S.B.T. 381

beware

but michael there are so many layers of depth to experience.

"you mean human experience."

not just human experience

with everything on this laissez faire platform.

"you're making excuses."

how old are you, what, like 23?

"I'm 32"

haha backwards

"backwards yuh" (near eastvile grin)

Ok I like the "get clear" message, and I even like the naivite' f youth, and tho i'm jaded, i like jade, it's the stone of great strength and soft luster, but no, I was thinking of good stuff and dealing with real stuff, frustration sometimes and have made serious errors, but all clear. stuff happens anyway, i'm a part of it, there's no place to go where you aren't part of it, but it's not all yours. that's the main point of disagreement, not everything you see is because of you. 

"every thought is a creative act"

every feeling counts, some more than others, it was not my wish but an interceding

empathic response. now, if you can help me with that, i'll listen.

"you must form a mental image as if you had it in your possession, understand what you see and look at it as if you can touch it"

fully natural imo, but there are the depths. don juan called it "nagual".  there are other ways and new worlds. very little to do with possessing materials, much to do with possessing qualities. like the warrior, the sage, the angel — the archetypes. follow the calling, create. create whatever, wealth if you want. have fun. but beware of surprising turns, when what you do counts on high.

S.B.T. 380

Aero the Taylor

thankfully, they did not ask why i wanted this particular small rustic garden house. 

shaded with peach colored parasols, and a big flowered hat, an avoidance of sharing gazes.

but good men had not shown any urgency or request 2 unlock my secret, nor intervened to spin the fringe within the distilled shade - perhaps what ultimately grabbed me was the sound of no voice, and their startling willingness to smile and then just give whatever so graciously. 

(he simply snaps his fingers and tossles his tassles and it's done) somehow remotely gliding, a gilded thread in a burlap weave in the shrouds. with an exaggerated (like jack n. as 'the Joker') 

Jack Nicholson as The Joker

smile in some clownish bent of the stones logo. compared to mick jagger the eyes were different, he had eyes of a hawk. these are cat-like.

later twas a sparkler to realize that i was watching them the whole time, like a fox scouting feral cats, but i said, the ivory apricot cream was overwhelming! like a net of cloud filaments and they stick like flypaper

and i never think when that happens,  never yet have i had time to consider exactly what it is that i am 'doing'. Until now—hit me up again and see what happens — living in a cream bath house of flowered filigree, there's not a lot of good ways to explain what happens with time.

a few days later, the house arrived, a dollhouse really, painted pink and white and finely architectured to resemble a quaint frisco thirty million victorian homestead. i'd specified electricity in a dedicated line so these two guys in dark blue tshirts with belts of tools sidewound on their hips were puttering around, climbing ladders to the roof, pulling out the solar panel controls, zapping something, switching some wires. they did not speak in any way, simply were 100% into the work and that impressed me, as the dalai lama would, maybe a little less. but then, it could also be simpleminded to keep doing what you r doing when you know what u r doing and do it so well u r like a finetuned compass but because of that you don't do everything else...

the zen master laughs in my memory, sitting behind the desk, holding squiggly fingers to his head indicating a rooster crown chiming "Koo Koo! Koo Koo!" and it always seems a fine beginning

S.B.T. 379

screenshot from YouTube sidebar

notice the circular focus at center in composition of the videos' thumbnails and the clip in the middle resembles the cooking-pot above it.

_____________________

 
sri yantra mandala   gif by K.Bloom  

compassion

no thing was too small to deserve.

I barely see at all, such darkness 
the beam, thinner, a pinlight
enveloped in speckled shadow

confession: i swear when i'm driving.
waking sleep
pseudo-persuasive meanderings
small things like stop signs. waiting

time. the only reason. for not wanting to wait.
an inner tender dented fender.

none of this is about me anyway,
i've understood
health is knowing the difference between judgment and true danger.

compassion will be my baby's food
when i'm finished nursing

Om Mane Padme Hum 
 
 
sun gif by K.Bloom    


     

S.B.T. 378

smiley cyrus

I mean look, there's the whole rolling stone logo tongue thing going on, and the ancient cyndi lauper weird hair, a lowkey reinvention of self madonna-style, the michael jackson crotch/clutch, the new smiley vanilla rap sundae, and an up-do-date costume fashionista anit-blass-phemy.
the scary thing is PR for being fairly regular in the bigtime scramble for attention.  the axiom, "any publicity is good publicity" devil horns or not next decade she writes children's books and wears 1950's shirtwaist dresses at booksignings, hair in a french twist. maybe she'll lead some march against monsanto in farmers overalls or upset the media's sense of morality performing for the obamas in a girl school uniform with no undies. possibly in the end a snake dance with eyeball rolling frenzy in a voudou temple. you gotta love her.

BEFORE

AFTER

S.B.T. 377

mrs. pemberton

"wrote his name after mine all over my class notes", she said

"just trying it on for size, and conjuring an i-dare-you-to-dream-this-miracle image—

the kind you think up in a split second of opulent glory and then let spill like a pail of sand on the beach. i didn't know that then, though," she said, "it seemed reflective — a natural response..."

(pause)(cough)

"have you noticed that women use their own names or a name of their choice instead of the husband's surname?" she thought to ask right then "Joe Smith and Sally Jones, or Joe and Sally Smith. Sally never signs anything Mrs. S. Smith—it's "Sally Smith" or "Sally Jones Smith" or "Sally Jones"

—uh huh—so which one is the real Sally?" she smirked

"no demand there be just one Sally though" i relayed

"oh really? that's so funny!"

"what's so funny?"

"the idea of Sally with split personalities" she bit the tip of her long red-nailed forefinger.

"oh mrs. pemberton," (pause) i said "you might be right, the maximum # of personalities comfortable to sustain really is 3, but most people have 2"

"i have 1," she snapped back, "i'm mrs. pemberton."

"very cool" i said

S.B.T. 376

for mineral and dew
"by waters sent from thee"

a lake, a glassy mirror

we come to the edge

toss a white wishing stone

soft splashes

drop and let lips touch 

the twinkling circles

and quench the longing

S.B.T. 375

judgment

do you realize how far outside of the formula for judg-a-ment we are at this space/time? the Captain said incredulously, staring at the control panels, sweaty brow, making a re-ality-calculation

all that time: "why didnt I or couldnt i cease the nervous drumming" i asked myself in wonderment. at what had been, from here, looking so ridiculous (ly back on times past) and wondering if i should don the tablecloth and wear it like a scarf and say the god-almighty heaven with it

my guide says i needn't hold back, she says that, i open the tissue box.

Someone would want to cast a wan smile in this spot but not me, i won't do that. too much trouble.

The point was to try and break open a discovery of any certain depth measurement in the ghost trails, those wispy footprints, the little rabbit-hops, behind. Those observable signs to navigate backwards with.

 the trail seems to be going though the wood, winding around granite rocks and sacred ladyslippers. 

"You gotta be quick!" the rabbit calls ahead, checking his watch, making sure to be in sync with diaphanous skinny time, snappy time, moderno, in the flow,

even so— the concept can be stretched out to where timing is divine, so relax, baby, relax. 

Fleetwood Mac - Gyspy -Stevie Nicks