I am tripping more than you are. Battling razzberries

[stilltrucking]

I stumbled on that question about the movies we discussed and a link to them. Going to try and remember to search them out tomorrow. Got to go to bed now or I will keep eating.

Beautiful song going to sleep on it.

"If I knew the way I would take you home"

One of my favorite Grateful Dead sites is

"The Annotated Greatful Dead lyrics."

http://artsites.ucsc.edu/GDead/agdl/

[SadLuckDame]

I'm thoroughly enjoying it, Jack.
Found some 'Ripple' info you prolly read, but I wanted to include it in my diary...
Ripple

This bit stuck out to share...

Anyhow the terrific song, as I remember at least, is Robert Hunter's "Ripple" and one of my prized possessions is Robert Hunter's collected lyrics, A Box of Rain, which he generously sent me some years after. Anyhow I love that echoing "Ripple in still water..."

[SadLuckDame]

What an etiquette
and she'd done so with design?

Well, she's been up that hill going on three days now,
not making the slightest move toward returning.
You know how it is, she just sits there watching 'him' surface
and even when he does, she pretends he hadn't. Only because she didn't like the look he'd had on his face, so she'll wait until he's one she'll remember.

Shit! It'll be a long wait this time. The last one was when Joe told her there was no other ones in the pond, and she'd have to settle for the one that showed. But, she pretended none had. Just watched the ripples. It took a week till she ran down that hill and said he brought her a minnow, and that he had such a glare over it, because how he didn't like to be so kind.

What will people say of this, and already they're nerves are disrupted from all the confusion she's deviled up to them. I mean he's been dead for a year now, but she'll not acknowledge it.

But, to see her eyes go intensely gray, it screws up my thoughts, ya know. Sometimes I get the willies imagining it's you, and I, all of us in her world she imagines up, and maybe she's the ghost of it all; which makes everything illusion; me and you. We're just part of what she holds on.

Don't scare me with that crap.
I'll spend the whole night holding onto my ribs, and watching Katie Kat sleep, you know.

You listen when she's going silent, or humming.

Thanks, but I'll try not to.

~on waking this a.m.

[stilltrucking]

The chorus is the main puzzle of the song, as highlighted by the title. It is set apart formally from the rest of the song, being a seventeen-syllable haiku. Following the first two verses, it suggests that thought is like a ripple, not caused by anything, and doomed to be fleeting, not to be held. Hunter chose an Asian verse form to express this idea, which is contrary to Western civilization's principle of logical, rational thought. Hunter poses a counter-argument. It is not worthwhile to believe that reason can be imposed on thinking, or that anything reasonable can come from thinking, since communication of thought will always be flawed. It is possible that Hunter's thoughts were born from the experience of altered states, and the frustration that goes with any attempt to describe experience in an altered state. His choice of a pool of water being momentarily disturbed by a ripple is in accordance with Samuel Taylor Coleridge's imagery in describing the fleetingness of the altered state in "Kubla Khan":


Then all the charm
Is broken--all that phantom-world so fair
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth! who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes--
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return! And lo, he stays,
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror."

[stilltrucking]

Between the dawn and the dark of night

That dark terrifying place that Crazy Mike punished me in has come back like the voice of an old friend.

[SadLuckDame]

I know, I wasn't there but I can imagine it. That's what I liked so much about that movie you showed me, the one where the father told his son it was some sort of game, and the son wanted to win it, he'd survive anything easier knowing it might not be real, just a game to go on with.

Loved that movie, Jack.

[stilltrucking]

Love that movie too. A father's love

I had not dreamed about my father in almost 40 years. But after I saw that movie I did.

Taken me a long time to find his love, what he was trying to teach me. And to have compassion for his pain. Funny my sister made peace with him a long time ago. She was more angry at her mother for not protecting her from him.

Yes loved that movie, the guy is a genuis. Italian, love the sound of that language. I watched six times in Italian with captions. About three times in English.

Yeah I might watch it again.

[SadLuckDame]

me too.

gonna watch it today. I popped the link in my sturdy mattress so I could get it easier.

I'm making home-made soup, veggie and beef.
Yesterday I made a huge batch of salt potatoes, then only ate four. So I might toss some of those in.

Recently I made a step towards peace with my feelings on my Mom. My parents were up visiting, and I'd told them my thoughts on churches, blah, blah, ya know and how I didn't like to go because they're so judgmental, etc.

My Dad said, "You'll fail every time at anything if you put your total trust in man (or woman, in the human). He said we're created to let down, but we can also pick back up, which is the beauty of it.

Then I looked at my Mom and saw she was more beautiful than last I saw her.

Doesn't mean I don't still hold a grudge, cause I do, but I'm more aware of how dumb it is of me, I guess. I'm coming around a bit.

[stilltrucking]

I am back on the Wittgenstein diet again.
It took me a while to piece it all together, my memory and baby sisters what we remember about 1962. My sister was missing part of what happened. She never connected the incident and why Mike had to moved to Washington D.C. In fact her mother put him out of the house. Which turned out to be a death sentence for a helpless wifeless motherless aging male child. Yes she forgave him long ago, only recently is she dealing with her own guilt and anger. Never too late to feel a mother's love.

Well anyway I will never understand mother daughter relationships, the bond so deep. Too wonderful for me.

[SadLuckDame]

It's good she has a brother to go to, maybe you understand the things her mother wouldn't.

I gave my mom a mother poem I wrote once, and she replied that she doesn't know why I wrote it so sad, that I'd had a happy childhood. I didn't think the poem was sad, only real, bursting in love too, but we disagreed and I couldn't show her another.

Perhaps a brother would say, looks o.k. to me.

[SadLuckDame]

Married men, that's the trouble.
We get all heated up
above and below
then it's like a fall down the stairs
--wasn't looking
before you know it
they're a two-some.
All ya got to walk away on
is a damn swelling lip
and some tender knees.

Takes two weeks
to get back to conversations.

Hell, if I could.

Yeah, I know it
and that's why I don't like to
know it.
I just hop on the bus through town
and sit next to one,
a little rubbing
and go home to Dina.
Ain't got no troubles
knowing nothing.

I always liked Henry Miller,
was that what he was saying
or somebody else...

I don't know, you know me.

[SadLuckDame]

It's the sort of sort of
ya know, it just creeps up
unexpectedly like that
and before I knew it
I was having those secretive smiles;
the ones in the dark corner
when all alone but recollecting...

[SadLuckDame]

The moment on waking.

The house lost it's voice,
I'd time to think what color just struck me a minute ago, but the cloudy film... then the figures danced behind my eye lids with a vivid note of blue hues, and a startling red sash across the nude skin eased me to lift my own leg and let the down slide into a puff under my arm.

Like twins and they had this funny habit of mind reading, or wearing the same outfit and saying, "She's my sister.", at the same time.

[stilltrucking]

Thinking about that movie As Good As It Gets for some reason. I have tried to get in touch with that voice that is my polar oposite.(see footnote) The pretty receptionist ask him how does he write about women so brilliantly\he replies http://www.entertonement.com/clips/pgmq ... ulie-Benz-
I don't know Henry Miller
Jack Kerouac's voice in his fiction never resonated with me fully
But I love his non fiction, his poetry, his spontaneous style, his impeccable writing.
I was more partial to Kesey's fictional voice.

There is a line from a book called the Denial of Death. Kerouac always the moma's boy to me. Takes one to know one I suppose.

"The mother is the first awesome miracle that haunts the child his whole life, whether he lives within her powerful aura or rebels against it."
The Denial of Death. Ernest Becker
http://faculty.washington.edu/nelgee/le ... ghes_1.htm

Opinions about writers who I am not even worthy to shine their shoes.
You know me vanity are me

Married men, oh Sylvia was ambitious
so ambitious
for her husband too.

Married men, some of my best friends are married men
I cut them some slack
because they have an upclose and intimate knowledge of women I lack.

Read a married guys blog and he said that his wife screams when she sees a cockroach. And she always to refers to a cockroach as "him"
as in did you kill him?

Never been married, but I would do anything to get laid at this point. As long as I did not have to live with her.

Do you know me dame?
I can't be any better than the worst I recognize.
I admire Jesus Christ I don't believe there was ever a man who knew woman as he did.
I wonder how did he know how many husbands the woman at the well had?

Footnote
Found this page while looking for something else. I recognized it as being from a book called Male and Female The Two Hands of God

The Primordial Pair
What, exactly, is polarity? It is something much more than simple duality or opposition. For to say that oposites are polar is to say much more than thet they are far apart: it is to say that they are related and joined—that they are the terms, ends, or extremities of single whole. Plar opposites are therefor inserperable opposities, ...Though what lies between the ples is more substantial than the poles themselves—since they are abstract "terms rather than the concrete body—nevertheless man thinks in terms and tehrefore divides in thought what is undivided in nature. To think is to categorize, tos ort experience into classes and intellectual pigeonholes. It is thus that from the standpoint of thought, the all-important question is ver, "Us ut tgus, or is it that?" Is the experience inside this class or is it outside"

Good stuff you writing down dame I hardly noticed though I was so busy pontificating.

Throw a couple of emoticons into this reply, in there some where, it needs a razz and a winky and a smile.

[SadLuckDame]

Nothing wrong with married men a masquerade mask can't fix, a day at the circus, a hotel elevator, the beach in a full moon and keeping lips pressed hard and long enough he can't start to talk, and never hold his hand.

I don't know what I'm saying Jack, you know me, I was handing mine out to whoever came across like they'd have him, anything to buy me time and obscure my guilt that I'd removed myself. That damn indifference. I've a warped sense about marriage, cheating works if ya don't know you're helping them to it, might work even if ya do, as long as ya find a way to sleep at night, guilt a creeping devil hand from the ground. Also cheating works if the guy's always been a cheater and the lady was privy to it.

I'm still the same, talking with my head full of muck.

Well, you might not know Henry, but I've read him enough to think you remind me of him, and mayhaps remind me more of Henry than Jack K. Maybe you just are becoming your own, actually.