Tuesday, May 12, 2009

rambles are ok... today.

if it was a sunrise sort of idea, if it was first light, from the darkest hour, if it was Venus rising to be faded by the light, if it was all dew soaked well then I’d realize that perhaps all was well, that the plumbing was working, that the drain drained, that the things in this world that mattered were all in some kind of proper order. O how the list could go on: people walking on green lights, the wheat becoming golden, the surf breaking perfectly, the holiness of being screaming thru it all, in such perfected harmonies that nothing not even the broken teeth, the rusted machines, the faked abortions, the human offal, the discarded, could change the pitch, the tone, the perfect buzzing harmony, and out of all this, the only thing beyond a gnawing mosquito sound is the blue blue sky, full w/ one, & the odd human bug travelling to space, also exalted by a few other human bugs. O, O, O, & in it all there are the moments when there is an extra-conscious, a boost of energy, a shift in the being, that comes from being, destitute, pampered, no matter, ignored or white knuckled eyes wide peeking into to it all, a whole, a complete landscape of being presents itself, from Adam to Atom, and some that look never return, some remain transfixed in a Totality, completing it somehow, others take to complete, and others are humbled, and sometimes, again & again thru Time you find the corner of the veneer peeled back, and peeking is the only path, the only choice, and whether it is strong periods of being or times of weakness, no matter as it is a pre-determined action, the only parallel I can draw is the excitement & trepidation’s after dropping acid, the first 15 minutes, 30 minutes, 45 minutes, before the take off, before the world opens and the trip really begins, that wondering of ‘Wow…did I really do it this time?, am I coming back?, will I remember any of what I knew before?’. There is a beautiful old woodcut that is on the cover of a book, I believe it is called ‘The Discovers’, where a man is half in the world and half in the other ‘unseen’ world, the fascination that it exists, that we peek into it, that in our spines the human being, the human race is, at least, in understanding of this pt., a pt. that has no language to explain it, truly we are the race of Babel.

… and really what thoughts? What differences? I sit in the near summertime streets & I dream, I read, I listen to the cars & the murmurs of the passerby’s, I am throbbing w/ the rhythm of an ancient type, deep down blood flow, deep down lost connection, but what matter? really the sun is hot, the air humid and full of sounds that help transport me to other places & times.

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