Alfred Kazin, contemporary author with Bellows, Kerouac ...feels like an advising to matriculate Michael Wood's light on humanity.

I liked the good sarcastic poets on Saturday Night Live warying of summary depiction of women with an image of folded stoic hands. Would those hands be reaching us as hands across the water gainsaying this world whose gospel advisement is get out of its bustle and execution? They are true hands hitherto, but when I feel my way back to technocracies in her less megalomaniac morning before into histories' foliation to an old world and gone peoples, I'm encountering the energies of being present ...because it all matters, these lives matter and live on through me and you. I want to be the face of the rock traced with an Aboriginal hand blown in a signature's oral paint. The heat of his physical economy so vital like the days of a love he would have had and feeling in mnemosyne he scratches on his brow, wipes across expression with a gatherer's hand. I want to point with the hand that refines the difference, not resigns in clasping to categories, opens the pod to the beans given to Babylonian women several thousand years ago who propitiate the season's inundation by scattering them from baskets into the Euphrates River ...lived by funny stories' telling of edenic fruits, washed in the dust from touching the Earth, mythologizing the bulbul's song, listening to Earth.********M Train, Mmm, yass the mantram of a Sumerian's Meh, withwhom one imagines a world emplacing watchtower selves contriving merely you of rare thoughts' evocation, Patti's drink is sublime. I'm on the Darjeeling train; I'll walk the Grand Trunk Road to cipher your dervish vin. Go down Radio Ethiopia. Go down Rimbaud of our meshed grip to the fin de siecle, just one morning wink of a near yesterday. Go down Belief--where she ain't afraid to call the Still Waters a god's intellection--Go down Sister, haunt me.***********AJust as ISIS doubts any prescription to a more ancient past, and generally in the course Western archaeologists have taken (historians) stole, matriculated, bought and plundered from these cultures while "observing" as to care for its antecedents (our goal), their contemporary Players in these traditional societies sold relics with abandon caring nothing about memorial rocks as if to placate a sometimes licit fascinans. Americans need to wake up to our deficits, White self-promotion, banal cronyism and usual lack of culture flowing forth with their idiocracy who are probably the obvious assassins of Maryland's 13 bald-eagles in their mutated nativism training thoughtless weaponary toward sweet carefree, yet symbolic, birds.

********An Israeli is notably if not the oldest then among the oldest persons living in the world today. Like tear drops, his ocean of the dispossessed is someone, we know many, carried with a permutation of names and places wailing with lingering dialect. I like to imagine that it speaks to literacy fostering one's physical success. That it's really a complexion of my own ethos having gotten me as free as my room of cold and then warm lamps, so hopefully I might read into the black and white fire, then before that the layering of pulp and cellulose, through bark and the irrigation of the tree and willing symbols for life, life. It would be an analytical meditation, the Glory through some philosophical reach, feeling preachment to our impulses which reflect the world by dance and in parry of movement, living. And soon we're all urban folks... There, our narrative of birth and wandering becomes spiritualized perhaps or academic. And this.***********

A contemplative, the one one would be, is entertaining the long leisure in the awe of whiling away, patience given to our temporal saints, all John boys gawking at the spill-over out of this world's accretion to the mirth or calamity of change. So, the margins contenting his and her place of observation can be allegory in the eyes of our chil'runs. Imagine the sober stale concern of literalists--and that of Kerouac's sense of hallucination cultivating young minds had they played in dirt below bowed and splendid sunflowers, fully foliated--why is curiosity ever preempted in fettered emotions? Emotion that only answers the middling consciousness, sleepwalkers to the world promising everything between the tentpoles of reprieve--these days' eschewal, rootless vibe of its hustle and bustle--no reason but to reinvent in her common frustrations. Reinvent. Unless we dare the thoughtful spirit in our eyes to set us right down 'pon the burning sands as guests to the dreamy stuff of being, when will the other place you in its recurring attention.************************* Seems there's a going assumption that Thought is something in the way of presenting what is an intension and consensus monitoring our moment to moment little bump in the road. Krishnamurti famously related, Thought is self-preservation. Getting into a place where one can think is perhaps an attitude offering peak intension looming in some consolation upon the agonist bump. I feel in measured conjurations I went through avenues of so much productive and fecund thought that the higher I find myself in tenuous thinking the more interesting the complexion fully-compelled to reach back toward lush contentment or its complementizing dreigh in these temporal offings. If the Mothership is consciousness, we follow her and toward the eclipse of her movement. I always wonder but union with sight is consciousness reining an observer to the pleasance of release into it. Relationship is the nature of consciousness adducible to vision and mostly withwhich what sensories our minds stay busy fending for colors implicit to our wont and harmonies. Thought is subtly going to confirm over and over again we are rarefying the content of what-is with the dream of being present.******************

******************Turning toward a culture available while I optimate by staying prone to change as it occurs through their wonts and aesthetics, second-nature objects and talismans where I merely imagine I'm in the business of asking, their intensions wouldn't any longer be memory but in active dialect. I care to, while I wonder and be still in patience seating me in anonymity, just recording intensions, thereness, spiritual victuals that would be consumed, ready to toss the menu. So much to learn and absolute fools say more reasons to arm. Yass, no equivocation, security is all our interest. But condemning violence should be assailant more usually here in our communities, not shown to be just what those _____ deserve, as it is rationalized by actual fools getting all clotted up and loyal, sweatin' to be on the Right side, or Left s'posin' regressive Lefties who want to separate doctrine from those who tell us exactly what there is in store for you, mercies and judgments, per that doctrine. The Middle Ground is for moderates, but our goal is how nicely unexpected the equinox of the minds can be shown as an inviting metric in the climate to the Power of all the offenders sucking as they do in the Extreme. Birds of a feather, America.******************People tell me I wash dishes excellently, not just to get out of doing them, but after the dish-, silver- and glassware mitigate whether a new meal is up for preparation, sitting there mood-operative illumining home sweet home. Susie and I alternate getting our domicile's things done. She's keen with the compliments and I couldn't do anything again merely for myself, which I imagine in something piercing memory like evaded killing-floors among sleepwalking chattle and a fenceless precinct to my wandering is just been opened. Some neat tea cup or probably Mom's little Pyrex casserole dish emerges and I almost conversate with it - then telling my spirit I'm not actually this dish as my mouth in little unsalient or diminutional movement mummers unknowable phrases, pebble upon my tongue is visualized and birds of distress get lifted. Arraying of Mom's grace certainly these shined-out pots and pans, cleaned and ready with tradition toward diet consciousness and annual recipes are the foods I consume with culture as its revenue.**************