"not mistakes, but accidents": ruminations

Justice, you run-over whore, how you smell of fruits; no, neigh, a migraine coming on, an episode of the Shine, as the old used to have it.  Once more, I would have her under my wheels, clawing across my "raised white letters".

If you would have it, then have it.  If it is Obama's beer diplomacy you after, then you are speaking from a place of already being bitterly disappointed, wondering aloud, how much of that fruit she smells of happens to be oranges, and how much this or that or some other.

"Is it possible that you, who know the beginning of all things, should not know their end?  But such are the ways of these distractions, such is their power, that though they can move a man's position, they cannot pluck him from himself or wrench him from his roots.  But this question would I have you answer: do you remember that you are a man?"

As a metaphor for creation taking itself into its own hands, "ole Charlie stole the handle".  Of these delicate mentionings or of others that pervade along the thoroughfare, I would say that we observe First Principles, the Chief Good, even if that much had been forgotten, we have to perform like a summoning spell to recall the ghost from the bottoms, to bring it up to where it was accustomed so often before.

"If you've read your Marcus Aurelius then you know well the First Principles."  And she has a friend look it up for her, on the wickipediar, that in the beginning, you paw over that which is familiar, the way a teenage boy would, scattering secret hairs all over as if one had dissected a squirrel in the privacy of his rooms.  And we well know that dry-firing was so said to damage the firing pin, that "playing with it is no good", and one is to either "have it off" or point it in anger.

Such is the way of the old song, "making love out of nothing at all".  I could blog endlessly from less, and you would think, convinced by my enthusiasm, that I had shown you another, different world.

Justice, you bitch-dog, drag your teets the other way!

I was told I had curated mistakes, but I thought, neigh, not mistakes, but accidents, for are not we all in the modern mind, some cosmic accident?  A joke told by the mindless wind?  We would endeavor to have it the governing principles of the universe without having at the thought of creation, that there was some stellar colic that overtook the works, once upon a time, with no particular cause other than boredom.

Microcosm/macrocosm:  I have upbraided the dais to speculate in general on the nature of the system of logic and the universe, proper, without even understanding, beyond a shade of a jot, my own person.  But truly, if I understood myself, I would be apt to feel a sense of piece at the works and no longer harbor any doubt as to the validity of its own churning, but instead busy myself by simply appreciating my own meager role in the workings of the universe.

As to my own workings in the universe, myself, making busy, at my own design.