doubt

Have I ever seen a hard day in my life?
The logical side says, what is a hard day;
The other side says, true.

 Its the way we speak we must watch.
Perhaps we have seen a hard day or two,
Perhaps our intentions aren’t all that bad after all,
And its true that different people show these things in
 Different ways.

 What adds to the fear is a lack of certainty.
Am I doing enough?
 Am I doing what I say I am doing?
Will I get to where I am headed?

 And while we have our internal regulator for these things, It seems the external ones (the people whose opinions we respect)
Can quickly destroy whatever roadmap we thought we had.
 Perhaps a balance is what we need to know our roadmap Satisfies the tests of validity.
 But it seems guilt is a motivator.

How to figure out the boundaries of selfishness is the problem.
 Is this innate, and if so, it is very fragile because of how we look to others.
 Even our internal regulator seems to be determined through interactions externally.
Our portrait in the manor is already tainted if it hangs there;
But yet our portrait is what we rely on most.
I am sick of doubt.

Ahh yes...Cuban 'B'.

Samson: I'm gonna take your little Mexican friend here and I'm gonna kill him.

Scarface: I'm Cuban, b!

Samson: Yes, Cuban B!

Ivan

Swat Slap ____

Hemingway

Hemingway talked about something like death in the morning. When it comes, I would say that is the joyous period. As the day progresses, thoughts accrue and they slowly erode the progress of before. so: Death in the morning; so clear.

X,Y,Z

so you say X, I say Y, therefore Z;
if X and Y never meet, Z covers the spectrum;
if X and Y don't meet, Z resides in the spectrum;
if X and Y equate, Z comes down to essentially nothing.

whats the spread, then, now?
and what ought it be?
so you say X, I say Y, therefore Z.

golden days

holding to the golden standard;
raking into account "the practical"
as if it were objective, essential,
existent on its own.

predeterminations are the killer of our golden days.

mended

i lament lost relationships;
i wonder what could be if they were mended.

Punctuation in Reality (I am just too busy to hear the start)

Wine,
horizon,
shooting colored light;

I,
dazzled and amazed,
watch the spectacle;
it disappears into the abyss below,
from where I am standing, on high:
cliff, distance, blackness.

One thought can run for miles;
I can try to chase it (I think) ,
will I win (I think) ? (abbreviated)

I might run anyway (I think), it looks like fun (I think).

Gulp..(Wine)

Attached, stifled breath, bag, rocks, light….
Dragged across the rocky terrain, left for dead.

Face: sunburned, bearded fellow, seeing through
fateful prisms; staggering, wandering, no direction.

Heartbeat ( … … … … ), are you there?
Motorcycle, diner, “may I help you?”

Distortions, blended, stirred, sedimented… in→to mind;
how to move convention to institution;
flex the mind from the natural to the theoretical attitude?

Anomalies abound, I lose the upper hand (I think).

information ----> ______

information ----> ______
what is it about anomalies that attract information?
we burn a hole in our minds trying to answer questions;
it's a biological tick.

this certainly is not an exit...

everything is not tidy!
nothing WILL be tidy

a computer wizard once told me:
with electronic information, moving towards permanance is moving in the wrong direction
(ok, so it was just gary who said that)

is anything permanent in this oxydizing world?

the tension that exists as my static state of being is in direct relation to the tidiness of things

and the reality that this pursuit is futile does not open some relief valve and WOOSH there goes my unease, no, it's constant

rivendell will never be clean, the suburban will never be finished

in 8th grade as we graduated middle school, they asked us to write our goal under our yearbook picture. i wrote: "to be satisfied with myself"
What kind of 8th grader writes that????? and who wants an unatainable goal? Wow, what was I on?

and there's no road map for this sort of thing. it is now that you are supposed to find God. Or some epiphone happens when you stumble and hit your head. Or you lose something irreplaceable. Or you sign up for ECT and end up like McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Or you buy something valuable. Or you destroy something special.

Is this life an escalator that only goes the speed that I trod?

I feel like a combine shredding everything in my path and leaving it in a pile behind me....