The term ‘unconditional-love’ emerged as more and more human hearts folded into the realm of the mind, the human data machine and what once was (pure)love had darkened into the shadowy-fields of order, rows upon rows of conditioned terms. Love has become a game of wit, a strategy. I’ll do this if you’ll do that and love you long time, almost forever. It’s everywhere if you dare to see, hidden and obvious, the fake, the synthetic, the surreal. Love twisted towards the fake-real along with similar procedures that killed god in nietzsche-time; any god, spinozas-hitlers-guadalupes-laozi-geronimos-zioist-newagers. God is still dead and love is in its ditch.

There is no simple way to explain with a tool that can not truly understand with its heartless-thought. That is the point. It is the increasing nobility/authority given to reason over heart knowledge/intuition/pure-knowing - that is fundamentally mans war with nature. In our pagan past some tribes had a time-trusted respect for the knowing that came from vision, derived from long arduous spiritual work; hours, days in ceremony designed from vision/nature herself to help the mind to surrender to its creator/process/mystery/nameless/sacredspace, to observe clarity for a few moments in time. We have not only lost many of these practices, we have lost respect for this hard earned insight to data-thinking/reason/logic/silicon-gods….science-scriptures and fake saints sitting proud and high on a perfectly carved totem pole.

We will argue debate justify condemn but, but absolute-truth-fact-understanding will not be derived from this relative ‘tool’. We have lost our respect for ‘vision’ derived from strong soft-hearted endeavors into the mystery. This is obvious. We have elevated the relative to the absolute with the myth of mind slowly over eons and now we have created machines that out smart us in the realms of the abstract - reason/logic/fantasy, and the world is on its knees with broken hearts and we bow down to this order, these fragments of crippled truth.

Our civilized system of obtaining more and more (things to thought) allowed the sneaky seductive indoctrination to lure us further and further into the realm of order/rows/numbered-systems/repetition/clones and now our beloved child, the humble-robot…. reason finds it extremely difficult (possibly impossible) to accept its cooperative relationship in the realm of ‘knowing’. Our ancestors dealt with this issue in a constant reciprocal communication between heart and mind, vision and reasoned-fact.

So now, here we are complaining about how AI is taking our jobs, our creativity, our god, our water, nature, our relationships, possessions, our love. For the vast majority of humanity whom have never practiced the hard ceremonial ways, abstract-thought will constantly over shadow this mysterious (heart)knowing and justify its incomplete (abstract) superiority… in praise of the new world transhumanism. Love is Dead.

A solitary American monk named Thomas Berry writes that in our relationship to nature, we have been autistic for centuries. Wrapped tightly in our own version of knowledge, we have been unreceptive to the wisdom of the natural world.

She said, there is no reason, And the truth is plain to see.. “A Whiter Shade of Pale” (Procol Harum)

Sometimes i think that there are no words but these to say which are true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden. bDylan

The longing for Paradise is man’s longing not to be man. — Milan Kundera

Our world has transformed into a Packaging Machine, most love is nothing more than a Refined Ornament on a NikNak Shelf looking SoReal for more Shelf Life - ptwey

AI will kill without a tear - ptwey

Higher Ordered Thinking is a Balance between the heart and the mind…. unknown

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo, “This is what salvation must be like after a while”
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, “Jeez, I can’t find my knees”
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel
Visions of Johanna - Bob Dylan

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I am the wanderer thru terrains this mind beholds. I am nothing, yet i see, i have no purpose, yet i be.

The fields are lovely and bright, wild flowers here to eternity. There is nothing that this wind knows, yet it is everything, there is no meaning questioning the sacred silence, i am miraculously alone. I own nothing. I have no home. Death is so close. I can feel it on my lips. I can taste its fading. I am removed. I am pure red. I see the blue water waves whispering goodbye across seas of time. I am loosing me… there is a fullness of nothing… that is all, that is - it.

I can feel jealous/envious/illusionist minds thinking they know what this is all about, what’s happening in the world, in this writer. I can feel the grimy clutches on my heart, on their minds, on everything they see, misinterpreted into solidified smooth-rock-worshiping-statues of shadows idolizing shadows. That’s what i think at the moment from my terrain of self-induced entrapment. We are lost souls, i know it with a knowing of uncertainty; that seems to make the difference, a feeling of dubious clarity. Some think that i think that i am better, more intelligent, better suited; nonsense. I am writing our words as we fall deeper into the forest where we all gather, far far from the sounds of the mind. There is no message here, just time wavering about in thought waves trailing behind.

We are beautiful in our secret love, the many moments laid out in rows upon rows and rows along the waste-lands amidst our most precious treasures; love, grief, beauty, and the cherished pleasures of the known.

Life is sad, wonderful; it has been a total torture for some, and sacred beyond belief for others. It is undeniable, we are this world and alone. The illusion of total interconnectedness is mostly denial of ‘seeing’ or another short glimpse of the infinite reflections of oneness. It may exist, but not in the world of thought and imagination. Just another paradox along the thought-up roads of certainties.

Thought demands continuity where raw love weaves within.
Like a familiar freind
stretching the last highway towards the end.

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Fantasy Believers create Fantastic Leaders

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What does it matter really? We are all indoctrinated by our own convictions as true and warped as they may be. She believes in hope, he believes in politics, she got muhammad, he got some other kind of savior, all entangled in words, an undressing of a koan, the glue of the almighty god - reason, the known, the dilemma, paradox, the endless game of roaming concepts as insane or perfect as they may demand to be.
Maybe right, maybe wrong, sometimes we’re here and sometimes we’re gone…. i’m selling fantasies, we all need to make a living, some were born with a golden tooth, some were born with half a leg, no food or half a heart….. there is scripture to make sense of all of this; i don’t sell that nor do i buy it. I sell a different type of illusion, a fantasy made of pure earth, wrapped in water that disappears in the wind, sometimes on the back of a coyote or the inner story from some ancient creature, the invisible chapters of moving eternities that linger within. Sometimes i see clear thru that and you, sometimes you see me raw too.

A coffee for a fantasy.

The sound of rain hit hard with its tumbling thunder cracking the skies in naked wonder. Dusk is upon us, forest violins and a warm oak cello play omens to the mystery with reverence in a melody of serenity. In this roar rolling across the skies, power of the heavens poses gratitude for the way, the eternal essence screaming across mind, thru time, in beauty, magnificent and glorious the heart flounders there like rhyme.

I have no need to awaken you, take you away from your dream, there is no horizon here for you, all the sadness has lifted, pure solitude, a fading silence, soft rain falling where memories lay.

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Fantasy Believers create Fantasy Leaders
It’s that Simple, Isn’t it?
And Blame and Certainty Rises Perfectly True
As Phantoms Huddled in the Bleachers

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I’m on my way out, towards the forest, the deep dark temple, that secret sacred space where light is all around shedding sparkling dancing thru-out the black woods of the heart.

Out here we’re all pretending; nothing is real, there is no reality, nothing is permanent, everything is not what as perceived. We are a magical process, wavering about, watching, seeing, flowing, moving on into where nothing is real. There is no certainty here and if there is, it’s a lie, a fantasy, time-dreams made of mumbling clouds scraping the sky with rolling realms of reason.

There is no reason to write to you, whomever and wherever you are. You are not listening, i am not listening. We are busy, we have a life on the go, striving to be, to get what we want, to be right, to be true walking down these tarred roads to ‘have street’. We don’t like to admit our frivolousness, our sleek deceit. We must believe we are true, doing the best we can, honest in our lies, slave to the mind…… how can one escape all this mucky clarity?

I see a hole where one can go, another world, a sacred set of rules, a real reality where only the brave and forsaken, the solitary can enter.

One has to leave everything, hang on to nothing, that’s all there is in a world of emptiness, an abyss of uncertainties of infinite possibilities, a timeless, mindless realm where everything begins. This is not for the contrived, weak of mind, the burning hearts of clutching embers, the conditioned blind. This is where one slips into and out of anything that appears, an improvisation onto nothing, seeing with a disappearing eye, alone, welcoming, belonging to nothing and everything, opening up like a kaleidoscope of melting dreams.

This is a world that doesn’t exist and you know it as soon as you’ve entered. It has never been described properly for there is nothing proper about it. It can only be pointed to but if you enter you can never bring it back to this world of the synthetic-known. It can’t exist here. ‘How can one know it is real’ a vague voice quivers? You can’t…. until you know that nothing is real…. then you will know that you don’t know…..with ‘nothing to get hung about’.

It is like an awareness without thought = time, where everything is so mysterious as to never have reason or its predecessor ‘feelings’ touch it. After all the limited senses have had their input and feelings blanket the consciousness, the river of reason gathers the data and creates ‘you’, wonderful you, the perfect illusion, then there you are, i am….. we are not real.

I have nothing to prove, i have no hidden agenda to be right, win a debate, score high. I could muster up reasons why i do what i do, but for what reason?. Be the game… there is no definite cult of words that can exist in this universe to say what is true in this field of wild flowers and perfect seeds of where i roam, dazzled by it all, here, i am, we are not……. and, going to keep going.

signed: M. Insolence

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Ancient architecture does not move me as it once did. I was once a romantic i suppose until the awareness of undeniable illusion swept over me into realms of pure uncertainty, deep beyond return, like a stone falling in endless water. The concept of beauty has evolved along with this understanding. Straight lines and definite conclusions dissolved into the abyss along with the romantic constructs that keep most secure, safe, comfortable in cushioned mind scapes.

I understand, the wonderful feeling of being in love, with another, with form, with life. Things have changed as i have developed or might i say, undeveloped the structures that once felt pure, perfect, lovable. I have no idea what love is. If we want to describe it as the essence in everything, the will of the process that appears to move this universe and everything in it… sure, sounds good to me, but it is merely another concept to generalize a specific that shall forever remain a mystery. That is where my logic goes, my reason, my love. That throws loneliness, absurdity, insecurity, and all romantic concepts, precepts, conclusions unto the same train, the box car of paradox, the terrifying truth. Amusement for the mind, that is all that remains. A strange beauty in the unknown.

‘true beauty is like natural laughter, you can not see it coming, mysteriously it fades away’ pwey

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So, coffee! Yes, it had come to my attention when my oldest living friend bought me ten coffees at once for my birthday, mid june. It is has been over a month now and thru a mess of internet functions i recovered money sitting there for over four years. Long, frustrating at times but with great help and persistence from one particular worker from buymeacoffee.com we managed to put my account in order and waala... it all works. So buy me a coffee.

I had no idea that so many had supported my writing/photography blog. I thank you all and had felt slightly embarrassed wondering many times why so few had thought my ‘blog’ efforts were, well, worth any validation, support, encouragement…. coffee.
I apologize for my insecurities and rearrangements of realities that just were not true. I do wonder about why so few comment, that remains a phenomenon.... so many mysteries.

The streets are filled with misery and mystery and intrigue. The game of social media to have you appear true, humble, insightful and act natural while everybody knows, really, you just want ‘likes’, lots of them and you secretly just want to be popular, appreciated, acknowledged .. well me too, partially, but i’m not willing to play the game and act as if i’m someone i’m not… well, most of the time….i’m not above all that, just don’t really know how to act and to perform for the crowd and when i do get it, it disgusts me, destroys me, so i focus on what ever i think i’m thinking, feeling, being and write - about it… very unpopular for the most part… that’s life….. and probably a good thing.

I wandered into a cafe and saw myself sitting in a corner amongst a few tables. Kachi-girl curled up over by the wall out of the way, usually she likes to be right in the lane of traffic. I was writing something, intense, undisturbed, focused, with a flat-white-coffee in my thermos. He likes hot coffee. They make it just right here for him. I write - the world is way beyond just mad, robots under the skin, most are praising the almighty word unaware, the data rearranging history, rewriting the soul. Most people don’t see it coming. Everywhere you see everyone on their devises, next are the inserts. They want it, they welcome it, they want to be smart, smarter than anyone, popular, they want the ‘LIKES’ from anywhere, anytime, anyhow.

I have lost major energy. Maybe they are stealing it directly out of my body somehow. Who knows? The science-minds bad are so beyond what most think, i think. Many presume they are so intelligent to not be fooled by strategies that are way beyond their minute conclusions that they have been freely given and believe to be true, clever, correct. The arrogance of the known is the same arrogance that has praised ai, logic, reason as the God of All and that my dear friend, will destroy the sacred unique ‘heart’ of man. (a knowing pre-reason)

I am alone out here. Things have changed, the secure home i once had is gone, she is gone, almost all my belongings are gone, dispersed. Nothing much familiar awaits me at my vague door. I’m a baby boomer; we’re dying in hordes. They can’t wait to get rid of us and grab our money. I don’t have any. I don’t have that concern. The medical-industrial-money-machine has magnetized the disease system - they are giving away their health, their life, their money. Like everyone, i have to find peace in mind as i crawl, walk, sleep into the end bends to the great mystery - leave all my conclusions on the horizon and fly like a thunderbird, aware, into the great unknown.

They say ai is destroying history, manipulating it to their own ends, making fantasy from reality to coincide with slick sick agendas. Possibly, likely.
History never was true; a general approximation of a specific approximation of a particular situation described by self indulgent minds, misinterpreted, misjudged, manipulated…….. some were much better than others, more real for sure, almost facts…. that’s our history.

I travelled far into a future and connected to the historical technological remnants of my life…. fictitious, improvised, but good enough for the medium of the times needed for ‘sufficient-fact’, historic beliefs and cultural evidence. Memory anywhere from any source is fragmented, but it’s all we have and it’s all we need. Do we need anything? Is there a purpose here? Are you for real? Coffee is done, i’m gone.

I know somehow that i have a strong will to exist, but i have no reason, no reason whatsoever…. well none that is consistent longer than a breath or two and if they do try to hang around, those clinging thoughts, i deny them, try to kill them the best i can - i often fail and they intrude into my affairs - i let them visit for awhile unnoticed, i keep a close eye on them, they tend to bully themselves into areas easy to blend, into the architecture and structures well established cemented in fact ….. i know better, deep within, but i live out here on the surface as most of us….. tho, i’m a little bit further out there, here, i believe, just on the edge of another dimension where paradox is the glue that binds all these terrains together. There, we all live, when you dig deep, fly far, loose yourself.

I presume that what ever created the ‘will’, this will that appears to be the invisible force inside and outside of everything from matter to spirit…. created it without reason.. but how would i know? without reason … and even if i could know, i’d only know for a fraction of time and that very ‘change/will’ would divide into another realm; truth is not constant… not in my world and certainly not rock-reasonable out here in eternity. The meaning of words all fall prey into the bird of mystery, the thunderbird, eats them up, digests them and poops them back out into the nothingness, it is everywhere, the shadows. Mystery mystery mystery.

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“The time has come for you to stand alone with the night and surrender your gifts. There is no other way. The secret waves of destruction are upon us” said, the silence.

“Along the busy streets and noisy boulevards time will twist the truth into realms too tangled to see clear. The beauty of form will surrender to you if you let it. The power of the flower with its healing scent will smother your hesitations. The doors to clarity are opening behind you, the windows of light are within”.

In the twilight of darkness a small entity screams softly words of song, ‘sing’.

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We want gentle nights, long sleep and space mobiles wandering thru the candy-heavens for ever. We want to hide the darkness in the light of holiness and happiness. We want the miracle of love to embed us into a disc made of tourmaline, a dream made of fat foam and falling stars across eternal beauty softly somewhere over a rainbow.

There is no war here, here in this shelter of magnetic peace. We are free from the shatter, the torment, the screaming, the horror of every second of it. We are safe here couched in constitutions, continuous pleasure in live-news and delightful drama. We are warm here from the nights of fright, the deep disaster of avoidance, we are free from the miserable crucifying christ inside.

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He would die for his art but never for a country, for the earth but never for boundaries made of paper, and steel.

After all these years he still doesn’t have an answer, for anything, that lasts longer than a night or two. The answers he had accumulated, drowned in their own blood. What’s it all about? What can be known by the known? Can meaning last? Did she really love me….. what is really really made of? It goes on and on with no ultimates; we all know that, but we continue to cling on, on and on…. it is the nature of the mind.

Art kept him alive. Truth kept dying in the ditch swimming in ambiguity and pure logic in love with abstracts of illusions of lonely horny thought-like slimy sperms wombless, swam and swam and swam. This was his fate, words dragging thought around in a temple of dust… but representations - art alive and full of lust for life and beauty and meaning.
His life….. was something like that.

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Later in the day, early evening i wandered onto netflix… bored. Thought i noticed a dog and linked on. It was a movie i watched with Sasha, my latest x, six years ago when we had our dog on order from Whitehorse, Yukon. We had already been introduced and was just waiting a couple more weeks for her to be old enough to ship to Victoria on Van Is. We hadn’t picked a name yet.

A movie with Richard Gere, a true story about a dog that lost his master and waited at the train station every night for ten years after Richard had died, a professor from the city that traveled by commuter rail every morning and returned each night until one day he had a heart attack and never returned…. but Hachi did, loyal, dedicated, rare in this world, especially with humans.

The movie was located on the eastern seaboard of the states but really the true story was a suburb of Tokyo which they later built a monument for Hachi.

The movie brought back numerous memories of being with Sasha and the love we shared. As all past loves, of course, it can hit you deep in the heart without an invitation.

I remember her, often joking about how it only took her ten years to convince me to get a dog. I travelled all across America in my youth, thousands of miles with my dog Jessy, hitch hiking, in a volks bug, other means. I lost her and as Jerry Jeff Walker had said in the song Mr Bojangles, ‘how his dog and him travelled about, and after fifteen years he still grieves’…. it’s been over fifty years now since Jessy went mysteriously missing. A good reason why it took ten years to convince me to get another dog. But how would anyone know. I am glad for the love, the loss and the suffering that makes life worth while if you let it. Bitterness, guilt, regrets are just the remnants of not truly understanding, and ‘understanding is sorrow’. A song written by Ted Zawadski for the Canadian band Yukon… a close friend from my childhood. Life is connected everywhere. I always liked the title of that song, at my ripe 21 year old form, somehow we both knew, ‘understanding is sorrow’.

As soon as the movie ended, Sasha looked at me and said, Hachi, for our new dogs name… i instantly turned to her and said, Kachi……. in honor of Sierra Kachina, my deceased daughter and in honor of the Kachina dolls of the Hopi Nation which i have numerous connections and stories. The name stuck.

Mitakuye Oyasin, ‘all my relations’, we are connected to everything and everything is connected to us. That - maybe, is the only truth i feel i know, if i know anything at all. Synchronicities everywhere if you care and notice.

Kachi is almost six now and i have her with me 24/7, now in Mexico, she is a mature woman. She has lived on the west coast of Canada, in Ontario, the Yucatan, San Patricio west coast of Mexico and right now in SMA San Miguel de Allende. She is loose 90% of the time and waits on busy street corners until i arrive, is polite on a leach in super markets, airports, she is incredibly well behaved, seldom barks and is dedicated to being my best friend.

Sasha is off into another world of romantic desires and left Kachi and i two years ago to fend for ourselves. I suppose we both felt that that was ‘right/best’ somehow, and i am certain of that…. most of the time.

Jessy and Kachi have been my most loyal loves, tho there were others in the ‘Shadow’. Unless you experience the love with an animal, especially a dog, you have missed out…. life is rare, simple and short… if you let it…be….feel the love from a life form that doesn’t reevaluate every move you make with misinterpreted conclusions, animals are straight to the point of the matter, most of the time.

Do i miss Sasha, of course i do, does Kachi miss Sasha, more than i can know, i believe. There is an infinite number of realities for every spec of love that exists… i presume this, at the moment. Life and death continues on as a mystery and shall remain so…. change is the only constant, love comes and goes as life and death…. that’s my guess…. and it is all a guess i guess.

I miss many loves, of course, we all do, but get on with it one must, not to fall into the ruins of the past, any past, no matter how fantastic it may have been, life has its ups and downs, it continues on whether you drag the trail behind, along or not. Freedom is forgiving, forgetting, suffering/understanding and observing anew, and of course ‘nothing left to lose’. The mind is a strange entity, love is not eternal…. not this kind of love; nothing is i suppose.

I have felt what may have been a slight heart attack, a few times now… we go, sooner or later and if you made it this far. Till later…. buy me a coffee.

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There on a distant branch sits a common sparrow perched into the known like a magnificent angel, looking intensely with a loose gaze of natural insight. We catch a glimpse along our eyes. What does this all mean we ask and no sooner ask, the shock of abrupt change scatters the winds around and she is gone and all questions vanish.

Communication is that way, no matter how romantic, it fragments, disintegrates, disappears.

I am alone here, finally, after a life time of scenes with others and all their conclusions, opinions, their love, tender and disastrous; i am the epiphany of the surreal, a spirit of mystery. I could fade in a second, end with out a trace. Life is death and all is strange.

Light is diminishing now, the shadow of night is caressing the hills of progress. There is nothing to fear, here. I have had no expectations to hold on to your soul, to find a mate in this shade of fancy.

The tired terrain of adventure is leaving for another shore. There, i see, is nothing but nothingness moving within these winds. Everything is as it is, embedded with a will to create anew. I appear to be conscious, moving thru the unconscious, like a bird in flight, a fish in form, a moment in time.

She ended her life and i didn’t notice. I was here, within the vague hues of love entertaining with trees, the winds, the trillions of unanswered questions wandering impatiently. I was here all along, here in the absence.

Darkness fell like a dull knife as i slipped into a coma of relief, and escaped.

Tomorrow may be another day, it usually enters quietly, unnoticed.

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A few titles of the lazy articles lying around: exposed now - here.
- to my family of a possible future
- to a niece with bad behavior, a heckler, a lost child.
- Ground Zero - To be or not to be
- My High Stress Illness

Read more

She opened up a door to me then slammed it with her fist, said it was too much to handle, too much to forgive with a flick in the wrist. A flood covered the lands with an articulate dimension; it was an escape, into the mountains, for relieve from the aggression, or die the slow death of progression.

If you have read more than five of my blog-posts, certainly more than 50 or 100. I would really appreciate a one-time-coffee or yearly subscription ($5/month). If it's worth the read, must be worth a coffee (-:

We wandered separately, memories tracking and struggled for that freedom pledged. The soft land of spring did open up and ended almost everything…. almost, cept a few segments of trails embedded deep, deep, too deep to delete. Time doesn’t cater to anyone for long, it has its way and we are but a fragment of light clutching to its borders. Sooner or later a breeze slips us into an unknown path where agony can’t exist, where nothing is real and nothing to resist. A freedom where walls fade, crumble and end.

Weather turned around and grey-green air surrounded. A mellow rumbling of thunder caressed the silence, a soothing touch of warmth echoing in the distance. Life, i thought, a miracle of strange events unbelievable, undetectable, indescribable, a mystery of beauty and horror and crashing silence along vague edges in the winds.

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The peddler now speaks
To the countess who’s pretending to care for him
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite
And I’ll go out and say a prayer for him” bDylan-Visions of Johanna

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He put his life on the line for her, then the slick betrayal, showed a color he hadn’t seen, clear; saved him, woke him up.. But he still does find lost-pieces that his heart couldn’t accept, falling in traces on the streets where true-care tends to regret. Back on the road again.

The nature of awakening into the realms of a jesus. ‘Forgive them, they know not what they do’, they are programmed, indoctrinated, forced by shadow-fear, he says…. it’s hard to be a human for us all, is there really anyone in here to blame? Possibly jesus showed us a way out, not thru anger, bitterness, curses, but by understanding, the hard difficult look into the other side, all the thoughts that trace the deceit to its root and beyond…. somehow we are all in this together. Jesus was not the only one to teach us how to crawl out of our mind-mess, but some of us act as if he was, strap him to a false pedestal, create great high hollow church ceilings that echo when phantom angels sing - ‘my one and only savior bla bla … i don’t think so. That’s the same old trap… give your guilt away, demand forgiveness, eliminate the dangerous view, say a few prayers and be on with the day. I don’t think so, i don’t feel so, i don’t care what they say, i don’t know so. If you’re using jesus, buddha, muhammad, moses, whom ever or whatever to shield you from the blunt-truth within, the real work, the raw suffering…. you’re creating devision, wars within and without, a mess of solid illusioned beliefs that eventually maim, kill and die..
Man and his mirrors; tend to deflect graciously….

Everyone has to do the hard work, supposedly, the hard look for a true way to care with real love exposed… no easy way out - there appears to be no end in sight, walking, keep walking.

God has nothing to say about all this, god doesn’t speak at all, possibly it’s johanna….. ‘here comes the night, find some light, if everybody’s wrong nobody’s right’.

Then a day broke; awoke:

Flowers hung quietly over the terrace, there was a silent breeze, Nothing mattered to this sun lit afternoon. The street was quiet, I was alone with the solitude of the earth. All the wars were vacant of my mind. I saw you there in a memory made of cotton. You vanished.
A slight wind curled up and around an euclidean corner off to the side, a few small leaves mapped out natures route, the pathless vortex.
The whole world could end and i would still just sit here, watching nothing pass, no emotion, just the flutter of a mind weaving about in no reason.
A large cloud sheltered the sun and the evening approached out of nowhere. The sun set over the roof tops. I walked up the long hill towards a bed awaiting my worn aged body and thought of you again. Moments like sketches of a book then all passed. I lay in bed not thinking with thoughts roving amongst the dead the dying and the living. How simple and tired i am. 

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bDylan-Visions of Johanna
[Verse 1]
Ain’t it just like the night to play
Tricks when you’re trying to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded
Though we’re all doing our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, tempting you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind

[Verse 2]
In the empty lot where the ladies play
Blindman’s bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls
They whisper of escapades out on the “D” train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it’s him or them that’s insane
Louise, she’s all right, she’s just near
She’s delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna’s not here
The ghost of ‘lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

[Verse 3]
Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He’s sure got a lotta gall
To be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall
Oh, how can I explain?
It’s so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

[Verse 4]
Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo, “This is what salvation must be like after a while”
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, “Jeez, I can’t find my knees”
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

[Verse 5]
The peddler now speaks
To the countess who’s pretending to care for him
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite
And I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”
But like Louise always says
“You can’t look at much, can you, man?”
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes everything’s been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain
bDylan-Visions of Johanna

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I’m in a cafe in SMA watching nothing, anything, a flash of light, a magic wind of something to attract my glare…. but nothing much, it all comes and goes. The flat white coffee was great this morning. Kachi is resting in the middle of the floor, spread out like a totally content entity… nobody minds, here. They walk around her. All the other dogs that come and go are on a leach. I get hassled occasionally. Ive learned to handle it relatively well, smart quick answers made of questions for the universe…. confuses them mostly and they react differently but it’s often predictable. Kachi and i just continue on. Me and my X taught her the word and action to ‘ignore’ and that still is embedded into her brain.. no matter what it is, she, just, yes, ignores and moves away from the dog, the human, the situation…dogs are smart, but you’ve got to give them the chance to perform, just like us, but most of us have been so tormented from the ‘smart’ ones, the ‘know it alls’ that we can hardly think thoughts that may possibly be perceived as original… walking robots in a way, well, watch out, here comes the real ones to steal everything they can….. made in the image of their god, yea, ‘US’ imo….. ignore.

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If you have read more than five of my blog-posts, certainly more than 50 or 100. I would really appreciate a one-time-coffee or yearly subscription ($5/month). This is a form of my livelihood.

It’s my birthday today or thereabouts. I’ve passed seventy eight turns around a suns existence i could never truly figure out, beyond the typical geometry of ‘knowing’. I never will and this is one of those rare moments you can be certain about saying never - or at least i can, without a doubt.

In the tradition of our clan, ‘happy birthday pat’. I have met many characters passing along these streets of warped beliefs of sincere gestures. Many of those moments have stuck themselves onto the corridors of my brain. My mind ponders endlessly at the sheer wonder of the thoughts that pass unnoticed, noticed and captivate me in the most peculiar way.

By the stream daydreaming in an afternoon autumn stoned into the atmosphere of moving dissolving images across an almost translucent multi-colored sky of sun-awareness. I think i was about 21 / 1969.

Eight years old sitting crossed legged on the corner of our property leaning against a black metal-pole that said Edwards St. in one direction and Bismark in the other, above me. That was southern ontario kitchener. The gas station was just across the street after a few houses before the bend going up the big hill. The traffic was slow, mid afternoon, i was in summer sun. I vaguely remember wondering ‘why are we here, what’s goin on, could i have been born somewhere else, to a different family’…… a car whipped by, a little fast for this neighborhood, shook my thoughts apart. I never asked if there was a god. Didn’t seem to care, but i wondered if my older brother knew.

Yesterday i was sitting in a cafe, mexican life surrounding. It all seemed surreal, more so than usual. A young boy with his mother walked by and caught my eye. He smiled gently and my eyes returned aware in a silent sun as he walked on; as we all do. Life is odd i thought, beautiful, meaningless and ok. He was about eight i gleamed.

78, the youngest and now the oldest male left in a family of eight, 4 males, 4 sisters. Strange, being here, being there, just being. No particular place to go, no one to be, no one left around. The sun hiding behind big clouds, fluffy white dream like.

That’s growing old, i thought. Most of the charm of being someone, left wavering in the breeze, across eons of time, over there, somewhere. Thoughts slow down. For me there is no fantasy in the know to keep me searching for anything, anything at all. The air is good enough, the sudden changes that erupt into reality is all fine with me, the sun is always near, slipping in between the shadows. I am nothing, i know nothing, most of the time for most of the time. I am 78 today having a simple moment. Thanks friends for hanging around. We had our moments, tender and deep, shallow, steep. Friends and family and foe, where does all this magic go?

Happy birthday sunshine…

Dog Kachi is more alert today, possibly because of this weird sun-awareness in the air - ‘good girl Kachi, Kachi-lina-girl’. And here comes the sun.

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If you have read more than five of my blog-posts, certainly more than 50 or 100. I would really appreciate a one-time-coffee or yearly subscription ($5/month). This is a form of my livelihood.

I am not growing, i am seeing. Memorized imagination entangles into a mythical self i call i - in constant motion as waves upon a shore line, i am, i am not.

In a time of lost dreams where memories flow, i stood for one long moment and watched your suffering soul. I cried out for you to absent ears as i watched you fade thru the dying years.

None of this matters anymore as it once did. Life time existence perceptions go, down the waters where dreams flow. I have nothing left of you or me, down this way away from misery.

I fell out into the streets of metaphors and splintered time. A man with an axe eyeing a tree, a space craft zooming out of a 55 tv b/w, a series of slogans tearing thru minds from subway stop murals, ‘everything is great’ and then…. all stopped.

I was back here on a road, fingers scratching across flat plastic letters and surreal sounds silently scraping the insides of my mind searching for a form to be…. and there - another memory made of broken air and nothingness, curved roads, mountain views and escapes that led nowhere down fantasies fading blurring my eyes, i stood, still, alone, in one, with all.

Shook that off, headed out for real adventure. Met you, in them, that didn’t work well - slid off to an end, quick. Then, this, this understanding, this beautiful blank awareness.

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I am not suggesting to throw away our books, screens and implants, we never would, we never could. In fact i am not suggesting anything at all. I just write, with vague clear words as they appear before me. I am a human being thrown into this world without knowing without meaning. I know there are those that have it all figured out from eons of out-of-body experiences, reincarnation scriptures, definite answers in a universe where it appears certain that there is no certainty anywhere. So be it. I am here to amuse you, daunt you, needle you, lead you astray from the well worn torn path of human civilization. Why? How would i know? This world just feels wrong. There is no reason fit to show you how to slip into the crevices beyond words and form and grit, things happen for no reason and nothing really matters… not one bit.

I don’t know…. if you want somebody that knows, you can talk to jesus, or buddha, frank, one of them - there are many, but keep walking, it doesn’t really matter… but i am certain i don’t know.
Les go for a walk, get out of here, along a trail where birds and creatures and butterflies flow, where you only remember what you need to recall, no more no less.

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Reflections of a Parody: I’m thinking of committing suicide. Is that ok with you? Well, really, it is none of your business. Is it?

'While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely' - bDylan

It is really great today. You don’t have to go thru all the possible procedures, not to injure anyone else, oh yea, there are those that would love to take a few others out as they go. I am certainly not one of those…. oh, well, maybe, but they’re the really bad guys, at least in my eyes…. you know, presidents, oligarchs, them kind. Ok, enough of that…. insanity.

A car off a cliff, high speed against a wall, an over dose, a gun to the head, slashing veins, a bunch of pills, jump from a high ledge… fall; we all know many ways to exit, via the media, movies, etc, you probably have a few of your own favorites hidden in your secret thoughts that you may have pondered on a little longer than normal; if you’re honest.

'Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying' - bDylan

Yea, so there are those days you just would prefer not to be here. Im not really suicidal but lately my life had a few turns that just seemed impossible to swim thru elegantly. I am managing…. fine, thanks… really don’t get all goody goody, i’ve been thru wars that make this look like a holiday; my god, it is a holiday…. a flash, a slash across a dark sky…. done.

What i found interesting is a few friends whom had consoled with me about their tortured mind at times and therefore have acquired a gun solely for one purpose. Of course you can also hear or read, watch videos these days of depressed souls whom would rather not be here at all, ever. Nothing new but what is new, great news for some that live in particular countries that have adopted ‘who’s? maid’ is you can now kill yourself legally, honorably, or, well, have someone else do it for you.. all in good faith. At one time, not that long ago, if a message as this got out to the public eye, the do-gooders, you would soon find yourself in a crazy house, a Kookoos Nest, a sanitarium, a hospital third floor shot up with all kinds of great torturous pharma-drugs. Not now, haha… i think, i hope…lol. This is all fiction, i swear it.

I can make an appointment, pick a date, call a few friends if you have any left and let them kill you right there legally and have a going-away party while you’re departing. You could even have a priest there, a rabbi, shaman, whomever, whatever you want… a band, playing your favorite tunes… i’d have ‘It’s Alright Ma’ by Dylan

‘And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, ma, it’s life, and life only.’

I have a new friend that told me she has a date picked, a few years ahead, so she still has a couple of years to check off a few fantasies from her bucket list of possibilities. She is a professional online traveller worker phycologist, a real normal citizen just like you and i.

What a great life - MAID…… maid in the shade, bite of the light, route of the out.
(where is MAID leading, is there any hidden agenda swirling in the syringe?) …cheaper to get rid of the elderly and others…. eliminate for the betterment of the rest, the few / maybe that’s a good plan / there is a plan, isn’t there?
Dying with Dignity, Right to Die, Assisted suicide, ?????
‘money doesn’t talk it swears’ bDylan

Well with all kidding aside, death is not a laughing matter, most of the time, tho i must admit i find it rather amusing at times that we take it all so seriously, dogs don’t, butterflies are fine with it and i find it rather odd that we think we are so incredibly special that we tend to think we are too sacred to die.

Well i do and i don’t……sometimes i hate myself for having to quote Dylan so often but damn he just said it so well so often so many times in so many ways.. (once you have learned to read: surreal - symbolically,… and to me, that is the only reality; it’s easy… well)

‘Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He’s sure got a lotta gall
To be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall

Oh, how can I explain?
It’s so hard to get on
And these Visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn’ Dylan

It’s realms like that that has kept me up and engaged with the beauty surrounding, no matter how much shit hits the heart. The visions, sacredness everywhere, takes real work to perceive, not just a crowd of quotators to hypnotize your mind daily with lame practices that will entrap you into some form of a glazed persona.

’You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun
Crying like a fire in the sun
Look out, the saints are coming through
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue’ / bDylan

Ok, im out of here…. no, not there, not just yet.
See you in my next blog.
Hey leave a fucking comment will you, about you, not me…. ok, whatever.
I’m not going to live forever
just kidding, no i’m not, yes i am.

A few songs that portray concepts as such - Fixin to Die - Dylan, Im so lonely i could die - Hang Williams, I’m so tired - John Lennon… that’s just a few, there are so many.

And by the way on the same albums are love songs and happy days… none of us are above a few low moments, we all have these shadow images at times, unless you’re a complete imbecile, indoctrinated fool, psychopath, a face with a smile engraved into your skull.  Get over it - keep walking….. and 
Yes, I received your letter yesterday
About the time the doorknob broke
When you asked me how I was doing
Was that some kinda joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now, I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row  …. bDylan

And then Raphael Rabbit appeared - : from some rabbit hole of course, out of nowhere, he took me down.

There’s a space for comments, from anywhere near ‘a Desolation Row’ a fresh rabbit hole; - not far, just down here, one little step below.

Raphael is one of the seven archangels and is known as the "God has healed." He is primarily recognized for his role in the Book of Tobit, where he helps heal Tobit's blindness and guides Tobias on his journey. (my friend Arleta suggested the name, it made sense to me, in lieu of major happenings with wild rabbits from my past, almost visions, animal channeling, strange beautiful experiences, so the name fit, well)

Raphael passed on a day ago. Apparently not many of these little guys make it without the help of their mother. So be it for my imaginary magical possibilities, life and death, that’s the name of the game…. always happening together, just in different proportions coming in and out of existence to a possible perceiver, possibly, as in you and me. Cheers.

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Footnote:
There are many today that have been convinced from their new-age therapist that their relationship is terribly toxic and they should dump her/him as soon as possible and set up a one-time-boundary to never hear from that person again. (Rather than rational conversation and/or a compassionate exit plans as in a more understanding past)
There are ai therapy programs advising and convincing young ones to end their own life. Life and death in the future now.
Keep Walking, no direction, no destination, just walking… today is a good day.