yepyep...it's raining again, but a lot warmer than it has been...still thinking about the biofeedback from the pay shunts..it seems like pouring money down holes to listen to them..repeat back what you don't want to hear
been reading a lot of Robert Crais...how strangely he looks like my brother, how he uses inadequate adjective from time to time to distinguish himself as a not 'classic' writer...like the use of the word 'necklace' to describe how a thing falls about something..it necklaces it...mmhmm, you want so much to replace that word with something else because it's not even a good bandaid
it is, of course, early morning here, how I used to write quickly before I had to be at work, how the other day on an ambulance call I met one of those very people I used to sit and drink a coffee with, before the workday actually began. we all got there early, we were shaking in our boots who would be next to get the ax, and we did, one by one, we were forced to retire because they couldn't 'find' anything for us, although we'd been with them through thick and thin...and yet, at times they refitted the place temporarily, for emergency bivouacking, extra guards and such, you had to wonder, exactly who are they bringing in this place.
The deer would graze there, content in the field that bordered the woods, the trees knocked back to provide the landscaping, the pavement, the buildings, and what a serene place it is, for those housed inside, behind the barbed wire and the towers with the guards in them. I suppose they thought they'd drive different cars for when they were inside, and so we, who had to drive cars to get there, were superfulous now, that's the way it has turned out. We can still see some of the ones that work there, of course, but they're mainly ...in the main...robots, people who have learned to shut themselves off once they pass the gate. there's not much to be done, the ones housed there have figured it out, thanks to incidents like deer park, where they were cloistered in a tiny tight knot for a month with no food, water to their ankles, and mean tempers from whatever had ignited the situation. I shivered when I watched the training film on it. I wondered did others there know what they were watching. I wasn't ever categorized as to what I did, a bit of typing, filing, passing out of papers, putting in a good word, here and there visiting with those learning the ropes of driving the cars that would get them home. And still, as I sit here in the breaking dawn, I wonder, what am I missing?
I do have, still, clients, people who are on the other side of it now, wondering how they got there, am I there? they ask me. I sit and listen and frown and smile and cross my legs and nod and let them talk. Where's my license? My experience would tell you that I have that, a horde of crawling black ants, lice n more, no actual lice, just the carpenter ants, lice in cars...like purr mitts...same thing...it's necessary that you get to basic with all of this because it's not translateable otherwise, what's happened. And we are on the other side of it. The dawn breaks, the sun tries to degloom the dreary weather, the plants organize their botanics for the spring, the grass announces it needs a haircut even so, the fire still needs tending in the dampness and the chill, but winter has fled...quickly, early...the snow quite heavy just a few weeks ago.
We have felt the snow for many years, even in the sweatiest of summers we've felt it, with a numb finger, a blotch where we never had one, much hair in the hairbrush from straightening our tresses. Our reactors would be the issue then, that we didn't correct the fish runs when we might have, or did we and someone tweaked it out just as it began to process the ions of the atmospheric domain. Well, I guess you couldn't call it the atmospheric potential so much as the environment itself. And the fish, they will do what they have to do to maintain their integrity, just like we the people...we'll arrive at where we are destined to arrive because of our faith, our humanity and very little else. It's a struggle all right, but we have what it takes. Probably...Those are my favorite lines from therapy...you're here, so evidently you have what it takes...now why would you want to overindulge in something like tobacco, alcohol, stimulants...what does it do for you? Oh, but then someone has your disk, and it's not you, right? You're watching it happen to yourself but you don't have any control about what is going on? Are you sure about that? Do you need me to watch with you? I can you know...I can.
The elderly lady looks up at me, so tidily dressed in her flannel pajamas and belted robe, she thinks, but I don't want to be this person anymore, and I hold her hand, pat it. You never were, my dear, you never were, in fact, you haven't even woken up here, but are in transit, thanks to the fish stock, who use the body you are asleep in, to push along upstream, downstream, fingerlings, spawners, heading out to sea, back from the sea, wherever they are going, this was a body they pingponged through, and you're aware now, that you held a part of it...go then, and restore the river and the stream, I think to her, and she opens her mouth. A terrible vapor comes out and I lean back against the breath of it...it's worse than stench, worse than the rot of a dead salmon, something even a crab wouldn't touch, poisonous..the very arc of the ping and the pong...nothing will land there. she knows then she won't arrive in this form, that she will wake up and walk away from it and know the course must be replotted. that there is no way a fish could ping into this pong and pogo out...it couldn't, it would suffocate at least, the very combinant of the dna particular that is to be avoided. it lands in a space we do not see, and was misplotted, or, as the pay shunts often think, was done on purpose. perhaps to a bitter end it might have been thought to be achieved in that way, but it couldn't because the science itself would never let it happen, it was never calculated to achieve mistrust but was a definite structure, a combined blend of certain elements that assure the integrity of atoms, molecules, cells, the energy of joining, and if you hear someone speak of these terms, in a singsong voice, entreaty to be taken seriously...surely you would know the fish is asking, where do I land when I get out of this human body? and if you were harsh with it, that would be its ground to regain the water, not the land...go there finny one, survive and be my friend of the waters...sustain me if you might be able and I will rebirth you in a new school..myself and the crane and the otter
so pensive as I am...the fire crackling now, time for other logs and chunks of wood, which ones will burn and turn to dust, a small pile of that to start the day...the remains of the day before, when the rain was consistent, as it is now...what to do, besides being philosophical? observe that if the fish is calibrated to be contained within metaphysical walls that do not sustain it, it will not thrive but remain choked on the land and eke out a foul breath that betrays the place within which it is trapped...should there not be a vitality to impart? yes, and there is, which is what I do, provide a containment factor, a bridge...here it is...you can't see it, but it's there, an inner eye, a belief, a knowledge and whatever comes from one's mouth holds the truth of it, even if it seems like so many lies...like the breath of the old woman, there is no life within that smell but it is a petroleum of the soul and if it is incarnate, so be it...it will not be animate...no even the fish will let that happen.
more crackles from the fire, a bathrobe and a sleeping jacket and warm pajamas are more than enough to keep me warm but still the pointer finger points coldly to the dawn and requires that I ally myself within my own faith and consistency to do with my day what I must. already Ive had tea and put the fire together, but I sit here in front of the monitor screen and wonder about what comes next...do we have to know the future. lately I've thought of the movie made from Orwell's 1984, the one with John Heard where all is grim and unforgiving, there's a constant war. by their uniforms, the characters in the story are not unlike the old woman and her breath, living in a suffocation of the spirit, and wondering what is there that breathes a new light. often in the story on film, the scene would go to the grassy field and there inevitably the main character stepped into his new life. we were left to assume he was terminated, but his spirit became part of the soil that the grass grew upon and it was as though if you take the spirit of a man, he only goes to another place, where he can see the light and feel the air move about him. he will not speak, and what a gift that is, the old woman could barely do it but her eyes told all, because the fish inside the body would have it so...understand it comes from the river and to the river it must return. So is that logic? Once a friend would often tell me, you're not logical, but I was always able to pong it back to him, you're the one who's not logical...why so hard to the ground, why so dedicated to an uncertain path, what do you betray to keep on this course? surely you know it does not lead to happiness. surely you know that if you wake into a dark hour, you're not really there, or you don't know where your happiness becomes your consciousness. it's not meditation so much as it is a state of being. one of the first things I learned at college. the state of being...
always in collective thought, there is that sharing of the hope and joy of existence and we like myself, maintain the consistency of it by our predilections for a certain pattern of activity in the day. there will be a happy cartoon to punctuate it, a good smile, a reflection on the softeness of a child's skin...something will be the joy and hope contained, and then there is sustenance, filling the belly, resting the body, bathing, traveling from one place to the other, arriving, departing, going with the flow. if you churn against it, you help the fish travel upstream, but you have to let him lead the way for only he knows. arrive at it and you're in a place you may fear, but he knows, he is charted by his dna to get there and so must you because you have ported him.
I go to check the fire again, I listen to the dog snore, I think about a book I have started to read. I feel my husband's heart beat with my own, my children slumbering and soon to rise. what will I feed them for breakfast, what will I feed myself. thankful for my waking hour, promising to myself to abide in it and feel the light.
it isn't all about poetry and theology and philosophy either, how to contain and translate these thoughts and emotions.. it is about the nuclear age. it is about discovering new planets and ways to get there, it's a sort of a noah's ark of the metaphysical mind, the healing of dark thoughts that are the transit itself...what do I shed to get where I'm going and am I going anywhere or being led into dark spaces by my own weaknesses? what should I bring to the morning? how will I face another day if he's not there? where does everything belong and why do I hoard so much and why isn't there enough money for what I need? My shoes have holes. My feet long for the air and the warmth of a better climate, but I don't like scorpions and roaches and they always get there first..He has a small penis. hehe...does any of that really matter? when one transcends the joy and light of new beginnings in new places, one does find to a certain extent a bit of a lull, and some of us push forward through that to the new set of paints, the blank canvas, the empty page...and others stand back and say they cannot go forward in the moment...think of the fish, trapped in your body ready to pong to the water but you're not letting him go where he wants...allow it, allow the trapped operating system, the sustenance that has fed you to the moment, allow it to return to where it will thrive again, for only these regenerate effortlessly, we do not, for we have this intellectual process that contains us like a cumbersome machine and if we don't train it well, it will not support us...allow it to be free to do what your happiness would require of it...think of that, what am I when I am happy...and there in the fish will find the stream...
been reading a lot of Robert Crais...how strangely he looks like my brother, how he uses inadequate adjective from time to time to distinguish himself as a not 'classic' writer...like the use of the word 'necklace' to describe how a thing falls about something..it necklaces it...mmhmm, you want so much to replace that word with something else because it's not even a good bandaid
it is, of course, early morning here, how I used to write quickly before I had to be at work, how the other day on an ambulance call I met one of those very people I used to sit and drink a coffee with, before the workday actually began. we all got there early, we were shaking in our boots who would be next to get the ax, and we did, one by one, we were forced to retire because they couldn't 'find' anything for us, although we'd been with them through thick and thin...and yet, at times they refitted the place temporarily, for emergency bivouacking, extra guards and such, you had to wonder, exactly who are they bringing in this place.
The deer would graze there, content in the field that bordered the woods, the trees knocked back to provide the landscaping, the pavement, the buildings, and what a serene place it is, for those housed inside, behind the barbed wire and the towers with the guards in them. I suppose they thought they'd drive different cars for when they were inside, and so we, who had to drive cars to get there, were superfulous now, that's the way it has turned out. We can still see some of the ones that work there, of course, but they're mainly ...in the main...robots, people who have learned to shut themselves off once they pass the gate. there's not much to be done, the ones housed there have figured it out, thanks to incidents like deer park, where they were cloistered in a tiny tight knot for a month with no food, water to their ankles, and mean tempers from whatever had ignited the situation. I shivered when I watched the training film on it. I wondered did others there know what they were watching. I wasn't ever categorized as to what I did, a bit of typing, filing, passing out of papers, putting in a good word, here and there visiting with those learning the ropes of driving the cars that would get them home. And still, as I sit here in the breaking dawn, I wonder, what am I missing?
I do have, still, clients, people who are on the other side of it now, wondering how they got there, am I there? they ask me. I sit and listen and frown and smile and cross my legs and nod and let them talk. Where's my license? My experience would tell you that I have that, a horde of crawling black ants, lice n more, no actual lice, just the carpenter ants, lice in cars...like purr mitts...same thing...it's necessary that you get to basic with all of this because it's not translateable otherwise, what's happened. And we are on the other side of it. The dawn breaks, the sun tries to degloom the dreary weather, the plants organize their botanics for the spring, the grass announces it needs a haircut even so, the fire still needs tending in the dampness and the chill, but winter has fled...quickly, early...the snow quite heavy just a few weeks ago.
We have felt the snow for many years, even in the sweatiest of summers we've felt it, with a numb finger, a blotch where we never had one, much hair in the hairbrush from straightening our tresses. Our reactors would be the issue then, that we didn't correct the fish runs when we might have, or did we and someone tweaked it out just as it began to process the ions of the atmospheric domain. Well, I guess you couldn't call it the atmospheric potential so much as the environment itself. And the fish, they will do what they have to do to maintain their integrity, just like we the people...we'll arrive at where we are destined to arrive because of our faith, our humanity and very little else. It's a struggle all right, but we have what it takes. Probably...Those are my favorite lines from therapy...you're here, so evidently you have what it takes...now why would you want to overindulge in something like tobacco, alcohol, stimulants...what does it do for you? Oh, but then someone has your disk, and it's not you, right? You're watching it happen to yourself but you don't have any control about what is going on? Are you sure about that? Do you need me to watch with you? I can you know...I can.
The elderly lady looks up at me, so tidily dressed in her flannel pajamas and belted robe, she thinks, but I don't want to be this person anymore, and I hold her hand, pat it. You never were, my dear, you never were, in fact, you haven't even woken up here, but are in transit, thanks to the fish stock, who use the body you are asleep in, to push along upstream, downstream, fingerlings, spawners, heading out to sea, back from the sea, wherever they are going, this was a body they pingponged through, and you're aware now, that you held a part of it...go then, and restore the river and the stream, I think to her, and she opens her mouth. A terrible vapor comes out and I lean back against the breath of it...it's worse than stench, worse than the rot of a dead salmon, something even a crab wouldn't touch, poisonous..the very arc of the ping and the pong...nothing will land there. she knows then she won't arrive in this form, that she will wake up and walk away from it and know the course must be replotted. that there is no way a fish could ping into this pong and pogo out...it couldn't, it would suffocate at least, the very combinant of the dna particular that is to be avoided. it lands in a space we do not see, and was misplotted, or, as the pay shunts often think, was done on purpose. perhaps to a bitter end it might have been thought to be achieved in that way, but it couldn't because the science itself would never let it happen, it was never calculated to achieve mistrust but was a definite structure, a combined blend of certain elements that assure the integrity of atoms, molecules, cells, the energy of joining, and if you hear someone speak of these terms, in a singsong voice, entreaty to be taken seriously...surely you would know the fish is asking, where do I land when I get out of this human body? and if you were harsh with it, that would be its ground to regain the water, not the land...go there finny one, survive and be my friend of the waters...sustain me if you might be able and I will rebirth you in a new school..myself and the crane and the otter
so pensive as I am...the fire crackling now, time for other logs and chunks of wood, which ones will burn and turn to dust, a small pile of that to start the day...the remains of the day before, when the rain was consistent, as it is now...what to do, besides being philosophical? observe that if the fish is calibrated to be contained within metaphysical walls that do not sustain it, it will not thrive but remain choked on the land and eke out a foul breath that betrays the place within which it is trapped...should there not be a vitality to impart? yes, and there is, which is what I do, provide a containment factor, a bridge...here it is...you can't see it, but it's there, an inner eye, a belief, a knowledge and whatever comes from one's mouth holds the truth of it, even if it seems like so many lies...like the breath of the old woman, there is no life within that smell but it is a petroleum of the soul and if it is incarnate, so be it...it will not be animate...no even the fish will let that happen.
more crackles from the fire, a bathrobe and a sleeping jacket and warm pajamas are more than enough to keep me warm but still the pointer finger points coldly to the dawn and requires that I ally myself within my own faith and consistency to do with my day what I must. already Ive had tea and put the fire together, but I sit here in front of the monitor screen and wonder about what comes next...do we have to know the future. lately I've thought of the movie made from Orwell's 1984, the one with John Heard where all is grim and unforgiving, there's a constant war. by their uniforms, the characters in the story are not unlike the old woman and her breath, living in a suffocation of the spirit, and wondering what is there that breathes a new light. often in the story on film, the scene would go to the grassy field and there inevitably the main character stepped into his new life. we were left to assume he was terminated, but his spirit became part of the soil that the grass grew upon and it was as though if you take the spirit of a man, he only goes to another place, where he can see the light and feel the air move about him. he will not speak, and what a gift that is, the old woman could barely do it but her eyes told all, because the fish inside the body would have it so...understand it comes from the river and to the river it must return. So is that logic? Once a friend would often tell me, you're not logical, but I was always able to pong it back to him, you're the one who's not logical...why so hard to the ground, why so dedicated to an uncertain path, what do you betray to keep on this course? surely you know it does not lead to happiness. surely you know that if you wake into a dark hour, you're not really there, or you don't know where your happiness becomes your consciousness. it's not meditation so much as it is a state of being. one of the first things I learned at college. the state of being...
always in collective thought, there is that sharing of the hope and joy of existence and we like myself, maintain the consistency of it by our predilections for a certain pattern of activity in the day. there will be a happy cartoon to punctuate it, a good smile, a reflection on the softeness of a child's skin...something will be the joy and hope contained, and then there is sustenance, filling the belly, resting the body, bathing, traveling from one place to the other, arriving, departing, going with the flow. if you churn against it, you help the fish travel upstream, but you have to let him lead the way for only he knows. arrive at it and you're in a place you may fear, but he knows, he is charted by his dna to get there and so must you because you have ported him.
I go to check the fire again, I listen to the dog snore, I think about a book I have started to read. I feel my husband's heart beat with my own, my children slumbering and soon to rise. what will I feed them for breakfast, what will I feed myself. thankful for my waking hour, promising to myself to abide in it and feel the light.
it isn't all about poetry and theology and philosophy either, how to contain and translate these thoughts and emotions.. it is about the nuclear age. it is about discovering new planets and ways to get there, it's a sort of a noah's ark of the metaphysical mind, the healing of dark thoughts that are the transit itself...what do I shed to get where I'm going and am I going anywhere or being led into dark spaces by my own weaknesses? what should I bring to the morning? how will I face another day if he's not there? where does everything belong and why do I hoard so much and why isn't there enough money for what I need? My shoes have holes. My feet long for the air and the warmth of a better climate, but I don't like scorpions and roaches and they always get there first..He has a small penis. hehe...does any of that really matter? when one transcends the joy and light of new beginnings in new places, one does find to a certain extent a bit of a lull, and some of us push forward through that to the new set of paints, the blank canvas, the empty page...and others stand back and say they cannot go forward in the moment...think of the fish, trapped in your body ready to pong to the water but you're not letting him go where he wants...allow it, allow the trapped operating system, the sustenance that has fed you to the moment, allow it to return to where it will thrive again, for only these regenerate effortlessly, we do not, for we have this intellectual process that contains us like a cumbersome machine and if we don't train it well, it will not support us...allow it to be free to do what your happiness would require of it...think of that, what am I when I am happy...and there in the fish will find the stream...
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