Going home again on these self-same gouged streets

Everyone wanted the bliss while seeing a face in the clouds. Even as it's prised with as undemanding a hesitant confection of sky passporte like chil'run knowing Mommy's intension or only barely educated of her mused translation of things, the morphology of instinct begets this dialect in other places. Not even so general a palette come the blue pleroma, but in equal enlightenment looking across True Democracy's porch, there one envisions penumbral emotions at the high mound to the pitch into splay yard and at his or her feet sand grains and blemishes. An elliptic masterpiece, this sojourn's mentational saint sometimes flects unopposed amid its less culpable design, here on my Afgani rug a beard on a scunched face shaded of gnashings and mould emerged from the mishap of my eyes. Nothing to let go of, knowing really to turn off, interpretive of mean light and just the pulse in my face, once during my well-earned mountain retreat big Os zoom around my adirondack chair proffering mood then the mask of second nature. All-things either grant a model for human likeness, importune human qualia in anyway and blinks back at me feeling ever incomparable as antiquity's geist of form or my inner-dialogue in the sense I tend to endorse, encouraging more and more never wanting to be alone sates my curiosity as to where an education on social living first takes place.**************I hoof this town not in as gravid a trod from A to B as my younger body intensions-wide with meager means appertaining its spaces, but lauding mindsores now lobotomy scars to many a peer growing up as I did, same histories' counsel, similar praxis in the 4th Estate, and yet? Identity ought to be an escape, not a rescue. They can't say how identity is ultimately matched from a comparable reception to doctrine as from a vain agreement with light or any other yack of absolutes, that merely saying one is become some kind of category of soul or expediter of choice amid pathless arrears may well be a toggle for On which has failed them in some other way. That their Nation shan't deny the seeds of humility while ready to adopt the Other: they don't actually know what it is to be different. And I am looking back at social artifact through these paper voices, an inner-dialogue with authors showing up as an encounter come interstices not lacking the certain shape of the places of my making, breath to my blood, here all around barely in few words still burning in our lungs. But weirdly fulfilling getting that sense of human commotion and change yet magnified from the stillness of home and hearth, same streets gouged, this world is a world of as far back to mid-20th century that all animicule in dramatis are conversations unsealed from thought wards if only rehydrated like amphibian societies never always possible to track in reemergence.**************I had a public education with arts and science, improving libraries and decent resources abiding. Making this luculent of me, wise to the Conservative antagonisms to socially engineer, my social conscience is a model for individuality. Full-stop. I admit, I hated school, every tic toc teac of those crawling years. But that was just the underdevelopment of me, and meanwhile the notion that knowledge would increase had everything to do with the acuity of interesting music. Feeling it now, and looking back, Steely Dan just does a vibe, cigarette zassed in beer bottles, all things smokable otherwise in their weird grail, a disambiguation release of the 1970's decade in some equation of patient eversummer submerged midnights in (sometimes theirs, I suppose...but others') superable versions in awareness Rock, the operative liberty in aerobatic years less macro-paranoid in termina of plain blue skies to You and Me. People addicted to people so opportunistic now, as ever ad technocracy and their conspicuous meddle of nothing philosophic, but merely a wist of touching Earth, proves an apathy of resources not to speak of the humility objective reality summons if not Higher Ground. In my view, Rock is self-realization anthem, the out from intra-mantra slavery of institution and salve to the ironies of rank egoity.************Hazlakhah* facilitates permutable black fire language of analytical meditation as subtle a goal for "happiness" as for the luculent intending on Peace in the same ultimate way if meditation was still the self-same goal meriting ineluctable reflection in a world-to-come.. Haznea lekhet*, in the ways of neat and simple sense apprehension, as Einstein reflected however evoked in his likely palimpsest parallel with this concept otherwise, life should be simple, not made simpler. To imagine, I think that as a gate for theoria it is sometimes preposterous, bound within the inabsolute confidence as to whom the vomitorium leads one laudatory of the self's vicarious denouement at these gradins' whelm of orientation. I want this felicitous trace of barely a narrative across the (all colors') white fire tableaux stuff of self. An attitude on complex albeit stressful worlds so recent in their floe, they keep coming till they're over, and if by observation that to assign some kind of unique webbing of relevance and interest to a factory licit in thus and such mean world then he or she should be devastating at compartmentalization. Simply, happily. *Hebrew in extent.**************By some kind of grace I'm talking at totems in the directions multiplying by my house of four doors. I'm drinking almond milk. Parks with near weather termina decry our shared bullshit with patience and ready loam and good air which are the underlying order making me believe I get to relive my good ambition. And sipping Lapsang souch tea, green tea dried from smoked pine needles that I sweeten with honey and steep with Jasmine Green, resounding probably in ways serene with companion metricates of fews words appreciating from authors of continua, always a reason to seek inspiration, muthoi with the goal of worthy escape. I never call the lights in this plain cove a bad costume to my mood. I live behind my eyes to dream, living in front of yours as light wanderer to the reliquary pending rites of burning sage-juniper incense. I'm aboriginal to the Yid in me, an opening to the Western Mind, core-culturally an invisive ludens and not ready to imagine a classist monies' agonism illicitly as religion versus religion, ethnic community on a more shallow exception to ethnos, anything but solutionable magic professed so eloquently in most our traditions - compassion sought for its roseate gravity there, and knowing why we're discomfitted with the blood in the hour of the red bulb - like being reasonable about the lowest common denominator in human folly, understanding who it is that suffers.**************I collected beercans with bestfriends' Robert (Robbie) and Sean, and my brother growing-up here Southside in Lexington biking days away out to wandering country roads, past Bluegrass Airport, Garrett's Orchards, Frogtown Ln. or the Castle or Halls on the River even, wherever, but never toward any sense I'd entertain the habit or be socially prone like most do in ludens' certainty and dionysian portents swift to apply how reasonable it is. Well, I never dug it. I wish I could. Wine and a good cheese, interesting bread... I would love that, but on meds that don't mix well, well, my decision is already made. That blue world of no real surprise, perhaps, if one is used to it, still reveals that something which is really nothing, nothing really to turn off, the right hours into the shelter of night that should cater hardwon peace. I made-up a word for this intercourse of ethyl alcohol and eudaimonia, the importuning of drinking as thoroughgoing an escape in deserving a commiserating peace, comfortably stolen, I call alc-bu-colism, wise to its feeling in too few occasions its libation enthused, while no recent experience alights by decades, harmony, the bucolic thing and strong spirits, drink. Nothing mysterious till rallied under its influence, this oozing away in release is humanity's blood thrill and leisure to the muscular repose of our minds, the lava beginnings to a thick heart of stone.****************I had a sleepy lucid visual of my head and shoulders atop mountainous glyphs - image turning to words - hillocks in actuality but of a rare magnification to near weather perfect toponyms. Several fated I and Is all verily too busy and live yet monist of expression elapses on each face while language combining with symbols were at once recognizable, then demanding focus, my gaze levels with strong gravity and unknowable letters almost Greek or Hebrew, but bastardized. Portent of my Grandfather speaking, his mid 19th century translation of Flavius Josephus' Antiquities of the Jews is in complement with the season's air and taste, a first meritable key in aural dust suspending a room as time animated in light - captured there amid a scene of spiritual condolation - my eyes acted like hands pointing to some presumed boundless will, pitch of mind, with its cast of feeling and knowledge sublime in approximating plain vapors of tea service undreaming hellion vanities: a shrouded traveler. I'm at a looking glass perhaps ecstatic moment here, then watching an apparition, a streak of inner-current much like a raindrop across an empty rather looming mist of space in some appreciation as to just where "expression" altogether a sense of its movement would land. I think like light upon this park theatre of somewhere frequenting as an inmost feeling, doxologic of my neighborhood out of the Depression Era, the farmland now full of homes, roads and yards that cover-up where horses are buried but adjured in impressionist mindroom, they free me psychologically unfettered. And humbly I hold still in this valley of my tongues, reposed to listening, I watched what I saw. Words shadowplay and permute just a step from Babel's tower, all incitement to expression was deep and culpable to a new reverence for mounting contemplative space over the mundane exile without a book prone in human perception and so ready for dawdling.*************The Declaration of Independence states, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights...." And this underlying order, this essence to which Americans apply our theory of American Exceptionalism, this Dream of Liberty and democratic experiment, never, not for one second, anticipated unemployment benefits, integrated education or health insurance. Or sharing power with Black Americans, Native Americans or women... Never, never, never. So now the stridulent Nationalist Party in power wants everyone to imagine these things will come to us through our abilities. So, if my ability is to summon 50 or more employees to work for my company, and I don't provide good working conditions, it is that ability to manage numbers, monies and resources that guarantee no other responsibility ought to be proscriptive that I may enjoin. William Solomon writes in Slapstick Modernism: Chaplin to Kerouac to Iggy Pop, "Endorsing commodities is hardly the same as promoting revolutionary convictions or radical antipathies." So, ask yourself, what kind of integrity do you want our government to establish that everyone divines a regular education where an appreciating sense of core-culture isn't merely conspicuous by a compelling and mindless attitude of consumption? I think ad extremely reasonable humility commending creativity and a healthy attitude amid the absurd ironies of our shared stress, a mind not more usually letting all inmost doors swing open prone to any penetration, locks doors in thoughts' repair albeit while that egoity is one which holds such and thus internal keys and their caprice.*************Precisely contrarian to more facetious space that some in more usual ways are apt to invoke especially contested by those swearing of some dear identity, rather in some salutation to Wade Davis, once I felt fully in the climate of a move mindful as with hoplon utility, but sympathetic (not defensive): a fist smoothly cupped in one's hand, palm to swallowed knuckles, had been the gesture reifying a sense of family. We are family, while some are destined to wander even vituperative with any concern of these shared reasons imagining all of us the same custodians upon proudlands, through the forest hidden in ignorant moulds they linger while the real people were the trees, evolving. Now this expressive Third World moment I'm certain having indicated someone under more nativist South American conditions is reapplied as Jacques Cousteau or David Attenborough et al. And no apologies need reconcile how they've prevailed by cauterizing reportage over the open mindsore of these demon-haunted worlds in rather urbane wise ape displayal, feeling, say, axiomtic of truth, scientism and as nature's watchman and woman warning of a humble contest which must be waged in everyone's interests superable to politics or tradition and what you think ought to be parked in your driveway.*****************William Solomon writes in Slapstick Modernism: Chaplin to Kerouac to Iggy Pop, "Endorsing commodities is hardly the same as promoting revolutionary convictions or radical antipathies." While I may be obvious in pointing axiomatically at this socially retarded president exemplar here with this rapine idealism in the art of his deal, his surface sensitivity to Humanities just makes a unique model of the thoroughgoing ignorance of his minions in full vain agreement. I think ad extremely reasonable humility commending creativity and a healthy attitude toward the illusory, a mind not more usually letting all inmost doors swing open prone to any penetration, locks doors in thoughts' repair albeit it is that egoity that holds such and thus internal keys and their caprice. Then, why, ask yourself, why the hurry, what are these so-called exoteric ports? They are doors of perception maybe and that just proves Truth is pathless. But are they gates of heaven's way ...peace? Okay, and the second nature assent of artifact and resource at our feet is materialized along a path only now somehow some Source meta ta physika promised it, like Earth, Self, ratiocination and the other.*****************