Sorry for repost.
Seemed timely.
Author: writtencasey
I am fascinated by the scientific endeavor and I read about or engage with those processes as much as possible. I am a compulsive reader and writer.
With a background in anthropology and as an arm-chair/backyard scientist, I hope to improve my writing skills and learn about any areas of weakness or misunderstanding in my analytic skills.
I am excited to share. Thank you for spending time here.
Please reach out if you are so inclined. I'd be excited to hear from you.
The Nature of the Forest Today
This is juxtaposition
This is not syncretism.
Chains trying to work in nature.
Snake espied. First thing.
Black
&
Sea Foam, cool green.
Longitudinal and kindly striped
safe.
Per se.
Feedback on me.
Otherwise, the robin in the rain makes better company currently.
Such a saucy fellow.
Showers always made
him…
…wait for it.
The sky confused and
confusing time changing.
Protective turns opulent in opalescence.
The beauty of opening.
The beauty of splaying.
Time-resistant skin.
Elegant rhinosarus-dermis.
Still moist, somehow.
Meets the confusion of curves.
Collective noun style.
In ever widening circular cases of you, ewe.
In you.
You in.
I hear you, here.
Look at you bellowing, pretty thing.
Cottonwood seed absorbs in its resonant, spidery remains.
Arching in ecstasy.
Boughing and bowing
Bowled over.
Divisors.
Create foam.
Some tire so completely
they resurface on their
backs
and asleep.
Three such gents just this week.
Suppose it makes the fly’s feast.
Do you remember meeting here?
Where tree grows out of
stone.
Dog esshit or esshinola?
The buzzing of the approaching nearing the a’spread.
Alit on the globe.
Buzz, you say?
Humm, is what I say.
Also, Howl.
Late Night Con-side-ration
He asks me: Do you know the distinction between ‘conceal’ and ‘reveal’?
I ask him: Is it a con-, rev-?
Gigg
Ell.
Balance & Proportion (News After Rain)
Wary berry blooms protect their own.
Just because bizarreness manifests does not mean it is unfriendly.
Though sometimes I relish your impatient sounding voice of exposition.
Giggle.
Who ever said it would be easy?
The last bit of seed supplants itself, even unto the blacktop of ass-fault/y/.
. {Hopeful} .
The early days of summer are the dying days of spring.
Seedlings waiting to naught-be
In
Vain
And take true blue
Root-
Ed.
Dead leaves from other tomes fallen and caught by wooden paper and branches
wearing white, kid-gloves.
A lady’s fingers.
Lady-fingers. Fingers hanging down and reaching up.
The gate entering the wetland and off-leash area is lush today.
A coyote trotted before me two days ago. I thought it was a German Shepard.
He grinned from ear to ear.
The heron appeared twice.
Humid and water-heavy.
The colors hang incorrectly correct.
Let your spine chill or feel your own fear.
Impeccability in being over time without attempting but always trying.
Hail.
The crane that reaches after being broken.
Its own feathers have become moss it may molt then eat
Regeneration of self.
If you want to take a tripe trip.
Drink the swill and see the seepage of the col(our)s’
Saturation.
Oil from the trails from shimmering slugs.
Nautical foliage present like rocks that move on accord of their own.
Forest coral corrals.
The summer eyes of the serpent peer in protective ampersand near-maleficent passion.
In through the nose, out through the nose;
In through the nose, out of the mouth;
In through the nose, out through the nose;
In through the mouth, our through mouth;
In through the nose….
Juxtapose and toes.
Watch “PJ Harvey – Ecstasy (Peel Session)” on YouTube
No rights, just homage.
Throw on your best pair of cans.
If your device gives you any grief, acknowledge and waive your right to not damage your ears.
Some sound walls are worth the resultant hearing damage.
Smile.
Shower riffs and drips
Hot
Then cold
Water
Diabolical
Pendulous.
The twist of a circle
A lobster boiling in a shower stall.
Slow breath
From the shudder shock of
A sure stock
Maverick
Unmarked.
A’howl at a new moon.
Like everytime
But, anew.
Getting the feels
At every hint of the new news.
Tell your aunt you did what you said.
Made
Got
And slabbed before anyone else could grab.
Shake and look you in the face.
Where’d you get the notion that a sea is an ocean?
Disposition Reflection
Doorways, arches, and gates.
Magic.
My repetitions are a fact.
Tree roots gnarl like the five fingers of one hand.
Wisps of ether become yours in the visible spectrum.
Everyday.
Plain
Magic.
It is in our air.
Scandalous fleshed exposure of a barely leafed tree.
How can you feel on stage in a clearing alone?
Prowling.
Stalking words on stilts over creeks.
Let us fly our kites here.
My stone panther re-enlivens from winter as a summer moss.
Humid and heavy on the trees.
New from the Forest: Throwing Shade & Sunshine
The high wind shook and shimmied the foliage-heavy forest like a candle flickers the refraction of light on my white door.
Cotton(wood) splays itself across the path like nymphs waiting to be swept up in collection. Spattering of coral-esque moss. Sea foam green.
My spine becomes alit. Some exhalations come out like breath on a cold day.
The first few days of summer in the forest, we see as ampersand from below before we can see from above.
Death of the early summer days. Dead moleskin leathering in the sun. Pecked out banana slugs, the spoils of the war of the early birds.
Snakes sun mid-path, unconcerned with your intrusion.
Ten feet later this sun vanishes. Ten minutes, later on, it returns.
I cross eight and one half bridges. But, there are only five bridges.
Life begins as rabbits run into brambles. Fresh, with ears not fully grown.
(Groan).
Ducklings fatten on the now enshallowed Salmon Ladder pond.
I still espy you, sweet and lovely dummy.
Seated among the tall grass like a forested catacomb.
The first of the summer berries ripen.
Ruddy gold.
Bloody red.
Some
(already em-)purpled.
The serpent’s red eyes open.
From “The Way of CHUANG TZU”
“The invention
Of weights and measures
Makes robbery easier.”
Parciful’s Own New Intro
Start
So now, gather round the children and elders, as I will tell a tale of once, way back when we all lived in the forest. I assure you the tale is nothing if not both authentic and novel. I readily admit the probable likelihood that you will dispute this axiom once I have told the tale. Saying you have heard it somewhere before.
What conclusions have I, I will deduce for you now–
The situation persuading you that my tale is not novel and authentic, is itself my empirical evidence I assert supports my axioms of novelty and authenticity. For all we are is tales of once, way back when.
Put in different words, we are (the) story, our lives are the stories of the story. The story/ies allow us to experience being a person.
What it is “to live a life.”
Anthropologists study man and groups of men.
Anthropologists believe it necessary to define their object of study concisely and explicitly before any other work may be done.
Anthropologists say “humankind” instead of “mankind,” now.
Anthropological professors at universities all begin their first day lecture with a projected digital slide of Indiana Jones on the projector screen. And, they say, “Anthropology is not Indiana Jones.”
I throw up in my mouth a little. Who said it was?
A biology professor once told me that he studied what it meant to not not be alive. Highly instructive once I got over the voice yelling “h0wl pretentious.” Giggle, just because someone is paranoid, for example, does not mean they are incorrect in their assertion. A drug addict told me that a decade ago. I think he fixes cars now.
VVonderland Minor. 2009.
You Seeking That?
I cannot
me
I want to
Music hooks my attention. If ‘decent,’ it moves through my spine like currents.
Time changes.
Threaded to be unwound
Like a record’s groove.
Linear thread to unwind in the minotaur’s maze.
Did you bring your own thread this time?
Trying to attune to the ephemeral and corporeal energetic grid.
Doing in contribution, perhaps sight unseen.
Tao.
Tao of the mystic
Doubt everything and everyone
while
simultaneously
trusting people and things to be who and what they ‘are.’
Method of attempted peace and openness.
An alarming ‘joke’ i heard abroad
“It cannot possibly be true, so I won’t even trouble you with the notion,” he said.
“What notion?”
“Well, the Orwellian idea that America is a corporation. But it cannot possibly be true.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, you know the curse of ‘why not’?”
Taken from Recollections of Sartre
Words are, for some, living creatures.
They persist in being and as such they insist on being noticed. The bound and covered, silent sirens contained on the leaves between the book’s cover.
If words live, then literature can possess.
If I read and share the a sentence that crossed Plato’s eye and mind too, has time and distanced ceased?
If most celebrated literature spouts from the community of dead authors, their words become free of their original sin of the author(s) having possessed physical existence. The sentences are not devalued by the messy work of the author living his/her life at this point. The lens becomes free from the shackles of selfhood. The lines now belong to the public. There is no greater authority to which they may appeal, who will explicate their “true” meaning.
In the Company of the Moon
In the company of the moon, H. tells me:
“Come, woman–here is shelter from the rain ampersand sun, to warm your coldness and dry your dripping self. I have brought these to ease your mind.”
But, a perpetually stubborn, broken woman am I:
“No, H. I rebuke your compassion and love and block out all rays of your light. I refuse to accept everything for which I beg. I’d rather be here yelling for shelter, warmth, and dryness than actually receiving my heart’s desire.”
But, never deterred, H. is a’glee.
“I like to play with you too.”
and by my side he remains today.
Watch “Junior Kimbrough – God Knows I Tried (Full Album)” on YouTube
No rights, pure homage.
Dig it.
Silence. Again.
Why had she said so much?
Why did she not listen?
Again? Selfish?
She knew it kinda hurt.
So, she wo/andered as she wa/ondered.
Could 24 hours of her silence help her hear?
Speak, please.
If you wilt.
She is patient.
Brewing
She did not put the coffee on until twelve past twelve.
She ‘got up’ at half seven, but the a.m. sprinklers
Churned themselves from their subterranean domain
They sounded like hard rain.
Her hair was in a state.
She did not get that kettle she kept intending.
One cup at a time. Sensible.
And she liked the noise.
She wrote she five times about herself.
Too much.
Time to take to toes.
Humm
Audacious but also perspicacious.
You are specious?
Mavericks engage, enjoin, but remain unbranded unless approached.
Preempting pretensions of perhaps not.
Predating any prior existing periodicity,
Yet, í would still underwrite your risk again.
She keeps the tiny medal from your coat’s
Attached to original brown bag wrapping.
She sleeps by it every night.
The true meaning of í am almost always thinking of you
Right,
exactly,
Now.
She had learned sleeping is tiresome.
Right side, fetal about the pillow to consider this
Left side to mediate the other side.
On my back when a moment is needed.
That it hurts a little.
That mystery of an unknown answer holds me fast and securely.
Could he and it too quicken?
I Dreamt of Colours Last Night
The gestures of cabals coalesced into pure essences, last night. They were aswirl, tangled, hurt, confused. Friction turned into chaos of animals eating their legs right off to escape perceived traps.
Trap-doors.
I dreamt the resolution of vermillion and onyx is a lava flow. I conjuncted yellows and all others into the medley.
Menhirs via heated igneous.
Potentialize
energy
‘Parzifal’ notes
P. thought “only by passive love will he prevail.” Is verse from book VII only made in response to the A.’s first request of the seer: “make herself perfectly passive” in order he might communicate freely.”?
Hummm. Still working on wtf we have here in terms of meaning.
WrittenCasey 