I write a 'stream of consciousness half a million word online slam poetry thing once ... i will not use the dead word 'blog'
The word blog is as dead as that tree which represented the death of everything in the ....'social democratic process'? which is foundation to any balanced rural fringe land use....
I shall return to poetically, soon.
Meanwhile anyone who knows me knows that for a few months hahh hahhh talk about a once in a lifetime bit of last time ever 'pressure'..i never normally have. And thus cannot write poetically. Maybe i should not. To be decided... once i am in the next life.
Meanwhile i must get to the one most important image after dead trees and about a dozen others if i can recall where and when... and then a whole new page of the most poignant imaginable moments in a funny little country in South America. But not to 'show off'.. because i could, and had to...no matter what happened next. And that i survived that is a lesson helpful to anyone... who has even a little heart and brain.
Yes... noticing.
I never drop or lose anything. Sounds anal, nope just a lifetime taking care so that oen has far more time free to do what matters. Even in a wasteland like some major European city, there is always something to see sat for hours at a street corner café drinking a proper coffee unlike insipid English cats piss... (though I am never decadent - it must be the cheapest possible café on the streetcorner and no frith...coffee is strong and black, period).
What is NOT photo'd or captured is of course the most beautiful of all image. What next...after the picture below. Because no one stops me so dead in my tracks by noticing something dropped - only dropped that small piece of plastic, because i was already in shock. But actions speak louder than any false words or false impressions ... that i dropped it again, because a certain someone had noticed the first dropping. Well my whole lifelong image of myself of being together always in any circumstances. Was shattered... torn up, set fire too like a photograph of a child in olden days when a parent may only ever have one in a lifetime of their beloved youngster, and some cruel cheeky goddess comes and slowly sets a lighter to a corner of it in front of ones very eyes.
Precisely - that is what i have learned (i never think ever before rattling out rubbish at the keys... that is IT today now despite up since 3 am but wow the speeds the rural ruffians can get at that time...by 5am ... forget it...)
That is it.... that unintentional tearing up of an image always smugly help of onesself... or just one "small things" smallest act...one moment... where even the most cherished and carefully curated so many years ...or i would not have managed to GET to that one plane ride i have taken in a decade...
losing what you are and know will always see in the mirror no matter what - your most core esteem and dignity, of course is where true creativity and philosophy begins. And is freedom.
No mindfulness guru knows that as there is no money in it.....
and every Buddhist zen writer i have ever read really is lazy waffly rather smug crap.... except Hesse of course and hos Sid... he got there...to nowhere the real version, as have i, but its in fact in the longest run rather dull.....and helps no one in truth. Is only selfish purpose. And the purpose i once found was only her - every moment we both agreed, for her. I needed nothing. She did..because her father had been so so cinfusing and mindfuckingly.... notthere when he pretended he was... always...but in truth was, never
.. and it was the only time i have ever known easiest and psychologically pure 'good. You know when real good happens. Because you haven't known it before. It is new. And you never ever ever know what next. From real 'good' that you also know. It desn't come from a menu...cannot
So i have a next image. Inspired by the last. Soon... not that anyone would 'get' it... think i do.
