The Tao and the darkwell of exhausted breathing. Me answering questions with more, better questions.

 In a room filled with monstrous shadows, my bulbous glowing coconut dome seemed to have become, as it were, central.  I thought, "when oblivion calls, it will be my artistically-inclined finger pushing the green button."

Further: "I've tattooed all of the oxygen molecules in this room."

There was to recap: Me.  Monstrous shadows.  My locust army.  Sean's hairpiece.

And I said, "is there any truth besides?"  But that too was cause for a chapping of the sensitive sphincter, a sort of cause for the primacy of self, when really, its like.

There are other people.

I guess.

I look over my shoulder and this:

I heard my locusts' wings in kind of a muggawumped whispering.  It was like, a chromed statuesque of my own stammering when my nurse asked me of the meaning of life.  I said something like, "nobody has ever been able to explain that, but yeah.  I'm gonna pay you to sit here and listen to ME do that, that hasn't been done.

ever.

before."

A more cumulative viewing of the whole interaction would lead me to the realization that it was my medical professional who should be paying me.  Just as Bentonville thought I owed them my right arm.

Elseways, Kevin is fudged, and its like, maybe he just read of the Tao.  There's always barber college, my friend.  Wing Kevin had a savage streak that had some entertaining components, but I was left to ponder after the laughter subsided about the exact whom that was probably given stitches that particular weekend.  "The book said there is no truth of the universe.  That or the author doesn't trust me with that information."

"Rosberg is at the box.  Hammer time, Lewis."

I had spoke earlier of one getting their arms around the truth, as if to hold it.  That is kind of tangibility that goes beyond the substance of syllables and gruntings.  It is, both the boxer and the bag, as one can only be as good as the other, and if I can make my own familiar positively eat canvas, and over and over, at that, then have I pushed myself, at all?  Have I measurable improvement?

If I am bloodied at an event, and made clouded in my mind, then maybe, struggling to catch my breath, re-oxygenate my blood, feed those tissues, in that most foggy existential mind, where I'm too busy smelling the pencil to compose beautiful words, too enthralled by spiders' legs and drowsy butterflies(and yes, even the butterflies are free), or how other Kim's booty went from Brazilian to Bennettsville.

I have experienced the Tao, then, and the human facility is such that it is difficult to catch in exacting description.  As I told the nurse as she interviewed me, explaining my issue would be to have explained all of life, and in only a few minutes.  I didn't know if she was thinking along the lines of 140 characters or a Haiku or something.  "instapoetry" or what not.

"I seen things."

"I trade you life for you life." on the beauty of new megynnings.

 

Yeah thou I walk the valley of smoke and fog,

I am bent by no cut-ass.

In fact, it seems, about ten years, right?  Ten years, ago?  Tell me, Megyn.  How old is the boy?

About ten years old?  So you started a family with the reward they paid you for capturing me.

I'll have Groggy take the young Stalin and your hand maiden outside and do them in.  Now tell me.

You're just angry enough, right?  So we can finally do this.

We make bargain, yes?  Jew lie for Jew lie.  

Tu vida, me hablo.

Tu vida, me comida.

Two videos, me commit-ee-o.

Mao Ze Dong.  Riding leathers.  Palmetto trees.  I went coconuts.

A man had contracted him to build a special curio, a box.  And after, he was in Almagordo Pree-sun.  The idea kept torturing him.  Yes, "only a madman would rob the bank in El Paso".

I am that madman, because that cabinet maker, his good fortune ended when he met me in Almagordo.  He relate to me, the little parable, and now, I relate it to you.

The feelthy munney is not een the safe.  It is hidden in the carpenter's cabinet box!  Seetting idly in the manager's office.

You see, Meggy-Wegg, it is not unreasonable that I feel your family is, in part, mine.

I take my part now.

(sounds of gunfire from without, Megyn butthurts tragically)

Now, I'm sure you hate me just enough.

When the chimes end, shoot, if you can.

the blessing of forgiveness.

 

Blessed is he whose sins has been forgiven.  So David says in Psalm 32.  David had been selected for that awesome reward, like winning the lottery, to have his sins forgiven by the Lord.  And without the weight of sin consciousness or singuilt bearing down on our lives,

we soar like eagles, my friends.  And the good news, we are not all Jews, not all under the Mosaic Law, therefore forgiveness by Christ is available to us.

The key to forgiveness is not to hoard it like precious metals, but to dole it out freely on those we meet everyday.

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

We should be cognizant of our forgiveness, because in a perfect world, that unburdening should change us all for the better, free us up to be better people.  That said, you aren't living under a set of unrealistic standards to which you have to live.  Don't let religious people tell you that a standard of conduct is expected of you.

Rather, you pay forgiveness forward, treat others as the Lord has dealt with you, with abundant mercy.

Think about it, please.  Appreciate the gift of mercy that has been given you by the Lord.

Thanksgiving 2020: the Multitude had become fed-up.

Mephiboshep.  Sent into hiding in a far-flung area of the kingdom during hostilities between his father Saul and the usurper David.  Inevitably, David was seemingly willed by God to the kingship, as Israel had petitioned the Lord for a king to be over them.  And his eventual answer was David.

It's said, on the way out, he was dropped on his young feet, injured for life.  So he was hobbled.

When the dust settled, and David was King of Israel, he could have hunted Mephiboshep, making a seemingly God-sanctioned execution of the previous king's bloodline.  And yet he did not.  Mephiboshep insisted he was not worthy of the new king's attention.

However, David did him such a better turn.  He was restored his lands of birthright, Mephiboshep, and given servants, PLUS guaranteed a spot at the new king's table.

This was the mercy of God working in David, and he was keen to demonstrate this mercy, not unlike the mercy bestowed upon him in his own favor during the slaying of the Philistine.

I think of Jesus feeding the 5000 with just a few crusts of bread, and I wonder if any starve today.  We all deserve mercy, and at some point blame and circumstance must be lain over to the side, and the healing begun in earnest.

We gave away a huge meal yesterday, and just moments later, several more mentioned a need for food.  And I'm thinking, is there ever really enough for all of them?  Are we hoarding?  Are we gluttons?  I'm left depleted after parting with all that food, hands open at my hips, in a kind of lost state, but I know further that I can pray for them, that the needy are filled, the hungry satisfied.

 

lighting the way, and not butthurting about it. You people are all my children, even as I'm referred to as a baby.

 https://www.c-span.org/video/?166068-1/presidential-visit-world-trade-center

Anyway.  I got one of those emails, a spam junk piece where a scammer was mentioning an old password of mine.  He's like "I got you."  Said he had a keylogger and a splitscreen video feed of my desktop.

I was non-plussed.

For several reasons.  Let me explain.

First, most of the people at Fox News and Rockingham NC made it clear that they knew that password.  Again, I try to tell these people that my experience is unique and cannot be replicated under clinical conditions.  When people on television used your password for news stories, the dump truck driver would respond that I'm "bipolar".

That used to be a problem with me.  Let me explain further.

While I do believe in a clear right to privacy, I observe that this has not ever applied to my own person.  I've dealt with that on my own time.

Fact of the password is that I didn't use that all over the internet, but in only two places, and many years in between.  Many years, water under the bridge, war dead, civilian dead in between.  As Doug quipped, "they paid 3000 dollars for a doorknob."

And I wanted to literally just stab Doug to death right there.  Later, part of the log-in appeared on signage on the premises of that place.  I would stare at it at lunchtime, making it kind of an effigy of the whole problem.

But I again, I dealt with that on my own terms, in my own mind.

Thousands dead.  Civilians and military, and I say "I dealt with that".

A unique life experience I've had, and as I told friends last night, to paraphrase Shakespeare, "the facts of one's personal past light the way to future butthurt."

But not from me.  I had to accept certain realities, like how people seem butthurt about innocent people dying, when in reality, the truth is they sacrificed thousands for a storyline.  Like really committed to it, you know?  Like they know but encoded it in polite language.  I know and say it straight-out flat.  And never have the twain met, like they say, "oh that's crazy conspiracy talk", meanwhile for everyone else, "conspiracy talk" is codeword for something else, entirely.

All I can do, in the meantime, is value human life more than before, in response to the popular attitude.  That is the lasting reaction after guilt and so forth is gone.

And I thought it very ironic, that the "hacker" wanted a ransom from me, or they would divulge my internet traffic to my friends.

Part of me laughed, and I was thinking, an insignificant mosquito trying to take down an elephant.  Well, a lot of me laughed.

The Tao/Dao Fish. Some preliminary thoughts.

 They were saying something indeterminate in the Tao/Dao about the fish.

So imagine a fish, maybe even a tuna.  A saltwater fish, swimming happily around the ocean.

The fish is like, "what?"

Isn't worry something you only describe with singular words that mean the same thing as worry?

Synonyms, in other words, like anxiety, consternation, a certain tightening of the butthole.  Its a state of mind, in fact, where we are just as alive as ever, yet we can feel our body turning into dust, moment by moment, with a kind of shadow over the heart and a kind of innate fear as of being prey in the wild.  We could fear ourselves dying, and the anxiety would be pressing on us, shortening our lives ever the more, increasing the pressing of time.

In order to shed worry, we might lean on human understanding, or even animal understanding, as if we expected the fish to point a fin towards an understanding of life.  Point out something, anything, to soften our concern over our finite amount of time and its continual wasting away.

The fish, with his big eyes, as if someone had just rammed a thumb in his buttcrack, looks at us, as if to say, "no one has ever explained the riddle of life, but you expect still, here and now, and if not now, any subsequent moment, an explanation might flop into view."

Or if not now, would we hold a cuckhold's hope of getting a feeling of meaning before the end?

The Dao gives us a sense of the matter, and not a clear set of definitions or measurements.

We can say, as Seneca the Stoic said, that we are partakers of life, and not experts, and in the sharing of our observations, we speak from the experience, but not exactly any sort of real knowledge, and definitely not access to a hidden knowledge.

Even the Christians say the core salvation message of their Gospel is a mystery.  We can sense it, believe it, feel it, and yet not truly understand the magnitude of eternity, or our shedding of eternity, until the end.

The bio-terrorist Doctor Manhattan said that each person, each being, was a thermodynamic miracle.  And we, as finite beings, my friends, cannot understand this miracle.

The fish and the ocean.

The ocean hums in our eyes, but never tells its secrets, and of the fish?  The fish only tells his secrets to his baby momma, and even then, only exchanged for sparing moments here and there, moments that seem important until they are gone, just as each of the fish in the other's eyes seems entirely important until after the brief little transaction.

The existential clapping of hands.

In a desert, we would wish away the world to get water.  And in water and far from the comfort and certainty of the shore, we would wish away the water for the sake of dry land.  In the end, the pleasure of the experience is finally lost and forgotten.

So then there is only the fish, darting here and there, turning this way and that, swimming a bit a making a few more side diversions, attention prepetually focused, and nothing of substances but sick crickets to speak of.

To say near the end of a long life, "the time is wasted" is to begrudge and belittle the dignity of life, the sanctity of life, and the glory of the experience observed by one soul, remembering that a comic book character said each conscious life is a miracle.

That is the tao.  An indeterminate totality.  Not just the contents, but the bag too.

Crouching Elephant, Hidden Butthurt. The Evening Redness Over the River Kwai. An autobiographical jotting.

 

And so it was, all those years ago, that the time and video resolution was so different, people's attitudes, and how things bounce, like fried eggs leaving a speck on the wall.  There was Crouching Elephant Hidden Butthurt, Bridge on the River Kwai.  That second I did epic-style, with fried rice from the fridge, and I found, it was still tasty, but the texture was altogether chewy, as I waited on the titular bridge, then mused, still chewing, over the climax of the film.

Hartsville it was, a First Act guitar with unfinished neck.  It was a kind of "thirsty wood" thing, me thinking, I put brush to it, it would all get absorbed deep into the grain.  And that was all like a random act of the universe, a guitar following me home, which had a kind of serendipity to it, as such things go, and yet, the guitar just wasn't good.  It lacked any real personality of its own, I would find over months of toying around with it, and I would go back to my budget beater boutique model.

I can't emphasize that enough, maybe, that it just happened, unplanned.  Cheap guitar falls into hand, accompanies me home.

What was planned to the utmost was the buying of shoes, and then at the last minute, a beguiling mercy, the universe sneezing at my efforts, how I saved for four weeks to buy a new pair of all-purpose shoes, of the "street hiker" style which was part work shoe and part high-top sneaker.  Yes, the universe sneezed-out money onto me at the last moment, as if giving me a reward for my suffering.

A sweaty fat man, at the mercy of the universe.

You do your five hours of part-time labor, go home and look at porn for a few hours.  The universe looking over your shoulder, without a judgement, but with cold ebony doll's eyes watching.

I went to buy shoes; someone bought them for me, instead.  Those and a guitar.  A return, one improperly packed, upside down in its packaging, resting on the strings, in a cardboard carton.  I would do the good adopted father thing, discard the box in the store, and the guitar would lie on the backseat, just kind of be there, put right side up, face up like a dying person.

Craps of Peace. Water glass, butt crack, glowing celestial fossils. The master and the Cheever dialogues, continued.

 

Indeed, as it were, through a glass darkly.  The world at a steady whisper, the breeze at a steady whisper, and our shadowbox, our container, our contentment, off that.  That and nothing more.

"It is like the moon reflecting on water."

"That DAWG bitch!"

"Ah bad, but your complaint reaches only from within reach of your grubby little fingers, Cheever.  Can you not see the indifference of the universe, and be comforted, rather than distressed?"

"But, master.  I AM the indifference of the universe."

"And she was"

"a bitch."

"You speak the vernacular of a mooncalf, Cheever.  Of what comes without, it has pressurized your ether and caused cracks in your foundation."

"Stupid glow."

"What?"

"The moon reflecting on water.  I mean, it aint even the moon, and really, we aint even really looking at the water, at all, either."

"Plus, the light of the moon is only the radiating refraction of the light of the sun.  What was it?  A photon and magnetism, tearing-ass through the void, destined to become part of the radiation belt at the edge of the universe."

"Even my feels."

"Cheever, you have traversed a great distance for only a cupful of water.  Drink your fill with great heart and contentment, for the moment has been earned in the entire through your consternation.  You have suffered for your moment."

a spontaneous autobiographical jotting, "we were people that cut grass." Or Zen and the art of operating a weedeater(Fl20)."

In being wedged into the role of a regular person, I learned more of what was expected of me by the world at large, and how to fill that role, to do the common thing, to contribute, to joke and laugh at jokes, and when my fishing pole end dipped, I knew there was something special coming for my supper. Mother would prepare the catch and peel then fry some potatoes. For a day, for a few hours, life was good and I was square with the universe again.

It took nearly 40 days to scrape up the 29.99 for a new pair of shoes.  All the while, I was aware that there was a hole in the sole of my current pair, disconcerted by the whole thing, but taking a kind of peaceful acknowledgement that it was entirely my lot to replace those, and I summoned my patience, no matter heat of summer, wind or rain.  I was non-plussed in the entirety of the matter, and I kind of looked down from a bird’s eye view, my spirit soaring while I watched, from the outside, myself patiently working along the metal fabricator’s discard pile with sputtering string trimmer, making a work of that, while doing a work of earning money, and the morning’s work was a work in itself, then that compiled into the day’s work, for which we would be paid sometime that afternoon.  It was then a piecemeal assemblage, tidy little moments in time, while covered in sweat, flying lawn clippings becoming stuck to my sweaty cheeks, forehead, forearms; little pieces of work that combined to bigger works, as if to slave on state mile marker 43 in the name of the entire system, to lay one rail in the great slug-notch towards the opposite coast.  Distracted by all the little tasks, and adding them up later like a dismal part-time accountant, there was a kind of perspective there, to not sacrifice the moment for the sake of the whole work, to not lose the moment, either, but in the having of an existential angel food cake while chewing on a piece of it at the same time.  Perhaps then, a stupid pride of ownership, while not realizing nary one jot that what I had hold of was pretty much not special, and, if I but glanced around in any direction, I would see people that had all that and more.

A rap. Because I would not stop for butthurt, butthurt stopped for me.

 

I'm Bobwa Waltuss and this is 2020.

Drop the beat, J.

Kantian Transcendent Philsophy

mysogyny-labotomy-feminazi

I bored the hole in Granny's panties

Come on with me, please:

Abaddon-a-nomicles

Alabama-vietnam-obama-fees

Charles Lamb-Quad Cab-Powerwagon-Dodge Ram

Androgony,

Mephistopheles,

Grammy Nominees,

Taylor Swift,

Shepherd Smith,

Cinnamon

Communista

Ideologies,

They would spend

like an ass

Three thousand

On a Husqvarna Zero Turn

Two hundred thousand there,

One billion dead red Chinee.

Experiments in Ontology

She wanted me to commit suicide,

or at least placed a kind of bet.

But dark matter is the key

to the traversing time,

beating back the pull of space-time,

pulling against the fabric.

Allergic to latex,

Drank all her Perrier,

Carpet bombing her arrier,

What have I done?

Hydrocortisone!

For a fact, a truth that has been as real now as in any point in time:

The one who wants nothing is the one to truly be feared, while yet the rest of them can be easily controlled.

But the one?

I know, I know.  It's late, but you paid good money to hear me.

One more, then?

Oh.  Darrell said?

How about Darrell said?  From the third album, right?  Any fans of the volume three here tonight?

Roll it at 140 bpm, Smoke.

Darrell said he seen me

on the LP videoscreen.....

I said.....

Oh yeah.

"Hell no, cuz.

Instead, you got me,

wedged between

yo big buck teeth."

The Canticle. Sir-Face-Sing. Or Songs From Distant Earth

(I note, for a supposed "jobs President", he sure has rather summarily fired a LOT of people.)

I was thinking earlier, about the usual hullabaloo and such, the popular kayfabe, this "how are you?" and so forth, "I would prefer sex now" or "I need some freeware tax stuff".

Nothing will broach the shell, and if I were perhaps, to say, recognize myself in the mirror, I have kind of an instantaneous throwaway response.

"Your mother wrote the Amazon review of me, dear."

So nothing permeates, and its just me and the goldfish bowl of the soul.  These people are broken, I wot, waiting for a cause to die for.  As for me, I've picked my hill, such as it is.

If you functioned for want of money, and money, more and more, then in your end you will realize you never had enough, and inevitably, no amount would have satisfied.  It was such, a hole to be filled, but never filled.

And the horses of war?  Do the war horses eat up all the grain supply and leave the populace gaunt?  A stew of millet and war horse to succor the thoroughfare.

If compassion never cast a pallor across your heart, then surely, the cold will get you, and your own sword will pierce you, your own word will echo in your ears.

They turn green.  I saw it.  And they try to hump your leg.

My soul it is all well with thee.

Oil's well that ends well.  As You Bike It.  Busy Warning Nineveh, so feed the dog for me. A Mudslinger Night's Dream.  

"Wherefore art thou?"

"This is who I am, yo; this is who I be.  Just like old school rapper Schooly-D."  I can brook not to have learned much, but sensed so much more, just like the ungraspable fog of the truth, to feel it on your hand as fetid ghostflesh, but never to be able to just for once and ever hold onto it.

"Capulet one, you a hard rap sanger.  Capulet two, yo, I give you the fanger!"

....is a fiend, indeed? Only she(and the Bunny)holds the Key.

I was singing along with the radio, the Beatles, And I Love Her.  And I was like, ooh yeah.  The other song.

"Someday monkey play piano.  Play piano, ensemble."

I'll speak into her ear, the only Angrish word she recognizes.

"Now."

And then its like, that Moment of Bliss, wrist exercises for the consummate 90-word-per-minute web writer.  That's right.  IT is probably tax-deductible.  And, furthermore, I cite her as an "independent consultant".

Darn, right, Cheevers.  This is work expenses.  Billable hours, too.

Keeping them skrate up there(ain't that right, JB?), keeping mine skrait too(with my hand).

"Now I know how many fingers it takes to fill that other girl's mouth."

Isn't it time you had a quiet conversation with your financial planner?  My own bliss has been a largely cashless euphoria, and yet, we see, the WWE soldiers own, my other boys at AEW attempt to consolidate, putting a kind of "six degrees of entanglement" between Penta and the Bunny.  That too is pretty good business, I wot, and not that I know these things per se.

When will Penta start breaking other talents' arms in the AEW?  Or is this above and beyond, "wellness policy"?

I've argued that the WWE Gals Division is largely cheerleaders.  They don't let that go, and I know, its a balance between insipid happiness, good cheer and sex appeal, something that has a broader appeal between the age demographics.  This is know.  I need not pee-pee all over WWE storyline.

But would Devon ask Shamus to take a cup-full of my urine to the face?

Still, long after the Attitude Era is finished, WWE can break another boundary like that.  It's not all bad, folks.  Pushing the limits of kayfabe.  Frees-up the writers to bring forth a bigger entertainment toolkit for the fans.

 

Psalm 32: Forgiven and without iniquity imputed.

David was not so different from lowly kids, in his younger years.  In fact, he was the lowly shepherd, probably youngest of his lot, chosen for that somewhat thankless menial task, while his elders went into battle against the Philistines.

I tend to think a David of today would be a fast food worker or something, not a shepherd, but something more common.  Not a farmer kid driving a brand new truck at all, but something, again, more common, perhaps even not having a car, like walking to and fro.

When the giant was taunting the mighty army of the Hebrews, David was appalled that his forbears were unwilling to meet the challenge, and indeed, it seemed obvious to David that the Hebrews were mightier than that one.

Nationalism knee-jerk reaction.  Pride in one's own group.  And yet, David knew, not only the track record of Israeli conquest, but that God had chosen them all as his own people, bestowing what churches today call in the tax records, "intangible spiritual benefits", and yet there was more.  We guess.  They were blessed is the point, and David knew it, even while his kinsmen cowered at the taunts of Goliath.

David was, like the Priest Melchisedec, a giant of the concept of faith.

He writes in Psalm 32 that the blessing of the Lord is to be forgiven of bad behavior, and furthermore, if one has a good enough spirit, then more beyond.  A two-fold part, not of works, but of God literally knowing one's thoughts, as Jesus alluded in his Sermon on the Mount, referring to fornication having a mental component, that God considered even the thought of committing a sin to be, itself, a sin.

David states further that he confessed his sin, was honest with both he and God, and being honest with God should come easy, because He knows anyway.  You can hid nothing.  Knows all.  Even, of course, the things you only thought about, but never did in reality.  This is partly while porn is considered sinful, the types of thoughts it brings, the lust.

Being honest with God should be so much easier than being honest with one's self.  We may disappoint or dismay God, but truly, we only hurt ourselves in being dishonest with ourselves.  And maybe we pretend the best of motives, but there is always a porkchop dangling from a stick somewhere ahead of us, whether we are willing to point it out to members of the jury as evidence, or not, like maybe we even hide the prospect of reward from ourselves, in some semblance of the thoughts we harbor.  We don't even realize how selfish we can be.

But then we have Free Will, just like Adam and Eve.  Just as much as we can choose to eat the forbidden fruit, we can turn away, and maybe, if we hope, if we think on this, we can turn our selfish motivations towards the good of others and the glorification of God.

Gratitude for Abundant Love and Mercy.

"Before I start my homily, let me ask you all something.  How many of you are saved?  Raise your hand if you're sure."

Too often it seems people get bent over the message of salvation, in such a mode, an impetus, to save, and that impetus is improperly channeled to people that are ALREADY saved.  For instance, pastors who should be spreading the message Monday-Saturday to everyday people, whoever is in his or her path, winds up using that unction towards spreading the Gospel, putting it all into a 45 minute message to his already-saved congregation.

In other words, selling salvation, week in and week out, for a sanctuary filled with already saved people, and frankly the time is mis-spent.

How about wasting that time on gratitude to the one that showed us love and mercy: our Lord?  A bit of worship, fellowship, and a sustaining message during a church service.  God showed us love and mercy, so we show love and mercy back, and when dealing with others, we should be heavy on the mercy, because God, in accepting each of us, has overlooked a lot of bad behavior.

God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit aren't like Santa Claus.  They aren't checking their naughty and nice list twice before doling the salvation, folks.  We have received mercy.  We need to be ever mindful of that, and hope and work towards the salvation of others.  And since we are "agents of Christ", aren't we obliged to show the same mercy?

Zen and the art of doing without doing.

Sometimes I have to look past all this.

Not that this stuff doesn't matter, or anything.  But that maybe there is a need to find uplift, just like a big old flying machine, find that and generate a kind of upward thrust.

I was saying something about teasing the readers, doing something kind of devilish, kind of a prank, and the readers, meaning you Gentle Reader, would want the Kane personality back.

The Grinch.

But one could look past all this, beyond the common hubbub and hullabaloo into something else.

One feeds one's fish, shaves, catches the morning news and gets the stuff of the day started, and if there is not so much vim, that can be okay, too, without impetus to hole-in-one off of every tee, but to just give it that one little twist, then walk to find the ball.

A good fish guy keeps a healthy tank.

You do that much, at least, see to it, at least while you walk the earth.  And sometimes you spot a jutting appendage, and there, when you weren't even expecting it: the proverbial MKL in the woodpile.

Looking past all this.  One foot in the world, and the other out, such that I don't get too put off, too beside myself about doings among persons about.  And am I less explaining my mindset than wishing that were so?

Mayhap, as I think long-term and puzzle a few things out.  Leg bone connected to the knee bone, and all that, "now hear the word of the Lord".  An entire matrix of different things, other lives, seemingly galaxies beyond, things celestial, so distant that the glow doesn't even reach here in my corner.  And if I put it all in the hopper and shook it up, what would come out?  What weird mutant?  Animal, vegetable, or mineral?  What hath MKL wrought?

A good fish guy, keeps his calm, works his shift, doesn't draw his weapon over any little thing, and he sees to his tank when he gets home.

Pick me out a weiner, Bobby.

"Look what happened to yours, my lovely."

So.  I read that self-identifying blacks account for only 18% of the US population(as of 2010) and yet, someone like a Gail King would absurdly demand that the Oscars give them 50/50 coverage.  And why?

It's tokenism.  Like Clyburn said about Tim Scott.  When Clyburn himself is such a worn token, that you can't even read Caesar's inscription on his face anymore, because he's been carried around in pockets so many decades.

"What do you have at home?  Pitiful, portable picnic players?  Come with Uncle and hear Angel Trumpets and Devil Trombones."

And then Ho-Ho came early, bringing me a Glenn Beck hosted program on Victory Channel.  I like this energy.  I like this a lot.  It only gets better when Pastor Gene Bailey starts talking about Asuza Street.

I actually had to go to infirmary because of an old dermatology condition, a skin thing from torching oil wells in Iraq all those years ago.  I was going along, and across the way, Garret was plopped on the weight bench in a "thinking man pose", doing his bicep curls.  He was well known for sending indiscrete nude selfies to women.

Garrett yelled something in my general direction.  What, I wasn't sure.

"How I treat them hoes..." I said, musing.

 

On putting my pinkie finger in America's buttcrack.

 "Only political theater"(Harris, and Martha) some said on "the bad" news network(the one I'll never watch anymore).  Theater?  And it cost me a 600 dollar penalty on my taxes for 8 years, what some there insisted was "theater".  Never did get me health insurance, like Obama and Pelosi and some others said it would.  In fact, my and others 600 dollar penalty would fund a Medicare expansion, even while we penalty-payers didn't qualify for that "expanded Medicare".

And that was by design.  But I remember one near and dear saying, "Obama got Mike Morris health insurance!", and I wondered if he was too stupid to know any better(Anderson, Chris and Don).

Was it Ted Kennedy's dying wish to make millions of people pay a penalty on their taxes for not having health insurance?  Did Anderson and Don and Campbell Brown understand that it still meant plenty of those people would not have health insurance at all?

Consider it then, a final curse, a stain on the legacy of Painless Ted.  That Obamacare.

To them, too, it was all theater.  Their earnestness, designed to cut against some opponent.

Donald, the Trojan Horse sent by the elite to destroy the GOP?  Setting the GOP back for decades after the bad aftertaste of him has been washed from conservative mouths.  Think of it clearly, because Donald has drawn in so many just to ruin their careers.  I think of John Bolton in particularly.  And Guiliani, who we once assumed knew better?

Don't shoot Joe; he's just the piano player, there.

 

In fact, I breathe.  I truly do.  I take up space, and consume resources.  I interact with my environment.

I practice religious freedom, not the freedom to impose my religious beliefs on the government.  Think of all our denominations; and imagine if every denomination voted its Pharisee ethics into law.  It would be a Christian version of Sharia Law, with no freedom for everyone, and everyone forced into the same box.

Washington stated that this was God's nation, and this was as per George's personal religious beliefs.  The Constitution may not support George inflicting the anxieties of his religious sect/denomination on the country, but the Constitution will guarantee his free exercise of his own religious beliefs.

Civil liberty.  and the Civil Rights side comes in when George tries to shoehorn everyone into avoiding alcohol or women wearing only long dresses, down to the ankle.  George would be prevented, in this instance.

So goes it with abortion, where perhaps Biden finds abortion to be an abomination of God, but cannot bring the law to ban it.  Because the country doesn't belong to just Joe, but it belongs to the people that support abortion, too.

So Joe gives people rights, and Rome won't grant him Communion.  However, Pastor Butch claims to have once did Communion on a small-scale, while driving along a lonely Texas secondary, with Dr Pepper as the blood of Christ, and Snickers as the body.

Anyway.  The social traditionalists on the right point to the country being founded on "Judeo-Christian values", which to them seems shorthand for, "let my personal ethics be made into law", where the country is far more of a plurality, at least as much as ever.  In the beginning of America, people came here for freedom, and yes there was Christian plurality, but Baptist beliefs seemed otherworldly, making them form their own state, and then came the Mormons, which is the real truly American sect, weird mutant that it is.

I take up space, and hope, beyond the general financial prosperity, but for education for our youths.  Education is the doorway, in either a Socialist or Capitalist system.  Education opens not only the chance for financial prosperity, but for one to function within the system, and even somewhere in that we find inner peace through knowledge.

We rightly divide the word, making ourselves, "a workman, approved".  The renewing of our mind, through study and prayer.

A dark world, so we hope for something more beyond it.

Oh, an intercessor in the Paraclete of the Holy Spirit, is all fine and good, but what a great boon to know you get to sit at the feet of the Father?

I M the doorway. My knob, you twist it, no?

 

A bulb in the gloom, innervated.  It is as much a part of the gloom as it is antithetical to the gloom.

In the branching and uncertain illumination, we may see hints of our own interaction with the universe, action-reaction, the branched-chain, string theory.  As such, if Timmy and the boy eat popsicles, does this course us, re-invouch as to the Mikl?

Can we make an inference on that good MKL?

Can we ever?

Look far from the dull glow of the single bulb, to the edge of the wood, where the frog sits in an uncertain moonglow.  But his eyes, his eyes have a fleck of brilliance which seems just as transcoursical as that one singular bulb.

Almost interstellar, like moon glow, star glow, across the heavens, the void, the vacuum.

A little medallion of light on the windshield, and inside, contained there is a space filled with darkness.

Ticking of the exhaust cooling as me and Garrett slam a quick 18 in the Hooters.  Oh the Titties.  We beat back that darkness with our stupid comments against the universe, forever against and none for, as we know, those Titties will never brush our sleeve.

We must find piece,

and ladies of the night.

But even that, does it last?  Can we say, without getting stabbed, we want our 40 dollars back?  Back the time I've vomit back out the nights get and lost my vim and vitality to the back seat, resting in a kind of risen frazzle of the stomach lining, I could wonder, "Garret is many years from legally driving a car"?

And yet.

There are construction cones wedged under the car, making a throaty scrape against the tarmac, and I don't think to blame myself or Garrett, but I blame an uncertain universe.  And you would think in that, that I blame God for that?

Alas not, but Garrett's impulse towards rushing headlong into manhood, pretending to be 17 on Facebook, claiming he works at Zaxby's and volunteers in the church, all the while posting selfies of his pre-adolescent self getting a pitcher of beer poured on him by a hostess in retaliation for his touchy-feely behaviors.

Somewhere in the experience is our own realization of God's hand at work in what seems chaos, and uncertainty, and a thread in the fear, uncertainty and doubt, is in fact, sure, diligent and working in perfect sense towards its own end, but not at all exclusively in service to that end.

Perhaps just more mindful of the moment than any sort of conclusion.

extra breathing room and the "splayed hand".

 "Lupina, hold my baby while I scratch this beech's eyes out."

So I walked twice yesterday, did Tai Chi meditation twice, and then did the Tai Chi 8 form later.  Felt so good, I even washed my butt, where usually I worry I'll get sleepy after a shower jaunt.  Meanwhile, I also discovered that the quiet of the bathroom is kind of like a prayer closet.  I prayed in earnest before climbing in the shower, then prayed more in the shower.

I thank the Lord for my family, for rest, and for home.  And be aware, this is no toss-away simple feat, because so often we do take these everyday things for granted.  What I wouldn't do is tell you things are perfect.  Our home needs work, and there are issues that arise now and then among the familiars, but things overall are great.

I get along great with the housemates, and work continues on different areas of our home.  We've recovered a sitting space out front recently, and we're working on the storage area lately, giving us more options to better organize our spaces.  A little extra breathing room

And the Tai Chi meditation, along with hands metaphorically directing qi energy, is largely done though breathing, along a period of 5-10 minutes.  But I've began to think along the lines of a different philosophy being applied, with different hand postures, such as sort of an "Eagle Claw" or the splayed hand(with splayed finger, that is).

John 7

Now the feast of the Jews, the Feast of Booths, was near.

Therefore His brothers said to Him, "Leave here and go into Judea, so that Your disciples also may see Your works which You are doing.  For no one does anything in secret when he himself seeks to be known publicly.  If you do these things, show Yourself to the world."

For not even His brothers were believing in Him.

So Jesus said to them, "My time is not yet here, but your time is always opportune.  The world cannot hate you, but it hates Me because I testify of it, that its deeds are evil.  Go up to the feast yourselves: I do not go up to this feast because My time is not yet fully come."

Having said these things to them, He stayed in Galilee.
 

Life: will you even care by the time you get there?

 Is there ever really a point?

Solomon went all through "a thing", buying bling, surrounding himself with beauty, baubles, and treasures, and he really did have a thing, like a concerted search for meaning in life.  What he didn't have was a set employment(like me at the moment), and that much can cause one, even if less than happily so, to orient oneself to the daily grind.  But this Solomon, the wisest man in the world then, was however wise, disadvantaged in his intellect because he was probing the pure meaning of the thing, looking at it on the surface and seeing a real lack of purpose.

We today have our employment(everyone else) and their families(all of us) to help us in our focus and motives, or like the daytime tv set, just endlessly worrying about meaningless sex, live-in strangers, and eating hot chips.  Maybe you even get an SMS message from an NAACP volunteer, who is helpfully using donated time to give you much-needed information about voting.

We have people who don't care, but then we have the entirely lost people who care quite a bit, and maybe too much so, that it burns a hole through them.  A person that cares so much, can barely brings himself to lay eyes on his loved ones, and that to keep from being assailed from concern for those familiars he loves so much.

Raisin Detour, Raison D'etre.

If the abyss looked at you, Friedrich, was there some sort of ESP exchange of wisdom between the two of you?

Look at it this way.  The reason, the meaning, the purpose, if you had that an early juncture, could you keep your head wrapped tight around that, or would you turn your back on it?  Would you question that?  Would you lose hope?  A person can ruin things so easily in his own mind, and acting totally against his own wishes, therein.

You approach it.  By the time you're a complete well adjusted person, you're probably too old to change the world, right?  You've worked on "me time", you've done the due diligence putting together your own swerve, and you figured out life.

But it took you your entire lifetime.

Solomon said, just to clue you in, that our purpose in life is to honor God.  Meanwhile, Jesus lenses it a bit differently, and says chiefly we are to love God, and THEN we love everyone else.  And there might be one or two that I love better without a shirt on.  There might be a few I love to have more than 12 feet away from me, at least that much, at any given time.

In fact, we're caught between our own religious code and trying to keep ourselves sane.  Like attempting to love people while avoiding them entirely.  One protecting his own sanity.  But if sanity forces total isolation, is sanity even worth it?  Isn't sanity a bit of a shifting sand?  Case in point, people thought I was bipolar for like 7 years before I had a kind of nervous breakdown.  Then I was mistakenly diagnosed with bipolar, when it was really just me reacting to an injustice that happened again and again right in front of me.  Like taking medicine to cope.  Anything to get through the wee hours?  When I would rather change them, when it seems they are wrong, rather change them that medicate myself into a kind of submission.

When thing I have to say about that tension between the two opinions.  It frustrates, but one maintains hope, one cares, one goes forward and fights that good fight.  One of my bosses would say, "it is what it is."  He was losing one of his best workers to a heroin addiction, and he said, "it is what it is".  And that boss worked a second job as a pastor.  I butt-hurted about bi-vocational pastors earlier.  In it for the Benjamins and all that.  Work one day a week, make an extra check, and so forth.  He let one of his best people go, that supposed "good Christian man".

And myself, one of the worst in the manufacturing workforce, knowing I would get worse treatment, even less consideration.  And for less than minimum wage, at that.  Reminds me of the Walmart lady saying she couldn't hear me.  And I'm thinking, "when did that start?"  That was a waste of a trip, a formality of a job interview, by some obligation to consider all candidates I suppose.

Walmart is quite far from the purpose of life.  Vocational programs can be so far from the meaning of life, but what else are they, but means to an end, and I'm supposed to grab my piece, like I'm some kind of Desert Raider, looking to fill his bottle.

You live a long natural life, you might get close to some sense of purpose.

Here I am, Rock You Like Indecision. The Lady or the Tyger?

It's quite a bit like that, actually, very much and forthwith and so forth.

And I had a vision, a right brain and left brain thing, induced by the remnant of a caffeine buzz, in which I could form a viable plan for a few years ahead.  Again, me planning for me.

What I'm not doing is indulging in the butt hurt about the big day today, though I did my civic duty, exercised my Constitutional rights.  This after the "Butt Hurt Rising" tour lately, in which the arguments where made for each and against each, and people with a "big view screen and some time to fill."

I discovered I'm much happier a person when I don't watch the Fox News Channel.

Anyway, working on a book and having some new thoughts on the matter.  First, if the book is good, so necessary and important, high muck-a-muck, then I cannot in good conscience try to sell it; my ethics obligate me to give away such good writing, as justified by need.

There was a whole thing about truth and a creation force.  Like, two entities.  It was only about two dozen words, but I'm like, did I just see the entire universe in a vague blurb?  Rachel Maddow's grocery list?  Is somebody disguising an intense love for humus?

What if.  and this is how it would work in my world, the humble, and all that, that instead of a clergy working two jobs to make a bigger income, THIS clergy works another job just to keep the church doors open and buy ministry materials.  The building payment.  Devotionals.  And what I would not do is spend one of those 48 weeks of the year giving a sermon on tithes because my take was down.

A fiscal plan?  Cleverly disguised as spiritual guidance?  Dare I suggest I build a university?  650 per credit hour?

And why make the creation force and the truth two different things? Independent, seemingly, on of the other, but on some level co-equal, though the truth was their first.  Subject, object, and all that.  Why in my corner, we have those two combined, save for a mystical mentioning of Christ as the Logos, or the divine word.

True.

Good.

Creator.

Father.

Co-equal with son.

Son is humble.

This is where our Muslim neighbors think its like forecasting a boxing match.  "He's not tough."  Cheever, he must be tough.  He knowingly went to the slaughter, giving it the term of something like "the cup at my lips", and meanwhile, not only did the "Prophet" not have the nutsack to stick with one lady, he also had a bit of a taste for blood.  You can't honor your lady, then don't try to put my savior in a wrestling match.

Where's this "conversation" everyone keeps talking about after mass killings, police cock-ups, and hate crimes?  Was I not invited?  If I wasn't invited, is that because it was hosted by MSNBC?  Me and Vitali have had entanglements.  There was hullabaloo, fr.

It's a complicated situation.  Like Odin, "he is me, but I am not him."  Or like, I might like them, but you let Nicole ad lib her venom, and I'm changing the channel.