Dec 11 2007

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If the stars fell from the sky and the moon and sun stopped shining, the universe would still remain . It is unimaginable, multidementional, and cosmically volitile. It is as we are as a species, volitile,unpredictable, predictable, multidementional, unilateral and multilateral, syncopated and unsyncronized, compassionate, uncaring, harsh , loud, brash, bold, weak, dark, light , glistening and brilliant.

The Universe is female. It is subtle and shocking, sultry and shining , crying and calling out in anger and in love. The Universe is haunting and compelling and facinating and complex and simply stunning in it’s vastness. I believe in its creator, I believe in the one who is viewing it now. I agree with the lofty opinions for my reincarnated purpose, and the sullen art of strangulation of mass communications. This is the universal element in all we know, and see, touch and hear, smell and taste. A universal flavor served to the spirits of patriotic agreement or dissent.

I remember the previous lifetime when the women were servants and the the men were humbled into the black dirt of greater dirt farms, milked cows and aborted pigs. Sap layden trees of late fall and early winter universe, mapled caramel colored fragments on the snow, and syrup strewn across the white carpet of dried ice and geometric universal designs.

Gemstoned crickets lounging in the sun and drinking the juice of ripened fruit, waiting for the immigrant hand to pick it’s perfection. It is notion and motion and animation and emotion all wrapped within a universal clear plastic storage bag and wrapping, lighted at each side with string and sorrow. The blessed virgin marches to the neighbor’s joyous dance in universal sufferage and calloused Gypsy fortune readers step on stones to the tarot card universe of subtle spirits, and designs of the spiritual minded.

The Universe is itself with me in it. It is the sunburst, and cloud cover, and starburst, and silvery Milky Way. I am the universe within the universe of all beings , just as beautiful children write their names in the sky with feathers of sacred birds of flight, shed upon the ground as gifts of magnificent generosity towards man. Good fellow smiling near death, with freindship and good cheer. Merry holiday of ecclectic joy and compromising spirits. A son’s hello and daughter’s goodbye.

El Nikki on expense account fraire Jocque on the mount of mercy stripping to clothing store jingles, and bathing in beer. These are the new lines of fashion , revealed in bold sides of buildings and bad television programs. Luxury at the expense of taste. Taste denied by crunch and chewiness. MMMM Good is the rightful Universal statement. MMMMMMM GGGGGood. Yummmeeeee. How nice your home is and how pretty are your curtains, and paintings, and commode. The roof looks good, and the paint job seems to have held up. Yeah , I might be interested if I had any money, but since I don’t I think I’ll just add on and stay clear of those subprime, slippery sloppers.

Milk the morning with chemtrail planes and baloon filled birthday cakes and halaprin horses and monkeys on Thursdays and love on Friday nights and Saturday mornings, sainthood on Sundays. Universal love and peace and prayer on Mondays and so on and so on, on Tuesday and Wednesday. But on that saints day of days is the warning always full of roses and orchids and chilli green leaves of heat waves and frost bite and after hour bars and pasty tongue hangovers and the Sunday Times or the blog of choice on the bathroom laptop. Yeah, meet the Faulkers and Chances, guess the name of the African beetle eating the moss in your garden. Spells of white,Wiccan , warriors chanted to the sunset and sunrise of solstice. I remember the spell I placed on Brianna as she seethed with hatred in direct response to my love. She was beautiful to the touch and taste, sacred to handsome men. Her legs and arms were white as alabaster, and her hair as dark as night. Her eyes glowed with fire , her voice coood in quiet groans of fullfillment of desire.

The Universe is my home and place of chaotic life and sudden lashing out of mindless , madness, and tickled souls of feet, children laughing in the doorway as we try to sleep. Yes, the cool air blowing through the window during the untimely storm. Dylan music on the alarm clock radio, strumming harmonica tunes. Go away from my window on a magic carpet ride of half dream and worn out memory. Half lit ciggarette and smokey orange juice , coffee and dog walking cold weather. It’s a mean street for computer repairmen with bipolar aptitudes, long lost mothers, and the dipping below 20 degree mercury.

Hello ballaster , Mr, Swine Dr. How’s your heart matter does it? I guess I forgot he had a job, but lost it. Manufacturing layoff of substance abusers, wife beaters and hand strokers, you know . Sorry for the delay of ditch digging holding up the traffic on 495, it’s sad , so sad, but someone has to freeze his ass off to get the highways cleared. Home Helouise it’s time to give the dog a bath. You know the time. Yeah, it’s the universal time of day when the laws of Love and lust and us come together and make happiness thoughout the universe. I love that time, you use to say that you did too. Ah, happy , happy universe. I am certain you exist because I was meant to live in you. I am here, because I was meant to be . Silly to think anyone else has a better reason to exist than I’ve given. Happy midnight in merry land for the new year is another sign of something else to come and to imagine as true. We are what we think, what we think is what we see, what we see is what we are drawn to do , what we know as the Universe is really ourselves.


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