Call up passion, it's good for us.
Wheels of invention are spinning
where every one goes swimming.
Thursday, May 11, 2017
It's Possible
Call up passion, it's good for us.
Wheels of invention are spinning
where every one goes swimming.
The Screens of Meaning
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?
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?
Saturday, January 7, 2017
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.
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.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Friday, December 30, 2016
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
Sunday, December 25, 2016
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!
Saturday, December 24, 2016
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.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Ain' Up'ight
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
Friday, December 16, 2016
Thursday, November 24, 2016
whistling and pissing
European Union laws require you to give European Union visitors information about cookies used on your blog. In many cases, these laws also require you to obtain consent.
As a courtesy, we have added a notice on your blog to explain Google's use of certain Blogger and Google cookies, including use of Google Analytics and AdSense cookies.
You are responsible for confirming this notice actually works for your blog, and that it displays. If you employ other cookies, for example by adding third party features, this notice may not work for you. Learn more about this notice and your responsibilities.
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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Monday, November 7, 2016
Friday, November 4, 2016
Monday, October 31, 2016
Monday, October 24, 2016
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Saturday, October 22, 2016
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
Monday, June 6, 2016
Drift-Wood Mask
With a lean of the head to the Northwest,
tilted stance,
handing out tickets.
Stand up and walk.
From all fours,
to twos,
tongue made of black ink
eyes made of wood
dripping words
here
dripping black-ink-taste
down the valleys.
Collecting tickets,
paying fare,
playing fair
reproducing
on fours instead
of twos
with the queerest look
stare
pierce
of sight
that couldn't break
once connected.
Walking a pace
of bark-skin
and bark-bone
quiet as a dog
keeping two-leggers
in heart, in sight,
pass them by.
Day will not do
night will not do
will have to merge the two
Pulling a euphoric
out from
the centre of this
Limbo.
Dissipate!!
Become the stars,
walking across channels
of billions of personalities
obtaining, shopping,
meditating,
transcending personally
or selling it..
comparing,
condoning,
forgiving,
destroying,
masking,
spinning,
ejaculating with a
wild
without shame..
The creature with
wooden skin and
bones
spat ink
in ways
of ways
to hold true
the walking life
of outlines,
a proposal of
outlines
fetched as the spit
that came
from its ink-made tongue.
Grab at ink
ever liquid
what do you hold?
Image sizes
The default for clicking an image has changed. So to view an image and get the full scale, right-click to open and view it. Otherwise in any of the regular 'ol clocking of images they will be capped and restricted to the preview frame size.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)