A man so various that he seems to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome.
He is an experimenter and not a theoretician in the sense that he writes in order to change himself and in order to no longer think the same thing as before.
The metaphysics of these verses, is perfectly absurd. His curse is no sooner in an iron word he formulates his thoughts than he perceives the same to be absurd.
So shalt he conquer space, and lastly climb the walls of time; And by the golden path the great have trod reach up to god!
Today is the first day of the rest of my life and I'm going to make it worth the effort of coming back from the dead.
I find myself in a quandary, a foundry, a quarry of oil and water, churning and undulating in the bright spring light.
Someone pistol whip me with a Nerf gun. Paint my brain with a thin red lacquer. Carve something utilitarian from my wooden heart. Plaster the cracks in myself and sand them smooth.
I am the porcelain glaze you espy through a generation of dust. I am the golden alchemical wedding ring lost in the city dump. I am at a loss for linguistic expression.
Illuminated waves and subtle tracings ebb the edges, the curves, the grid of that which I gaze upon. Introspective light casts its heat in the dusty attic of my mind, my soul and psyche combined.
What is this for, these agitated tribulations I seem to repeat? The Universe only answers me in symbols and riddles beyond my skill to interpret, so perfect.
Take a step back, for my shadow is casting, obscuring the relevant clues which I may use to decipher the code that has engaged my senses.
It's the beginning of the end of the beginning my friends, and so the circle says, it's time to repent, be saved and redeemed.
I am a flawed crystal diffusing divine light. I am an irregular obstruction in the path from unconsciousness to consciousness. I am seeking to to remake myself into a pattern through which the infinite may more clearly shine. I am learning the art of being an ordinary mortal.
We are the heroes of our dreams, sent to rescue our deepest selves.
I'm trying, damn it, I'm trying.
Who I'd like to meet: Cartopgraphers, Photographers, Cosmologists, Psychologists, Surrealist, Physicists, Poemicists, Absurdists, Ridiculousists, Ethnopharmacologists, Humanists, Alienists, Deists, Oxygenists, every other Ist.
If you think Gary was a moron, you should read the most recent retard that left a comment on my blog. The religious fanatics are coming out of the woodwork. And they're all hicks.
Isn't it amazing how many crazy people come out of the woodwork with regards to religion? I loved your post on your journal regarding Pat Robertson...WOW! Thanks for the heads up amigo. Brian is currently watching for falling brimstone^^^^
happy birthday!! when you drive through iowa we should do lunch. or if it's at night, we would like nothing more than to have you guys over for dinner.
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