The Dangerous Difference b/w Should & Could

Should vs. Could.

A disambiguation í examine within myself prior to jumping to my dictionaries; because, the distinction causes dissonance within myself.

For instance, if you tell me Í should do something Í wince.

Howl if Í know why.

If you tell me í could í feel appreciative.


Could refers to actionable phenomenon. Capable of manifesting.

Should refers to the realm of thought; implies a best course of action.

Just because you should do something does not necessarily mean that you could.

Just because you could do something does not necessarily mean that you should.

Is should a moot point or a hung jury?

Speculation

Mindful

is to

Mindfulness

as

Loch

is to

Lock Ness

Monster.

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.

Guess what this is?

This is a trashcan with pollen on it.

Pretty, no?

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Unsheathed

And pitted.

Sheared.

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A dragonfly found dead, yet posed by nature.

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Before that, another’s wing was clipped.

It must not fly now, should it live.

A drag.

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This is a w/hole in the ground from above.20190609_1210321448199682389025220.jpg

The above is actually a rotting tree, cut in half and lying  on its side.

 

You know what this is, right?20190609_1216431256102800120244640.jpg

The Nature of the Forest Today

This is juxtaposition

20190608_1217481781803437867602287.jpg20190608_1218304152754983008238105.jpg

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.

20190608_1220245381186208546680318.jpg

Feedback on me.

Otherwise, the robin in the rain makes better company currently.

Such a saucy fellow.

Showers always made

him…

…wait for it.20190608_1223286458269038784145332.jpg

The sky confused and

confusing time changing.20190608_1224274722506816231746345.jpg

Protective turns opulent in opalescence.

20190608_1230578295916619829323595.jpg

The beauty of opening.20190608_1233432986746953645709405.jpg

The beauty of splaying.

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Time-resistant skin.

Elegant rhinosarus-dermis.

Still moist, somehow.20190608_1237112307176480307766013.jpg

Meets the confusion of curves.

Collective noun style.

20190608_123755337490513161967147.jpg

In ever widening circular cases of you, ewe.

In you.

You in.20190608_1239068898421282927636058.jpg

I hear you, here.

Look at you bellowing, pretty thing.20190608_1240275914448220373648531.jpg

Cottonwood seed absorbs in its resonant, spidery remains.

20190608_1242075689401316971118665.jpg

Arching in ecstasy.

Boughing and bowing

Bowled over.

20190608_124403759224615544030243.jpg

Divisors.

Create foam.

20190608_1249042306297341990759054.jpg

Some tire so completely

they resurface on their

backs

and asleep.

Three such gents just this week.

Suppose it makes the fly’s feast.20190608_125309518728743505912448.jpg

Do you remember meeting here?

Where tree grows out of

stone.20190608_1257167777437464350210044.jpg

Dog esshit or esshinola?

20190608_1259036144656978126643356.jpg

The buzzing of the approaching nearing the a’spread.

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Alit on the globe.

Buzz, you say?

Humm, is what I say.

Also, Howl.
20190608_1305212959419221803987163.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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.

20190606_1431576616788561479566679.jpg

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.

20190606_1435382966666362987081106.jpg

How can you feel on stage in a clearing alone?

Prowling.
Stalking words on stilts over creeks.

 

Let us fly our kites here.

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My stone panther re-enlivens from winter as a summer moss.

Humid and heavy on the trees.

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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.

“And there isn’t anything I can say to make you believe me. I can only state the facts as they are and hope you will believe me. Here goes….” 

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.

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.

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

pocket

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.

Eight Miles on Foot Later

I passed a snake sunnjng its belly on the path.

Unconcerned and un-aggressive.

I passed two small, white-tailed hares that quickly scampered home into the bramble.

I cried for a man i miss painfully today.

WTF is a German Lodge Book?

Is it just the alchemical appartus comprising a story? An alchemical apparatus used to drive the plot, scaffold the structure, and act as a skeleton key to unlock meaning?

Such an apparatus drives the substance of letters and words towards catharsis. Our story-tech equipment enables a bunch of words to be read by an audience. The collection of words becomes greater than the sum of its parts. This is a non-linear phenomenon, akin to complexity theory.

Confluence. Convergence.

This is how the array of letters constituting the matrix of each page transmutates scrawlings into Art.

The reader undergoes the cathartic process like catalytic enzymes provoking biological reactions.

Disambiguation…

The line is not: You pay for what you get.


The steganographia is not the encryption is not the transcryption,

Nor is it the ostensible coding.


Encoding=scribing.


The poison is the dose.

The doz>s>e is the poison.

The map is not the region.

“Here I do have a theory: Perhaps we got across because we sailed on the ocean and not on a map.”

THE RA EXPEDITIONS

Thor Heyerdahl

DOUBLEDAY publishing

Page (ostensibly) 341 aka M(42)

Imagine that ( x ) = x in subSCRIPT

Here you find (sub)SCrypçione


The lyric is: you get what you pay for.

Un/Canny

“Eff abstinent. I want you to be obstinate for me,” he said.

“If it cannot be with guns, they will do it with chains/aws/ & stones,” he said.

Rejoinder: “You become a chimp from being a chump, when í substitite an i for a u.” I think Abraham Lincoln said that. Giggle.

Rerejoinder: “We turn o to a and from a crone comes the crane.”

Anyone watched Suspiria yet?

Fretted

A dancing string is a strummed and fretted wire

Upon which I perform my own tightwire act.

Balance aloft on shakey footing.

There is no safety net should the string snap.

Freefalling into sound endlessly, a runaway elevator in an interminable shaft.

Heaven is in the drone of sounds in stereo

Amazonian Dream

Antimony parsimony came in a dream.

Hoarding of elemental medicine in the loam of the gods.

Midden mounds dotting figures lying recumbent underground pushing forth the skin of the earth.

Ancient open secrets waiting for uncovered discovery.

Pole Stars@rest

The sun stayed high until nigh on midnight.

The moon became their noonday sun.

They lived in sleepy embraces, bare and pressed close.

They breathed the oxygen emitted from the pores of one another.

The musk of life making them happy and high.

She smiled as his breath changed, as his muscles spasm into a shallow sleep,

Like a sleeping pup let lie until twitching into dreams of chasing Ingpen white hares.