Website progress and old gallery photos

The old site still exists. I have a backup of that slithing, philanthropic creature.    

You know sometimes you can take the straight line--- from the pied piper to the donut.
But why not walk the way 50 yards to the east, under the crippling barbed wire, past the bunny rabbit wielding a live hand grenade, overtop the slunky looking Dotson and finally to the donut?

Well in a way----
Because I'm putting new watermarks to each photograph. This means retracing as many of each image that I am able to off 6-something hard drives.  Some of the previous gallery shots won't be in the new site. Newer photographs will be! 
And the order is definitely going to be--- differing.  And as much work that was put in the old ordering of the--- by this time defunct since late 2012 website--- it seems to be a nice thing to have a fresh lineup.  That is what I am going with saying, anyhow-- it helps during the process.

The funnest part is the thumbnail resizing!

I did find a portrait of Dick Cheney from this fiasco where he was hunting from a boat and he apparently shot some Aboriginee woman with a shotgun.. or the story goes something similar

actually Cheney shot a lawyer in a face. I'm mixing that up with the photograph of a "naked" "woman" seen from the Smokey and the Bandit style sunshades. My collective media mind at the time may have twined the two events together assuming that Cheney had shot a naked woman lawyer in the face with a shotgun from a boat.
But I'm glad I got out of politics*! It was always hard getting the swivvel correct.. or-- getting the bent-up, chewed-up, soggy chewtoy mush chowed down in one piece.

(*I just wanted to say that for once in my life. Nobody is in politics.. and everybody is sort of in politics. And nobody gets OUT of politics--- because nobody -enters- it, really.  We all sort of just put boxing helmets on and run into each other until we get dizzy and raw. And whoever falls down, we go through their pockets.. and if they become conscious, we tell them "good job! good fight!" and compliment them and they feel better before they do pass out.) 

man i was a revolutionary!
(and you can be too. Just kidding, I'm not selling t-shirts anymore :( )

photo of taughannock lake from 2008 from the old, moldy gallery.

2007. Had more of a gall to get spontaneous portraits.  So now I've got to get the nerve to start doing that again! What's stopping me? Respect!? Urking someone? URKING!? Well,hell----

04/2007. My good skate-friend's house had all of these horrid looking dolls splouched all over the place which his mom had in place of houseplants or-- i don't know, axe collections.  This was one of them.
I might start just retaking these kinds of photos just to do captions because it's fun also.

Lotsa old stuff was weened out. A grotesquely numbered 64 pages were in the gallery. I suppose it was only fate to ween out photographs of this heaving beaut of a duo of cinder blocks.  January 2008

Splay of the new-gallery.

Anyhow I'm more picky now with galleries but will probably bloat it back up to 64 or more pages if the inner detail-nanny can be subdued and put onto an inflatable chair, and left to drift off far from a current, unable to string me in about things like professionalism. I want the site to have more of that fun stuff that stifens up peoples opinion of me, like the thousand-titted mail-lady etchings and other similar things hidden here and there. I don't want a boring life mang.  Since I am reteaching myself all the ballistics (and probably wrong ways) of putting a site together  I guess not all all all of it should be as it has been.   I like the old ghetto layouts pretty well anyway, though, so basic pages filled without those little damned boxes that show up when you are scrolling halfway down and those menus where dropdowns contain 28 extra dropdown offshoots are things I can't be too uncool cool cool cool ironic cool to want around there anyway.

Disgustingly enough I will have a twitter linked to the site. But no instagram, because now that I am an old man who fills potato sacks up with youngins and throws those heavy sacks of youngin's off my damn fucking lawn, I am not uploading photos straight off of an i-phone.  And no face-book. Face-book you are a son of a bitch. But the twitter...I will Tweet.  I will give out advice.
If I could log in to my twitter today, my tweet was going to be

A drawer full of broken clothespins
does nobody any good.
      
Which is true!  Actually, that's not free advice. Maybe I can make it a pay-in
advice twitter. Where you don't pay-to-view it and get advice and tips for
all the really important stuff.
You'll be able to view it, and then the money will get sucked out away from you after
you get the life-advice.. that way if that particular day's life advice doesn't apply to you,
it's okay, I'm still covered. So it's fair for everybody.


Here are some other photographs from that old old gallery when netfirms let no goodnick leaf eaters like myself host free domains, before the engulfing and stripping away and de-plummaging whereupon sites like netfirms and zxq.net, my second run of hosted sites, took away the options for those without bank accounts to ever use the internet, ever.

 Clouds with trees underneath.   :-D Happy about the title. Just for the title I might try to sell that to the Johanson Museum of Art.  It just needs a.... mime in there... somewhere.  2008.

 biking with Elbee. 2007.  Canon Powershot, haven't I always championed you?  Yea, gotta update camera models now, though, it's about time.   Too many pros and cons between feature comparisons for the powershot series.. because the earliers kept details real well and were good for on-the-go.  Yo Canon why did you sons of bitches ever strip out the sound-recorder function?   Bought so many ebay Canons just to be able to  keep that feature on a working camera.

 2007.   BB Lake. Thank you for causing me not to crack, you guiding herons and cranes and any relative of the gorgeous Ibis bird.

 What you're having for today's meal. 

These were all from the same day. Crowe crowning the treetop.

Anyway that's that.. I'll be happy to finally have a site up again where I'll probably re arrange every thing some million times and have to go through and redo links like a couple of million
but deviant art wasn't doing t any more and having side-accounts for sites where you share traffic flood stream with billions of others makes it all seem so washable and disposable and its a real blood orgy of what-is-new! all the time.

Lots of the old gallery can be posted up on this blog here and there.
   





like here.. here is an old man with a cigar near a no parking sign. 

away away

Soul-satisfaction says,
before each night,
to earn that sleep
Soul-satisfaction must find it's end.
And so my face could look like a face again
if I satisfy my soul
through broken amplifiers, possibly,
or words.. and not lazy sloth patterns--
so go slay some excuses.

I walk around town in thick-night
past a knitted sweater world
of a swelter-cook day.

I'm a sober person actually, I hope you're
not surprised.
Probably manic, who looks like a tripper.
Just a tired face.
Take away stress and compare me to congress
and all might kinda look okay.
Could smoke some herbal insight again.
Something natural. Rest-assured, never tried poison.
Poisonous dumb drugs swelter communities.
Via propaganda signals and zombie medication.
Spent time trying to get some off poisons before
but who were any of us kidding.
Still ain'no what to blame.
Some threadloops are casual and some
tought to squint through completely.

No calling, it seems stupid. Would do death
before that-- it's a slow death, that.
Been four months since some cannibus
and never leaned on it. A few times e'ry few months.
Sensory-intake sensitivity, process more information
at a seemingly more conscious frame-rate.
Learn of self-patterns.
Never even bought any of it.
Cassional gifts.
Now it's like,
through breath, it is a challenge,
But through natural process of breath-cycle, 
there is a calling
to create that sacral space.
To go into the nameless in breathing-exercise.
Bottle of vodka'll last a year. 
Go every once in a while...

so when things hit heavy
in the guessing-department,
the human-societal implement of causation
to destroy oneself in some way
has it's different urges.
It's different faculties.
Like remote-control crash a spaceship
into oneself
and see that you were driving it,
all the while.

Get drunk on moment like a wanton funner
for the Dionysian  leaps--- but by word and play
but none play... who plays? maybe I am ignorant,
of who is playing.
Another MOOD would have different,
more confident answers.
Today's is a thinner veil
of showing outright some trials
of self-uncertainty here and there.

Those are other games, those street-light games,
and so many dressed to impress
to the bar, with feather skirts high like advertisement
jingles
saying hello to the jungle,
and smells of artfc. flower overkill perfume spray--- saying
dance dance spin---
Men who can bribe them.
intimacy with commonground
coming lackluster.
Sex is listening to someone tell their soul-worth
and sex is also having sex, well, too.

And there is affection
near pear-trees and
where strange animals make whirling purrs.
Cold creek water washes the diesel-fumal air
out the pores of wandering skin.
Ocean-invigoration, today,
with deeping in the cold.
Bright waters awaken any
backpack wearer and briefcase carrier
upon setting the being into turbulent waves.
Sure does awaken and have ya come alive.

& ye park right near the library
at drunker's-wander hours:
A new student hotel has 556 stories up high.
Mumblesome slurs yell down towards 'ye,
but, trying peacefulness,
and not confrontation
like climbing up there and fighting rabid animals
like a rabid animal
and going off and out on someone.
No clunking, no headbutting,
or viciousness.
Smile and moon em with the blinding sun
and bite on the tip of a flower stem.
Some flower grasped because it was a necessary intuition
to plucka vivid yellow flower with three caveblack roundings
in the middle of the middles.

Try to be a good person at the heart to others
truly
without others acting
suspiciously.
I don't WANT
anything from you
except some goodness, too
clear of the animal-gut-games.
Viscous, hidden smiles.

We are all in this maze-together,
with collective analogies
and treadmills of Guinea pig wheels.
Either way, collective evolution, if sensed,
could reiterate noncomplaicency toward
diverting a golden age.
Your buildings will not be remembered.
The mountains will.
The ground will recall the mountains
No person will recall the buildings.

If a hippie could channel up some anger,
I'd be delighted and proud and probably fat
on all of the muffins it would drive me to eat.
Actually, earlier I picked up some muffins.
One was meant for someone,
but Mother Time snagged me
and burnt my bunions
and wouldn't let me go
until the adulthood hours themselves
came to an official closing.
That flustered me. My me-ness went askew.

So going to:
Go in to the super ultra store.
artificial light
makes me look like a vampire.
artificial light
loses to true pastel.
I look good when the light is low!
and people guess
and hardly know.
Bought some paper and got some pens;
cashier says she likes to write.
Go out to write what I think must be said
by the bike-racks there in better-toned light.
Because for some reason I thought I
screwed something up.
Ask Soil and B., they saw my claws
and a set of window curtains
with mysterious tears.
They were not my tears
of course, of course.
So I ran off.

What I thought I befuddled
was probably nothing at all
but a cup-of-cups
overthinks.
Can't write there, too many skuts of shopcart
sounds and thick machines grinding gears.
Walk over to the motorbike and sit on that groundboat.
Saddlebags stuffed with this and the world.
Lakestones are the world,
and a masonjar with 2 late sips of coffee left
are the world.
Coffee is a drug, confidence
is a drug. Nervousness is a poison
like those things they're building those
spaces for folks to go and use,
so if they start to die
maybe they really will not die.

Realised I don't need all that writing paper
I'd just bought in artfi. light-land
or all those pens.
Stopped to drop in
to that bright-light product place.
Gave that girl some paper-pages
and a pen.
Said she likes to write short stories.
Said something to her in the best
human language I can.
Say 'here, write something on your break
with these.
it should go far--- I did not need all
this paper
tonight.'
Which was true. I needed just two pages
with the right words.
Maybe asterisks or keypad symbols of all types, who knows.
She said thank you I appreciate it
and I don't read emotions between content thanks
or things said due to survival-reactions,
like be-kind and'll go away.

I wrote,
"Hey Season,
ain't I foolish?
It would be to speak the sounds
of sleet and hail.
To listen to 'ye talk
as my ramble-button's off
would balloon-drift me to
new stratosphere.
Like the balloons used in a World War
only one that had gone astray.
It vacates the idea of adversaries
and drifts into sense of paradise.
Mother-Time gnudge-sprung me
and by God don't lemme seem
like I crossed any lines.
It is a goodness of friendship and
natural current-- So I'll
listen for hours
and not cluck-cluck-cluck.

Water of Waters take in
emotional-information
like every nightmoon
is the spheriest and full.
Even as a teenage werewolf,
don'think a pebblespeck round you
is dull.''



Naw, that was never written.
Would have
turned out right'on
if it were.
Things'll turn out right in any regard,
whether I like it or not.
So I'll have to deal with that
and have the joys and deal with the pains.

It's Possible

There was a traffic jam that looked to go 1.5 maybe 1.8 miles. I ducked into the Ogdoad Villa




Call up passion, it's good for us.
Wheels of invention are spinning
where every one goes swimming.

The Screens of Meaning

The new favorite tree works fine to climb.
It plays like a ukelale
and tells all it's stories

Spectators and Whirlwind Breath

Good acre wanderings. The salamanders are out en masse, under stones.
They come in a variety of tints and deep colors.
This time they are showing up crimson bright'n'black.
None have lost their tails, none have lost their ability to
convince you they are not gambling on the side.
But still it's hard to believe they have their little mansions built
up so quickly and done with such good style.
Their little roadways even have little speedbumps
but those could be wormwood trails really, who knows.

Less gas station smell.
Seasons you want to meet. Seasons you did meet
and hope are infinity.
Those feel great, to be around.

No salamander slave-labor, i.e. salamanders pulling wagons of
hardgoods to little toad dept. stores... or wagons full of little how-to-
books marked nervousness.

Nervousness: One of the nerve's most powerful energy-storage
devices. What a ball of energy!  Turn 'em right around quickly
and find more smoothness of moment.

Could Planet Earth work it's way back to a golden age?
What do you do with nuclear reactor stomach-gas in the meantime?

It is harvest-up season. And put your foods to the corner of a roadway season.
And if someone gots what you want and has something you'd like,
trade it.  Report that to tax-masters, of course! (snide.)



St. John's Wart and not Melatonin. Chappin' up the nose via wind-riding
with the face-shield lifted up. Good ol hardcore face-chap.
Some good rejuvination may have the face turn back into a face again.
Replenishment.  Possible plans to go Amtraking.  Could the days of
Greyhounding finally be done-out?

Barefoot cyber hippies wear spurs or so I'm told

If we behaved we would have began exploring space.
We are guests on a plan-it, whirling through space.
There are so many patterns,
and each time history is revised or re-theorized
we can think of how uncertain we are about anything really.

We are guests on a plan-it.
Crossing your fingers and hoping
and then getting in that fill
into the camel's hump.
It may be some daily process.

Pretend to be in another's head.
Malnourishment, wondering who to turn to,
lost, scared.
One can pretend to imagine it
but when you feel it
there is that definite knowledge that
words and make-believe do not express it.
As if nobody has challenges.

Can we be problem solvers, possibly
solution-givers---
creatures who revolve around words
and languages
and become masters or victims
of the words pinned onto
sensations, things and processes.

Inquisitions and Renaissances.
There are undulations
inevitable
where professionals try
to hold down extreme rises
of natural process,
and create, then, chasms
in smooths of peace.

The last seventeen years, for example..
Will there be any one official version
of history---
I think that
now that we are all collective reporters, in a way,
and documentarians
we may have scattered into a Multiverse.
A Universe has one view, one future---
the inability for many to edit
or to have skepticisms
about
what really occurs.











For the exciting Multiverse,
which I think we are in,
the truths are formed by any heaving-enough size of
a group getting together.

The survival of the many. (Prphrsed.)

This can be an amazing thing.
It can be a very deceptive and lousy thing.
It really should depend on if these group-truths
are being decided with this process in mind.


Which brain is being used
when large amounts of people gather together
and form little whirls and worlds.
There are all sorts of brain-arenas
where people espouse their plays.
What is a new-brain?
How many, again, How many industries
will lose out on Big-Cash
if individuals could self-heal and sort out
stored-up tensions?
Where would the misery-industries be
if individuals could flatten out their bull-shit
with roller-machines.

I feel people are being tremendously had
and robbed of their potential.
The metaphor here is about a process of
developing a finer, better connection
with the high-brain, the front-lobes.
Get inside of your own head
because lots of screwed up people
are trying to get into other peoples heads
and they are lousy mechanics
and fuck things up in other peoples heads
and charge a whole lot of money for that.

It's making it a lot less fun for me,
seeing people dividing in a way where
lots of duping appears to be occurring.
I disenjoy it when others ruin my own fun.
and people lose out big time when the misery-industries
are somehow still able to rake in
people to manipulate
based on tensions that are justifiable and real.
Tensions seem to be able to toss and turn
and be assigned to targets.
More and more I am believing we are our
own targets
and it is better to destroy and rebuild
any calamity and imbalance in the self
that is locatable
than to fix every one else and constantly
fix other people, all of the time,
operating from inadequate or self-hating selves.

I do not always believe that. 
Sometimes I fall for it.
You have to learn where certain habits
and tastes and irritations and likings really
came from.
And if they are suitable.
Somewhere between robots and apes
are us, the humans.
There is so much potential!
We will get there.
Whether we like it or not.

The many are not taught
good metaphors
and those metaphors, whichever one you get
and how it reaches you,
reveals a bit about the connectiveness, really,
between all of us.
& How intentional outward damage to another
is self-damage. Creating a divide
damages the internal makeup.

Right now, this is possible,
all of the loud people--- the loudest people of them all,
the ones that are so loud and yet
when their words are cracked open and
looked at,
it's empty and there's hardly a thing there---
if those loud, gnammering people could just be put softly to the side
and ignored for a good bit---
maybe longer---
some real fine things could become useful and available
to interact with.

Of course it can be the hardest process in the world---
to turn off the static.
It can be the most painful and self-disintegrating process
in the personal world of an ongoing multiverse
to break that pattern and
go without the typical distractions.

The loud-things, the outer-dramas,
the new spices of a mass-psycho-trauma
basically based upon the separations away from
affection.. and the fears of offering nourishment to
other people----
other entities, people, here... on this plan-it.
I love fun, and a moment that sounds good
but I hate new entertainment so much---
this present entertainment-- more than you will
ever know.

These loud things shake and really grip on to the
'low' brains. Aggravations, angers, huge tensions
threaten the survival-personality.
At some point seeing that one is still able to survive
having gone a good while not listening to the
incredibly loud situations
there is a chance to find perhaps a more resolving
and smooth kind of interaction.
These motions are barred from the Misery Industries.


That was a free form go at attempting to loosen up a bit of some pinchy-senses of displacement. It was also probably a grab-bag of all the good and bad that I've been 'minding' lately.  These include berratingly paying attention to the news more often than I should, performing 'undoing practices' and trying to leverage the 'shit news' with some pretty fine stories about time-wanders performing open-heart surgeries upon themselves.
[Or expressions of time and space calling to open up the heart.]

 I did not want to get very topical in any of it but enjoyed being able to jump around and basically follow the words.
As slippery as a lot of whatever I had been posting has likely  seemed, not that I have posted very often, it is a much more fun kind of process. I like it very much.. if I give myself too much free-roaming opportunity then it would likely result in a kind of mega-word-blurring which hopefully would not be too inconsiderate. Having a total comfort in writing just might retract any filtering process whatsoever.
How boring does that sound?

Have gotten some paper out and started actually sketching again. For the first time in what feels like years.  To forget why you do it at all decreases the amount of time to have at doing it.  It was me vs myself but the goal is to have fun with it. Maybe I just wasn't having any fun.
Yet I'll have to completely regain that patience to learn something new every time. It unnerves me to be mediocre at something and everything really had appeared to be mediocre lately: Photo, image, sound.    Must 'woo' at someone. Some infatuation or adoration would rise that intensely.  Maybe a really good sandwich.
I finally found the Art of Sound several months ago though and really very much enjoy them. I recommend them! But I have whispered to the hay before--- or told a dirt-speck how to tie a shoe.

It is really very cold here. There's an immediate eagerness to be out in the sunshine but I have a motorbike and no car so riding it out to a warmer state doesn't sound too feasible. I mean, it's possible but an ice-block can't steer too alright.

It's a Honda. Her name is not Rhona,thank god.  If I can feed my face I'd like to write about the coming-to-learn-a-motorbike process. Me & this blog, though-- I don't know. Give the thing weary eyes ever-so.

Gene Wilder was also great in Rhinoceros. Let's not take his lesser-seen movies for granted. It had Zero Monstel who has, I believe, the best portrayal of becoming-a-rhinoceros in the history of cinema.  You did it right, Gene.

Secret information

The new gods do not believe in themselves

It's a modern life

Your order is waiting to be processed

A way to once more love
comes with stillness
and total silence.

Stone-smooth-stone
and nothing else could fall.
A light of affection
comes to be
with severance!
There is severance from
the wicked mailboxes
whose stomachs contain the
Nags.

To once more Love
I do not think of you
when I am not with you.
Standing on, and looking out,
I Love you when I am near you
and disappear when you are gone.

Standing on stone,
smooth without fraud.
Standing on smooth,
with pockets happily empty.

None can see you,
and none should speak--
They never will,
or should they ever.
You live as a mineral
and remember hands that
passed you along.

We steal less fruit from trees,
there
and there is less thievery of time
from strangers.
People pour their hearts
and color the waters
and the stream flows forever
Let the stream flow, forever.

Stand yourself up

Merry X Mas

Last year I walked a couple miles up the lakeside on Christmas eve. It was 54 or 62 degrees. It was curious and headway was able to be made.. all the way up through the little 'caves' built into the sides of the shale rock.  One of them tumbled-up and caved-in since the last time going by that way.
Today is Christmas and the great outdoors is more apparently a kind of ginger-ale can cooler as it usually should be.
Was up in the zany hours of night doing 'keyboard stuff.' Hours where even toll-boothers have long-gone from hand held solitaire games or pokemoning.
 Figured this would be a Christmas song. There is a snow-goose somehow involved, even minorally.. Actually it is a snow-swan. A Brazillian Gecko-eating snow-swan that somehow erratically made its way into the states near the "U.P."
I'm sure that swan (Snow-goose sounds more appealing) made it's way back to Argentina to eat all of those frogs.

It is Christmas, and so-- Merry Christmas. I hope you have less allergies and zero nose-zits unlike how it is here for me on this day, the 25th.

Enjoy yourselves and your resolutions and this earth-experience.
Verily verily rushed!

Silent Seasons

From the silent seasons are where I wish to you a graceful movement into a new year.
Find warmth and good meal, whoever you are, wherever you may be.

Ain' Up'ight

Weather on municine
Truces pass
on the
freeeee-way.

I'm good when no one's looking
but no one's
looking now

Oh look,
Teeth camping in a mouth.
Oh look,
the weather's getting south
but, shake!
There's some viss-bibble grin
and nothing ever lasts
by my
meeee-waayy

But the soles of these boots
they shred down
right to the null
I picked a little flower
for you or
for some hull
and if you don't like it
now
give it some grimey chew
if it ain't right for you---
there's the 'neeeee-wayy

I'm good when no one's looking
but no one's
looking now

hang out scratching building-sides
surely clawing
doowwwnnnn
hang-out scratching building-sides
when the stairs aren't
working

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qrult9Q_BQc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXW8Pr7SdhU

Cow Coffee Mugs is now on youtube

whistling and pissing

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Navigators

Purify the deepness of
creation's near-beginning
and have us all healing
any wounds from that deep swirl.

Who are we
what is this
Transcendence overcomes
nervousness

Find the self
-identity
as something broader,
further,
unlimited.

Purify those shavings and shards
and extra pieces
more peripheral than direct.
They are pieces
that come back
as strife and misunderstanding.
Do not scare them away!
Or run from them,
or try to hide them,
again.

Find the self
-identity
as something broader,
further,
unlimited.

Who are we
what is this
masks and moods,
nerve-currents;
always reflecting,
penetrating, naming.

Purify the deepness of
creation's near-beginning
and have us all healing
any wounds from that deep swirl.

Hecate

Lucid dream trail iii

Lucid dream trail ii

Lucid dream trail

linear

monotypes crossing

Binaural Homework

Lesson of the billion hearts

Say What the Script Says

"Soil,
I built a house made of twigs. My ears were stuffed with cotton balls and then wrapped with saline garb.
The burp of some worldwide creature-snarl crashed the  house in no time.
It was not the house that God built.

My eyes, they were also wrapped over.

The great mother of the night wrapped me in her skies
weeks long enough to squeeze me out as some birth.

What I was, nobody did say.
So I was handed a pick axe*

and I dug, and chipped at, without seeing, not knowing what.
The central nervous system basked in wonder.
Could be I was building a house!

No-- this was not so.

With a fury and bad taste in my mouth I ripped off the bandages and wraps
and drove off
with a storm in sight.
It was hellish and thick with more electric grey
than anything I had ever seen-electric-grey

and the pin-sheer pouring beads pinged
My naked flesh was agitated
the cold had me feel alive.
It would not let up, nor should it have.
It could have washed me away from me but it did not
it could have knocked down this house.

For so long there was torture and laughter from the intensity
of that which would not let up
and the distances and the geographies
were foreign and indecipherable.

We do not believe in angry gods these days so it was tough to
know what to call of these stirrers-up.
Probably a bad wrap at the day of DOW Jones, forever away.

However, what once were visible skies and low clouds
came to be a viscous coverage
and I was through it and within it and being spit-around
and gobbled up and clinging on and hanging on
for my life, feeling something all beyond.

Was a pilot. May-day may-fucking-day. It was a tease.
Rumble was affair and all that could be seen were yellow
road-line squiggles and the up-pelt of hammering blasts.
This was a manic baptism and the cause of disappearance to many isles.
I wanted to go under but had kept clinging on, and accelerating.
This happened for probably a couple of hundred of years, or so.

It finally-- came to be where an exit was up ahead. Some change in
the skies tapestry.
It blinked off
and as bright as day again
I was whipped out of the hellinistic peltering
with a stiff back-bone.

Needed a side-road, I prowled upon many
but the manic traffic
only let me get the one I did.

The one that I found was spectacular
with open fields and vivifying sights.
There were no worthless desires there
or thoughts of outer-time.
Just there and what could be seen
was enough.

My wanton lusts for hot wet pussy and a fancy title before my name
were left somewhere way back beyond
for a few moments
and the argyle faces I had seen before that storm
with crooning freeze frames
managed to take a holt, too.

Stepping onto my feet,
I wrapped my ears and eyes with saline garb
and planned to built.

*this is what is done when uncertainty is abound. You are given a pick-axe and made good-use-of.

-The General Lo."

photo 08/16  words 10/22/2016 free-'writ as stress'reliever