Mickey Fickey, do listen to what I'm saying, after its been a long day, so many snow cones plopped into the sand, boobs pulled away from your chin, but you take an appraisal of the whole thing in that dismal moment before sleep overtakes you..... One only profits from a mistake if he learns a listen from the thing; otherwise its just a loss.
You do say, my snow cone, the muscle man plopped it in the dirt.....
why Lord? We see how the wicked progress and advance in the common discourse, and the very poorest of the active people, in contradiction, are the missionaries and the people who feed us.
I heard men in the other room saying something about time being different, something they pegged to be 200 years in the future, as I'd always said something of the future had been casually transmuted to the past, such that What Was could be What Will Be, and What Is happens to be firmly in hand. Their particularly something they said was 200 years in the future, and rather than saying they were in the future, they simply said time had increased speed, but only for them, that crew, as if no other had changed, that they touched some marker of the infinite.
Modern Day Sheikh of Middendorf.
I did some productivity stuff, nothing of much substance, but these little changes compound into a larger thing, a Snowball Effect, and these things become an algebra equation, those 20s doing magic in the power of the Hundredfold Return, and all that, going out into the world and working, lifting weights and all, moving boxes. Finally returning, some eighteen thousand dollars in sum. Or as such, 20 dollars a week, and such-and-such percentage, 40 years later, some 90 thousand dollars.
I was on a new med, and having to take the old med to do a little happy overlap, like Bob Ross painting bushes over sky scenes and such. It was a weird time, I thought, in which my unction was more subdued than before, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, to be partly nuked into oblivion with generic medications. Oblivion, as it turns out, is pleasantly restful, and the course is such that I never missed the fact that I wasn't all there at any given point in time.
I had a horror of that once, that because I disturbed someone's television time, they thought I needed some kind of knock out drug to shut me up, but then, there are plenty other factors, not to mention side effects and potential health complications and then my usual life stressors and so forth, love and money.
"I wouldn't want to die a monster." Lol.
But then, being unfettered and generally unfazed, with the hyperactive glare, veins standing out on my forehead, about to be kicked out of the petting zoo--punted back to towards the pine trees, as it were.
Vivid dreams, but not disturbingly so, and they soon fade like car wax in the vernal glare. And I think life is speaking, something, like visions and omens, and they had been talking about God actually communicating with people through dreams--with the recorded Biblical examples, of course.
I had a dream about my top money girl. She was walking around like a general, manipulating shadow characters, and seeing her was so natural, so right. It was good.
"But what does it mean?"
Consider how one reacted, in the dream condition: so natural, unperturbed. It was like it was rather commonplace and comfortable rather than superlative.
Like love or something other like that, that I can be to some extent, at least a shading, a facsimile of a human being while transmuted behind the wall of sleep.
I had expected to be a bit......
muted these days, behind all that.
"cast you cares! cast your cares! cast your cares!" The casual evangelical sputters, but deeper down it goes to something old, something from beyond time that calls out to people still today.
The person I am to her, is the person I really am, I think. Its a riddle kind of array of things, interactions with her that I mark of importance by which I notch the points of my own character on my own personal vision board.
Thusly, by her importance to me, she, without meaning to, dictated my character.
"...the content of my character..."
The very paint I stir with the craft stick.
One thing I got to do, talking about the 5 minute appraisal of a day, I got this pretty cool analog clock that has a bit of a problem, and I actually have 3 or 4 sets of analog clock guts and motors and an assortment of various hardware for that. So I disassemble the plastic mickey fickey and change the guts by taking the central pin and I guess, like Hills Have Eyes, where they guy bit the head off the parakeet, I just take my pliers and ply that to ripping a nib, the central little spire the thing does, you know, so as to remove the other and install the new.
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