Yearning and Listening

Physical death is not a metaphor but a sobering reality. Immortality is not a metaphor but a sobering reality. Yearning is the fuel of ‘immortality’! I host IT, you host IT, we all host IT!

I may in my broken tone express IT different from your own. You and I may not even understand one another in our invocations, yet we both yearn! We are all smitten by presence while at the same time manipulative managing our relationship with immensity.

We are unworthy, we are passionately indifferent, we are occupied- so this IT is filtered, dispersed and projected. We channel IT to some thing, to some one, to some body, to some organization! Applied yearning diffuses the immensity of yearning - tethering the traveller.

Listening to music, I hear the intention, the organization of the exposition it seems so compact, so digestible, and makes complete sense. Yet, if I listen not merely to the notation but the spaces between the notation, an unbridled yearning!

The listening of the listening!

Listening I hear the composition and feel the vibrations, I note the psychological and aesthetic constructs. Listening while listening I fade and hearing becomes yearning to yearning, only yearning…

The wind know this, from age to age, the wind has carried the calls of yearning and kept them in the present for all who yearn to recall.

Half Cut

Regarding- engaged sans filter, I would see and be seen.
That world was my personal spin.
This world is not mine - nothing to refine
-world is world and I in now a death of a clown.

Justifications

A quote from Robert Anton Wilson from his book THE WIDOW'S SON portrays the way we think.

All of this was justified, in the minds of men who were not totally vicious or fanatical, by the atrocities which the Irish Catholics had committed in their several rebellions, and by the hundreds of years of religious wars throughout Europe in which ferocity was the rule and massacres on both sides left each sect convinced the other was barbaric and inhuman.
Jonathon Swift, who had been part of the Protestant ruling class in Ireland in the worse of the Penal era, wrote once that the English Protestants might as well eat the babies of the Irish Catholics, since they already devoured rest of the country. This led people to say, later, that Swift was mad, or embittered, or something like that.
Swift also said, “We have enough religion to hate each other, but not enough to love each other.” That led people to say he was a cynic.

Most of the Irish in 1771 could read neither their own language nor the English of the conquerors. They were not only illiterate and impoverished but dirty, smelly, ignorant and superstitious. The Penal Law accomplished that much.

When humanitarians like Swift or Burke or such types would argue in relieving the Irish from the Penal Laws, common-sense people therefore had an answer to this sentimental liberalism. The answer was that the Irish could not be helped because they were obviously an illiterate, ignorant, dirty and smelly people.

on this same day

Red Fin

on this day

Drunk

Drunk again
-believing I am
someone,
somebody,
something
defined!

She shouts sober up!

I euphorically squeal
to nobody
in particular -
She spoke to me!
Did you see?

Self Interest

If I am partially engaged in self interest I would see glimpses of my self interest.

If I am fully engaged in self interests I would observe my self interest and would regard my self interest and note how I broadcast in posture and gesture.

Now, if I merely mouth self interest as a quaint heroic ideology-I would be in constant war. I would pose as a crusader attempting to manufacture my preferred experiences over my manufactured disagreements.

If I am completely devoid of observational ability my exercising of self interest would become me as my preferences and my disagreements become placed on the big bad world.

I travel in all these spaces, and still no closer to knowing what self or space may be. This situation could be worst- I could believe I know what I do not know.

There is an opening I in immediatism but what I?

A MONOLOGUE

Monologues my drug!
On stage a monologue can reveal more of a character in one deft blah blah, but with me nah! My monologue is like a dissonant chorus! It is not like on stage where the chorus provides conscience and information to the hero/victim- in my head no way! In my head the chorus seems like competing hawkers pawning choices in an overcrowded mall, the are all trying to make the close by appealing to my preferences, or by promises of erasing a disagreement.

My head, my head what is this?

Each hawker in their pitch are speaking to different parts of my body some to my shoulders, others to my knees, others to my gut, others to my genital, and some to the head.

Wait there may be a way out of this!
I am being provided spins that appeal to different aspects of my body, and after the war of attrition expends enough energy one will be the temporary king. Why be dazzled by the hawkers when I can place my attention on the different aspects of my body? Hearing each request and then cunningly inform my parts of the other parts requests which can contextualize this desire body. Hearing- the parts create a buzz and the parts attending are now sharing attention and the various demands are diminished. If this accord can endure I may even be able to dance in a wide open field!

No field now, I speculated and the monologue wants more space to fill! ‘Monos’ is the Latin word for one, and the medieval Christian’s consider it a divine name. Today every solo rant in our common parlance is called a monologue. Does this make us God like? Or is it an attempt to run from God? Obey in Latin means to listen-am I obeying God?

13.3

'deli'

13.1

'anguish revealed'

Mind Paradox

A mind paradox!

Mind is inherent culture, it is all that that I subscribe to whether by acceptance or by rejection. All that I have subscribed to is filed through out my physical form, different books of my personal mythology nestled in my muscular system. Every emotion that I have attended to or not emits from regions of my body, If I want to know my mind then I have to attend to my form, feelings and thoughts in real time. This is the mind that I attend to, seeing with a naked gaze, so many blemishes. Not getting enthused or appalled in the gaze, at times an arousing of thought manifests, and something that is not one of my own responds! Is this another mind! If that was mind and that was mind, what mind would mind not be? Or perhaps that first mind is the gate of the labyrinth that appears to be a labyrinth- but is not! Only after I start to see in the present without references I see what I was seeing was not what I was seeing or seemingly so!

Please remind -what is mind?

Rope Memory

I am forced to be in accord with this discord! To be Ruth in spite of the fact it is neither my birth name, middle name nor my surname- I am perplexed, perturbed whatever word is more vertigo suitable. I myself am not a suit person, though at the time am able to put one on and take one off. Did you know in Montreal they do not turn off their lights, they shut them off.

Dick does say- Nob…

I interrupt and say who is he? Cuckoo nobody I know. Where is the ride going this time? I have an affinity for space odysseys. Yet, I do believe- I am not going imbibe any more wine.

Dick now says Nob cuckold…

I interrupting again- there is more? There is always more, confidential- conspiratorial, always more! Please, no more I implore! The wine once tasted fine. His sharing is a preamble - disclosure foreplay. Did you know female whales are called hens but they do not lay eggs? Was Moby Dick a sperm whale?

Dick tries again - being a bit of a dick, detected that Nob cuckold, cluck, cluck,

Parrying that which I do not want to hear state I do not understand. Who is Nob and what does his tale from your interpretation have to do with me?

Dick clarifying replies- Nob’s bird the other man’s wife went back to the once upon now again beloved formerly cuckold husband. Which in one way suggest Nob is now oddly cuckold- you get it?

I poker face him and claim I get it -I guess! The predator becomes the number one until the former first becomes the predator and in time regains number oneness and the first predator becomes road kill. Isn’t Nob a Tolkien character? What I do not comprehend, is why are you telling me this, Dick?

Well, you have a shining for Mercy, and that was the prolog.

Wait she is the cuckold, cuckold?

No, she comforted the Slob I mean Nob, at his gain loss.

You are a good dick Dick, I suppose?

Not really he was crying for many to see.

And you did have to watch?

Well I was watching Mercy, and she was comforting the Blob, I mean Nob.

Did you smell a saving, you junkyard karma dog?

Dick shakes off the question and goes on- You know that I know you thirst for Mercy, I am just providing backup information for your consideration.

I play indifferent and say - I am a noncommittal man, there is always next week- anything for a poem. I mean relationship stuff I do not particular like...it is so… personal. From a distance, it is I and Thou- then when the two ropes tie it becomes quite knotty. I and It quite pathetic! We against the world quite tragic!.

Dick interrupts my rant -his face flushed says - I drove her home! She has deep, deep dark secrets, best to stay away.

Dick, I do not understand? Mercy me, though I am only partially interested, tell me more – I say.I should have said say no more, but partial interest on my part means oh man, oh man, how will I get out of this feeling and tricky dick

Fret not my friend. She is not what she seems. I talked to her all weekend- Dick did say!

If she is so dark why were you with her all weekend? Stop the salivation salvation stance and accept that you are closer to death than your birth.

Dick now says -well anyways Nob was crying because the wife went home to her husband, it was pitiful- the part or parts that required my pity I am hazy about. I saw that she pitied him…held him …talked gently to him. She…

His words suggested it was lame, but his face radiated envy. I threw in -she is beautiful in a safe way (though not for me), and to receive her gentleness was a blessing for that Nobody whichI did not know. My eyes opened wider as the finite muscles around my mouth soften.- that her...

This I wish to forget. Yet here it is! These memories what are they?