dust battles in the asthmatica primes

my journey through the clogged corridors continues.

i have had some narrow escapes from croomb’s nasty iron toast. it never gets old with that beast.
i am not as strong as i once was, and so, i have to – i must keep note of my atrophy.
i have no problem acknowledging it, but to right myself in the way i must, i have to keep it in mind.
it is not something so easily thought away.

my skills and ability to wield them are strong, but they are somewhat undermined by that same atrophy; perhaps “diminished” is a better word.
but i feel stronger all the time. brighter. i continue.

croomb is an unrelenting creature however. and so i have to keep my momentum at high levels. even when i am stronger it will require great integrity on my part to keep it in that quilted state of befuddlement that i’ve been able to manage.

let’s hope the sooch doesn’t show up anytime soon.

slurpy

i’m told that my surname is a “slurpy” name.  and when i think on it, yeah, it is that.

other names may be chewy or fat, or dense, or hazardous, but mine is slurpy.  however, since i haven’t been able to prove my blood-line surname, i have a variety to choose from.  i can either elect to go with my father’s adopted name “villescas” or one of two other possible surnames “jimenez” or “lorea.”  all are dubious however.  but it all fits with my being up to now and in continuance- that my life is full of ambiguity and vaguery.

my task or goal now though, is to be a medium or broker to that abstract nebulae.  a conduit to share it all.  perhaps i’ll never find out my origins, but i am not so attached to those sorts of things anymore.  especially not now.  i’ve learned a great and painful lesson, the greatest in my life.  not a maybe, i know it is the greatest.  and i have gained an awesome perspective of myself and my being.  my dynamic is potent but it had been disconnected before.  what good is that?  what vitality can come of that?  there is no reflection in a mirror that shares no light back. 

so when i talk of my “cleaning” it is not just of stuff, the tactile plane; it is of all things.  it is not an artificial change in actions – that stuff is temporary, ultimately artificial.  this cleaning is to achieve the clarity i need to share my life with others.  to share my mind openly and with wholesome saturation.

fight!

jacket - got

cleaning - more done

new phone - on the way

paintings - strokes continue 

lots to do, but progress- yes, there is that.  

additionally:

shoes - replacements needed soon. goal: one month to buy new same pair of pf-flyers in construction-paper red

pres. eyeglass frames (new with filled prescription) - expensive.  i've dragged my feet on this far too long.  they are important, i mean my eyes(ight).  goal is set to no later than mid-december.  there are some nice dark tortoiseshells that i've had my eyes on for some time. 

restring mandolin - slated for later on, a friend helped so now it's done.

practice my pillow fighting techniques.  rusty - need a nice trainer pillow.  but until i get one, i'll continue my stratas (like kata 型 {form} but, you know - for pillow fighters).

[for dramatic fun]
the battle continues!

woulds beyond

my daughter and i were making our way out of the nearby forest(woods but we’ve always called it a forest) and walking down some railroad tracks. i had practice balancing on railroad tracks back in my mom’s hometown of clifton, arizona. but i could never keep it up for really long lengths.
but this time i could have gone on indefinitely. was it something i was doing differently or has my balance changed?

my daughter was commenting on how it would make an interesting picture to take of the tracks. i said “you mean just straight down or the span” and she said “the span.” she has a good eye. it was a neat looking shot. i had been too busy keeping my balance to look up ahead.

to frame the context, these particular tracks are laid down along a path blasted through the rock of the hills. the hills go upwards of three-stories high. my apartment is up at the top of one side of the hills and the “secret” path down across the railroad and into the nearby park (woods/forest) winds along the edge of one of the blasted hills.

it’s a good walk no matter the time of year. it’s a good hike too and you can bring your mountain bike along if you are experienced enough. additionally the river in audience to all of this foliage is a nice winding and deep enough one to go canoeing on, i wouldn’t recommend tubing.

right now the river is low so you can walk on a lot of the bed in the more shallow areas. it reminds me of the many walks me and my cousins and aunts and uncles would take along the colorado river in arizona as well as the other rivers i would visit in arizona. our walks would be in the water and go either up or down the river.

rivers, like many paths we take in life, do not reveal enough at any one point for us to know what may become of our adventure.  in part this makes us fearful but also attracted.  the river will take you quickly down its banks and there is sometimes the quiet times to enjoy the surround, and others you have to focus on the rapid and rock nearby.  this balance in life happens in everything we do, it's just that it is not so obvious like splash and eddy.

the adventure is afoot.  speak and fly into it.

itchy fabrics

people are pretty amazing. every day, thousands i pass, i may be underestimating - probably.  but what i feel is much more than that.
but in those few that i interact with, see, move with, or react to there is an intense sense of texture.  attribute.

everyone has their concerns, their to-do, or will be's.  wandering around on their paths with the clothes they've selected or habitually don.  it is this mosaic that is excited in our passing of one another.

all those qualities are juicy nutrition or filler perhaps fiber.  but rich, wholesome.

i am awake for the moment but i am going back to sleep.  later today i must wake up for some more cleaning and then some painting and maybe some eating.  if i have time i will check out that jacket again i saw at target.  it fit pretty well, seemed to have a good amount of warm.  we'll see. 
i don't favour the cheap puff jackets or other utility ones that you can find relatively cheap at stores, but i don't want to pay hundreds for a nice big wool one or peacoat, etc.  and the thrift stores continue not to contain anything in my size.

sigh

. . .however,    holding steady

today was an interesting one, slip-clouds; smooth subtle, but with interesting lightning and random drops of rain to make you think a downpour was imment but then~  nothing.

chilly too.

generally, or is that basically?  hmm  well i'm doing well, making progress.  i need to get myself a new jacket though.  last year i had layers to help, but i'm not in the mood for layers this wintery time.  well not so many layers.  i spied this jacket at target and i know it won't last (it will sell out).  i'll have to see if my pennies add up.  i wish it were in black but maybe i can paint some bits and seasonings on it to subdue it's drab olives.

i also have to schedule in some time to get a new phone.  i need one with a camera or something.  i also need it to be cheaper.  well, i want it to be cheaper.  my cubicle-neighbor pays upward of $80 for a smartphone.  oof! 

so i'm searching for alternatives to save money.  i've been, more or less, bleeding due to neglect of fine-toothed management.  i don't see any problem with trimming the costs.
lots of cleaning to do.  it is exciting and sweaty at the same time.  some of it is stressful but there is much worth in the battle.  i am learning many things.  and perhaps i already learned the core lessons, even the finer points, now they are all being tested and put to practice.  woken.

i am also writing much knotworks.  building (continuing to build) a glossary of all my personal words and ideas, but alongside that i'm including basic ideas for story.  it helps to wrangle the ideas and be able to move them around until they tell me to stop. 
some of these ideas seem good to paint or illustrate instead of just left to word.

hands are great stuff.  they do all kinds of thing.  they have a memory as well. and i love the memory they share.

a note to my bonds, my friends, my knows-ofs

{this was originally my sentiment to my friend frank. but when i wrote it, i could feel that i was writing not just to him but to all people. and so, i share it here.}


we are all the same, and different – that is our humble. i know it, you know it. we all feel it, but we have our separate bodies. we can get caught in them so easily. i know it well. my whole life has been that struggle. i don’t socialize so well, but i do talk to many people all the time. just... not-- deeply. not full force.

i am tired of that. perhaps broken, or whatever it is-- it hurts too much not to express myself how i feel to do it. i still feel the “lock down” by my old ways, my cultured and bent self is pulling at me. “don’t do it.” and i’m saying “damn you you crap-garbage, look what you’ve done to us.” i proceed to scuff with myself – that crap me. i’ve been winning. it’s tough though.

you are human frank. i look up to that. i am human, i realize that. but i am a diminished one. but i know we are the same. we all have our troubles, our emotions, we also have those intellectual knows – what has to be done, what “should” be done. i don’t want to make anyone feel idolized or like i’m making them bigger than they are- “more human than human.” i am dramatic though. expression does that to you. especially when you let it fly freely or without so much reserve (at least as much as i’ve had in my past.). i’m healing and growing, and thriving. it will hurt and there will be a mess. but i will shine once again, and people will know it, because they will feel it.

inspiration is inspiration, there needs to be no condition or exposition to validate it. when you feel the energy of someone’s life, that is proof enough.

i feel yours, and so – i say it to you directly. no more of the couch. the pillows are flung!

plastyk brat

i am underway, but need to reconcile the muck i've collected about myself.  my friend frank, tells me about eating elephants and though one could argue all the aspects out(mince words), the point of a saying or quote is to capture expression into a shareable accessible form.  the sayings themselves shouldn't be taken as absolutes or all encompassing - they shouldn't be taken so seriously to the point that the point is missed.

the reconciliation is about my resources versus my now awakened ambition - additionally, i not only have decades of imagination byproducts to express but i continually have new ones.  i am very much behind even when it comes to my own mind.

my three-painting goal is proceeding. painting is great.  brush and balance of humidity or flow along with viscosity and texture.  coverage, placement, skill, technique.  but always, those things are a service to the mind, tools, ingredients.

i have a nice, though short, collection of canvas to paint on.  they'll do for a time.  and it's not an issue, the canvas availability. the main issue is in the sculptural forms i am drawn to work on.  i've called these "nitsches" in the past and more recently "column incidents" (i think i called them "columns"). sometimes i refer to the way to capture my mind as "movements" much like the bowels do.  in ways art is just like any other exhaust or refuse.  it captures necessary elements.  a bowel movement captures necessary waste to expel - a very important and valuable thing to have happen. 
the mind consumes and creates and utilizes and absorbs all kinds of nutrients from experience.  it produces it's own measure of gas.  this "gas" is the exhaust we call expression.  and we'll do all kinds of crazy things to let it out; amazing things.  from limb to voice it comes out in all kinds of ways.

i'm still figuring out how to make these incidents- tangible.  they ellude my construction.  but i must commit them to tangible meals that can be distributed.

i'm going to have to find a medium that is small, shapable, moldable, but that is not oil/grease clay or soap.  i have access to alot of discarded cardboards in many grades and guages. those will help.
this way i can mock up my ideas and shape and experiment until they reveal their recipe.

chemical ghosts

right, this is one of those times that have come to lean on me over the last couple of years, but really - this has been going on for way too long:  it is that i have too much to say, but too little a way to say it, or not enough time to say it, and so i have a strong feeling to just not say anything.  but then one instance turns into two and then more until one minute becomes years.

so i'm writing this to disrupt this, whatever it is. 

the knots i share

in the ways ago, the befores, i did not write much; did not communicate much.  now, i am still poor at it all.  but i am moreso now than previous.
for me i may note that the ideas appearing in my mind are instant, but only for me.  i hadn't really grasped that idea in the longer past. only in the last decadesh past did i really grasp that only i was benefiting from my thoughts, my stories, my sights.

i witnessed the benefit of the sharings, in myself or in my appreciation of the shares of others. the discoveries i made of the rares and forgottens as well as the knowns and historical. i was glad they persevered to share what they shared.  their minds connected now with all others who would ever find what was left behind.

even in the static and exhaust there is value.  i know it. i acknowledge and accept that truly.
still, my mind is so easily sated by the constant wonder in concert continually- with its no-shy finesse; it's roar and tenor - it's subtle flats, it's quiets.

i know, have known the value of the share; of the "connect" and in the connections we make.  i have neglected many of these opportunities but it is not a "waste" or something to be wept over.  all that we are is the beauty of our being; our dynamic.  our momentum-continuate or "forward momentums" are the right nows that we all know.  our time is the now.  not the whens or ifs but this constant we share and are connected to.

we all are connected to one another.  at this very moment you may be reading this i will have already written it, but my mind was thinking and my digits typing when you were doing...  what?  what were you doing then.  what am i doing now that you read this?  the world spins, a rock lays, the sun burns, atoms combine, someone breaths, it is day... perhaps night.
all at the same time.

and love.  and passion.  and emotion.  we have no control over these, just like we have none over what we like or trust.  our acted-on choices can influence those paths but we do not control those sequences, those aggregations of experience.  when "trust" or "love" is lost it is not because we choose it, it is by results that our instincts react to, and our intellect decides on.  consistency.  discipline helps.  but reliable, or what is familiar and relatively constant, contributes to the things we find comfortable, favourable, lovable, trustable, likable.

but away from that.  here, i state to myself, and for any that may cross my tangible journey, i will not give in.  i cannot.  i am too optimistic in nature to "give in" but what i am meaning is in the "share." i will not give in to not sharing.

i am not the most sociable person, my relative isolation from all those i am bonded to (to whatever degree or relationship) has, i feel, diminished my social skills.  i do get to practice in my daily ventures and, of course, at work where there is quite a diverse field of wonder to exchange, examine, and reflect with.  but the context of work is a bent one, a skewed one that does not inspire the sort of freedom in people to share their whole spectrum.  many contexts in the daily life are like this.

i am also undermined by my habit of not asking the obvious.  i seem to feel that people will tell me when they want or need to.  perhaps i consider it prying or rude if i ask too much.  a bit of tactless action.  but i feel it is perhaps an overreaction or oversensitivity to intrusion or polite behaviour.  perhaps too polite or respectful. maybe it's just my warped associations.
but people want to hear the asking of the simple questions, the obvious things and whots.
but not "all" people.

what i have known is that i have come to block my tangible expression.  my "art" or "works" in other words.  while i never stop in mind, the imaginations, the wonder, the ideas and story, they still go unshared.

my hope is, has been, and now - that i will win my balance back from myself; be able to share how i had, and what i feel everyday.  the sights are grand but when i turn to share it there is only silence, empty shadows.
..
but i will not let those idle casts distract me as they have in the past.  excuses in the mud because i didn't want to get dirty.  excuses can be washed and adventured wins because it is shared with the wonderful and found.

in my many bent year-and-moment, i have fought my mind to produce; to conform; to connect.  what i have discovered is that i am already satisfied. so it is not me, it has never been about me.  and i have been chasing that tail of mine in nonsensed vane.  but perhaps not nonsense.  i needed to scrape my soul on those textures, bruise and stub and bloody myself in instruction to perspective.

my connections are greatest and most important.  they never stop because there is no end.  "death"?
is death such an end? what end do you know in death?
regardless of perceived benefit or detriment - bad or good, happy sad, i enjoy - i appreciate all the facets of the continua and that most definitely includes the life and nonsense of all those i share this earth with.  all their nuance, all their concerns, their stinks and subtles.  their colour, their simple.  their complex and culture.

i argue and gripe and disagree but that is life as well.  i calm down and in my reflections i am too happy, i am too glad.  to know, and to live, and to be with all the things that, everyday,  every all and days and moments, i am part of.  not individuals together, but a whole of parts; that miraculous soup with all of our ingredient and layers of temperature and flavour and season and texture.

we are not so apart but in our minds.  and our minds are not so ruled by rules.  we stop ourselves, we will ourselves, we connect ourselves.

my reflections here are to reaffirm my resolve.  to renew my ongoing vows to free the shares in me.  loosed and contribute.

whatever happens here, my reports will be as consistent and constant as my will commands.  currently it is weak but renewed.  i have been very weak these last few years.  no direction, overwhelmed, too many directions, too many wonders.  i negate myself, undermine myself, too perfectionist, too . . . much.

i do not have much support in my surround.  as i said, i am isolated.  but i know what i have to work with.  i have known the gameplans possible, and i know the resources to call on.  i am stubborn however, i mean my character parts are stubborn.  i can sense when i avert or repulse from the "best" actions.  silly, and frustrating, debilitating.  but i know this so it is something i can take action against.

i believe i will mumble here, make much nonsense, but i will continue to share. consistently share.  if at least, i will share stray and raw thought rather than the more straight exhausts and emotion i tend to take the time to capture in these bloggish or social mediums.  the importance on the "share" is such that i cannot concern myself so much, or at all, with form.  we - "i" need to function.  function to share.
to render my abstracts into accessible tangible forms that are more than just breath or digital dodds.

whoever you are that may read this; be good, be your best and persevere.  do not wholly lean your reality on the accolades or concepts of others. we are chemical beings; know that, and use what you know to gift your mind with the perspectives and perception to serve your dynamic. shared nutrient.

reconciliator

the day is burned by common fuss. It is everything my redcap can do to hyde the interpret-blind between noise and the clarity of wonder.

the too turns, every day, wear and build the continuant cinder. abrade and polish are equal continua. all ingredient in that soup-aware. identity and reality; conjured and constructed by our each to cope and handle the boundaries of our decided and discovered singulars.

node to designation

i enjoy clutter, attachment, bric-a-brac, bauble, miscellany, refuse, mess, and rubble.

my shadows are stubborn and my curious are lantern-lit by nightly gnats.

i favour the attachment of obscure acronym to name or noun. asterisks, exponents, and radicals are a permanent tickle; floaters swirling about parts of speech and connecting human sentiments. accents to nuance – necessity replete.

clutter, for the majority of humans, appears to be something visited not lived with. "appears," because that is the relative madness that most humans assign themselves as indicated by the outward projection to their adjacents.

getting to the other side

on july 1 i was launched into the street by a ford focus.  my friend, camera, was destroyed but alot of people witnessed and even tried to warn me before impact.  i may have been hit worse had i not turned and slightly reacted to the oncoming car. i'd have been completed blindsided.  the car was going somewhat fast but in reverse.  i'd checked the road and was particularly alert, still, it seemed to come out of nowhere.  the people say i was thrown, that i went over the car.  one particular guy really helped me out.  seemed trained, at least at basic first-aid or response.  a nice woman got a clean towel for me to wrap my dripping arm and the guy helped to wrap it up keep it elevated and apply pressure.  the guy asked if i needed water, i said yes, and the woman went off to a nearby bar or gallery to get me some.

as i was sitting on the curb continuing to be asked routine questions for trauma victims, i noticed what other people had already seen and known,  the back window of the car had a huge hole in it like someone had blasted it with a shotgun.  at the time i figured perhaps my camera went through the window, but the glass in my elbow and the type of lacerations were proof otherwise(the fire dept. paramedics and later-on doctor would confirm this).

it wasn't a surreal experience but it did happen faster than the senses seem to be able to record.
when i turned to see those reverse lights and sensing the speed of the car i had this sense of doom, not negative doom, but that this was going to be bad; something that i might not be able to walk away from or maybe survive.  still i saw or felt more practical or perhaps observant of everything.

i did what a creature does.  i was helped  up and i took it slow, in case i was more broken than i could detect.  i seemed to be able to get up without pain or crunching sounds. so i responded to the help to get me to the curb.  i was hoping nothing was damaged but as soon as i was getting up i could feel blood coming from somewhere. at the time i thought maybe i had some severe road-rash.  the wounds were on my elbow, the side hardest to see without a mirror.  i couldn't see the gnarly evidence, others could.

i was told by the paramedics i'd definitely need stitches, but they said i'd need at least three. i went to the closest er after getting a courtesy ride by the police to my car.  oh yeah. i declined for the firedept to take me.  i mean, if it was severe enough, wouldn't they just take me?  they gave me a choice with a hint of liability-feeling issues or stance, probably because i was conscious.  how was i supposed to know i had a lacerated artery in my elbow.  how could they know?  i don't know.
i was fortunate in that i made it to the er nearest my house, after not getting much help at the first er.  i was bleeding through my original bandages but i suppose many people in an er(that first er) are used to seeing that stuff, not to mention i didn't look too beat up except for the blood all over my pants.  i was dissapointed in the first er.

the er by my house was unusully light for a friday (they told me), so i was seen right away.
i drove about thirty minutes to the er by my house and it had been about 40 minutes since the accident.
the initial dressing kept things together enough, but i couldn't have gone much longer without dripping from my bandages.  i started bleeding pretty good when the doctor took the bandages off.  there was an excellent nurse aiding and together they got everything under control.  i had to have some cat scan and xrays and glass had to be removed.

i am waiting to see an ortho-something-or-other to double check an unusual shadow on my elbow xray.  i'm sure my elbow is gnarly, i have some crazy missing skin patches that couldn't be sutured.

from around 10pm to 4+am in the morning was my ordeal.  i got to see "under siege," well partly, and "invasion" - almost all of it.

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.

flip top

the wig furiates.  it twists it’s hage shaple.  it so much wants to wring the hectre shates; an incense burnt beyond rational construction.
abstract aggregates and fools, it rathes to gnag. the enraged stoke peels the sensitivities in whole rips and burns from the face of acceptance.
it wants obliteration, against the fit nots.  no times out to its game, it flips until it’s over.

the tendered edge

i want to be mad flown; frustrate; annihilate sown.  but you stand in my way.  my way-    lost to the toe you draw about me.  am me.  forever backward-  i find.  and i cannot argue with consistent or prolonged conviction.
my twirl-around fools none of your shadows.  your deeply is my in me. a voraciously stubborn charm on a crack and dandle.  strop the balance, venomous tear.
with somehow your touch, a reminder, scraping, and soothing.  you are where i see, and where i won’t see.
and you hold my well despite myself.

self observate

unremarkable in prismatic ranges.  auramatic fumes collecting for explosive insinuates into the apparency of existence.
proximity reveals the rhythm and perspective.

black and white coffee exception

in relative forms; lost in the neo logism; a modern-moment intellectual existente. torn between the seemingly opposing sides of reality - his own and the aggregate other. social pressures of conformity bombarded him at a time when he could not defend his own mind. aggravating, confusing; the nurture of his guardians and close influences as well as the nature he inherited guided him through those strange realities. eventually there came a parallel understanding of the once peripheral ghosts in his surround. he began to make sense of what he'd known, what was, what is, and what may yet be to come. his photographic ability with memory is not as keen as it seems the average is, but his intuition is saturate with the stains and crumbs of experience. his subtle witness is sensitive and he has come to know of his sensitivity. he wields it now where once it only floundered about randomly.

the pressures to belong and connect are not lost on him either as a benefit or detriment to himself or that of the collective other. at one time he searched for elements that defined or could define his being - his be-ing; to himself; to others. but ultimately, and after many failed attempts, he came to find that no one thing, idea, or presentation could define what he was or felt. the idea of individual representations (static icons of self-worth, identity, or validity) persistently felt ludicrous; not by design or choice, but by awareness, realization, and result.

in fact, somewhere in him, for who knows how long, he's known and appreciated the individual dynamic quality and importance... in existence. of all things, not just human. and so, while he has his objections and disagreements, he finds that there is ultimately no (benefit to) argument to have with anyone except in the emotional exchange and the working out of thought that is afforded by the process of arguing or debate (conversation). we each are unique. gathering experience unique to our path and process. even the identical twin, by existing as a separate entity from its counterpart will have a relatively likewise unique experience (even if they'd like to think otherwise). our opinions, beliefs, understanding, perceptions, and perspective are all unique to our individual dynamic. this is not to say that we should not argue, or persuade, or challenge, etc. these attributes or qualities are of our nature. and we each are steward to our own nature, our own dynamic. it is we who are charged with representing and sharing that dynamic with all else. and to do so, in part, requires our acceptance, embrace, and understanding of the possible other points of view.
whatever level of action we choose to act on we are still connected in existence, with each other, with our environment. whether workaday or layman, couch potato or deadbeat, celebrity or genius they all have connection, influence, and importance.

realist? anarchist? existentialist? artist? fatalist? pessimist? optimist?

the "ist" he consistently feels rhythm with is exist.

empirical me

i love distorted parallax and peripheral ignition of cone and rod; i see 3-d in 3-d because of my astigmatic situation.  the nighted sky, especially, engages my optics in anaglyphic duelism.  the "stray planet" is my favourite celestial product, like an orphean ophan rapt in underwrold blankets of asteric superlative.  the radiant notion of external medium is a suspension i am grateful to be immersed within; an infinite singularity.