Thanks Judioz - and I agree. It would be good if that happened for everyone. Food, health, & well-being towards and for all.
Jack - I assume the suicidal thoughts were passing ones. You, I hope, have enough of an acquaintance with the thrust of my words to know that I do not speak them to provoke notions of suicide. I have enough of an acquaintance with yours to know your sense of humor is immaculate, unique, with a depth & breadth of vision that often approaches the spiritual & God bless you for that. Whenever I am sitting at my 'puter reading one of your posts and begin laughing uncontrollably Nancy looks up from her monitor across the table from me and asks, "Jack ?" and I can only nod my head in the affirmative because I am laughing too hard to speak. When I was young I declared myself enemy to pride & hypocrisy everywhere not realizing how deep they both ran in me. I can only hope after all this time that my provocations to reason are salted with humor and not the rancidness of zealotry. Or thoughtlessness. I'm glad both you & Judioz enjoyed the painting. My thanks to you and to every one else who dropped by to look or read. I will view the video you sent tonight or tomorrow, it's off to work for me now.
Mile Marker Zion
Moderator: the mingo
-
still.trucking
- Posts: 1967
- Joined: May 9th, 2009, 12:56 am
- Location: Oz or someplace like Kansas
No reccurent thoughts or dreams about it. Not in years anyway. Just the occasional passing thought when I smoke a cigarette.
Thanks for laughing mingo.
Makes me feel better.
Sincerely.
****
The video is just some old blues man singing John The Revelator.
When I was a kid we lived next door to a black store front church. Black gospel music always makes me feel down home.
Thanks for laughing mingo.
Makes me feel better.
Sincerely.
****
The video is just some old blues man singing John The Revelator.
When I was a kid we lived next door to a black store front church. Black gospel music always makes me feel down home.
fear fear fear there is always fear
even when the birds are singing
abandoned in the houses
the very best songs -
A textbox is a laboratory as much as a field site. A house of bird bones. Windchimes hanging from the beak. Just inside the door is the wreck of a moth. The children come here to play sometimes. The wind comes here to see the children.
Dogs of the skin trade meet the Irish question.
Everybody moves to America & swears to remember what they are doomed to forget.
Then one of the sons of the new land falls in love with one of the daughters of the doomed to forget.
They marry. They have a daughter.
She grows up wondering about everything. She begins to study the stone circles. She begins to see herself as a cast spell. She secretly dreams of becoming a graffiti artist. She writes her name on her husband's shoulder & divides his body into maps of building lots. She becomes a realtor of the sea. She grows rich on the water. With her profits in her hands she turns her eyes to the forests. The Indians see her coming but cannot decide what it means. She reaches the edge of the trees & begins to sing.
Fifty miles straight in from the coast she comes upon a faded green sign with silver letters that proclaim "Field Office - Project Engineer". She washes her face in the creek and then drinks from it. A small salamander watches her from his hiding place beneath a stone. She stands up and looks around. The forest is quiet. Her husband will never find her here. The only thing she can hear is the sound of the wind touching the trees. The salamander closes his eyes & begins to dream. She can hear him breathing under his hiding stone and reaches down to run the tip of her first finger down his spine. At that touch the salamander opens his eyes in total surprise at the notion of the world as a place to be.
even when the birds are singing
abandoned in the houses
the very best songs -
A textbox is a laboratory as much as a field site. A house of bird bones. Windchimes hanging from the beak. Just inside the door is the wreck of a moth. The children come here to play sometimes. The wind comes here to see the children.
Dogs of the skin trade meet the Irish question.
Everybody moves to America & swears to remember what they are doomed to forget.
Then one of the sons of the new land falls in love with one of the daughters of the doomed to forget.
They marry. They have a daughter.
She grows up wondering about everything. She begins to study the stone circles. She begins to see herself as a cast spell. She secretly dreams of becoming a graffiti artist. She writes her name on her husband's shoulder & divides his body into maps of building lots. She becomes a realtor of the sea. She grows rich on the water. With her profits in her hands she turns her eyes to the forests. The Indians see her coming but cannot decide what it means. She reaches the edge of the trees & begins to sing.
Fifty miles straight in from the coast she comes upon a faded green sign with silver letters that proclaim "Field Office - Project Engineer". She washes her face in the creek and then drinks from it. A small salamander watches her from his hiding place beneath a stone. She stands up and looks around. The forest is quiet. Her husband will never find her here. The only thing she can hear is the sound of the wind touching the trees. The salamander closes his eyes & begins to dream. She can hear him breathing under his hiding stone and reaches down to run the tip of her first finger down his spine. At that touch the salamander opens his eyes in total surprise at the notion of the world as a place to be.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
The brain is a tractor cutting grass along the roadside making its first pass early in the morning with the sun shining first day of June - like us it is a river that the fish live in without villages. We cannot stop. The birds live here too but are not police or even pulpits because that would be fanciful. Tomorrow is our sister's birthday when we have to go to her in the woods bearing gifts we haven't thought of yet. Perhaps we will buy guardian spirits for the trail that leads to her door. We can tell her the gnomes are at war with the maple seeds and show her the "For Sale" signs on our tractors & say the fish don't know it yet but they should be worried, shouldn't they ? The birds will rescue no one because they just don't think that way. In their context there is no notion of cruelty. They notice us but it is meaningless. Home is knowing it when you get there and not a moment before. What I always thought was fun was finding unexpectedly & unlooked for a feather. A reminder of sky. Places to go. It's not unreasonable, I suppose, to be charged a nominal parking fee.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
... like us it is a river that the fish live in without villages.
i sure like that line... paved the way for the rest of the write that goes down so easy like a warm cup of peppermint tea (no crumpets, please) and relaxes the soul for the beginning of a new month called June.
i find the occassional feather, mostly from white wing doves, that i reckon are gifts of thanks from them for keeping their water fresh and the breakfasts of seed i spread around each morning... i pick those gifts up and place them in a vase, like a flower of sorts, but everlasting... until a good layer of dust overwhelms their delicate message ... but there's always a replacement as long as i keep their water fresh and serve their breakfast.
enjoyed, as usual, el mingo... and happy birthday to your sister.
i sure like that line... paved the way for the rest of the write that goes down so easy like a warm cup of peppermint tea (no crumpets, please) and relaxes the soul for the beginning of a new month called June.
i find the occassional feather, mostly from white wing doves, that i reckon are gifts of thanks from them for keeping their water fresh and the breakfasts of seed i spread around each morning... i pick those gifts up and place them in a vase, like a flower of sorts, but everlasting... until a good layer of dust overwhelms their delicate message ... but there's always a replacement as long as i keep their water fresh and serve their breakfast.
enjoyed, as usual, el mingo... and happy birthday to your sister.
_________________________________
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Allow not destiny to intrude upon Now
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Allow not destiny to intrude upon Now
Wednesdays are for smashing your thumb with a ladder.
Waking up just past dawn on the North American continent on Friday.
How sexy is that ?
There is a bottle of glue on the windowsill. I put it there a couple of months ago so the sun would warm it up enough flow. I wanted to use it to glue a broken incense burner in the shape of a kiva. I never burned incense in it, I just liked the shape of it. And because I've always liked the word Anasazi. The kiva is still broken in two. I've not gotten 'round to fixing it yet. One of these days.
Anasazi. I've always liked that word. Four erotic syllables to name a people who supposedly disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Don't get no better than that now does it ? Don't ask the Hopi indians about all of this however. They've their own stories.
Been thinking of getting a gecko for a pet. Mostly because I get to name it. If I do go ahead with it I'm going to name him or her Anasazi.
Maybe I'll never repair the kiva. Maybe I'll just glue the sun to the window. And the moon to the porch.
Waking up just past dawn on the North American continent on Friday.
How sexy is that ?
There is a bottle of glue on the windowsill. I put it there a couple of months ago so the sun would warm it up enough flow. I wanted to use it to glue a broken incense burner in the shape of a kiva. I never burned incense in it, I just liked the shape of it. And because I've always liked the word Anasazi. The kiva is still broken in two. I've not gotten 'round to fixing it yet. One of these days.
Anasazi. I've always liked that word. Four erotic syllables to name a people who supposedly disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Don't get no better than that now does it ? Don't ask the Hopi indians about all of this however. They've their own stories.
Been thinking of getting a gecko for a pet. Mostly because I get to name it. If I do go ahead with it I'm going to name him or her Anasazi.
Maybe I'll never repair the kiva. Maybe I'll just glue the sun to the window. And the moon to the porch.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Creamy ants are window players. A new idea buffalo herd. Ticket that ! A broken boned ride into the maelstrom. Yes! every other Yes!
The robot holds up a flower. Beginning, middle, climax, end, etc. Even the turtles are literate. Haiku up flew ! Most of the rules. Where the desire to excites and/or exits. Yes!
The teeth are not going to make it all the way to the end to address that relationship with all that has gone on before or even if there was a before by itself instead of a convenient fiction with stairways leading up or down calling for a decision either previously or on the spot. In a moment just like this one everything is born. In a moment just like this one Yes everything dies.
Confusing Truth with The Rules is common. Insects on glass.
We are the one for awhile then another one replaces us. Darkness is remnant to light.
Chimpanzees on the edge.
Love so deep as to be bottomless but you didn't hear it here, only the sound of birds & leaky reactors & the lungs trying to break up.
Blame the coffee. I don't even know how to dress any more.
The robot holds up a flower. Beginning, middle, climax, end, etc. Even the turtles are literate. Haiku up flew ! Most of the rules. Where the desire to excites and/or exits. Yes!
The teeth are not going to make it all the way to the end to address that relationship with all that has gone on before or even if there was a before by itself instead of a convenient fiction with stairways leading up or down calling for a decision either previously or on the spot. In a moment just like this one everything is born. In a moment just like this one Yes everything dies.
Confusing Truth with The Rules is common. Insects on glass.
We are the one for awhile then another one replaces us. Darkness is remnant to light.
Chimpanzees on the edge.
Love so deep as to be bottomless but you didn't hear it here, only the sound of birds & leaky reactors & the lungs trying to break up.
Blame the coffee. I don't even know how to dress any more.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
How come it is always expressed as "under these circumstances" and never as "over these circumstances" ?
Ritual is never suspicious, it's purpose is to stand at the opening of doors. Ceremony stands at the closing of them, equally unsuspicious.
Give nothing, receive nothing is the law. Staying clean is another matter entirely.
If a movie is ever made (& you know it will be) of Barak Obama's presidency I think Christopher Walken should be tapped to play Obama.
The Indians say the stones, not the monkeys, are our grandfathers.
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free !
Ritual is never suspicious, it's purpose is to stand at the opening of doors. Ceremony stands at the closing of them, equally unsuspicious.
Give nothing, receive nothing is the law. Staying clean is another matter entirely.
If a movie is ever made (& you know it will be) of Barak Obama's presidency I think Christopher Walken should be tapped to play Obama.
The Indians say the stones, not the monkeys, are our grandfathers.
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free !
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
-
still.trucking
- Posts: 1967
- Joined: May 9th, 2009, 12:56 am
- Location: Oz or someplace like Kansas
god made monkeys cause he was disappointed with man
where does god say to his stiff necked Jews don't be so fucking pissy cause you are my chosen people, I could raise up another people from the stones if I wanted to.
something like that.
Nothing to do with anything but I always liked this song a lot
where does god say to his stiff necked Jews don't be so fucking pissy cause you are my chosen people, I could raise up another people from the stones if I wanted to.
something like that.
Nothing to do with anything but I always liked this song a lot
Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down I couldn't change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head but the woman in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one, fade away in the mornin' sun
I could love you all of my life, you are my wife, haven't I let you know-ow
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDK_Z9lm_Ck
-
still.trucking
- Posts: 1967
- Joined: May 9th, 2009, 12:56 am
- Location: Oz or someplace like Kansas
Sunlight on leaves. Well, I'm trapped in my own yard here at the lodge. The county is removing the top layer of asphalt from the road out front and I can't get out. I want to live on a dirt & gravel road. Along the lines of simple is good. As in spontaneous. As in the quick & the dead. None of this "on the one hand and then on the other hand" horse manure. I'd also like to rid myself of undue influences but I can't seem to come to the end of that sort of thing either. The daily attempt to sort out the me from all that is not me is a pain in the ass thing that is laid on every one who has ever been born. I've been told it's a philosophical or even metaphysical "problem" without solution. So why must we screw with things like this ? It's the one tree in the garden that is forbidden thing. It gets everyone every time. No one is immune. I see it everywhere every day. You can distill every situation & circumstance down to its essence and what you get is Eve listened to the serpent and Adam listened to his wife. Folks say it's not that simple, that the world, much less existence, is complicated but if simple is best & simple works I ask why not ? Well, as mt says [enough]. I'm still trapped in my own yard with the smell of diesel & asphalt dust drifting in my windows. I think I'll have some cold leftover from yesterday tacos for breakfast. It's joy that I express when I say it's the feast that makes the food important & not the other way 'round.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
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