Randomness has been the newest normal.

I've always preferred mythology to history. Because history is made up of truths which eventually turn to lies. Mythology is made up of lies that eventually become truths. -Jean Cocteau

Check Engine light requires the dreaded Push Codes … or, Yea, Right.

#P0442/evap emissions system leak … aka she'll take the bait. 

#P0507/idle air control higher per min … aka reel her in.

#P0328/knock senior … aka basic sucker punch. 

Arguing w/ myself. 

Head vs. Heart

AKA

Reason vs. emotion

One side accused of being unreasonable the other of not caring.

You can't fight in here! This is the war room!  -Pres. Merkin Muffley / Dr. Strangelove

Everywhere the Queensbury rules do not apply, nor the hierarchy tidal rules of chess.

The bad news we are all going to double-ell. The good news is there's plenty of pillows in the basket.

Dream of  an art opening. The room was totally empty, very well lit + the walls were washed warm white. It was entitled The Power of Omission.

That which you mistake for madness is but an over-acuteness of the senses. -Edgar Allan Poe

Random thoughts + foolish notions:

What would you think of a person who said, I'm an artist, but I'm taking a year off.

Rilke - still living the questions / living questions.

Is it always hard to relate to a complicated person. Nothing as always.

Feeling like i need to be where i’m going to end up. So i can be there a while. 

Assumption flying into heaven vs. assumption religious. Everyones guess.

System vs. Goal. Stick w/ a system + you will attain the goal.

i realized everyone has a thought process that spirals in + me not being able to untie a knot doesn't mean it can’t be. These days i tend to turn everything into a Tarkovsky movie. i jump to explore the spiritual + metaphysical at a slow pace w/ long looks, using the imagery of dreams, nature, + memory.

Jumping into the story - i’m presuming it must be the integral part of a more complete corpus.

The ongoing challenge is to create a something that will make me turn the page, yet keep me looking back to see if i got it right.

Rest on that.

Muse 2 / The Fallen Beginning 

Muse 1 /  If I Could See People's Fears

Directions slow to cresindo.

i had lost my notebook, shoes + mis-placed my fancy math text. Frustrated, all i could do was glimpse down the hill over the trees to see the web of streets i needed to navigate to get to the University, + the dreaded class i was late in attending. i ended up cutting through yet another building. Moving higgily-piggily, outrunning my sight i slammed into Andy Warhol. i pardoned + asked him for directions. He responded politely saying  this was the symposium building + that they, too, were searching for answers. i inquired if he + the rest of the students were using the correct accent.

Recreation 
re-create-ing

As soon as i realized i did not have to play tag, i didn't.

They are  all scare and no substance … like a long shadow, but no one's there. -'Drew, in his political observation noir phase.

His huge bulk wedged inside a telephone booth, he was fuming into the phone over some isolated I cant even remember. The diner’s diners were trying not to notice this frantic man. i was reminded of Twain's,  let us pull the curtain of charity over the moment. The booth conversation ended + he rocked the booth violently to get the folding door open, obviously a well practiced trick, + headed for his stool + the truckers hot plate waiting at the counter. Then someone hollered Hi Tiny! i read the booth guys face as absolute glee. Why are all these huge guys always named TINY?

Weird; i can remember what is going to happen, but fail to bring up what's past. For instance, my little brothers birthday is going to be on the 12 of march, but i cant remember what day it was last year ...

Then i remember i do not have a little brother.

Only a pawn in the big picture. + i'm in that picture somewhere.

There is an entire 
generation
that 
has
never 
seen 
shag carpet.

Coping, great. Settling for, not so much. Argh, i look horrible in uniform stripes. No one told me that ignorance is not an excuse for dismissal. Ignorance, ignore/ance, of the law excuses no man: Not that all men know the law, but because 'tis an excuse every man will plead, and no man can tell how to refute him.

Obviously bliss is not the door i thought i slammed. Dark. Stifling. The kind of dark that your eyes never become adjusted, because there is not the slightest sliver of light.

Then the choices got real limited. The proverbial wrench de duress. Unchecked doubt will drag most everyone around by the hair; don’t know … well, I COULD have been sleepwalking and cut the neighbor’s throat …

Mr. Freud are you listening? This couch is as hard as concrete + just as cold. Life has twists + turns + no matter the plans or how much you second-guess; what happens is usually something you never imagined. That is both the scary part + the exciting part.

Reminding me of paraphrazing an old proverb. If its not broken don’t fix it, if its broken don’t fix it.

Wisdom is achieved very slowly. i heard somewhere this is because intellectual knowledge, easily acquired, must be transformed into emotional, or subconscious knowledge. Once transformed the imprint is permanent. 

The mind is so very loud when it is silent.

Qui tacet consentire. How nice.

Open space is unlimited. Guilty. Who will be paying time, paying penitence? Is penitence what any of us need? i just need a few simple things to trust. What will stop time slipping through my fingers?

All minds meet in the center void where they separately awaken w/ core energy filling the room, re-dreaming someone else’s dreams left behind. Collective thought lay somewhere near. It is unique to them. The small i + the big I. Where do i to find the fitting pieces?

Parts have been measured out in mugs of paint + cans of coffee + in the breaking of a porcelain toothpick holder in the shape of an iron, in the bondage of short days wishing for spring while savoring winters work.  Measured by helping stray animal + orphaned colors no one else would give a second look to. Dying the fabric of results + covering the wounds that the product exposes even as the processes’ pain is hidden from my view. Finding others to hold up even as i kick aside my own work + lose myself for moments at a time only to round the corner to find that i never left my own private studio. Creativity has never been a convenient thing. It does not enable super human strength, assuage the need for sleep or automatically come with a paycheck.  It dwells in the deepest part of the pile w/ its head + hands exposed, ever waving for attention w/ a slow burn that is never exhausted nor satisfied.

Is someone haranguing salvation really what we need?

How do you figure?

The fugitive kind, the ones that got away. A fish story? Everyone’s got one. Surrender is a powerful tool. Surrender physical, eventually the mind will follow.

i do go on.

muse 9

RoM - Ghosts in Daylight

I grab my Mr. Rodgers sweater, my hall pass and my laundromat access card without loosing the heading that is turning into ascension.

When you are dealing with inward reality, unreality, and non-reality any muse will do to fold into the slipstream of the whatever. In a wide-open field they meet; where do they pass on parallel paths that never touch?

The most exhausting part is becoming clear. The shadowy mounting push did not need me. Delusion of reprieve doesn't. All I needed was to move aside from my tiny existence to make my way up a bit further onto the plateau and walk into the sunset. The great egress. I heaved and will powered the paralysis to lift. I pull to the left, out from under the huge boulder I had created, whisking my hands of loose clay. All of the voices hushed as I scramble toward the ledge and hoist myself up and into the black blinding light.

Having no pen nor paper on hand, I mentally impressed upon a page a note of confidence and reform. The paper folded and nested close to my neck for someone to find. I exhaled and swooned wondering after all if I still had the gold loop through my earlobe for payment.

It had been months watching him wither, hands cramping, and toes slowly curling. The room had transformed into a daily camp, a cafeteria, debate forum, a rumpus room, a vigil. They stood around in now hushed tones and witness his release. His body relaxed and there was an undeniable letting-go of the body as it relaxed, deflated and stilled; then a re-gathering wistfully above, moving willfully and purposefully. They felt the familiar, now fade into the near next with a clip of shine singing from his ear, and conversation remorse on the tip of their tongues.

-30-

muse 8

 RoM - Drop Back and Punt

… redirection is in order. Not exactly a new direction, but a mental turning around. Okay, not so much a mental turning — as a looking past. Past options, those were long ago voided out by other reasons and decisions that were uncontrollable. Control suggests need or want. Good thing everything is not controllable. We’d each have bloody hands and be dragging around Santa bags full of dirty rags all of our lives. Who’d be friends with someone who sounds so familiar?

Why not grab hold of hyakutake? Every once in a while it comes looming by, which means it comes closer every day, even when it is leaving.

It comes by from another goldilocks zone, within spit distance … close enough for communication and trade. Boons.

 I glide toward the meeting place, my feet dragging scooping up sludge into it grows like a snowball in front of me. Dodging and skipping along the street that seemed to have a theme of pot holes. I saw a stranger watching me from a noir shadow.

He gave me a nod, Yes, watch out; plot holes.

I meet up, join and follow others feeling the series of events, twist and blind turns currently eluding me. Noticing the writing on the walls, reading an interior dialogue on a one-way mirror. You know how your mind jumps to this hither and thither thing while you are in deep concentration with the other? Hypnogogic hallucination, involves seeing or hearing things just as you fall asleep. This is that. If this is a severing with reality the break feels natural, though wondering how to decipher. No telling, not knowing.

 It’s not the nightly happy phantoms charmed by a conducting Orpheus. This is an uncontrolled waking dream of comatose, passing the pearly gates of how cliché.