the pillow makers

". . . in their shop one can find the finest menner-batts and caterpillar leathers for leagues around. you can find your fittes quickly and take flight in the later-ons.  they are swift and precise and have a great tier to befriend any pocket book."


[gloz.]
menner-batts:  famous (pillow) fillings by the master, menner family.
caterpillar leather:  just like what it sounds like, virgan trappers cut and cure the finest.
fitte:  a kind of rhythm or tone that one has with everything they interact with. for pillow tailoring this regards the selection and choice of the constructing materials.

a skein of knot

i told a story once, of my magic uncle, but in the telling of the fascine fable the grounds loosed and nimbusly-adrift we found our station. uncles like that should warn you that, in the telling of their tales, you may find yourself stitched in the clouds.

and not too many people find it so easily recieved, their being amidst the virga at sefen tousand feets.

the relative isolate

on the topic of the isolate-feeling a human may project:

"indeed, it does not seem logical that 'my kind' are a rarity, just a rarity in discovery."

which, ultimatley, within the context of society- of human cultural constructs, is "exception"; is "rare."

c-ing

i’ve been often-told that i am cynical, or secondly that i’m contrary or being contrary, but the correct term would be questioning. i demand thinking or am sensitive to a lack of thinking. i am critical of unthinking; not entirely unable to abide but almost. it is not by choice, design, or aim, but by reaction. and though i have intellect to intervene the “event,” that is what i act upon, i have to purposefully steer myself (by utilizing heavy influence) away from my adverse or repulsed reaction to the unthinker. it can be tiring to do so. and why steer away from that reaction? my reaction to unthinking, to unbalanced thought or dynamic presence of mind and body, is my nature. i am steward to that nature, sentinel and guardian. i represent what i feel is best as do each of us. if i do not fully represent what i am, what my dynamic is, no one will. i proffer what i feel is best for the entire, not just my paltry singular dynamic. i find all connection important. my thoughts and awareness lay in the whole, not just the parts, but where i see the parts equally as the whole.

to note:  many will misuse or by misconception or lack of understanding/research or discovery will say that i am playing a “devil’s advocate” – but this is a narrow-minded label since i am not acting “for the sake of” nor am i purposefully picking stances less favoured. often, people will say “devil’s advocate” when they mean to say “contrary.” additionally i have no specific design on taking the opposing or unpopular stance; i serve my context-dynamic not specific aims or motives. my context-dynamic simply means who i am as i am connected to all things.

flight plan

“do not give in to the chemical attitude.”

alluding to the general reception and unquestioning course of the human regarding our physical/bio-chemical structure.  meaning question what comes naturally; do not be afraid to “second guess” or attempt perspectives unseen or unknown.

"balance your equation."

verse of the coin

"appreciate your dynamic."


{more directly accessible version}
"appreciate" your dynamic.

pocket sense

i love texture. a cough. smoke. a dollar in my pocket.

-
the conversation of inarticulates may consistently say more than articulate forms.


it is not you, it is me. it is not me, it is we. it is not we, it is us. it is not us it is all. it is not all, it is continuum.


everything is the individual is everything. where does one element begin or end? perception and perspective seem to dictate this. “science proves...” – science proves? . . . what? what does “it” prove? in the asking and breaking down of your own experiences and knowledge is to invite balance back into the constructs of the human intellectual dynamic. it is not “second guessing” it is “offering perspective through reflection” through questioning and wonder, through discovery and temporal answerings.

i very well may be “allergic” to sterility, clean, same.
familiar does not necessarily mean similar.
comfort may come from instability, unfamiliar, unconventional, uncomforts.

chords on existence

[fka notes on existence, fka notes on the world]

i was using a hand-crank can opener and i  reacted or remarked perhpas, about the touch , the grip, the way in which one hand makes some action while the other has it's own business in order.  rotation, pressure, cogs doing stuff or is that sprockets? 
what i thought to myself is the good feeling i have about the blades of a can opener. the circular sort. like those on an electric opener or the nice hand-cranker i have.  i do appreciate the p-38 and b-52 (military can openers that cramp the hand and take forever but are neat bits as well) but i love the way in which those two circles work together to open up metal lids.  i also like the key in old cans of, say, spam.  i liked twisting those keys to get that metal off of there. these tools and dyanimcs of use are marvelous.

there was a girl in my life (no name here for dramatic stuff and mystery winks) that i can't say i "loved" because it was more connective than "just" "love" it was neat stuff what i felt for her.  i still feel it.  but i still feel all kinds of things for all persons i meet. i am a bit of everyone i meet whether that sounds agreeable or not, that's what i sense and observe.

anyway, together but with her influence, we found this can opener and it's a miraculous thing. we found it at target, and actually she had one herself in the lands she occupied. since then the model has remained but the design has changed.  which is what happens but the comfort shapes have been lost. i guess this puts an even finer point on the experience the opener and i and she are bound to. i do not need the opener or any artifact to feel, but momentos do help the memory, especially mine.  so much stuff flying around in my head makes some stuff difficult to remember.  but my emotions, my feelings, they have a kind of memory that sounds true like a beacon despite concrete fogs.

i look at my fingers, my hands, and i can feel love in them. what they touch transfers and interprets those partials and familiar. perhaps my gift is my isolation. perspective is intense "there." i am not lost to my own rattles and recycled thoughts. perhaps i may be lost someday, but i manage somewhat to temper the edge for now. but finding company in my surround does not diminish the silvered mirror. in fact the glimmer is sharper and clear.

there are many things i've written since my last consistent posts. i have not published them here, perhaps i will retro-post, maybe not. i post some stuff on facebook, some on flickr, some only exist on shell-emails, or in exchanges with the various persons i am priveledged to interact with.

if you are intrigued by this, find yourself here, for whatever reason, maybe stick around or exchange some of yer own experiences with me.  if not me, then someone.  the world needs you.

too wound

my post is aggressively avoided. embattled to disobey the tatted destiny –charges drowned in the lethe. afforded gifts of prescience, i find ease and nature to take the divergent path from an obvious course. upon my shoulder, the murmur of the entire is my atomic familiar. wholly we braze in the seems defining our edges as constants.

sotto voce the while is caste aside by product and static forms; by currency too sizes too small.

my fuss is clamour ply by ply.  an undersown. an undernose trampled not from neglect but by nature.