gracious and incorruptible/anyone she's ever played "stone whore" to

ha ha ha ha wouldn't it be awesome if the stars and their alignments had horoscopes related to individual consciousness' down here. "Riga's a hot tranny mess. nothing goes faster than light; there is a hard-coded limitation on the transfer of information in the universe. any given event in space and time, its possible effects on the world can be seen as a 4D cone in space-time; as time moves forward, the sphere of influence of the event explodes at the speed of light. xoxo z. Look at him go trailing spacedust."

we're amazingly directed and put together animals, it turns out. just ask your (not "your" but everyone should feel free to ask that of those lucky people who you picked out of the dark, or who picked you) last trick. like, "hey i just had my fingers in your ass/pussy/my cock in all sorts of places. it was crazy! what's your overall gestalt of the aura going on, in the world, in general?"

someone, a long time ago, during a reading, came up to me later and said, "it's like the ecstatic cloud of unknowing, except not so sure what you said?" so maybe i should read some clark coolidge. HE knew a crystal.

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! - Allen Ginsberg

When you've understood this scripture, throw it away. If you cant understand this scripture, throw it away. I insist on your freedom. - Jack Kerouac

we know that, we're not sure about it, leaves you with a graciously annoyed, resplendent fuck you. as soon as one feels astonishment at one's own broad, generous experience there's an immediate move back to utter nonsense, and by utter nonsense i mean, ridiculously, love. no matter how relevant the unveiling has been, there's that moment of no idea again. and we tell a whopping good, true story about tenderness, and we believe ourselves.

(ritual spontaneity)= what sex is? it's def. between wandering and already home. one thing i do know about myself is that if i say "i love you", i am damn sure i am. i'm really stubborn on that point. i work so fast that any facet of that question has been answered by my soul. quickly, methodically, finally. what that means in the quotidian is to be determined.

in other news, on march 19th, 2008. all of my stories ended. the end. you get a sense of meter and music from it, a sexuality, a way to make yourself invulnerable and broken at the same time. wounded, reckless and demanding, infinite, unending desire. i don't really lock in to anything that came before. there are hurts, and beauty. what do the letters i'm pointing to have in common? affinity.

consciousness is a living thing, there is a language, a tentative set of building blocks that are alike and not. the habit is to keep to images and word-images that block the sun, or birds?, rhythms really, of what you think you are and meanwhile you're holding close a willed death of being, stopping the flow at all costs, can you hold anything otherwise, one little dribble at a time if you can stand it? of course you can. it means both cosmic and grounded awe instead of pushing all that violently back into the self (how will you hold your eyes, these cigarettes, look someone in the eyes, out of mortification, anger) total feeling, total being, everyone knows about it. mark and claim yourself there. the possibility that this joy might be wiped out. it's got so much sweetness to it, that choice: fix your inner mind to the truth of what is, very human to human, at any moment, as it is. who i am and who someone else is. there are different reverberations of the same vision, awareness: kind of blissful in an awesomely practical universe of love.

no real disjunction in the variation of the length and accentuation of a series of sounds or other events. or great angels smacking you around in the night and all the stories i've had (all the things that have happened to me, in their grandiosity and helplessness) about it dissolves away. bankrupt, realizing all that creative energy misdirected. and of course i am sobbing, happy, having a great time feeling all of this, as it comes down. i manage to be all very complicated about it, idiotic. this deep, passionate adoration. maybe i could get a little love. or help. (on good friday i chirped, as if just remembering "oh, it's good friday!" and r. nodded his head and said, "yes. jesus is dead.")

i, and everyone, merit it. nothing can take it away from me, except my own authentic will. and even then it doesn't really take away from itself. that felt separation is false. no one really knows anyone else, but we can ask, beg and plead everything of each other. that's amazing. i love you. i'm sorry. please forgive me. thank you. "in the ruins of thought"

"The gift moves toward the empty place. As it turns in its circle it turns toward him who has been empty-handed the longest, and if someone appears elsewhere whose need is greater it leaves its old channel and moves toward him. Our generosity may leave us empty, but our emptiness then pulls gently at the whole until the thing in motion returns to replenish us."
Lewis Hyde: The Gift

i'm totally just going to pronounce things at you now. we should make a list of things i could pronounce at you.

honestly, i have no idea what you mean by ritual spontaneity. did i say that once? did you? wot dat? what did we mean?

i'm being pedantic. also, did you know that most domestic disturbances happen in threshold spaces? like, doorways. again, you can thank my shrink because she told me that. and she's totally aware of the crashing metaphor too. and i used the word quotidian and she blurted out that it was her favorite word. "i love that word". she said something a little more complex than that which i can't remember because we were both being adorable.

i've used that word twice already in my posts. next time i think i'll use "binding agent".