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�2006 Candor Communications


2004-03-25 - 11:10 a.m.

yeah, I meant bodhisattva


there is a passion of imagination that carries me through this life... it can be dreamed of and even felt through music and breath (words?... if two or more believe, perhaps)... it may be seen by certain eyes... but then (and remember to ask again later), who really pays attention to the finite details when so many words pour past browsing eyes (and do rhetorical questions really deserve question marks?... and what sort of irreverent conflagration of gray matter might burp forth a blip of meaningful trivia or somesuch worth your time?)... when in doubt, beware of parentheses... or even other stuff... yes, I meant here (who kapished?)...

just remember what happened last time for want of a towel...

sometimes there is so little actually happening in daily life that I have to make stuff up and since I do not lie and do not want this to be any sort of fantasy diary (because there's amble place for that elsewhere when I find time and desire to do such a thing) even though I do have other places where fantasy place a much bigger role in the rambling (and rhymes, don't forget the rhymes)... but what I do do and can live with is I set the controls (for what they are worth) in my mind on auto-pilot and fondle the inflatable doll that pops up on my lap (wait, that's a different movie... next slide please)...

this might be one of those times...

so many inspirations pass through the cranial vortex there is only one way to keep track of them and that is subconsciously because even if there was time to focus on maintaining some sort of list or comprehensive database if would be a paradox of relational data that only someone completely obsessed might be able to begin to follow... and if I could remember just where I was inspired to respond to what when the following note was written (was it you?), I would surely credit the source of inspiration (or you?), but being predominantly eggocentric or at least narcissist here in this life I loosely call mine (and not having time to search threw all the places {or you?}I've left notes over the past month or so), I present it anyway, creditless, for friends, countryfolk, posterity and the rest:


Yes, strange I can be, and your entry (or a recent one) reminded me of the time I was sitting in a part in a semilotus position listening to a girl play something on a guitar and overhearing several people having a rather serious conversation about the meaning of everything when one of them pointed over at me, or rather just over my head, and asked the people she was with if they saw "that" which later referred to some sort of aura she claimed to see around me and she said to her friends, "he must be a bodhisattva with a capital B." Personally, I don't believe in capitals.


well whatever was there meaning forth cometh to that thing when?

I know my dear Annie must be rolling around in her nearly wet undies by now (kindly laughing at me) as she watches my mind dissintergrate into fragments of thoughts that may or may not have made sense before they decomposed all over the screen... that is, when she finds time to pause in her own verbose ventilations... but then, good friends are not easy to come by (which almost sounds like an oxymoron from a particular perspective) so I am taking names and applications... wake up...

I still wish I knew erato (nikto too?) more intimately and even after all these years I would love to share passions with precious nocturna if our stars ever cross closer in the flesh and blood world, but then, that may be my meditereanean decadence rising so we'll wrap something around it and move along now...

there is a passion of transmigration or at least photography that captures the essense of the flesh that stimulate the sensory cortex vortex orsex wanting so often hidden deep within the human psyche due to ancient texts that diefy fear and reduce daily life to scavanging for scraps of manna in a wilderness, but as I was saying before I was so irrationally interrupted, we don't have to get into that just now...

sometimes I just want to let my mind go and not even follow, but then I get so dang lonely I want to cry myself a pity-party to commemorate the opening of my new movie, Nobody Loves Me starring no one of any matter but absorbing all photons and positive energy for several miles in all directions in multi-dimensions... but you need not fret or frown (or worry, even), for there is no point when nother else matters... just believe...

and when I feel like chocolate I touch myself...

ruminating spheres of influence converge at some point overhead (or within the space between the ears) only to taunt the thirst and tickled the hunger and what can a body do when faced with extinction or assimilation if not find a comprmise or a way out, but not everything is a game or a win-lose situation unless you believe in endings and finity which leads nowhere so I hate to burst your bubble Brain, but Pinky had the right idea all along... Madonna knew, and so did the horse she rode in on... and maybe Elvis... definitely Wacko, though...

of course there is the ethereal respect due so many I have never touched in the flesh and when I link to other places I am paying tribute and sometimes offering thought (or food for it) and sometimes randomly selecting a page or few from the soon to be trillions of pages out there in cyberspace just to pick at your sense of reasoning or linear thought or creative muses, even... and then I read this:


"Three or four threads may be agitated, like telegraph wires, at the same time, and if I were to tap them all I would reveal such a mixture of innocence and duplicity, generosity and calculation, fear and courage. I cannot tell the whole truth simply because I would have to write four journals at once."
~ Anais Nin, Journals 1932


and all at once I realized a relation with some fame and fortune (or maybe none of either) left such wonderful logic behind that I was inspired to produce my own brand of manic-depressive powder essence and sprinkle it here and there along the infromation highway... and then came candora who, a little like Bronson (though not nearly so cool), actually (eeek) experienced something way too close to (and it felt worse than) this:


"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, dont blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two. But sometimes the petals fall away and the roots have not entwined. Imagine giving up your home and your people, only to discover after six months, a year, three years, that the trees have had no roots and have fallen over. Imagine the desolation. Imagine the imprisonment." ~ Louis de Bernieres, 1994, Captain Corellis Mandolin


and nothing nothing nothing is the same (was that from an old Barbra Streisand song or something maybe from a Broadway musical, not Phantom of the Opera or Jesus Christ Superstar or any such star crossed lovers or savior, but people who need people, at least... oh, can we imagine the googles this entry might receive, and we haven't even whored with the sex drugs and rock and roll words yet like the young girl who shaved her pussy only to find it rubbing itself up against everything because it itched so and there's another song in there where the skin came off but nobody would believe it was about a bald cat)...

were you looking for a point?...

anyway, what amazes me is that there is any hope at all, no less always... this entry began with a reason in a different season and didn't come to rhyme even after all this time mostly because this is the prose place where daily life is expunged or expounded upon in free associative parodies and random phrases often called babbling by those in the know (be careful when you sit down because the gap in the back of the gown doesn't cover the whole seat and the chairs can be quite cold... and if one more person tells me my crack is sexy I think I might want to find one for myself)...

if I had a million dollars, I'd be rich...

but seriously, I'd be able to return to the life of luxury retirement that I know less than a decade ago (barely) and in that relaxed place I'd focus all of my energies on finding the one who lives in harmony with me and together we'd actualized the passion of honest love and truth in innocence that birth often renews in humans... instead, I present this borrowed quote (thank you):


But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."
~ W. B. Yeats ~


life does not flow evenly all the time, in case you did not know this... it ebbs and haws and does other oddly wave-like things that may or may not be related to quantum fluxuations or super string theory (and Sir Issac Hawkings just stepped out to smoke an apple so redeem yourselves and your rebate coupons before the worm turns)... it has been some time since I watched, no less lived porn... so go forth now, or in a few minutes, and multiply...

but first, when reaching for a higher plane of consciousness one must always be sure to have their ticket stamped at the gate and refrain from making any jokes about bombs or shouting a friendly greeting to your friend Jack while trying to maintain sanity in line, waiting is the hardest part, as we all know, but if and when you do reach that place please remember to extinguish all flammable products and to secure all carry on baggage in the overhead compartment...

did you catch the great bod on the flight attendant?...

oh sure, now how many people do you think actually stuck around to scroll down this far and read this paragraph and those who are still free to use the phone or public transportation (no less drive a car) might have dared reach out and touch someone with some rare and irresistible compulsion to know more and come a little bit closer cara mia why, his will be done...

attva boy...

mockery will get me laughing, especially if it is of the self variety, for I am of the self-mocker persuasion and no amount of reasoning will convert me to any other form of spiritual uplifting... after all, who knows how completely ridiculous it is to be me better than I do?... and that, my dear friends and odd strangers, is why...

now let this be a lesson for you all...






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