literal skullduggery, sneaking about.

Hello to the words on the page! When we meet it is like pictures in the mind; it is like slipping behind a mask made of smoke and speaking in the voice of a stranger; it is transformative. Thank you words, I am flabbergasted, amused, and terrified. We are trapped inside the fortress of the skull, protected yet besieged. Following the cyphers, the little black blotches that drip down into the cellars of memory, we traverse time inside an invisible cloak woven from the strands of someone else's hair. Don't toss the garment off too quickly, to reveal oneself here is to forfeit knowledge and break the spell. Besides, the path lies marked out before us. All we have to do is follow and all is revealed.

is you is or is you ain't misbehavin'?

We might as well continue posting, dear Earthling readers. Why, stopping would be like admitting defeat. It may be the case that admitting defeat has some virtue, but if one looks around at the state of human affairs today, a realistic approach to life appears no more useful than any other. It is hard to live a life of repressed emotion. The doctors will prescribe pills to bridle the symptoms. These pills have a mellowing effect upon the spring and neap tides of feelings. However, increased anxiety is often a side-effect. The doctors will prescribe pills to rein in the anxiety. Getting up in the morning may become somewhat of a struggle. There is medicine that doesn't come in pill form. It helps to rejuvenate the stultified imagination and return feeling to an otherwise emptying life. Here is an example:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCQfTNOC5aE

buzzing in the ears

They have asked why "good enough" is not "good enough". They wonder what might be required to make "good enough" an acceptable option. Olympic athletes refuse to accept "good enough" until all possible attempts at something better are made (with the exception of some badminton players). Non-athletes do this too: lawyers, doctors, artists, musicians. Those who rise to the top, find a place in the collective consciousness of an era, a lifetime, a decade, a weekend, all refuse to live with "good enough". Do they not?

Is there always a dangling neuron rebelliously sparking in the brain-stem of a human being, even after some great accomplishment has been achieved, greater heights have been reached, telling the human being that to settle with that accomplishment, however lofty, is to accept "good enough"? Or, if the mountain has been scaled first, or fastest, or without oxygen, or while hopping backward on one foot, why does that same doubtful neuron wonder why it hadn't been done better?

There is room for improvement, and this is a good thing. There is a balance to achieve between improvement and acceptance. So often, attempting improvement is overwhelming and acceptance, at the realization of this fact, receives a powerful lashing from an electrified ganglia. The result of imbalance is a fall. The outcome of a fall is often injury and sometimes death. An injury can be healed, death is inevitable. Healing and growing is better than dying and rotting. Healing and growing are "good enough" and allow a return to balance.

from you tube to yours

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPoK1lryfh4

The above link will lead you to a little piece of the 50s jazz pie, courtesy of Charles Mingus.
Much love,
Zmz

P.S. Jenny, if you happen to read this, look for sumas bignose on the book of faces. She has returned.

a little something

There comes a time in an intimate relationship between two human beings when, well past the honeymoon, and after frustration and doubt have faded to whispered memories on the edge of unconscious minds, time itself begins to surge forward while appearing at each moment standing stock-still. For better or worse, this new era in the two lives hardens them into one sublime existence. Familiarity is said to breed contempt, but complacency is another child of the union. How the relationship decides to nurture its infants in the ensuing period of time becomes its prime concern.
The halting, rushing nature of time is at once astonishing and terrifying, offering boundless possibilities and absolute deadlines. The united beings have achieved a new kind of adulthood, regardless of what has led them here. This is especially so if, regardless of the sexual nature of the people, child rearing is involved.

Mer and Jim have begun to call one another Momma and Daddy. There are more and more moments in their life together that see them in such plumage. They never suspected that they would arrive here, and yet, here they are.

bugs

I like bugs. I miss their easy society in the cold winter months. If I were a bug I would want to be an ant: not for the work-load but for the aesthetics, the look. Male ants, so I've heard, exist only to make larvae with the queen of their colony. I would not like this, shocking as it may seem to any hot blooded human male. I would not miss insect society were I an ant, even a female one. I would long for winter when the work would have to stop (in the higher latitudes at least). But, as a human, at that time of year, I miss them. Is that sadistic?

meandering thoughts revised

The heavens can teach us about things like the space between one thing and another, the distance between our perceptive capabilities and what is. Observation brings new interest in life and inspires thinking. Without thoughtfulness, instincts overwhelm and "what is" loses some of its meanings.

Think of instincts as the mechanics of self-sustenance in the face of impending death.

With death, a new cycle or new part of a cycle for that matter that we once were. It is not all negative, it spurs living things onward.

If a god moves to pick its nose does a universe full of stars come undone? That nagging idea of the Big Bang being just another small atom of something larger.

Sub-creation: Art: making something novel from observable bits and pieces we can hobble together. Creation has happened, or is it always happening? If the latter, then our art is part of it. Still, new things cannot be created... but old things can be reshaped. Can human beings be true creators? Or only breeders and alchemists, a catalyst in the larger, on-going Creation?
The Creation is the forward flow of time, or it creates this flow, or it is the result of this flow....
Both are undeniable to the senses. We are fixed in the flow of Time and Creation but our alchemy or art can allow the miming of stepping outside Time and mortality.