Saturday, April 10, 2010

Automatic, instamatic, not quick enough for your patience
lack thereof being expected from a riff raff with your history!
I should have turned you out of here ,  when the sun came down
You can’t spray at night, kills the customers
So now I’m in the pitiable position of begging a favor from you
And threatening you si  mul    tan eously  that if you refuse
You had better kill me now because I will hunt your children down
Before I kill you




People go back inside themselves under the wrapping
find their real self becoming immediately aware of itself
using its real needs beyond survival
to integrate with their normal conscious self
to make a more alert human being.

Anima takes off the mask and walks the earth in its true face.
Age makes your real self more accessible.
Mind becomes aware of its unstable ground and feels the hard interior
Realization of its unity with your “Normal Reality”
where it was born to expand in its time.
The sun on the tide, the peach on the bough, The blue smoke over the hill,
And the shadows trailing the valley-side, Make up the autumn day.
When the golden days arrive, With the swallow at the eaves,  Sighing at the latch with spring,

If death be good, Why do the gods not die? If life be ill, Why do the gods still live?
If love be naught, Why do the gods still love?
 If love be all, What should men do but love?
So it was with those I loved In the years ere I loved thee.
Many a saying sounds like truth, Until Truth itself is heard.
Many a beauty only lives Until Beauty passes by.
And the mortal is forgot In the shadow of the god.



Now the moon-white butterflies Float across the liquid air,  Glad as in a dream.
As, on a morn, a traveller might emerge From the deep green seclusion of the hills,
By a cool road through forest and through fern,
Little frequented, winding, followed long
With joyous expectation and day-dreams,
And on a sudden,
turning a great rock ,
dark with dripping water,
Behold the seaboard  of surf and sound with all the space and glory of the world

                                                          sappho


What a noble privilege is it of human reason to attain the knowledge of the supreme Being; and, from the visible works of nature, be enabled to infer so sublime a principle as its supreme Creator? But turn the reverse of the medal. Survey most nations and most ages. Examine the religious principles, which have, in fact, prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded, that they are any thing but sick men's dreams: Or perhaps will regard them more as the playsome whimsies of monkies in human shape, than the serious, positive, dogmatical asseverations of a being, who dignifies himself with the name of rational.
The whole is a riddle, an aenigma, an inexplicable mystery. Doubt, uncertainty, suspence of judgment appear the only result of our most accurate scrutiny, concerning this subject. But such is the frailty of human reason, and such the irresistible contagion of opinion, that even this deliberate doubt could scarcely be upheld; did we not enlarge our view, and opposing one species of superstition to another, set them a quarrelling; while we ourselves, during their fury and contention, happily make our escape, into the calm, though obscure, regions of philosophy.
                                                                              
                                                                                  Hume   1757
Africa, again, has supplied several fresh examples of a similar practice of regicide.   Among them the most notable perhaps is the custom formerly observed in Bunyoro of choosing every year from a particular clan a mock king, who was supposed to incarnate the late king, cohabited with his widows at his temple-tomb, and after reigning for a week was strangled.
The custom presents a close parallel to the ancient Babylonian festival of the Sacaea, at which a mock king was dressed in the royal robes, allowed to enjoy the real king’s concubines, and after reigning for five days was stripped, scourged, and put to death.
My old porch where I will die at last
sun is her fellow and I am her suitor.

birth is but a gathering of processes
something called a  life
matter is conscious
no matter to memory

sentient atom clusters
surrendering not in death
only in love

you are an antenna
pulling from me
tuning fork
trimming  noise

fundament of commerce
experience
 
 
 
 
will your biological framework
permit a window to infinity
or at least unboundedness
plus thought

not air but soup
covered in it
jelly mass
of a million nerve cells
imposing order on cell slaves
egg drop in soup

cognition leads us to decipher
a world  made of energy
all are energy
we are changing energy flows
harnessing energy

music simulates that energy
symbol of a matter less world
where thought
moves freely item to item
without exhaustion
inexhaustible
without trust we are prairie jackals
nature  no longer proper
rooting  for advantage
in the spirit of progress
leaving no empty space

Into the heart of a doomed land the stern warrior leapt
Carrying your unambiguous command like a sharp sword
He stood and filled the universe with death
Immediately dreams and gruesome visions overwhelmed them
With terror
Unexpected fears assailed them
Hurled down,
Some here some there, half dead
They proclaimed why it was they were dying

once a visitor
it never leaves but
rots the whole

mutinous stutter