“I bet you do,” she said.
Catchling you are; because you run, to be caught, from those chasing you, ewe.
Linearity asymmetrical.
Askew. Ask you.
A queue already asking (for) you.
You said that.
Asking, “Who knew”
Category: Uncategorized
Slapped By The Sun in the Forest
The sun shocks the forest today.
What looks like white flowers turn out to be hard rays of light slapping against the greenery.
Just dots of rays slicing through.
Strange yellows descend into the green haze. White Light.
Heat of the summer begins.
Before
(The shaded stele.)
After
Someone wore a white sox.
Bugging flowers.
Buzzing flies and humming bees.
Hiss and Hush
and you can creep right up and observe.
Who went here? I w/o/ander.
The visual heat of the light makes it easier to see a thing by the shadow it is
casting.
Roots reaching.
Balling out and into.
Creating
A lee.
Shelter and cover.
Shade being thrown over you.
The cottonwood graces those spiderwebs which are so finely spun they are only indicated by the cottonwood snow.
Flight caught from above and below.
A containment of water.
A o O 0
A circle almost completed.
Ferns shade a shallow empoolment of liquid.
The evaporation will be affected.
Effect of dissipating one state of matter
into
another one.
Water Moving.
Water Still.
Re-
fleck-
ting.
A very tiny rabbit hole, unless you are tiny.
Light falling on water
Hidden in the corner.
Glassy separation not frozen.
Inching.
To the edge.
These are the chambers.
There are levels.
Of a ladder.
Alice says.
Four out of five days a new mole surfaced only to fall asleep
Again.
Again.
Again.
Not-again.
Again.
It does seems delightfully inane
It does not make sense, giggle.
As much as it does not make sense to…
…ask if the metric is true & the imperial system/s fake.
If the Cartesian (Descartes had strange experiences with letters on a train) coordinates are true and the polar coordinate systems of geometry that are non-Cartesian are false.
One geometry can not be truer than another geometry.
It (one over the other) can only be more convenient.
AND
There is nothing wrong with a bit of convenience.
Effie’s Dream Notes
Effie keeps a notepad @ her bedside w/ the intention of recording her dreams while they are still fresh. It was a challenge to remember about it when she first began. But, after nearly a decade, she did it involuntarily, it was a natural bodily function.
Like
Blinking.
She had to remind herself just as much as she had to remind her heart to beat.
She records whatever seems relevant in that boundary dynamic of sleepfulness and waking.
Unsleeping;
she does it w/o intending to do it. Reading back thru what she wrote, it was as tough as though
it came from a stranger’s pen
is some other than her own pen.
is not.
Many times, recently, her notes were statements of facts; assertions of knowledge gleamed from some ungnown authority. At first, it was always descriptions of the dream itself.
Now, it was only the revelations reaped in the dreamscape.
The most recent revelation.
Effie is Emory. Emory was Effie. That was before Effie graduated high-school
and Emory went to college.
Exceptional Notebook Nonsense: Install One.
ALL RULES HAVE EXCEPTIONS.
ALL RULES ARE EXCEPTIONAL.
ALL EXCEPTIONS MAKE THE RULE.
THE RULE WITHOUT EXCEPTION IS EXCEPTIONABLE.
[it is an exception to the starting rule
that all rules have exceptions]
You die a voodoo death because everyone else expects it of you.
The uncommon tragedy of the commons is that there is nothing anyone cares to do.
Contagions of group expectations afflict your field of view.
A cursed question put on you–
Would you die if no one
thought you would?
Or, could.
Authority instructs you to confront mortality.
You are part of the totality,
but individually, you are
also, a triviality
What I may be is the value of a binary threshold function.
Insert the prefix ‘looking-‘
to ‘-glass house’.
Suddenly, and without warning (giggle-howl) a hypocrite becomes a stranger in a strange-land.
Forest Down: It snowed Cottonwood
Canary-ied.
A yellow monarch on
bloom flutters-by.
That is not random light, it is a worm
suspended by a satin string.
Spinning mid-air.
Center-stage
of the path.
Is that a good or a bad day for the creature?
Hanging by a plant,
pint and a praeter-prayer.
One branch a’loosened. Snapped. Remaining.
The bark of a
tree’s tread. Rubber meeting road-air.
Veined loam.
Detritus.
Vitriol.
A feather/s lost is no
clipped wing but
Bird might have gone
down-y.
I well-aged pair of companions.
Purple seeps in.
Light hangs in
almost-rainbows.
Gone before you can even blink.
Driven snow around and on the ground.
Guess what this is?
This is a trashcan with pollen on it.
Pretty, no?
Unsheathed
And pitted.
Sheared.
A dragonfly found dead, yet posed by nature.
Before that, another’s wing was clipped.
It must not fly now, should it live.
A drag.
This is a w/hole in the ground from above.
The above is actually a rotting tree, cut in half and lying on its side.
You know what this is, right?
Have you ever tried this?
Write something.
Wait.
Then,
read it and weep.
Giggle with me?
The forcefield is too big. ‘Cause, it used to have to be, possibly.
Not anyone’s fault.
We can always blame
No-One.
Or bang (bang).
During our REM dream states.
Not in the same environment ampersand; now, the forcefield is energetically askew and effing with the universal grid?
How ostensibly ego-centric to think so, no? Yeah?
What?
Compassion for self.
Self-hatred was that wall that enabled self-preservation.
- i hated myself for hurting/you hate yourself for hurting;
i do not hate what hurt me/you do not hate what hurt you.
What hurt me (you) did/does not hate me
(you).
It is that silly and dumb to hear aloud from this fool.
How to answer the question: Can you truly say ‘no’?
Giggle.
Try to say what you mean when you answer that one.
Howl I
(can)
howl.
This is not deliberate confusion.
But, sure seems confusingly deliberate.
Rejoinder?
Indulgence relative. Just do not hurt people.
Three reasons I love a timely, kind laugh.
Apparently.
- see 1. above
- Authenticity under austerity becomes through sincerity ?
- It is not that you pay for what you get; it is that you get what you pay* for.
*we ain’t just talking currency/wages, folks.
It is okay to admit you are enraged at a potentially outrageous situation.
Enrage is your ego yelling.
Outrage is your heart yelling.
Your heart only yells when others suffer too.
Being enraged and being outraged is possible.
Being enraged and ego-maniacal is possible.
What a drag….
….that i cannot get over myself until I admit that I cannot get over myself.
This is silent howling.
This is giggling.
This is authentic, at the least (
Right
exactly now
). Are you over yourself already?
What are these sighs that I imagine?
Whose low end groan comes down the cans?
Speculation: A song that can end itself and not just fade out.
Humm.
Written Whence Who Gnosis
Complete the sentence?
(di un corpu celestial) foscate a lumero da o (…)
Cadence and rhythm
Cadence and rhythm
Two things that remain
In my refrain
Time and time
Lost
again.
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.
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.
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’?”
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?
‘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 