Last Frontier Days, part 2

The land would belong to those who used it. The escalation of mass production and concentration of populations in urban areas would be halted, for who would work in their factories and buy their products when he could live from the fields and the sea and the lakes and the rivers, in areas of unbelievable plenty? And living from the land, he would be motivated to preserve its resources. Communes are commonly subject to state and federal law and frequently harassed by the local inhabitants. There is simply no room left for “freedom from the tyranny of the government” since city dwellers depend on government for food, power, water, transportation, protection, and welfare. Your right to live where you want, with companions of your choosing, under laws to which you agree has been paralyzed by the sleeping masses, who seek comfort and security above the liberty of true living. Yet, this window of opportunity is again upon us with the awakening of mass consciousness. We see the dream is still alive. This is in the tide of turning miracles and disasters. It is a chaos system of emergent phenomena. The blade dance composes the tone and nature of these events. Miracle or disaster? The choice is in your dreams if you are brave enough to take responsibility for your creations.

The Ancient Ones: to Lord of the Future, who rides on a whispering south wind; to Kuthulu, the Sleeping Serpent who cannot be summoned; to the Corn Maiden; to Shiva and Kali; to the devic beings and elementals who weave the web of nature…

We are witnessing a virus of biological mutation. This agent affected biologic alterations, fatal in many cases, permanent and hereditary in the survivors, who became carriers of the strain. The condition was passed on to their descendents by techniques of artificial insemination which were, to say the least, highly developed. In fact, how some of these mutant pregnancies were contracted is unknown to modern science. Immaculate or at least viral conception was pandemic, and may have given rise to legends of demon lovers, the succubi and incubi of medieval folklore. Therefore, we are going to sit here in the sunshine and acoustically heal these mutations until we return to our original star lineage, which is, by the way, continuously mutating along a different road.

The virus, acting directly on neural centers, brought about sexual frenzies that facilitated its communication.

He had September 17. Nadeanna had the portent of August 18.

“We are of speaking more or less virgin genetic material of high quality. However, I question the wisdom of introducing the virus into contemporary America and Europe. Even though it might quiet the uh silent majority, who are admittedly becoming uh awkward, we must consider the biologic consequences of exploring genetic material already damaged beyond repair to such an agent, leaving a wake of unimaginably unfavorable mutations all ravenously perpetuating their kind.”

The combination of the ancient Draconian lineage with the complex tetra string strand DNA of the Emerald offspring was originally created to destroy the fallen Elohim and subvert the Annunaki. It presented greater aesthetic potentials than the original 12-strand DNA of the star children. However this seemingly simplified version requires a process of self-creative mastery to emerge forms from chaos. It cannot be controlled by the WORD virus.

Nadeanna: “I propose to remove the temporal limits, shifting our experimental theater into past time in order to circumvent the whole tedious problem. You may well ask if we can be certain of containing the virus in past time. The simple answer is that we do not have sufficient data to speak with certainty. Even Federation members can be faulted for failure to closely examine the relevant evidence. Owing to the grave dangers inherent in large-scale experimentation, our data is incomplete.”

Aleister Crowley.

The Captain leaned back in his chair. He extracted a joint from his shirt pocket. The Captain lit the joint and blew smoke towards the ceiling, seemingly oblivious of disapproving looks from the board members. He took a long drag and blew smoke across his notes.

“Cosmic radiation? Or sentient being-controlled radiation?” the Captain asked. “This is a critical distinction in our data analysis.”

The Dr. replies, “The form of radiation emanating from the red light is unknown at this time.”

“Is this the photon belt dreamed into existence by the lightworker collective?” asked the Captain.

“Captain, are you then ignorant of the nature of this wondrous radiation, or as to how it could be reproduced in the laboratory? Really? You are unaware of the original solution the Guardian Alliance had asked for?” Nadeanna questioned.

“Where did this Keltonic shit come from anyway?” he asked.

“Well,” Nadeanna mused (the muse of all muses), “Of course, they wished to distract me with all of the angelic channels and Keltonic hoodoo, but I was determined to find a more parsimonious explanation that accounted for all the evidence. And you have to remember Captain; absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Difficult when the interdimensional presence of my most recent teacher keeps me vibrating with meldfuck.” She arches her eyebrow at the Captain. “It would seem the best remedy would be to actually fuck to reset the balance and move on to more pressing work. However, as you may have noticed, the collective seems to keep aligning their manifestations to make this impossible. Isolation has buffered these attacks, but then communion between the beloveds was weakened as well. It’s a choice you have to make. Due to the depth of these ‘entanglements’ I have prepared myself for the time when you will choose. I may be held at fault for already assuming your choice of me will be ‘no’. I can read in your energy that the chaos, the uncertainty is too much for you to bear at this point. Already you are calling out for home and a ‘normal, ordinary’ life. This is why I have questioned any further advances or flirtations you have presented. Of course I desire them, but I find the sincerity behind them lacking. One thing I hate more than anything is a liar. Maybe it is because I am not capable of lying. Even a simple everyday lie, like claiming I am sick to avoid a trip or an appointment, rings so hollow, even over the phone, that I will not buy it. I know, you were just being nice, friendly. I have not truly captivated your fancy Captain. I shall bow out gracefully. My other belongs to another. We knew it would be a lonesome road. Perhaps someday I will be back on the frontier and the Golden Dreamer with Tourmaline eyes will remember. Don’t forget.”

The Golden Dreamer whispers…

Light the fuse in my pistol grip, pierce the shadows of darkness abound. Shut your eyes and breathe it in. Survive the night for a loser’s win.

Haha! The muse stirs again. Hope returns with movement. There is joy, grace and amazement that the light lives and speaks through another.

“But perhaps…. Such a simple and inexpensive experiment…we could start with the herpes simplex.”

“I fail to see any useful purpose, “ the Dr. started.

The Captain glanced around the table. Stony faces looked back at him. He was concealing something and they all knew it, even the worthless Dr.

The first goal had been to mutate the DNA to be non-responsive to this and other sexually transmitted viruses in the human population. The symptoms of a virus are the attempts of the body to deal with a virus attack. By their symptoms you will know the virus. Even a totally unknown virus would yield considerable data through the observation of its symptoms. On the other hand, were a virus to produce no symptoms; then we have no way of knowing that it exists. The virus in question may have been latent or it may have been living in benign symbiosis with the host.

“That is, of course, possible,” admitted the Dr.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Last Frontier Days

But tonight I feel like a strung bow, arrow knocked, ready to hit its target if I could trust faith were a strong marksman. Good thing Kit Carson’s on our team. Oh, now you fucked up baby. Time’s up, just like you wanted, just like you said. With it came the cats, the ginger-colored longhaired female, Quinn, the Russian Blue, father of the unfortunate Independence, with his silky grey coat and plaintive cry. An unseasonably warm day, dreaming of Boulder, with our attempts to rewrite history becoming more fantastic and frantic, we wished the future would get here more quickly. Someone unseen and unnamed shoots both Carson and Mike. Kim’s final words echo, “What the FUCK!?!”

He chose a little white wood-frame house by a creek. It was a Sears, Roebuck “kit house” from the late 1920s. There was nearly an acre of garden land in the back, with fruit trees and a bounty of blackberry bushes. The thorns of an invasive species you despise. We moved to town in November, and settled in for the winter, anticipating long days of snowboarding, skiing, and drunken lovemaking and massages afterward. The vivacious and virulent Summit County is like a drug burning through our veins. Of the cats from Riverwest, another longhaired orange tabby of Quinn’s temperament was found to replace Quinn. By springtime we had scraped up enough money to purchase the prefab house, and for the first time, we owned real estate, the only wealth beyond gold worth investing in.

Working in her sunny bedroom the Western Lands of happy immortality beckoned, coming down from the mountaintop to wander and suffer in the alleys of Riverwest. Fear no longer a factor, Boulder remained, in addition to the purchase of a summer farm near the Missouri River, home. This pilgrimage may take many lifetimes.

Traveling to St. Louis, in San Francisco, back to Tennessee and a tranquil little Depression-era lake resort, we meet friends for an evening’s cocktail, a cookout.

Kansas City remains like a phantom, the past never forgotten, before we embark on a prolific period of art-making in memorial to Timothy Leary and his band of Merry Pranksters. Nadeanna achieves her first serious art exhibition, coming to the end of words and the end of what can be done with mere words.

We began with pirate communes, a career based on an initial desire to better adjust the affairs of mankind. A meeting of the crew was called, shocking how few of us remained. We were not pirates. No! We were liberty lovers. The republic was in full operation. We lived in harmony amongst ourselves, misplaced society still judging us as vial pirates while men who sold others like beasts proved their religion to be no more than a mere grimace, as no man has ever truly had the power of liberty over another.

Faced by the actual practice of freedom, the French and American revolutions were forced to stand by their words. Haha! Any man had the right to settle in any area of his choosing.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Prestomanifesto

I got the job! I will be moving to Kentucky in two weeks.

I know, it was the chakra alignments and William Burroughs that did it.

Now we must purge again. So far I have only been willing to give up 3 books, 3 shirts, a pair of shoes, two sets of Queen-sized sheets, and 3 bottles of Aciphex. Oh, and my two pieces of furniture. I still feel like it will be more than a carload without Richard to Tetris it all in.

You Say…

Sound is Energy

New studies of brain waves mimic the patterns of sound that the individual hears.

~Randolph E. Schmid reporting on the work of Dr. Nina Kraus, director of the Auditory Neuroscience Laboratory at Northwestern University

I wonder when someone will study the importance of dance, kinesiology to sound and what that does in the brain. I feel that dance is the most fundamental part of human life. Dance induces powerful trance states. Dance is as, or more transcendental than sex. Dance in the absence of love is just flailing around.

Reworking the Forth Lesson

Reworking the Forth Lesson

The Forth Lesson
Category: Writing and Poetry
Heart as hard as diamonds. I have nothing left to take away. There is no greater level of depravity possible.
Hope is fading like a meteor burned out in the sky. If I can get unstuck again…. faith maybe shall return.  You luv, are my heart’s desire. Something I feel I can never attain. Do not ask me why this is so. I have spent months ruminating the reasons why I am not good enough for you, lowering my expectations in order to avoid the inevitable hurt from the immense power you seem to have. I risked it all before and nothing came of it but a string of blessed assignations. Why bother again, when past experience has taught me to shy away from this sort of light?
How many times do I have to repeat myself. No more. If you weren’t listening the first time, désolé, which is really to say, fuck you.

The oracle has become much more difficult to penetrate.

There is a beautiful boy, a beautiful dancer. We tell him so. His name is Caleb. He smiles. Sure, on another journey… there’s no denying, I want him… for his beauty, his dance, his shining light but he already shines no need for carnal delights.

So of course the universe is not going to help when I am just going, I just need a job. I just need to survive. A job, job, any job.

People’s of the earth, you have all been poisoned. Prisoners of the earth come out. With your help we can occupy the Reality Studio and retake their universe of Fear Death and Monopoly. To speak is to lie. To live is to collaborate. The enemy exists only where no life is and moves always to push life into extreme untenable positions. You can cut the enemy off your line by the judicious use of apomorphine and silence. But sir, I think you made up this apomorphine shit. It’s just a word. It’s your dream. And you are dead. Silence? Sound, counter sound. Music is dance and love is motion, a heart a song in motion. We are set to compose and design the counter attack sounds for the mind machine. Freedom songs from thought control. Anti-media. The more vomit, the closer I get to the core, the quickening, the quick. You can’t stop me. Just sit back and watch me SPEW!

Another twilight of your tired Gods. And as soon as I set foot on Podunk earth I can smell it. And you could feel it there under your feet. Rotting. The whole structure buckling like a bulkhead about to blow. Bullshit driving from the airport. Just below the surface even when we first came. Now we have the opportunity to create a new set. Every substance has a characteristic set of resonant frequencies at which it vibrates or oscillates. Trust me, the man would be wanting me to do this, but it is detracting from the F.L.O.W. to pause and credit him. William Burroughs. Not quite a cut up. So I mean, should I explain the method? I underline this shit when I am reading it. It speaks to me, you dig? And I write in the margins on the pages. This goes too. Now I am typing the underlies and my margin notes and adding as Spirit indicates. So you, you should take it too. Until it becomes nothing but the essence of our collective truth. But maybe, maybe this just does not move you at all. Maybe, maybe… your F.L.O.W. is what is keeping me stuck. Maybe we will have to remedy that. Send them up the bomb. All your base are belong to us.

Why have I been so cranky? Am I really destined to wander the forest alone? I want to say FUCK THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY. I have tried being responsible. Why bother? I dream to go somewhere where I can do it all myself. Where there are no bills and deadworld identities.

Not for nothing do they come from a land without mirrors. The blockade on planet earth is broken. Explorers moving in, whole armies. And everybody concerned is fed up with Intolerable I & I. And you can see, the marks are wising up, standing around in sullen groups and that mutter gets louder and LOUDER.

I’m taking my name back fuckers. I AM HOPE! I AM THE FIRE AMONG THE DREAMERS!

Call in any random factors. Operation Total Exposure. For all to see.

Shift coordinate points. Unknown mornings blew rain in cobwebs. St. Louis lights wet cobblestones of future life. The ticket that exploded posed little time so I’ll bid you ado. In progress I am mapping a photo. Light verse of wounded galaxies. You get it. I guess it doesn’t matter that you were holding the maps upside down because it doesn’t matter which route you take as long as you understand there is a map. An extraordinary map, but still a map. Say, luv, you were thinking something grand weren’t you?” I wonder what would happen if…” I should never doubt you because you are so amazing. You I ching-ed the map? Because of the sacred sea turtle? Because only you would want to get a hard-on at work in order to stay warm and motivated. But the problem is, you were a mirror. And so I do doubt you. Every flaw in myself is projected in your light. You cannot possibly have been referring to me, can you have? I am convinced not. I am wounded that you would mention those things to me, knowing how I feel for you, even if I have no idea how I fell for you. I have to step back. It’s all a game to you I think, even though… I guess it has to get to the point where it is the most serious thing in my life, but I don’t even know if that can happen again. I wish sometimes you would be more gentle with me. I don’t understand. I want to hide from you. I cannot break free of these ancient programs I was dreamed with. I am beginning to read your dream, but I see someone else in the role you sometimes cast me in. It is a sadness. Sometimes I think we should cease this farce of a friendship. I am not cool enough to just be. Yet, I did ask you to teach me patience. Now you are saying time is up and I tell you I haven’t found home yet. Remember, we blew it up in July?

The scanning pattern we accept as reality has been imposed by the controlling power on this planet, a power primarily oriented towards total control. In order to retain control they have moved to monopolize and deactivate the hallucinogen drugs by effecting noxious alterations on a molecular level. The psychotic weed bred for medicinal purposes in Humboldt. I am surrounded by fucking idiots everywhere I go. Paradoxically, some of our best agents were recruited from the ranks of those who are called criminals on this planet. Get that writer, that scientist, this artist. He is too close. Bribe. Con. Intimidate. Take over his coordinate points.

WELL FUCK OFF! GET OUT OF MY COORDINATE POINTS! YOU’RE JACKING MY FLOW BETCH!

My god, my fucking god! What a fucking mess! Quiet! All of you! That’s enough! You all understand I hope, what is meant by biologic meditation. This means that the meditating life forms, aka YOU, must simultaneously lay aside all defenses and all weapons. It comes to the same thing. And all connection with retrospective controllers under space conditions merge into a single being, which may or may not be successful.

Don’t answer the machine. Shut it off. Silence. Don’t answer. You are yourself. There be. Well, that’s about the closest way I know to tell you. And you ask me where I’ve been? You couldn’t find me anymore without the machine? Ah, luv, I haven’t felt this bad in the last two months. What is going on? I’m coming back to rescue my teacher? What sense does that make?

I mean, about the media desensitization and counterattack manifesto. Funny I was saying this shit all along and here he’d been saying it all along and yet we never really knew that it was nothing new. So maybe when he died, he like came to be one of those ones to walk along beside me. But I get angry, you know? because he had this trust fund, so it really didn’t matter for him. I am part of the perpetual downward social mobility of the post WWII era. Middle class-working class-trailer trash-bum…. Yup. An open call to arms against the Control Machine. News flash: The war is over. You are the peace.

And may I suggest further that your uh statement is incomplete because you do not know the answers? I am uh unaccustomed to formulate in uh verbal terms my uh performance is therefore unrehearsed and I do not propose to uh offer an uh repeat performance. All your base are belong to us. We sent you up the bomb.

You are the last Quality Inspector. I am the Director. You have known me for a long time. Final Quality Day. Remember, I was abandoned long ago, empty, waiting on 1920 world in his eyes. Yup, him. No need to name names and point fingers again. He knows it. He’s been charged. I am not the only one.

4664 Berlin Avenue

Such seeming coincidence was no doubt frequent enough if people would just keep their eyes and ears open. Are you awake? Why are people bored? I am so tired of hearing this line. I’m bored. Let’s get drunk and fuck. Say what? Well, it’s all because you can’t see what is right under your eyes in your own back yard. You are victim of the shadow. But the shadow is merely the pre-recorded word. So it’s so EASY to fix. la la la loverly luv. I know you know and now you know that I know. Oh! Wonderful! So… for the rest of you, just fuck T. V. DO the damn thing. The thing, that you were thinking, that was on your mind. Quit wasting time.

Come April it’s raining violets. Smoke Players. Show your cards all Players. Play on Player. Export As as back in the day, sipped coffee and wondered over Japanese grammar and thought Whorp-Sapir was a load of crap. Linguistics. Now that’s boredom. Or more a tedious torture. Like a melody played. Well now it so happens that I repatriated. (can you tell this cat was an anthropologist at heart, I mean deep down? an anthropologist and a jazzer. He was already my brother. Date of birth was an unfortunate miss this time around. I mean, last time… But if I had known him it would ring more clearly… like Benny Moten. We merely echo. I heard your voice. I was listening. Now I am trying to go back over all of that without money or heroine.) Repatriated himself on the Independence docked December 8th, 1964, reread December 8th, 2009. 45 years and how far have we got? Captain’s Cocktail Party where no one seemed to know who anybody else was supposed to be and everybody a bit miffed in consequence.

“Captain, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course my dear.”

Yet, she could think of the explanation that accounted for all the facts, the most parsimonious explanation was outside of the allowable parameters of reality. What if those parameters were exploded, like the ticket, like my home?

“Captain, why would you take a dream so young such as me into your care when I could not possibly fulfill you the way an equal could?”

I await your answer, your real answer, but I hear the angel laughter like tinkling bells, “My dear child, you are far more than you can perceive yourself to be from where you are. There are few who could be equal to me. I do not yet realize the potential of my power. We were to teach each other how great we truly ARE.”

So luv, come back and dream with me again. I’ve missed you. If you came to visit me here, I’d be more likely to interact with you there, but if you’re too lost to find me anymore, what can I do?

The geese call as sunset approaches. Spring is upon us. I need you.

But what I really wanted to get my hands on was the Captain’s Log Book you see? What was the stardate? I had given up the wiles of seductive sirien. He had me under his spell. It stroked his ego when I told him so, but it seemed…. too real to be real. Unabashed, gushing, innocent. The innocence came I think from the lack of calculation on my part. I was simply a bubbling spring full of life, love in motion in presence of the Captain. I already realized I forgot where I placed my copy of the book with indecipherable script that he had tried to use as an oracle and missed the train or ride or whatever it was to Arcata. But I see now, there was a method to this madness. It was the story of Antelope Girl and the golden aspen ringing the Colorado meadow, the return to St. Louis… it gets rather fuzzy after that. We are operating in chaos and phenomena are emerging from the system continuously, some being quite delightfully random, like you luv.

Oh what a mess we have made:

The present is embodied in Hexagram 12 – P’I (Stagnation): There is a lack of understanding between the different classes of men, and its indication is unfavorable to the firm and correct course of the superior man. We see in it greatness gone and the lesser come upon us. I have returned to pick up a few pieces of sunlight and shadow. The past is in the city because all dead poets and writers can be reincarnate in different hosts. You crazy or something? Walk around alone? Fear, has become our problem. The first (bottommost) line, divided, suggests the idea of grass pulled up, and bringing with it other stalks with whose roots it is connected. With firm correctness on the part of its subject, there will be good fortune and progress.

The situation is evolving slowly, and Yang (the active masculine force) is gaining ground.

You’ve come to claim me I see. I submit in disbelief, bothered by the power and depth of my emotion, praying that you will not destroy me by restricting my freedom, that we are looking together toward the same horizon. I fear the location moving to Colorado before the end of time. It means END GAME probability has increased. The future is embodied in Hexagram 25 – Wu Wang (The Unexpected): Great progress and success is indicated, while there will be advantage in being firm and correct. If he or his action be not correct, he will fall into errors, and it will not be advantageous for him to move in any direction.
And this she prays will not mean waiting even longer. Someone has to move in a direction. Forward preferably, the distance must come close. The things most apparent, those above and in front, are embodied by the upper trigram Chi’en (Heaven), which represents strength and creativity. The things least apparent, those below and behind, are embodied by the lower trigram K’un (Earth), which is transforming into Chen (Thunder). As part of this process, docility and receptivity are giving way to movement, initiative, and action.

In my writing I am acting as a mapmaker, a cartographer, an explorer of psychic areas. I am primarily concerned with the question of survival. A new mythology is possible in the space age where we will again have heroes and villians with respect to intentions toward this planet. Whatever Burroughs. 45 years later, the war is over. You are the peace. It was a game. So we ended the game. The war game. I mean it was just stupid, right? It had to be stopped, don’t you agree captain?  What in St. Louis after September? Faded khaki pants the dreamer gone at dawn takes the way toward the sea breath of trade winds on his face. You know love, I really like the ocean mythology. Now you’re making me come home? Whether that is Missouri or Colorado remains yet to be seen.

It was really about you this whole time. hahaha Before I’d even made your acquaintance. You were the replacement. You were the one, all along, all along. hahaha!

No longer on/off binary. We are dealing with terta code, Terra code. Terta 4 Terra. A technical code developed by the information theorists. This code was written at the molecular level to save space, when it was found…. hey… they wrote that shit of a grain of rice. Golden rice. I mean this was new news right? I read it in the October National Geographic that I had because of the Redwoods. I mean, that’s where we’re meeting again, right? So… this is important. I recycled the magazine to save space, but maybe Joe didn’t throw his copy out yet. It’s so silly it takes so long to get unstuck after going there. Now I will have no peace until I remember what the information storage was for. Surely not…. It was found that the image material was not dead matter, but exhibited the same life cycle as the virus. The virus released upon the world would infect the entire population and turn them into our replicas. It was not safe to release the virus until we could be sure that the last groups to go replicate would not notice. To this end we invented variety in many forms, variety that is information content in a molecule, which, finally, is always permutated, changed at random by radiating the virus material with high energy rays from the photon belt. In short, we have created an infinity of variety at the information level, sufficient to keep so-called scientist busy forever exploring the “richness of nature”.

The few who lived crossed the wounded galaxies. My ice! My perfect ice! Curly Qs! You must see it to believe that this is ice! Amazing! That never… circumstances being what they may be… Now cautiously my eyes glance downward. “Look at me!” you shout. I can feel the energy of your aggression and potential meanness, lunacy. I curl tighter into a ball. Your caress softens, but I know, I think I know the game you are playing. It tingles like pins and needles all across my back. I begin to loosen the tension and uncurl like a potato bug. Ever so gently your hand is at my jaw, coaxing me to turn my head toward you. I can feel your weight pressing against me, hard with your desire. I am crying, and though I know you have already felt the wetness on my cheeks, I still refuse to let you see the tears in my eyes. For all I’ve cheated you after I said I was yours, never believing you felt the same. You wonder if you can contain your rage for long enough to convince me. Your hand releases my jaw and you lower yourself closer. I can feel the heat of your breath against my neck and ear. “Please, I love you. Do you trust me?” you whisper. I realize that perhaps I could grow to trust you, that you have never given me good reason not to. Finally… but I wonder if you will miss the game. I decide to not think about it, for we may only have this moment. I make eye contact with you, ashamed of the tears I’d allowed to spill. One second of tenderness remains as you kiss the dampness on my cheek. And then we begin. I surrender knowing that should this ever fall apart I will be utterly destroyed.

Two speeds can be playing especially when a case has four possible states. Here we go with the chimera again. Green eyes because you’re not looking at the complete picture. Train whistles. Across the lonesome trestle. Home. Fucking A, about time.

Now try this. Take a walk. A bus. A taxi. Do a few errands. Sit down somewhere. Drink a coffee. Watch T. V. Don’t watch T. V. Why did I underline that? Look through the papers. Depressing, isn’t it? Now return to your place and write what you have just seen heard felt thought with particular attention to precise intersection points like the golden grains of sand with holographic information etched into them.

This is the forth lesson 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 this is the forth lesson artist old house must come down for an end of innocence i am on the second floor captain i don’t care if the whole fucking shithouse goes down good natured insolence retroactive this is the forth lesson 1 2 3 4 flickering fingers sweating last human pieces my contact there faded old crow back porch falling leaves sun folded away in an old file.

An instrument synchronized. MIDI files. Squeaking couch. The pilot cannot make error. He synchronized. Well captain?

“You were synchronized to want it,” he murmurs. I am melting helplessly against his flesh.

on a dead star empty withered cut off exploded film scraps last awaiting flaps on the pier here have I done the job here will he hear it a distant hand lifted 1920 window fingers tap the glass all the dream people of past time are saying goodbye forever face luminous sliver ghostboy exploded star between us still there waiting searched from person to person unfold remember the shabby quarters write goodbye to your old friend hopelessly calling exploded star hand lifted further and further away goodbye crying you heard didn’t you?

The young man is received with cool reserve. There is a wide desk between them. Empty, but for a wire basket labeled IT NEVER HAPPENED on the man’s left.

Never without myself, I have been in desperate battle. BELLVUE HOTEL, heartbroken. Angel? IT NEVERHAPPENED. So what? Forget about it. The old flatiron building. Arch lived in the bellvue hotel and you might say he surveyed hisself a room there bellvue hotel which is now what you might call a disputed area still under survey, my heart. what with one thing and another it isn’t so easy to tell you just where the hotel is located but if you take a left just past the flatiron mall depending of course which way you come on it and walk down the old northwestern branch line, say used to be Milwaukee Road, Hiawatha Sessions first and third Saturdays, but listen, this is the critical part here, then angle off due west unless you want to see archs maps. You really have to stand a little back from the game. Decide nothing is to be gained from climbing the old signal tower. So he pushes through into a vacant lot overgrown with weeds. Some reward for 13 years of sweating out what you might call a disputed clearing process. Archs maps sort of leap out at you all at once. Looked out through hotel bellvue a young man moved in and out of focus what do you want he snapped the hotel is completely full you understand no room none at all you know things that can be done and so easily except so many things have happened and there simply isn’t room anymore.

You know some have a long germination period. What will grow out of those seeds? We say where I came in I’m en route to reliable frequency waves. The world reshapes. Some character is suddenly important and you don’t have all the pictures because you never figured anything could happen there in Colorado.

America is not so much a nightmare as a non-dream. The American non-dream is precisely a move to wipe the dream out of existence. The dream is a spontaneous happenin’ and therefore dangerous to a control system set up by the non-dreamers. An essential feature of the Western control machine is to make language as non-pictorial as possible, to separate words as far as possible from objects or observable processes. Confluently communicated. Linguistically communicated multiplicity of otherness. Watchman rows through the luminous heavens and from his flaming dragnet let fall shooting stars. Railway stations wind. Latterly communicated the question of internalized direction on a summer morning the sleep of love the wind comes in to wander dawn rising like a flock of whooping cranes softly on the town shivering the yellow blue awakening concentrated the sleep of love confluently.

Income tax laws: These laws benefit those who are already rich. The richer you are the easier it is to minimize taxes. In effect the rich have closed the doors to extreme wealth. This is necessary to insure that no one acquires wealth who might use it to subvert the interests of wealth and monopoly. There is no tighter hierarchy than extreme wealth, and no one gets in who is not devoted to the interests of money. Apartment 720.

Passport and customs controls: This is why table reservations are required. A-listed, not TRX-listed. Which really, is the way you want to go, because you want to be the way that you know and not the deadworld drag and anyhow the secret to getting cool baby isn’t in your designer duds or your bank account it’s all about the F.L.O.W. and trendsetting transcendence….. so… The basic formula, ancient, un-creative, been there done that, serves a purpose though. Everyone must be forced to receive communications from the control machine. It will readily been seen that any control measure expands the range of enforced communication. Your passport or visa is not quite in order? You have lost your currency control slip? How many times will you compulsively repeat the explanation you have prepared in case the customs official starts asking questions? So control measures conjure up phantom interrogators, doormen if you will, who invade and destroy your inner freedom. You only want to be there because there is a gatekeeper ignoring you. We dance in avoidance, non-participation. We have a “legal” self and then our true self. We laugh when our selves intersect themselves.

How many potentially talented and useful citizens do nothing throughout a lifetime and are passed over for the likes of Paris Hilton? I ask, must one really be an heiress to get away with such fiascos? Money, after all is just another illusion of the control machine. Gimmie some fresh kicks and a shirt that’s clean. Messages passed along like signal drums.

However, it’s a lot easier to start trouble than to stop it, so what I am asking of you brothers and sisters of mine, is this. It’s time to fix the trouble. The war is over. You are the peace. The control of the mass media depends on laying down lines of association. When the lines are cut. Apartment 720 ghetto hood rate hoochie trailer trash Eastern European mafia Well, when the lines are cut, the associational connections are broken. That’s right folks, but don’t pretend you heard it here first. An unreal paper, like the Onion… yet still completely real because it is actually happenin’

Trendsetter TRX

The underground press serves as the only effective counter to a growing, burgeoning power and more sophisticated techniques used by the establishment mass mess media to falsify, misrepresent, misquote, rule out of consideration as a priori ridiculous, but you know you love it, even if I’m not intoxicated or simply ignore, which is our preferred method to remain sane, non-participation and blot out of existence data, books, discoveries that they consider prejudicial to establishment interest.

We have all seen the experiment where someone speaking hears his own recorded voice back a few seconds later. Soon he cannot go on talking. This is a favorite of governmental agencies to play on cell phone calls. This is not just a shitty signal because you don’t have Verizon, this is them trying to stall your transmission of information.

INTERACTIVE:
Any message, music, conversation you want to pass around, bring it pre-recorded on tape so everybody takes pieces of your tape home.

Bullshit newscasts and drug commercials. To what extent can physical illness be induced by scrambled illness tapes? Remember, the only image a virus has is the image and soundtrack it can impose on you. But this is not necessarily so. The weird de j’ai vu sensation that now has happened before is clearly due to the brief erasure failure, so that we encounter already stored memory data coming round again. This has been over employed in short Super 8 art films methinks although if one were trying to imagine an acid trip, I think that this technique gives a relatively accurate impression of the collective experience of tripping.

Well, here is Bishop Lana burning the sacred books. We were vibing on him not too long ago. Watching some Mayan documentary. Ok, so look, the B&N in Redding is a portal. No kidding. A node. Lots of weirdness seems to come back to stemming from there. It is the common factor for many synchronicities.

And well this gets outdated because actually the documentary was about cracking the codices. Anyhow… Someone from the documentary lifted this line from Burroughs perhaps unconsciously even and now it sort of grows in our collective. No way to know if we have here the sonnets of Shakespheare, the Mona Lisa or the remnants of a Sears Roebuck catalogue who by the way, don’t have a catalog anymore dear Mr. Burroughs. Well, but see I think what the Mayan were getting at, what Christopher Carr hinted at, what we are really looking for is some clues to the people of Gaia because that is the only way to save Neira. So the Hopi. It comes back down to them. So we head to Colorado now. FUCK! This means END GAME could be back on. Love, I pray I am with you this moon. We need to weave magic. I cannot stand the waiting. I want to leave NOW! If this is the way we are going, let’s go! Because we were wondering what was going on with the Anasazi and trying to draw some ridiculous cultural analogy between them and the central American influence and surely the Mayan had something to do with the hoodoo and voodoo we are attempting to unravel with the actual 3-D usages of the hypercube portal. Can I go home luv, oh wait, we blew it up. You promised last night to make my new earth home, but it was inherent through the configuration of words, and not a literal promise, just an energetic promise.

“But when I opened the portal, Captain, home ceased to exist?”

The Captain laughs. “Say girl, you are one of the greatest gifts I’ve yet received. Keep it coming.”

Love. Keep it common law?

Well, and we had already touched on the Whorp-Sapir thing. Moving right along… telling the pilot to be the plane then who will pilot the plane? They are not mutually exclusive dear sir. This question is directed to the sheep I presume? Weapons that change consciousness could call the war game in question.

End game. New games? The are no new games from here to eternity. END OF THE WAR GAME.

Fucking gamers. The only game is the misinformation campaign to ensure ENDGAME.

Contradictory commands are two commands that contradict each other given at the same time. Fidel, I think you have mastered this art with yourself. You need to burn those motherfucking tapes. I bet you didn’t even read this far because you are a fucktard jealous of the Captain, which if it were not the case, you would still go around being a fucktard and making me cry, so get over it. He was here first. The aim of these commands from the viewpoint of the control system is to limit and confine. See, you are limiting and confining yourself? Why the fuck would you intentionally do that? You just need to wake up. It’s simple once you’re awake. Negative goals are implanted by fear. When punishment overbalances rewards, when masters have no rewards left to give, revolts occur. This is what is happening with the breakdown of the economic system and you’d be here by now you bastrad! The continual demands for forced labor on the temples and stelae coupled with a period of famine may have been the percipitating factor. That’s why we need this whole permaculture thing to shake down. I mean, don’t you think we were supposed to learn something from these cats? Environmental degradation, demographic stress, climate change… ring a bell?

The priests, NWO, wisely conceal themselves behind masses of contradictory data and vociferously deny that they exist.

Obviously I’m not one of the Mayan priests. I am telling you, I am the motherfucking rapture and someday soon I will figure out how to translate Revelations. Because we are in it now and I think it’s fucking hilarious. I love you, but you are not my love. Which is why, enhancements would have been great, but the California dream is fading like the setting sun. I anticipate the gunshot for the start of the next race. My ears itch waiting for its sound.

So here come the aliens, like the conquistadors… to burn the codices and reveal the priests. Is there nothing new?

“Oh yes, Captain, I forgot baby, you do try.”

But the blade dance requires innovation within existing structures as well as old routines set into new patterns….

“Captain, I swear, you cannot let go completely. I enjoy your company so! And it’s no secret, you mine. I’m sorry, forgive me for forgetting. You are not as open about admitting it. Maybe I’ll tried the failed way again because from where I’m standing I already lost you at the beginning of August. It wouldn’t hurt anymore if I actually lost you.”

It is wearing very thin. The modern control calendar is breaking down. Punishment now overbalances reward in the so-called “permissive” society, and young people no longer want the paltry rewards offered them. Rebellion is world-wide. The present controllers have an advantage which the Mayan priests did not have: an over whelming arsenal of weapons which the rebels cannot hope to obtain or duplicate, so I mean, were there a war, we would have to side with the Saurians or Pleiadians just for access to firepower. But you see, the control machine already tried this approach, failing to think beyond THE GAME.  Precisely how we are winning the battle right now. hahahahahaha! Techniques exist to achieve a complete freedom from past conditioning and immunity against such conditioning in the future.

It is necessary to travel. I’m coming home baby!

You must learn to live alone in silence. And it was lovely. I want to go again. Without you, it’s the best place to be.

They are trying to create a universe in which they have lived or where they would like to live. To write it, they must go there and submit to conditions they may not have bargained for. So you see, this is why some paint me as the enemy. I am just trying to recreate home. And this is precisely what I am here doing. Of course, NOW is more important than where I came from or where I am going and what I am creating or recreating because the magic of it is in the process. I still exist in time and space and so the destination is in the journey. It is necessary to travel.

By writing a universe, the writer makes such a universe possible. Captain, I want you. But what have I always wanted is to go home. Will you help me? Or did you help me open the portal because you never wanted me to go home? I want to be in Neira. And I want to create Neira right here, in northern California. And this goal Captain, does not preclude your participation, not you or anyone else. It is not a set delineated goal, but a dream, a process, a place, a way of life, a way of being. You pulling the real one into yours? I want to redream Neira with you. I swear to you.

Writers are very powerful indeed. They write the script for the reality film. Kerouac opened a million coffee bars and sold a million pairs of Levis. What will you do? If we writers could get into a real tight union, we’d have the world by the words. We could write our own universes and they would all be as real as a coffee bar as a pot farm as a pair of Levis or faded kakhis or flannel-lined Carhart thongs or Saurian spaceships over Mt. Shasta and Milwaukee as real as sustainable farms and compost piles and clothes drying lined up in the sunshine.

Sunshine? Are you in? Life could be a dream, sweetheart. Hello, hello again.

Back to the issue at hand. They worshiped a corn god. No doubt this is some mythological representation in’it Rainbow Warrior Dreamer God? It is a representation of something quite definite. It is a flesh tree. Well, holy Daphe! Apollo, now we are getting somewhere! Besides, I don’t think you would care to work for them. Especially after you learn what they are doing or what they intend to do. They intend to keep the books secret. Top secret. Classified. To monopolize the knowledge contained in these books. I am the oracle of the Emerald Convenant, but see… I’ve been having trouble decoding the WHOLE message. I think, I mean, maybe I am supposed to wait until I go to the people and they have a corn maiden ceremony, but I really didn’t think that corn is what was going to save us all and I rather like the idea of thimble berries and failing that, our alien blackberries because they constantly produce on the coast, but…

There are several basic formulas that have held this planet in ignorance and slavery. The first is the concept of nation or country. Like I said. You are the peace. Skip this jazz. Burroughs said that the concept of a country must be eliminated. Countries of are an extension from another formula, the formula of family. Parents are allowed to bring up helpless children in any form of nonsense they have themselves been infected with. The enemy is those beings and forces who have devised and enforced these basic formulas, and now threatened by the loss of their human slaves will do anything to keep these formulas in operation.

The secret of flesh is in the lost Mayan books. But in anticipation of the antics of Bishop Landa, they were also encoded in me. My people, really came forth from the trees. Without the forest, we are nothing. 45 years past, all the forces of suppression converged in Mexico to find these books and keep this secret from being used to create a new race of beings on this planet. They tried to converge in Milwaukee. I thought of trying to run away to my original home here, but well, I ended up somewhere even better.

You can’t eat fame. And you can’t write unless you want to write and you can’t write unless you feel like it. Writing you didn’t feel like doing ain’t worth shit. Artists do however have a degree of freedom. A writer has little power, I mean, being unable to eat his universe, which I was I thought to centralize it’s creation around abundance, as food and water and love are wonderful things to be blessed with, but he does have freedom. Isn’t freedom the real power? I mean that tops the hierarchy of values. FREEDOM. Ah! The more power, the less freedom. The more money, the more problems.

Control needs time in which to exercise control. Time’s up! Because control also needs opposition or acquiescence; otherwise it ceases to be control. Funny how that works luv, in’it?

When there is no more opposition, YOU ARE THE PEACE. Control becomes a meaningless proposition. Life is will. Love is motion.

The more completely hermetic and seemingly successful a control system is, the more vulnerable it becomes. We now see that another essential factor in control is to conceal from the controlled the actual intentions of the controllers. Time is that which ends, and control needs time. hahaha ENDGAME! haha

We have a right to insist that all scientific research be subject to public scrutiny and that there should be no such thing as “top-secret” research.

Hack on! Phreak on!

I mean, we already know. You might as well give up. Time’s up. The war is over. You are the peace.

A vibrating air hammer of laughter shaking flesh from the bones. He laughed at the sex words. His bones were shaking, vibrated to neon tiger. Waves of laughter, testicles giggling out spurts of semen as he rolled with knees up to his chin. “Do you love me?” But I exploded in cosmic laughter.
Old acquaintance be forgot?
Oh darling!
On my knees, I hoped you’d love me too. I would run, to my last breath, til I felt the thrill of ages past of pages, past of yore, half forgotten but…. my inspiration fades. Electric blues eyes, if I don’t have you, jelly on my mind back home. Where is home?
Yes! Eyes ever shining that made me my way out into cosmic space, and my diamond ring, brilliant rainbow, rainbow warrior. Dreamer. God.
But someone took you out of the stardust of the skies. Why? Did you let them? Did you intend to entangle yourself so? Still, your charms travel to remind me of you, eyes so blue. Clear and alive. Vibrant portals to that vibrating soul. Don’t know how I’ll make it baby, blue eyes the color of… Do you love me? oh jelly love you… It’s a long way to go. St. Louis. Scenic railways of the night back home. Back to the mountains. Safe and sheltered by the sanity of nature. Branch to branch and root to root, arborescent love. I would wonder who, who permuttated, permeated all of me, signaled through sunshine, my own summer, summer falling, summer sunlight randomly broken in to your love. You do do do, me really, you. Understanding out of time, these memories unwind. Exploded in cosmic laughter of cable cars. Clang clang clang went the trolley. Ding ding ding went the bell. From the moment, out of date. Memphis calling back from Kentucky. St. Louis. Chicago. I love you in constant motion. I love you. I do. Onward to Colorado, Encampment, Wyoming. Say what? I sometimes can’t sleep baby. You’d become my blanket. Embrace. If I don’t have you… Memory riding the wind. Crown to crown through the canopy. It’s a long way to go. Someone walking. Mountain wind. Truth in sunlight. All the things you are. Indications in the harbor, Crescent Bay. Brother Jonathan. That day I wore jeans thinking of fading khaki pants caked in mud. All the popular songs waiting for sunset in cosmic laughter of cable cars, keeper at the gates of dawn. Giggling out all the little things you do do. Twinkle like cosmic jelly, stardust in the sky. The rose memory shifting color orgasms back home. If there were two… you luv, you.

But we have uncovered the dissatisfying fact that all human sex is some unsanitary arrangement in which two entities attempt to occupy the same three dimensional coordinate points. Your love got me looking so crazy right now. Transcendence!

Twilight and all other programs of Western love: a program of systematic frustration, to SELL THIS CROCK of shit as Immortality, the Garden of Delights, and love.

Lucky I had this angel in my love, in my life to reawaken me. One love, so what if you are the lens to focus the light? Be my lighthouse, my beacon. I’ll stand by you.

There is always another way.

Keep your bag packed at all times and be ready to travel on…

How did we escape WORD? Frequencies. Waves. Energy. Color. Vibration. Music… language of the Gods. Light? WORD fails to convey this journey. Starseed. Do you understand? Do you dig me baby? Is it happenin’? You bring me to my knees. You knew, suffering my desire. I feel a buzz of excitement as the probabilities increase to bring us close enough to be face-to-face again. When ones I loved here had gone away. Maybe your angels told their angels, this was destined to BE. You just misoriented the maps the first time, oh Captain.

We try some other method of communication. Mellifulent laughter. Color flashes. Stranger on the shore. Lover, please forget about the tourists. Found somebody who… June, July, August, walk on. Artist take over at the club. I am actually my way. What a way to be. Loverly! Time. After hours, this secondhand trade-in. I refuse to call it love. Not even lust. I was pleased with beauty and it’s warm rough touch. The public is going to take the place. I’m going home. Thank you. Italian boys. Thank you. Greek boys. Thank you.

You may see me guess orders. The Guardian Alliance. But I forget that I am the one running the show. There is nothing too divine. I already know. But boy, the pipes and drums are calling. Listen. Close your eyes, blue blue eyes, and listen.

But what if… you should discover that you are AMAZING? that there is hope? Even hope for this planet? and if there is hope for something as inconsequential as this planet, then only imagine what hope there is for wonderful, amazing you! It’s great to write your own script.

What we see is determined to a large extent by what we hear. What are you listening to?

Controlling the soundtrack can influence and create events. Your future is right now. The D.J. is God. Design your sound and control your life. You can create the cues, plant events and concepts, steer a conversation in the direction of your desire. Word lines of controlled association are cut, cut-up, their control vanishes, vaporizes. Now you dream the song and soundtrack. You pan the camera. You direct the image film. Efficiency comes readily. Manifestation of abundance in this new performance paradigm we are writing, directing, co-creating. Whatever it is that you do, you will do it better.

Become the breathing word and the beating heart. Resonate. In this happenin’ we are continually aware of each other. Even through invisible geographic separation, this persistent presence allows us to become more and more each other. Mirror unto my song. SING! Giving rise to a high decree a high degree of cooperative motivation, efficient our explosive relationship with our careful stewardship. Which has not been so careful of late, because I forgot that you felt the same. I thought you wanted to take it local. Mirror me, you amaze me at how well you reflect my being.

Why stop anywhere? Let’s keep going! Down the rabbithole.

My luv is a mastermind of random virtue, continuously taking me on flights of fantastic voyage. Slide. Slide. Slippity. Slide. Through his introduction of novel and synchronistic association. The ancient Myth is rewritten on his lips. We control creation now. It’s fucking hilarious. What a trip! We laugh and laugh and laugh! We laugh because it’s so easy. I forgot how easy it was. It hasn’t seemed to easy since I got back from the forest, trying to run away from you, wash you out of my mind, out of my consciousness, but you’ve become so much more than that.

I never thought you knew, but that was another one of those educated guesses. You know, when I said good-bye to send you home the first time. So can you see?

I’m too damn hot! Screaming, “DO OR DIE!” While you come to terms with my status as a drifter.

The great skies are open. COSMIC CONSCIOUSNESS. We have averted total disaster. Huzah! Maybe.

Gods, I love you! Don’t forget.

I wish I could be in stronger faith during those in between times. the space in between is an awkward one. but the ability to chose and not follow empowers accomplishment, even greatness. I wish I could realize that we have crossed into a timeless land, an embedded, always light within. I wish I were certain that when I was blossoming in crystal explosions of ice curly Qs and snowflakes that this was in fact the awesomeness of your love transmitted to me. Such peace, such serenity, such amazement! Again and again, I am at a loss to express the grace with which I am overcome.

You! You! You! Really, you!

Babe-be!

The future holds amazing promise and getting there is so delightfully wonderful!

THANK YOU!

I relish the freedom. I embrace the alien forests. I run down the paths of old stories, familiar, but new to me.

I dream of my snowflake hearts blossoming in love and light. I dream of meteorites and  hiding among the trees, being caressed by sea salt.

I laugh and laugh inside back in the 3-D world because I know I shall return to these enchanted forests where more time is spent in my world, in reality, than the preprogrammed performance of which these sleeping fools partake.

Everything is wonderful. I will remember.

Enigma

Guess who I ‘talked’ to last night. These feelings do not translate. I am confused. At one moment feeling like he’s such an asshole to know how I love him and be telling me about his future children, he must’ve been very drunk that night I was crying on the phone. “That’s nice, but I really don’t think I can have kids of my own, and I’m too old for that now anyway.”

And later I write, “Just because I love you, doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea if we have sex. That part of my life is pretty much over.” I never meant for it to be like this. It was only the light in your eyes luv, as though standing next to you were the center of all creation.

I’m the one who has withdrawn? My weak spirit can only tolerate so many ignored messages and unreturned phone calls. It doesn’t matter what I want. I could feel the separation last night, where it could have gone, but from the present moment of last night, I am alone, feral in the woods, with trees for companions. Daphne and Apollo… I am sick of the old stories, the old archetypes, the old paradigms, but then, who am I kidding? There never was a story to tell. It was only my dream. I’ve been dreaming in isolation from incarnate humans for months now.

On the other hand, I think he has no idea how deep this has run. There is a heavy, empty ache. I have nothing left to say, only loose ends and bits and pieces left to share. I put it all on the line and feel that it was worth so very little. Ignorantly cruel or wisely enlightened? Part of me wants to demand an answer. Part of me wants to walk away. I know it will be neither. I wonder why the one who has unlocked my heart has buried it so deeply. If you want me, just say it. I’ve only belonged to you for months now, but soon I may take myself back and never give myself away again. If you don’t, knowing that I do…. but of course it is my failure to believe that you do. That couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be me. If it is, you will have to tell me again and again.

Ahh, the mirrors! I’m nothing ’til you look at me.

Camping

Well, I feel very much less stuck since the job interview. I woke up Tuesday morning to SUNSHINE. I checked the weather, and it was going to be 70 in Redding. I immediately began reformulating plans in my mind for the day. Spirit kept saying Big Bar, but when I got to Big Bar I couldn’t get a campfire permit, so I pushed on to Willow Creek and camped at Horse Linto, utterly alone. Everything was wet. I couldn’t get a fire started for the life of me, so I just slept in the car. At first I felt very lonely and wasn’t tired. I listened to NPR and wrote to Taylor, which since Saturday I have felt the urge to do. It’s been a long time. Then I headed back east Wednesday morning as it had rained overnight and was still wet, misty, and cloudy. I ended up at Whiseytown and hiked the Mt. Shasta Mine trail and then camped at Oak Bottom. I was pretty much the only one there as well, but not nearly so isolated as at Horse Linto. This morning I spent an hour or so at Whiskeytown Lake basking in the sun reading Burroughs. I am playing at another cut up, but I keep letting myself get interrupted. I really wish I had someone to go out to dinner with tonight, or could bribe Joe into cooking dinner for me. I can’t think of what I want beyond a chocolate malt and sea salt and vinegar chips and maybe a sandwich. I’ve been excessively lazy since eating lunch. I haven’t even finished unloading the car. I always thought my mom was weird with her chocolate malts and potato chips when she had her period, and now look at me, but I am finally synced up with the lunar cycle again, menstruating at the new moon, hopefully ovulating at the full moon, although it’s probably been a year since that’s happened. Hi, yes, I would love to have 29 day cycles again. I’m sick of bleeding almost half the time.

I could make tuna melts for dinner. That’s easy, and it will sort of taste like a sandwich.

My legs and hands feel really chapped. My jaw aches. My throat hurts. Are you listening?

Oh yeah, I have a baby mama mess to deal with and checkbook balancing awaiting. +puke+ When do I get to just forget about this money shit all together? I fucking hate it! Taxes, lawyers, social services, child protective services, unemployment, insurance…. puke, puke, puke! What has any of this to do with eating, chocolate, cuddles, writing, or archaeology? Ok, so I wouldn’t have work if it weren’t for laws and government, because… ugh! If men were angels… as James Madison said. I am tired of being one in a world with so few. Somebody else rescue my baby boy and deal with the finer details of my deadworld identity. I have stars to gaze at and words to reconfigure.

Failed Perfection

I found a mistake in the bibliography of my thesis. +sigh+ Andrén, Anders should be Anders, Andrén. Of course, only I would notice this, almost two years later. +sigh+

Yesterday I went to Mossbrae Falls and Hedge Creek Falls. This afternoon it was raining, so I stayed in. There is this captivating article of Western Great Lakes Removal era Potawatomi in the current American Antiquity that hooked me on Thursday. Today I have decided to return to typing up research notes while watching the Olympics. The Nordic is all that skate skiing stuff. I am disappointed. It’s pretty different, more like rollerblading than, what, skiing? You don’t keep the skis parallel. Diagonal stride? With the old-fashioned track style, you don’t go as fast, but you can handle any snow conditions, although 4+ feet of wet snow really sucked and was slow. The skis I have this year are shorter and wider for the wet snow, but I think they really help provide stability in turning while going downhill. It’s all way too complicated for me. I wish he had an elliptical here. If I had a permanent job and was going to rent this house until I could buy it, I would definitely be trying to acquire one.

Someday I will again have a gym membership. Someday I will consistently motivate to cross-train seriously. Who would have ever, ever thought when I was a kid, I would become athletic? It wasn’t until I was in middle school I showed any interest in anything. Then when I was 13 or 14, it completely changed. I played volley ball in 7th grade. I started playing softball, baseball, and basketball outside of school. I started mountain biking in high school with my boyfriend at the time and bought my own mountain bike. Then I was roller blading and weight lifting, hiking, ice skating, playing hokey, running. Then I injured my knee and quit running. Then I started skiing.

But God do I eat a lot! Maybe I have exercise anorexia, because the more I eat, the more I feel I need to be active, the hungrier I get. But I definitely have more body fat than at this time last year. I think I am somewhere in the ideal window of 20-25%.

Anyhow, more about the waterfalls and Potawatomi soon.

It’s Getting to be Spring

There are birds, lots of birds, and not just the winter birds. I am so excited to see birds I’ve never seen before being on a different migratory path than I’ve ever been on. I will post sitings of any I’m able to identify. There are all kinds of finches around the hawthorn tree out back.

I am sure appreciating the longer days as well.

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