Me & My Like

Heart rending sorrow and exercise. The compassion it takes in getting along with those in the manner of life. They whom are relieved to hear of your progress yet to whom one does not ask of the refrain. Courses amongst horses. Making out good and wise sense in the extant of their mind. In there goose fletching and the churches they place on the rock and on the hill.

Secreting a way the vernal axis. Making out a good place to set aside differences and get down to meditation. To come promising. To give to reason and its powers enkind. A veritable tautology of feating glades. A glam exegisis upon the cultured bough. The road is not for the weary my fine camper. No it is rather a conditional peace indeed.

When the leaves on the tree are flourishing. In the spring tide as they call it in the Northern climes. There is an excitement to find out who is the herald of the event. The gopher? The Robin? What about the fox? Up and at ’em babies! The glide of pacified wings checks its Jay at the door. Crossing these streets need have be the bane of the iconoclast. To no longer care for the filcher and the varmint. As quick as a dash and bent to feature it no more. Reduced to b-grade popcorn of the jiffiest kernel and poker’s fork.

If any more tribal lore has need splay my possessions then know I will be at the fly of a feather to make sure the reward is my proper wage. How about $10,000 dollars a show. Just the songs and chords will do ya what is necessary. And when all cheap excuses for vagaries have been exhausted well then end your day and lay ye down and take a proper rest why don’t you.

You have needs do that. See.

New Life

The newness of life is an exquisite mean. A birthing mean. A meaningful way to gain existence and hopefully live a meaningful life. With certainties of feeling

The fishes swimming school by school. All look to the opening again of light. The passion of the curmudgeon and the cogitations of a welcoming to the bow. There are fresh ancestry queries in the quire of the lumber pulp. Them that are gaiting the check out steps of the feat, already wandering. So in gazing through at the repath of a lay-back train time pleasantry. This of talk and laughter and token footfall grinnies out the welter-weighting windows of an electric eel spanning the crossroads and streets.

Within a moment the blessing of the hierophant has come to pass. There are freedom birds outside crowing and cawing at the flight of their singing neighbors, the more melodious robin troupes. They tell themselves, it really is in generous tithes of an Earthly church that the sovereign dei comes out upon her porch and lays claim that night to an alturistic and malleable clamor of want and further acquaint. But if the overt dispatch of runoff water is a pelt away from the snow falling from that bow and dashing the strewn nettles of an abased Scotch Pine.

Then the wild child has a catty nine to win the row of street houses. Turning in a wheel through the mazy neighborhood of around the block kids. These who adapt to their surroundings by outlook and gaze over from inside the moving frame of windows and above wheel. Or else on legs and shod in conventional tough-outs fit for quick corner-cuts and flat out straits.

The want of an elder in the designs of throe. Emotions that want another pass. Through the dailies of a soon 🔜 familiar regent upon our seas. Clandestined compasses and the blowing end of a great white North.

Looks like no call 📱 to tragedy has to put down this boy. From his new acquaintanceship with being and further coming into the light of his path through our tomorrows. That which plays out beyond the genius mean. Odds on the carapace in the hall. These walls shine with the long stretches of sunshine that fare the way across the hale of such safe passages. With scenes inclusive a twice regular turning of the season’s manifold. Sometimes even catching a prism in it’s escape across the hallow contentment of a strider’s happy home.

High Criminy

Psychefancy, Christomancy, a Thebian priest and his tools. The highway is the by way is the liars way of breaking with the rules. To leave the brave, the accusing of rags, the jealousy of the rote. To too well tell a curiosity to dwell is the parasitism of a cleft in the wall straying, is the deft prerogative of slacking brown nose toads. The oath of a diligent and cross fountain gather has to excuse the Winter, excuse the rain, excuse the very plumbing truth for its simples, its pathos, its gain.

As a child I had my blues. I had my tasty treats and I had my designs. Make good on my fortune and react by spreading the garland around. Give good witness to the tourney in the trades and cheer on the charge leaders in the snuff and morays. A heuristics of the nominal purchase of the low down spirit. For penchant, for musings, for brave concord in the light of another oncoming day.

To speak of rain is made obfuscate. The harassment of savages saves their own. Another drink but it ain’t on me. You see that would be the clover hoof. The Gillian cast of sympathy a lack. How many the times does an exhort need to tell you you don’t need to leave unless you need a hallowed reed to blow us all away.

The page doesn’t turn without the idle to fall its way through. There is no cache of booze. No store of gold. No bank note for us to go by.

Only a broken mother asking how many children you will take, how many coffers you will leave empty, how many lies you will force your young men and women to tell. Its the new slavery and all you need are believers. That will seal the Deil. The lie of the conceited flesh. Both the purile and the anteseptic make out no such due accord. An irascible convenience of bailed out Strophies and baumed out gartens in the disputed Sun.

If things look up then you are getting duped. If you cross the bridge then you will be stumbled from your stoop. The best effort is to no longer have anything to do with evil. The best demon is the one that choses never to exist. The best dead man is one born again. It doesn’t get any easier than that. Simply move from this place of your own volition and check the street when you cross it.

A place like this goes without saying. The best result of customers is the gypsy sending the current home. Any other cause of the diaspora and we will have to cut our losses. We do neither make practice of it nor do we profess it. It is bewitching and the extent to which it has exaserbated the vehemence of its rebuke is not our call.

If you position yourselves at the cryogenic with a redundancy that currently is your stone. One thing is you have only to imagine your enemy. The same as the evil you purchase in your markets. The ride aspect of the carnival leaves you at the door.

Return is as decisive as foul play. You are caught without your better reason and your hide splits at the confessor’s error. You are a consumer you see! And I mean through and through. The indulgence of the mass going by prepares of nefarious means. It just glares when their babies cry for the succor of your candy. Another tests and the order is denied. What is rather apprehended is the tantrum of two foot tall infidels and the flash in the pan ethos of conniving runts. Those automatons of the filth and the crud.

To end on pleasant note. The garden cares for those who tend it. And to tend it well it needs its respects and it’s revolutions. Vouch for it like death and you will find your health improves by far. The earth bids us give her lease for a longer tide down her shores. Life is not a matter of objects. A stinking mess shouldn’t be ignored. Get out and exercise your constitution. Or go to camp. Just don’t excuse your consumption because you are a faithless and bastardized. Be. And do that in good company. Thank you.

Seven Knotted Twain

The frayed knot. The dredging of the mud sotty lake wounded down stream. The weird and the riotus. How many cornacopias of the sailor can a purple feeler in his throes grift back to hop and dominion and the Sunshine state of mind.

Let it go at that. Sail on sailor. The undersea adventures of the mystery clan. A shapeshifted entranceum of fitting clemency. A long tow of the merry equippage out to the high seas. Past harbours test and the wharf heavy sorties of a jersey wearing crowd.

These tramps hocking off their Western dreams for the indigenous climes of a more sovereign country. No slave no lie. Let the reckoning show that breaking the law was neither of account or given to the lusts of any such state of the sundry fodders in the house of the lamb.

Those ticking tailors whom must hide their keys in the boxes under the tree. They are of no natural remit unto the standing constitution that did preclude its vanity in the way of any such untimely demise. We would rather honor our ranges with the figurative bond and the sympathetic maiden of the wood.

Nary so much magic for a hammer to put down the memories of our watchers. Noted superstition to carry the foolish infidels alack to their faithful bough. If the grade is of the proper cline then as well the big trees of the wood have their need for an honest witness rather.

And knights’ rank with concommitants of prizewinners will be judged sane. Then who chooses to bridle down the village in the name of an espirited garner of fish will have it with tack. Sounding sails in the maya gaining its reception gloriously at ease.

Glad to sleep at night or in the case of convention arriving at its just desserts. The room slows down the diurnal period from the exacting of works and exercise of routines. With a look out at the stars before closing the eyes to consciousness and a prayer in no uncertain terms the day ends.

Traveling Blues Concordance

Too many shoes to wear out on the street. Leaves the foot of your good old king sore and travel worn. To get back in the swing of things the horses are saddled. The rye canting song of jim chiminy has outside the post to get another matter on by. The rider gets to its righteousness and the woman and children race with the rabbit and the egg.

Numer, letre, and tone. These have the heights of sky and the depths of a sundry perversity to beat the time. A betting game of telephone booths. Run in leery eyed contests of a hampered van. Levee the draft in the cogitations of missed busses and lay back trains. Make romantic a windy beach with the augur of a lucred wreck. Traipse in ragtail siminy throughout the diurnal period.

Learn the ropes of the terrestrial condition. Rein in the horseplay of racing coursers. Lead the march beneath the pale moon of an early days meander. Look back high and low for that sign that this is not dissolution in the lightness of fantasy. Take each round through the gate sans indulgence and be not unaccustomed to the passion play. The days will wax and they will wain. It is the Hyperborean commitment. A trip of cats in the ramble and row of concommitant relations. A pride of the ephemeral and chaste.

To growl pleasantly upon the hillock and berm. A respite’s pace for youngsters in the brood. Wresting the gracious harbingers’ their traps. That a lady may carry the way in bringing on the hungers of a panged heart. Identifying the longing of the church for the cross.

A halted line of workhorse. The road gear and swag of a traveling manage of concerts. All the wise and rye dalliances with the favorable Mrs. To brave the conduct of the tamers and wranglers of the equine boss. Work and play. Love and sustinence. Sleep and interaction.

The packing in and packing out of treasure and debris. To see the winding hill and bend in the wood for well cared after portions of the forested country. To identify the embellished retreat for its pleeched walls of bowery and Linden and to know that like a ship at sea all is not so well with the captain and his men.

The force of the spirit can fall disparately into the hands of the self loathing. What a horrible romance it is to get lost in drink. How uncertain our culture does become in trying to lay deception upon the generations. How to believe in those generations without forgeting the self. I think the selfless can be awfully needy people. And how may we forgive if the resurgence of past transgressions is the faulty laud of persons at the heel of our own shitty provender.

Back on the road and traveling enmasse. 1,2,3 maybe 4 periods within a system of lifetimes that I can remember living without the confines of a settled home. Seasonal or year round. The lights of heaven twinkle from the edge of a family fire. The circle of wagons gets the oily treatment for the squeaky wheel. The horses receive a pleasant tide of oats in a mash. The children linger after supper and as the men tap whiskey some marm of the householders’ begins in on a song or a story.

Like it or not the days pass much in the same way throughout the seasons. One might just complain or comment on the weather or local constabulary or even recently having been snubbed at suggestion of a romantic walk by a young woman decidedly in need of her space. No more to throw a mark at the rents. To have care for a little child so curious as to the maids whereabouts for moments beyond the easy feet that have that child only so far into his journey.

Likened in the vestures of life as may permit his taking to the floor to treat with another youngin or else one of the family dogs. These also limited in adherence to the rules of the caravan and knowing the bout of digression not worthy of the trust in there compassion as beasts of the friendly persuation. Also haply glad and attentive to the banter of the clandestined folk holing up in a pocket of the woods.

This for a week while waiting for a stock of supplies necessary to end a passage South to finish out Winter. Going to be near the seaside in warmer climes and within easy reach of the smoked fish. A meal known to be of a good sustinence and resource for their traveling ilk to at times feast on.

Glad to remember and glad to have been a part. Retired for now thinking sometimes on a new start. A little timey in the country, a little timbre sounding in town. The roads and the miles extend while the night camp circles the wagons round.

Magic, Spirit, Healing, Practice

Fear. Fear of death. Fear of the unknown. And the converse. Those things longed for, or sorrowed after or in so many ways more familiar found to overjoy.

Boo! Aaaah. Ooooh. Yes. Yes I see it now. The long walk up from posterity has found few paradigms that are willing to put it down again. It would seem the Sun was set on a skew wrapped in packing tape and then sent by the barrel like oil for sipping spoons to dole it back out at $100 a pop! Ah yes 👍 casterated oil, snake 🐍 oil, ketchup, patent goods and hairbrained ideas.

Is it beauty that escapes us in looking over? Do the various rites of passage deigned fit for youth at least give us time for a good glimpse at what that beauty provides. We are living longer. I can see in some sense that we are maturing slower. I can see much of the mass hobnobbing down the road. Itself staying mostly silent in it’s affections. And yet there it is also. Stumbling horribly when the gregarious nature of the Holy See at such times looks only to capture or encapsulate that mass for it’s own privy. It’s losing battle with the control principal forced out upon the Western beam.

The demiurge is a well acquainted romantic in the guise of man. Unfortunately having once or a few times seen the great beauty of the Universal and it’s accompanying dreams their is all to often that uninhibited want of the fool to try and ring the thing by the neck. Unfortunately.

The quavering breadth of aetherial space and it’s surround of the Earth is an entity of no uncertain persuation. Let Mother Nature be. Let her ways remain free of the constant need to turn her into a queen bee pumping out the flesh to be forced to survive on a limited planet of now diminishing resources. Let the vision be. But do not repeatedly ask for the weird or freaky when those things out of control do not belong in your direct means of manifestation.

The Earth and the Universal are physical in so many ways. But God and Mother Nature are not always involved in the matter to the same extent. Confusing this issue has literally put us behind the wheel of our own destruction. It would be a whole lot wiser if the roll call of the flesh were not so highly conceited by the want of power 💪 brokers to take control of everything that comes before them or happens to pass their way throughout the normal cycles of life and death in revolution of the heavens.

We are failing at this test of our spirits miserably. The more of a grip we need on the collar of earthlife and mankind the less coherent are we in our person and the more liable and inculpable we are in regards to those things that still remain out of our reach. Not to make that want of possession out to trespass. And not to further taint the remaining domains of regenerative Earth. Knowing not to entertain our jealousy and pride in going about always trying to divine the creative nature of life is a best practice.

It is simple enough to be thrilled at times by the nature of the world 🌎. While those things without a good nature are like a burden of the cross. Inanimate. Bent. Dark as a hole. And demanding the flesh for it’s perversity and it’s pilage.

The right to live a life of spiritual practice while making good on the surrounding environment is not all about the medium of exchange. The best measures to calculate by can usually be apprehended just by finding them where they happen to lay. And dark or macabre as you might think that ease is to be found in the grave. Not the body dead and packed away in a six-sided box with an appropriate tombstone kind of grave. But in regards to the heavenly bodies of the solar system, the Galaxy, and thus the Universe.

That meaning of the grave will bring us into time of being together with the likeness of our offspring and brethren. It will go so far as to open the gates of heaven. And it will keep the constitution of the body human nice and snug.

Still it is best to beware of strange tidings in that grave. Hold your own and try to stay safe when it comes to letting go. Of those things dross or unnecessary. Always coming up with the foment of tide in the washing of the many sands. Knowing them that are longing for respect and acceptance. And not to be disuaded by the crass handling of a medicine wheel bunch of drunken lunatics.

Faith to me seems the best approach to the unknown and yet that faith remain within the realm of possibility. Communication is a working kind of faith. Relate to one another in an honest means to convey what might simply be called wisdom or at least that it is sage.

Stories and reckoning are good. But so is the tradition of honor which does not always get spoken of lightly or in times of jest. For the better care of this planet and her children I would continue in the scale of this practice and make good on the peace of a peaceful community.

Stay fit and practice good health. Remember though to respect others if there wishes or means of keeping up that practice does not include those things outside their element and without their own good blessing way or a belief in a higher power. We are a familiar set of individuals whose own discretion will best bring each of us into the light of peaceful community and cohabitation. Beyond that the only ones we need control are our ourselves.

Eureka Discerns Eppiphany

Eureka! The matters and consequences. That must be pro-active in the way the cross is turned, in the way it is situated, in the way that it rides.

And ride it does. Like a loaded wallet on the backs of two shoulder to shoulder mules. And you are their skinner. Westernized or not you have a dream in the band. The good life comes on around here each morning at Sunrise. Where all harmonies are set in tune with the hustle bustle goings oncoming of day. 0nly the grave arya that is Earth lays beyond. Where is the very discernment of that contentment.

How shall we go about it. The general returning to the light. Upon the morning, in the air, and on the sea. Dark soiled Earth remains pitched in the the carrying sack of the traveling sage. To greet one or another persons, as a passerby or a remittent friend. With salud! And Hola! Bien. Y tu?

I am looking for a garden and it’s gate. I can hear the birds chirping within and I know the smell of it’s flowers like a familiar lady’s posie. But I cannot find the slip that is the gate. Do I need hop on one foot, shake out my arms over my head, get down on all fours and crawl? Possibly the gaits of the walking path will lead me down a road less traveled and in exploring the melee of divergent courses I will wind up in my own little garden. With it’s waterpots, and tin cups.

I tend to enjoy the great outdoors. I also enjoy the great white North. So some compromises have needed to be made. I have needs sit by the stove to warm my feet. I have want to burrow down beneath my stack of blankets in the overnight. I care to rise with the morning and put on my Winter duds and make good on another piece of the calends round.

It would prophet me a loose goose to try and put forth my better efforts today and stand firm in my offering of the ready helping hand. To give aid to those whom are living only a partial life. To stand by those who are not fulfilled in either the reckoning or acceptance of the choices that occasionally have to be made about one’s own fate.

Prayer!

An idea. And a good one. Yes a real gooden. No, I am good.

Prayer,,,

Thanks!

Hooks & Crooks

Trees, trees in a forest. The bastes and the herds of the hempen plantum synergia. And then again a banana slips on by. Within the megalopolis of ut garret lookers and seekers after their salts. Owing to the mineral consistency of a piecemeal degree of damasked flora. A legend of vegetal moon endearing bloodlust in the exhaling of toxins. A remove from the grade and cline overhead and toppem on the side of blowing windem seer.

If you wait to see your way down the travail, if your guts extend to the moors of a soluble character in a tolling belle of the libertad. Tied and of no ill refute. A comparison between the long drawn meters of a changing patios. Laughing at the epochial cuniform stratum of telegraph wire and freedom post.

The bluejay of happenstance goes to its hedge and nuzzles a maiden of the secure pasturage. His gal, his girl, his welkin woman of the mayfair sessions. She is industrious, she is a glad walker of the irony and agape. An olden Greek love whereby chum is legion and blowhard is the whalers’ road and good awful lode.

With a spur and chicken cross. The icabod and the caparison. The driver and his monkey say how do. They have met with the stewards of the thoroughfare and they have galvanized their steel. If anything more troublesome comes down this road we will have to abandon ship and head off for the hinterland.

Make good on our prospects and buy a number of cheese sandwiches for the children. Appease the concurrent nations of the captioned garnishment of their stride. Give the daylight hours a cup full of blessings to make good cook of thematic pots. Tbe fulsome foodstuffs and the elixers of a sound pie.

Cogni

Peaceful, easy and full of sympathy. Nomen C cogitance in bloom. The valued expression of namesake. Given to the bedding down of horny deer on hilltop of a downtrodden grass. I could write her a letter of the diminutive type. Emboldened with sweet displays of incredulous wit forsooth. The nicks and foils of a blaspheme free truckload of the peach.

And yes the bond of infrequency has the bent of too many out of hand referrals unto the treasure and trove. Many glowering torpitudes making out like cuttahacks in the Hessian stream of a distant fugue. To take on ourselves the hawkish means of recognition in the fields of pasturage. With the tresses bound to all go enjoy the decent and arriving. I hope to see you all there with as much chutzpah and contest as could be found between a cricket and a racehorse.

To battle it out clodhopping their way around the ripened track. With touts and crafty schoolwork ruse. A cogitance in the nervy way that bellows can swiftly steal a fire from the blade. To engrave the phrase upon it’s broad. Left to crow’s singing charlatan mouthful and lifelong chum and carousels loving.

Maybe there is better less bitter way to come into the power of knowing. But very few people ever choose to give it a chance. They want concrete throes, pavements, and the host of indelible answers to go by.

Stop it! End the charade and the axe grinding and the folly of blasphemous the ruse. End it! To be your own better helper and friend. The good old fashioned reason to look down in order to look up. How so? Have you no confidante? Are you one more b-rate study in chumps or just a bad date? The world must know the difference between service and ugly minded people out to take every law advantage of the freedoms of their fellow man, and woman.

I do not merely see. I sense. And the control to acknowledge that to people of trust and not those we don’t is the difference between a tailspin and a long, slow curve. The thing is, most people,like it or not have very little time to pay attention to the natural flow of events here in this earthly circus. Not to mention that besides those who would just as soon we blow it out loud asses.

There is also that contingent of greedy eastwards who do not believe in freedom at all. Once discovered by the average Joe the fact is that that schmuck or duppy, which ever side of the argument they find themselves on, only has enough time to tell the lie. That great work of all malicious people everywhere.

I myself am of the mind that we all really need each other to an Earth’s short ton degree. Farther going there and much to becoming here but the truth that for the most part we are best left alone and to our devices. I know that recognition amongst the fallen and statistic. If fishing the pond of mankind is moving closer and closer to the cheating side of the slack. In their ethics and relations and how they choose to take part in the upbringing of others. Chillies. Chiel. Youngins.

That is enough for me. The world will at times still find her children are trying to throw a wrench into the works but that’s the fucking business. And like it or not the mass and that part of it that is black is giving peoples the business. The haunting line of freaks driving down the line behind the wheel of their own destruction.

Nothing necessarily truthful remains that can be said on this at present. I know the care of my namesake amongst the ways of my brethren as together our revolutions continue in the guises of a dear Lord and I know the blasphemous tide that often surrounds the Christ. Other than that there is the fine lot of life’s variety. Mystery plays it’s hand a guide and herald falling in love with someone to spend the glad days espoused and caring for the chillies come of that kind of care and foreboding.

Thank you very much. I will be here all week. Lol

UtChat

Children roaming streets playing with sticks and stones. The laughing old lady gathering her chips for another round of bridge before heading to table. The good life looked over by raging gyms and sandlot dollars. There must be a ride in a truck. The glossy yield must dramatically incalibrate. Must lick the palms of the icy eyes. Too many sharps and they are only to make us out for our skulls. The shaped anthema of the Mexican ranch.

To see the street for its dusty quarters. To come up with spiels in the dithyrambs. A stories glory horder. Lets go and take a quick equator trip on the liberty tide of open house service and see if we cannot make out the women and the cogent of the place like chiel sanctimones. The Billy frame and the psaltry bow of scythe at lee in the tinsel lair.

To be a good bit past the running ground of disporters. Caravaning on the Davie Jones typography strata and tableau show. A good high hog to bitty and camp out against the speech, quit and borne, right mariner of calmer seas.

So many black orders on the peace. Packs of people and dogs on the new morning wandering at pesky and yet profound galavants of the old school crowing. Fish, fucks, friends and difficulties remembering. How many daisy chains to go kicking down a little something getting home. Rehearsing my roll in a story. Not to always be taken for some jack fool but rather to go over the lands down way and dream of the high returning tide. Too much grass and the park reverts to the transient church serpents pride.

The vert is crow for fodder of cry. The shire and the foremost stumping of rye and foundling punk. Have you a moment for singular expedience. Or are you afraid of being put down. Some reason that shied away. Some bottom that turned away shunned by shame and future folly.

If it goes to show that we are Sun worshippers. Why stoop to make it rain. Just saying the local host of provenders must be supplicated rite lightly in the aspect of quintessential norms. Glad to see you good charler. Beneficent is the grange kind sisterhood brag. The bias is in redown. The judgment seat is out of candy. Collaring the doge leaves citizens at leave with the call to aptly turn over a new leaf. With the crazed blackeye of rubbish. Sad lot of the current meatpie.

Well to get over the fencepost. The splayed feet beneath the camper mountain. Only the damned need to know more. The fleet is out to pasture and the grand eloquence of the buttered bread condolences have eaten the flag to make potluck and pilfered treaty out to bustling gates. Railing and trouncing beasties for so much as a teaching of their own good appetites.

That a way the glad barons have graves to lay down in. To simply be alone and no longer try to estrange the bussing services from their bluebirds. It has to be going down for the frickin’ pale of it. False prophets for false fear. The burning down of the firewall. I knew the ground was there. It just wasn’t mine to burden it.