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.

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.