"Hence the ways of men part: if you wish to strive for peace of soul and pleasure, then believe; if you wish to be a devotee of truth, then inquire..."
100 trillion cells.
Sleepers and the free radicals.
Stereotypes blasting away signals
to the next phase of growth.
The old man on the mountain knew the Power of Silence.
The old man of the desert knew to do a little good but not be noticed.
Behind walls
they sit waiting.
Stimulus feeds spoonful after spoonful of vibrations
The trenches are for the type without morose for the morbid.
Selflessness and ego death are co-morbid.
Find yourself alone in the depths of merciless suffering,
beyond the azimuth
until you have found too much.
Decide that you have gone to(o) "Far" and know that place like home.
Do not struggle but embrace the fact,
the past was hard and there is no going back.
Today, a Vietnam veteran named Jerry came up and introduced himself. A Nurse and two Soldiers.
He kissed me on the forehead. Love you too Jerry.
Love you my Veteran Brothers and Sisters. Those that serve the Super Organism, and those that are Ronin.
So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.
I came upon a child of God He was walking along the road And I asked him, "Where are you going?" And this he told me...
I'm going on down to Yasgur's Farm, I'm gonna join in a rock and roll band. I'm gonna camp out on the land. I'm gonna get my soul free.
We are stardust. We are golden. And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.
Then can I walk beside you? I have come here to lose the smog, And I feel to be a cog in something turning.
Well maybe it is just the time of year, Or maybe it's the time of man. I don't know who I am, But you know life is for learning.
We are stardust. We are golden. And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.
By the time we got to Woodstock, We were half a million strong And Everywhere there was song and celebration.
And I dreamed I saw the bombers Riding shotgun in the sky, And they were turning into butterflies Above our nation.
We are stardust. Billion year old carbon. We are golden.. Caught in the devil's bargain And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.
Cognitive dissonance is the measure of interaction these days.
Periodically representing a moment to grow. Whether that means leaving or staying to trade.
Not enough time to do this anymore. The courtesy of disposition is wearing me thin. I haven't got enough fat to chew.
Opaque and not revealing.
Transferring energy from one to another can be like sleight of hand, but the illusion can be so cunning that the performance is completely lost. Just don't be stupid and explain yourself for the sake of understanding.
Understanding is mutual. Otherwise it is incongruous with the nature of explanation.
Leaving you feeling short changed and in debt to that shit taste in your mouth.
Or that wet withdrawal of lubricated finger tips after a prostate examination.
The trade is simple. The cost is infinite. For the departure never arrives. Only the reception of something so familiar before being swallowed in the Three Negative Veils of Existence.
the call of a Ronin, speaks of his cause: Troma Nagmo
Dear friend, your work is a salve. An anesthetic for the binary dilemma.
It remains an appetite that entropy has yet to demolish. In fact,
Last night's dream was lucid and grossly involved.
It was "Brain" from Houston. His gross teeth shitting through his narcissism.
Bunny was there. He was harassing us in some two story suburban home. He had a hand gun that he waved from side to side in front of our faces.
He finally came forward towards Bunny and I pulled my blade. I failed to lock it out and he lunged at me. Dropping his weapon in the process. I retained control and shoved the no locked blade into his right lung. I was in the mount and jumped off, dragging the serrated blade across the ribs; skipping like fingers on a chain link fence. In and out a few, to make sure.
We turned toward the door but not without a second glance. He stood immediately a charged. The dream began to suffer the inevitable latency that occurs when rhythms grow more complex than the circadian.
This time I drove the blade into his right cheek with my right hand. With a a slow motion grind I buried the handle deep between his lips and sheered the thin pink meat off the sides of those plaque stones.
No effect. The motion remained in lag and the fatigue set in. Finally, I dropped him to the ground and planted the seeds of hate deep in his chest. He was dead. Bunny stopped screaming. The dream shifted...
No Bunny, someone else? Green Arbor Apartments. I could see (via some sort of remote viewing) twin f17's flying over and dropping something. I knew quick enough to leap before the flash. Just as I did the light spilled out of the door. A weapon stood in the distance. It's figure uncertain but its authority clear. I knew from training that I had only moments to reach cover.
Just then, the latency rolled in with my cynicism. I was held mid-jump and the gravity sank with the speed of the bomb. I , on the other hand, remained fluid and enjoyed a full cigarette as I slowly fell four feet into the cold hard concrete.
I crawled behind a wall and woke up.
I woke soaked with cold sweat. Twisted in a pile of blankets. A twisted gut. My mood was distorted severely. Performed the Star Ruby before Resh. Highly effective when followed by a hot shower and art.
A depraved Leonard Cohen song. That's the shade of this character. Spent long hours with shadow's and mirrors. Neither of which, had definition or tangibility.
This has become old hat and deserves to be hung up. Taking the boots off at the door has always been a persistant battle. Yet in the struggle one forget to remove the old hat. This is really silly and caricature.
Yet authentic and genuine.
It is time to really go into Liber Thisharb again.
∞ have had a series of revelations lately that have modified things significantly.
Linji Yixuan
∞ will be going into the past and recollecting and producing the volumes in written form.
Henry Miller
This soul seems familiar.
∞ will have to get back into the "nothing box" and try the alternative method of compartmentalization.
Considering the past, leads to this suspicion that institutionalization, if properly achieved, can yield results that simply will not perform! Perhaps that is what can be said of this particular case. The survival and endeavor reset some mechanisms. Several causes distorted communication with other organisms. This "phenotype" resists the harmonious integration despite the possibility of being aligned with some sort of xenophobia.
This irrationality generally results in exposure to injury and hazardous schema. Drawn, if not compelled to pursue these limits. A mutation cannot expect to thrive if isomorphism is not engaged, and opportunities to evade elimination are not sourced. A free radical rhizome.
"Oh! Sea of hurt, I feel the waves of pain And now the tides come in again I'm caught in a vicious cycle of despair Give me the courage to face another day, oh!
Oh, sing a song of joy Sweet childhood, never desert me Time for celebration, oh! Overcome with a sense of elation I'll never let you get to me Survival is my victory Time for celebration, oh! Overcome with a sense of relation
I sat in silence, I was mourning I said sorry a thousand times I cried aloud to God from all my failings But God seemed deaf as well as blind, oh!
Oh, sing a song of joy Sweet childhood, never desert me Time for celebration, oh! Overcome with a sense of elation I'll never let you get to me Survival is my victory Time for celebration, oh! Overcome with a sense of relation
We drank and smoked and talked until the dawn We shared our problems and our food Telling tales of courage and resolution Through all the hardships we'd endured, oh!
Oh, sing a song of joy Sweet childhood, never desert me Time for celebration, oh! Overcome with a sense of elation I'll never let you get to me Survival is my victory Time for celebration, oh! Overcome with a sense of elation"
"it's like,...every time in my life... I'm trading with you..." (he laughed)
-Rhys Rogers
That is why I am here my friend. I love you.
Rhys and I listened to an audio version of this before bed the other night. Great story. He was shocked at the thoughts that came across the man's mind. This was more me than him?
Courtesy of Benjamin Tucker
This is punishment for Rhys. He had some infraction at school. He needed some attention that week. He called from school and was moaning over some minor eye injury from a flying pig carcass. It was Earth Day, so Diego and I picked him up and took a trip out to the Little Spokane River. Rhys got to see colorful tick be dispatched. If only the deterrent I might apply next time would provide the same effect on the parasites that gave me a 237.00 ticket. Rhys saw some justice that day. A ten year old tears through legality like a dope fiend through a meth mule infant. Oh, back to 451...He admitted that he was a bit lost on it, but he was clear after we discussed things. I ordered the movie which should serve to end his sentence for now.
He pierced his ears this month-built an aquarium-learned basic compass methods and shooting an azimuth- He and Sebastian led the younger two with our child labor garden in the back yard. Rhys is also enduring a Portuguese only version of his father. He has been pleasant about it.
Speaking of...
This month a human drama occurred. Death resulted. Just as in every story of life. That is all there is. A faint memory and the velocity of living with the ability to engage time-binding. Unless you enjoy disrupting that, and involving yourself with surface tension experiments. Like this:
"What you are now, we used to be; What we are now, you will be."
Last month's Liber Thisharb post was quite an experience. A revealing arrangement. Another installment is in preparation.
Leviticus 19-27 Month Three
Didn't have last month by the tail. Playing catch up, here's Month Two:
I had some training injuries and that has put me on bedrest. Several physical tasks have been postponed or delegated. Even went to an acupuncturist last week. The electrical needles are much more stimulating if you ask me.
Things have been quite busy around here lately. Which is incredibly good.
Last month's favorites:
Storey's Guide to Raising Rabbit's provided a wealth of information. Especially addressing key concepts often overlooked by amateurs. I have a hutch design that Rhys and I will be completing this week. The design didn't come from this book however. It came from these great people:
This was a library find and it stole my vision from the shelf.
In days it was consumed. Truly a gem of counter-journalism. A gift for all those who may perceive it's inherent value.
Some titles occlude themselves from the mainstream yet this surfaced in library featured section. This causes me to find an unknown warmth passing affluently through my sense and intoxicating my mask with pleasure.
This Animation was very well done. I was in severe pain the morning I watched it. A knee injury.
The intense presence of hot angry pain was incredibly at peace with its opiate based relief. Rhys says he will check it out later with me.
This man continues to influence me with his observations and ideas though he has been a long time off.
Fiddler's green:
"Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.
Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green."
Prior to hearing of this diet
I had been experiencing serious digestive issues. After reading "The New Evolution", the term biomechanics came to mind. There are other books out there, but I have only read this one thus far.
This book is huge. Great recipes. My shit is looking pretty good. Feeling a lot better.
