tended in my old basement hearth stained the muted chimney w/o consequence in my reserve for reifying substance--yajna pertaining, would be--this kind of cloud inflated attention that I feel is deliberate in my overstanding. Skies are the only mention for an artifact in the best of philosophy. Paradoxically, I think I realize I'm not going up but rather within. **************I adjure your demise. I seek your fundamental genesis. I fear for your inconsistancies. I revere your moral whitewash. I see intellection as your concern of extravagance--the context of what sensorial realm one's withdrawal feels exclusively self-same like an eddied contrarian for change. The cypher of my inner-voice has more behind it than choiceless lament. My mission is the mediate space when nature is retrieved while the ascendant is soliciting quieter than a grandiose lens I suppose inspires/recommends my exclusive fate manifesting it. ***********At the present moment: I wonder at the peril of intuiting all the hypothetical sensed memory, not even of human relationship, but all the nothingness of skies and proud land... It's expression must somehow filter in the dust motes promise of veils on meaning. What beginnings must there every be walking into the room doing memorialized-space like it was our beck of some mind of contentment! ************Travelogue ***********It's only instinct to eat or be eaten--the teeth in my room's mural made wrathful sight muted like last morsels of cold fat. ...morsels of cold fat, victuals beplated & denied on the hearth, lies on gnashings of ashy wood desiccation, candles spent, time united like yajna flames guarantee. In the event your geist replaces choice, doctrinaire august, I tell her, by the soft machine...your journey shall prevail, say upon me--you are earth--life's voluntas of luminal season's boasting skies. Mundaneity glossed at her approach, sources in pitch theatre, a mind resolves to pry the light from every event of the opaque fabric of this-once patiently removed-objective reality. No-mind communication, "choiceless awareness."-Jiddu K. The escaping char from parchment impressed in natural genesis tinctured inky sky, millionth star-self at the crystaline marmalade of sensorial calvacade enlists the lot of my redounding fate. Strung distance clomping in yesterday's shoes. An angel did bequeath ole brown. The conversation by my lights I asked the spirit, rather made my case in a pleroma of silence, some intercessor no meaning in pedestrian mile, no portents I made a path just-so only yesterday...just the shoes, thanks. By my nich'ville rd gait, car streak lighted glyph, vessel spilling night chimera fissures, the integers of spry sounds like flaque birds reify what dreams may come. *************In the event your geist replaces choice, doctrinaire august, I tell her, by the soft machine...your journey shall prevail, say upon me--you are earth--life's voluntas of luminal season's boasting skies. Mundaneity glossed at her approach, sources in pitch theatre, a mind resolves to pry the light from every event of the opaque fabric of this-once patiently removed-objective reality. No-mind communication, "choiceless awareness."-Jiddu K. Strung distance clomping in yesterday's shoes by my nich'ville rd gait, car streak lighted glyph, vessel spilling night chimera fissures, the integers of spry sounds like flaque birds reify what dreams may come. ************