Ah ha time to refresh the blog and the the dry time's is high time we we got to the subject of the the things that must be true. Any anxiety surrounding a strategy or implementation indicates something SOMETHING...deos it not. If someone will say that the noise level of the emotional response corresponds to the value of some intrinsic quality...not unless you have and engine that runs on the raising of the voice. Not a bad idea really...reminds me of that "bottling their energy" bull-s. Cars that are powered by overstimulated anxiety generators. Bad fuel and toxic byproducts. Hahaha.

Well, there is a try and I'm out of practice but you got to start somewhere over the rainbow connection synonyms without and the last thing is it's not to move back and forth in time. Just flip back a few pages...or forward.

Sun

Guise me to foreshortened horizons. Seemed the sunset was so close and falling. Hard falling sun on the river I drifted on and all around my head and shoulders like that legendary beating. The beating sun. Should life be like drifting, like in the sun and like late in the day. There is only so much a symbol can hold even when correctly spelled and hot under the falling dusk.

Of course imagination offers infinite in forms and in the mist. Is mist so different from matter...but now I'm trying to make a meaning again and it's late. In the day and in the sun long gone but still beating if you think of it. Like your heart, it's beating, down, inside and on the other side. That continuity and that abstract knowledge that came into the boat in childhood. The sun remains and returns even when it's not there. Sunrise and I could quote the time based on another thing I've not yet seen but know of. There is so much for us in the mist and dusk and in the night.

CHOMP CHOMP

Mindcrunchingsolutionstoproblems. Most of the time is it as if we are at the mercy of some master. Sinister or benevolent. Looking for a place to rest or rage. Resist or surrender. It is not possible for you to understand this writing but you still do and the more clearly I where to explain it and the more understanding you gain the less you practice the content. And if the text seeks to confuse is it not best understood through the experience of confusion. Mispelled. IS IT?

Musings

Is it possible not to know what one is doing. Of course. Without a context what one does is just a part of the stream of sense events hurtling down like asteroids. An weak correlation between desire and feedback. The nebulous violence of blind intent.
Then there is the other thing. The place where every event is connected with doers. The doers involve themselves in the story as a way of organizing themselves. At any moment all the doers are seeing and abstracting the actions of the other doers and their abstractions as well. Weaving it all into intentionality and motion. One generated moment to the next. History can belong to us all but we have to become a part of it.

Musings on Beauty

You know those moments or days or lifetimes when everything in the world is beautiful enough you could almost make a world out of just experiencing it. Out on the frontiers of my consciousness there is word being sent of a New World. Just as true as any truth can be we all have known the bitterness of disillusionment but now a new and beautiful interpretation begins to sink...in. Of course certainty and understanding describe states of mind and not always states of being. The oscillation is the rhythm of consciousness and the basis for movement and growth. Praise be and no end in sight. Fear no more, loves.

Another long paws. Pa-ews. Huge Pause. Imagine billions of fibers suddenly loosening like cheap bubble gum can after prolonged chewing. Some shift in body chemistry or the nature of matter...instant al-chemistrial changes effecting large numbers of cells synchronisiously. Deliciously, like melting chocolate bunnies at Easter time or the sugar covered yellow marshmallow ducks or rabbits too, turning my stomach. And the stomachs of millions on that day. An orgy of glucose. The grand sweet meltdown of billions of connective units. I see the brain, that if it can be said to be, is spread out into the habitual tendencies of the whole social matrix. The wisping smoke ring vortexes in and out of existence like subatomic particles. Voices with watches could make an impression with a co-ordinated hush, a sudden unified silence. But we are reassured by the familiar sounds of our own arguments. What of us if our sounds where silent. Silent night. Holy.

Back In Action

It has been a long time. And me thinking about what it might be worth while to say, and all. With the criterion crisis in full swing now the tide turns on its own masters. The sailors who tamed it, now lamed by time rigging the sails. All the time I'm wondering what to say and all the time laughing at the idea that it matters. Of course,,,it,,,does. What else could. And if it didn't then how would you know. That argument must have a limited context and I wouldn't be ashamed to leave out the fact that it's my own. Verbal inertia. Mass and vector. Of course a world without motion is somehow different that a motionless world with movement implied. But how? Not everything has to be explained. But so much can be.