Tag: marks impinging upon matter

Predicate Considerations

Disputation upon surmise. Predicating purports of profundity. Predicaments of pre-eminence. Presentiments upon postulations. Upon postscripts. In the brevity of repastes Sunny.

Realizing the quickened firth in the rustication of truck and swag confusion over mule money. What thoroughfare makes way for barnstormers and tree crawlers and lemon brawlers to all go home 🏠 in a gunny.

The precipation in a treacherous rifle down hillside. For a daliance triffle swill-bride. Under June auspice and spilling wide of the Season. Not meant to be funny.

A Study Of Themes 2014/08/13

Appraisal of themes dramatica. Liet motiff theatrica. A fabling hour empathica. And the wanted embrace deeming.

Can sweet bye and byes. Urging anyone to sympathesize. With the quick of light and the wise of lies. Set sail or leave the quandary scheming.

With letters addressed what may avail. The pearly gates endangered to prevail. A certitude on clement street writ scale. The vapid aether winds up in the air creaming.

Liberate to flag a qually dodge. Stir up a pot of fleshy homage. Make good on done deals about the boarding lodge. For a night’s stay out in the streaming.

Make roost of chorales on platform decks. To take on a burden, treat the rejects. Waft fleeting bodhi the gain elects. To find out for good the weather’s down in the dreaming.

Anima animated in like cullies supposed. Fragrant meadows heavily drowsed and low. A malarky train bandying with Augustine groved. The very light comes liturgical and gleaming.

If Suns recede from surpassing rays. Like a dew laden field of feeling clays. A pleasant reprieve upon toppem cat Heath blades. The hooks and Barbie tabs remit in flashes beaming.

Backwater country making out a spirit for this dew. The meadow press warmed alive under foggy brew. A long lasting look on the lady and her eyes full of blue. Like a shiproy stir nums the grace to go on steaming.

We may just be together apt to surmount the idles. Take on a stretch of the rising gait goin’easy on a bridle. The bunk down night of affable chow and set on fiddle. A truth for the overjoyed parlay of Philly ziet teaming

Emotive Thought

Love agonizes over a throw. The into the dark pitch of sounding from off of a far wall. Reverb and chorus. Later days in the sanctimony of the even and its prop. How intellectual could be a keeper of shadows when the sun shines from on high right down into the middle of the street.

God Bless it I say the driving feat of proud footin’s mucho gusto. The reverence for the tide rolls up on the avenue. While the boulevard is a closer draw to make for headwaters of an amble and a saunter and those at mission for the night’s perpetuation of a memory and involvement in a sojourns’ rest.

Ya think? The emotional value given to abiding in the redemption school. To see the vehicle moving forth at a hounds foot pace. Having been given a taste for the bag and sent out baying. Trying to keep a good attitude in the dilly dally tide of darkness. Where outcry is going South through the country. Looking at its cross streets both up and down for vague salvage of a more personable commitment in the saving of face.

Let us not implement our own destruction. Let us look at that 60mph and 80 yards and twenty foot tall brick wall without having to seek a thrill. Let us stop on that dime and drop it. Real good and hardy. With wine bottles answering knowing corkscrews.

If the overwhelming feature of the bullies on the base say it is all too ephemeral to have a wonder about it to go by. Then let it dawn sweetly and looking back consider the rhythm of pacing. This and leigh out modicems of modesty in taking it up a clip. To let out the great force of breath we have only to exhale and let it go with a ‘shweho’. That is the one in her dance. Skrying madly to the beat of 10 dead bass drums.

Without regret never have want of answering the question again. Move on with your bad self and your selfsame looking gate and your mindful choo choo. I think I can, I think I can wwwoooOOOoooeee. D

Does it help anybody to truly be alone. Is this the long dread fate of our humanity. Even here in our Summer home. Wheat for sages. A single grain’s speculation. Left to entrain the repetitions of manevours given over to sexual prowess. Given a crush that rhymes with sport. Laid out for rest like bedcloths. Carrying the pocket stuff tryptyches of our son the train conductor.

Simply to mention the great tunnel of love coming up for today’s amusement park ride. All for the condition of make believe. A national obliging of the blind consuming marriage of nihilism with reality. I think it somehow vouchsafes the sweat for the racing fears of the tourilous American.

A lambaste of upstarts. The frequent of turning pages making due with storied wedlock. Into the garden of a realized set of fears grown over with weed and wildflower.

The womaning of grange and rucksack buck. The payback for great temperament. Tides of escapade having simply learned that the old gray goose is a good bet. One of the quickier, quackier ways for children to run a circle and make it their own.

For release, for concord, for fantastic requital of past kingdoms and loose tabs on the dreaming of catchers tales. Them still resolved to remain smitten with the bull, the bear, and the blue jean.

Hardy, har, har, the end went unforseen but the Sun continued to rise and the rain fell from the plaint. Flippy wiggy foments of geste flew the coop and Troubadors said good ride. Blessed rest of Wintertimes in happenstance. Glad in a sack and dreaming to the last of better times ahead. Faith thus making it through night after night until Spring.

An Evening Psalter

The extension of an area into the quandary of outer space. Lifting ones feet up when treading down a river so as not to catch in a rock and get it stuck and dragging one under. Or like the railroad crossing in the tide of Winter. A beater with a heater moving on with its gait to the extrapolation of lighter fare.

Not that the devil will always care but don’t be insulting by always having to make it out to him in your contempt. This upon the sanctity of our earth. Tourulous by always sticking out our claims to existence upon the cornerstone marks of a once thought extinct sense of tribalism.

Roaming singular into the referees of the homespun. The tinkering with antlerbone and the leveeworker quick with the jack and Piper trade. The shellacked outrig rider. Putting his canoe into the pond and saying to the tide “Okay. Now draw me Mother Nature!” Not because of my defiance but for the seqencing of my even keel. Lead me to night dances of stirring meads and expertly told stories of fishermen.

The long Bally table. Tilt a whirl pine and the recondite tributaries of an often suspended moon. Glamduring the pale rider heaves his saddle up the back of his beast. Hands high and turning. A gentle understanding between charisma and charm.

The filly will recollect her canting under the steep of John Barlecorn and his daylight stars. The long drawn memories of an eventual manner of elegant habit. A paradisical assembly of lyrical exchange. The parading salutary crewe. Given to bees knees and diademic pluralities.

So murky above the water the fog is all in jest. A gaping crawl through the aerodyte space of plentitude and recourse unto shelter and yesterdays works. There goes this a way a sense of cadence. It trips a market and it jumps a bean.

The poultry cluckers all vouch for the sincerity of foible declensions in fastidious harkenings to the unitivity of sultry maids in sundry dress. A toothsome and knotty Setti swings through the gaits of Summers to bear out in brave repaste.

There abides the sporty tom. A garnish of peppercorn in the acquaintance with its satrapies. Giving out garlands to usurpation. A great conflagration in the inimitable equivocations of breadwinner dichotomies. The daft mote and the chuckwind draft horse. Making good in both respects like a galavant and a trooper.

One kind of plausability for that need for an idea’s dissemination and review. A sounding board for the extension of modal church service. The list in its exegesis. A frequent parry of peptides. The end for Daisy chains in revery. An orchestrated quickpot run on et fini.

Intrepid Voyage 1996

Beth

Thrice magestus

Hermes of Octune

Tragedy of Neptune

Dithering crystalline fractures

Universal ascendancy

Plane thwart nuclear fission

Fusion semblance

Tz mantic

Ars magnifica emantic

Neotic

Light in extension

Origami rapacity

Bachelor press

Dinosaur brains

And nervous systems

Four church modal

Conjuncts in the stellar apparatii

Vigor of cuneiform figures

At transcept oritan en fret

Cant etiology of crook and flail

Intercalary periods

Fugue of accidental

Interest

Sidhe

Grange

Kirk

Irony in benefit

Placards

Tocsins

Shingles

Golden store

Atu the acorn

Ancestry-bone

Genealogy-skin

Church of modality

Projection

Extension

Extrapolation

Exhibition

Lengths

33 By the dinosaur

130 Bone

365 Tale full of

1077 Aberations

Binary code

Movement in the Mercabic

Oxymoronic quark

Movements by precept

In 10’s 100, 10, 1, etc.

Or else no movement

Represented by zero

Inducing contraband

In verisimilitude of a range

With just such surity

Of bow and sultry in the realm

Of a mass transcends purity

The host becoming the flesh and the blood

Mother’s mass

Report

Enterprise

Oluricular imprendarius

Declination en esque

Agwire Mira lay a lay

Ta wins na sa boot fit

It goes by coot and root

Daily to meet its ends

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.

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.

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!