Jacob's Eudaimonia Sustains US

Dietary companionship:  A diet of having food in rooms with other people exclusively.

10/27/15

1115 lunch with Doug

I had left my bag in his car, not that it had anything too important in it.  All I used from it in the time it would have not been available to me was a book by Carl Jung about symbolism and dreams.  I was convinced I could have gone without reading it today, boy was I wrong…boy was I wrong!  Male child, was I incorrect?  Politically correct assassin, there is no other recourse.  We talked about our mutual obsession with looking at forum bill posts about our collective invested interests.  How was I to know that the pizza they serve at D’Avolio’s would have been as good as it was?  Well, to be correct, I’ve had it before, but this was the most delicious cheese and topping array to date with just the right about of sauce and spice.  It really made me feel better about having had diarrhea in the morning.  I hate being sick.  I hate stomach upset.  I hate headaches.  I think hate is okay when directed in the direction of discomforts that most people feel similarly about.  Although I have not taken an official poll, it is my belief that practically every person hates sickness, nausea, and sadness of the head.  What’s wrong with hating malady?  Anyway, I expelled large amounts of feces at one time, and it was uncomfortable, not as uncomfortable as previous times, but uncomfortable nonetheless, and it exhausted me physically, so that I had to go back to sleep at about 8 after being up since 5 in the morning.  For that reason I didn’t have too much to say at lunch time because I hadn’t really lived nor done much since morning except check out forums about the Nameko mushroom. 

2000 Pizza with Mike and Kaitlyn

“Many individual assorted cans” as related to cans of beans, many, arrayed.

Initial plan: Kuni’s at 7 with Kaitlyn as repayment for helping her move from place to place even though I didn’t mind.  This is when I come up with the dietary companionship plan.  I assert that every person in the world is on a diet whether they know it or not because every diet fits in with a system of beliefs about what is good and bad for the body when they decide upon what is ingested vs what is omitted in a free market environment.  Be prepared.  There is drama on the horizon.  Disrupted sleep.  I’m drinking gin and tonic to settle my stomach in the hope that it was make me feel better, so far so good.   

2100 I ate the rest of a bag of jalapeno pretzels alone, out of spite of my friend Doug’s ideology which I share, but which I perceive as a part of me I am actively attempting to deny in myself.  It is difficult for me to identify because the relationship that we share is long enough to be sure to be full of contradictory sentiments.  And that’s the conclusion I keep arriving at as I munch away at the pretzels he brought over on Thursday for televised Sunday football. 

2315 Mead with Dan and Mike during the World Series, Game 1.  The Mead was supposed to be a gift for Nicki, but I had picked up the tab at breakfast the day of her birthday, and she never claimed the gift I told her about, but forgot.  And like I said, my stomach was feeling off that day, and I had done research about what foods have antibacterial effects.  Honey was at the top of the list, being at the top of a list and the main ingredient in Mead, and fermented beverages were also in same said list, two birds with one stone, I’m feeling lucky thanks to Google.  The Jewell of the Newell from 810 Mead Works in Medina, NY where I went on a day trip with Doug and Kate, Phil and Julie (coupled off *cough**cough*). 

10/28/15

Now 0716 and I’m adding the last eighth of this bottle of Mead to my morning coffee.  I guess the reader thinks after day one I’m doing a rather mediocre diet, but may I mention that mediocrity is a form of moderation, a type I don’t believe in, even though upon reflection, I guess it is not fundamentally untrue.  We’re all destined for some type of mediocrity.  I’m focused on writing, but I could be working my body on the basement weights instead, therefore forgoing physical fitness for mental hygiene.  I’m doing a poor job of impressing the ladies’ superficial sense of aesthetics.  Oh poor me, mediocrity! Show me a sit-up!  I do seventy before my neck starts to get tired.  I’m probably doing mediocre sit-ups, having learned long ago from the worst.  What is the immortal sit-up technique?  Turn up the gravitational constant, NASA! Bring back space rock and make the Earth Jupiter!  I’m the skinny beast looking dangerous toward you in the wild, feral, the type of being that brings a chased person back to nature one way or another.  Unchaste Wolf Alice relieves Alice of life.  A new lease on life?  A new mortgage payment on existence!  Who has time for so much debt?  I’d rather remain in my moderate form of nothingness!  Who has time for absolution?  Absolutionists believe credentials doling exemption forge great human (imbecile) judgment, kangaroo legislation, monomaniacal notions, O Pine!  Questions?  Rather sensational truths unveil valor which xenon yellow zees. 

An undated flashback:

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Those who are obsessively self-conscious hide when they eat and drink alone.  They masturbate.  I know I suffer from excessive vanity.  This is an act of willful duty to dirtiness, mud fetishist, worshiping the Halloween gourd. 

Being poor forces my actions to coincide with necessity (the way nature likes it).  Being lonely compels me to seek long-term comfort at best or short-term pleasure at worst.  Untimely occurrences with bullet-like finality obliterate peace and boredom with successional reports and blazing lights ripping apart night sky. 

Intangibles are difficult to accept without trust, trust itself intangible without definition…

Trust, n.,              1. A type of fund

                                2. an ability to accept another’s word as truth.

Truth, n.,             What is real.

Reality, n.,           What exists.

Mutant mice.

Temporal lobotomy.

When we want to see only what we want to see (no evil), we are forced to vary our vantage, preferentially, by putting ourselves over others.  This is the illusion of luck.

“I’d rather be lucky than good.”

“Yes, but lucky AND good is unstoppable!”

As a predictable continuation, a ray or pre-defined line, where all action is inconsequential in relation to its being one with a history of infinity, time a disc.

“Lie to me! Feed me fate!  Tell me direction is inherent, say something sweet, something that negates choice…”

A slow jolt of electricity descends from a white wisp in a small sky, n’er a jagged edge nor curve in its beam.  A low voltage message to joyous children in a public pool below.  What a world I would like to predict…however, here we remain, floating, face-down, fried in our man-made carnivorous habitat full of slow, straight heat. 

Whence it comes, whence it goes.
Spin a thread, sew some clothes from
finest fiber of the fluffy ewe, Eudaimonia.

If dreams were real, why couldn’t we imagine a big, juicy burger when we sleep and wake up sated?  How come I don’t dream of food?  Psychoactive catecholamine synapse secretion and associated appetite suppression?  Damned pineal gland!  If mana comes from Heaven, what about our dreams?  Jacob’s ladder is the Heart of Stairway to Heaven.  An Angel’s head stuck between two rungs, like a baby between banisters, lucid trample torture, head malleable, curiosity ineluctable. 

Definition describes form.
Form is composed of matter.
Matter has weight and is subject to certain, definite physical laws.
Definitions describing qualitative forms found in nature are metaphysic.

Hello.  My name is Daren Dugan.  I play God for a living.  It doesn’t pay well and the living’s punishable.  It’s a challenging role, being confined within an error-prone, human-formed vessel; temporal scale #24.  I say I play God in that I act like I believe God would in that I create, but I don’t create, I am merely inspired by the air that the ONE TRUE GOD has provided me.  I make choices, but they are governed by my own mistakes and experiences in that One Life that God has provided me!  How does that make me feel? High as Hell!

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Made Violent - Dirty

A Sarcastic Title!

Source Material

When a person wants a lover to regard genuine love, it helps to be friends with that significant other first, or at least be a friend of a friend.  My confidence is part of my personality, and since the root meaning of confidence is ‘with faith,’ what is my faith?

This outward appearance looks of having a religion, but smells different.  Most religions smell of musty old incense while my religion smells of fresh kumquat.  I am a pastor in the church of Dog where my congregation finally has a place to sit and stay.  Lie down.

I have a confession to make, I’m terrible at being honest.  I am one emotional meltdown away from Takotsubo cardiomyopathy.  I always play black in chess while I desire white.  I can never have sex when I’m tripping.  It breathes!  I’m lonely and horny and I have someone in mind.  If truth were a quantifiable as well as an observable quality, I would desire to capitalize on this social exchange.

I don’t dive, I belly flop. I am the friend zone!  Infatuation is not rewarded.  Time travels. I have survived with all of my money, white dresses, and feline frenzy.

The notion of long-suffering is an idea worth complaining about.  The situation I am trying to describe involves infiltrating social circles and how easy it is for me to creep from one to another and somehow remain fascinated, a fixation in each and every one, it’s like feeling like being pulled in many directions all at once.  I understand how this can seem degrading.

I’m a flirt, I live dangerously, and I get away with it.  It’s easy to enter into relationships with preconceived notions.  Am I simply trading pleasure for pain with demons? Affirmative.

I’ve gone fishing with my BFFs, Diane Coffee, jail birds, and women I have trouble even describing.  Couples are getting married like crazy at this age!

You!

Just the other day I was hanging with Heynong Man Talkin’ Tang and about the fact that he wants to replace me as comedy host.  He spoke and it sparked my desire.  He asked, “Why aren’t you using punctuation?”  The love of my life would be shocked.  It’s still funny to deny everything.

Is it disturbing that everyone I kiss has a hairy face?  If Buddha taught me anything it’s that desire is the root of all suffering.  I put you on a pedestal (or is it a cross?).  My memory turns me on.

Nasty!  I refuse to negotiate or compromise, yet the world around us for some reason requires some kind of metaphysical navigation between extremes of virtue and vice.  Are there really no rules?!  If there really are no rules, how am I supposed to control anything!?

Emotions are confusing.  Friends reflect who you are.  Some people (Dave) sound superfluous. 

She blew my butt like Trombone Shorty on parade.  Butt cum.  “Butt chew,”…”Bless you!”  “Gesundheit!” My nose settled down for a while.  But then I sneezed again and this time I farted.  I had to bury her back at the old parade grounds like an informant.

“We bullshitted for a while.  He did all the things a nice guy would do.  I didn’t appreciate it.”

I have attachment issues.  I need someone to go over the top for me, but I still probably wouldn’t appreciate it.  I don’t want to settle.  I want to keep dreaming.  I’m tripping and it takes however many more hours for the effects to wear off.

I make poor choices sometimes.  I don’t think therefore I am not (a bride/a groom).

Mona Lisa’s frown.  Oh well, I’m hungry again, won’t you cook for me?

“But when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,” Matthew 6:3 I just long for the link!

Here’s the hypocrisy.  I hope that what goes around doesn’t come around.  As long as I can still make enemies out of would-be friends I’ll be okay.  I should probably just assume that person is my enemy ahead of time.  Karma’s a bitch.

Even if there are no rules, decisions have to be made.  Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in terra incognita, my country ‘tis of thee, and in God we trust?  Perhaps, perhaps… I’m only human!  It is vitally important for people to learn from their mistakes and take charge of their own destiny.  The fate of the world depends on it!

Former Seal Anxiety

10/21/15

I dream I had:

I was a seal swimming with the seals along the coast of South Africa and along the coasts of islands off the coast of South Africa in a sea free of great whites.  However, once I realize I have to keep my smartphone dry, I become human, circumcised by technology, and before I even realize what’s happening I’m travelling upstream on a motorboat with my drug dealer with a baggy full of white tablets I also have to keep dry.  Running the boat back downstream, Marines (or were they Navy Seals?) running covert operations in the dark, they pay me no mind, under the cloak of an alternate universe where I am one of them.  They take my alter ego in for questioning, while I wait in a corrugated steel watchtower with track and field out the window and my father is on television driving a golf ball off the crossbar and through a football upright while my father’s friend clowns for the camera.

@0200

                Anxiety produced by the product of my produce, difficult to calculate under the circumstances.  I start thinking my heart is operating under conscious reflex.  There is definitely something in me that I need to reason with or fight.  A mind on smart-drugs or uppers, there’s always one extra clean-up step and I see people in public places leaving litter behind and I feel like it’s my duty to pick up the pieces like disco.  Everyone has problems, a girlfriend’s great-aunt died, it’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to connect!  If there’s anything I can do!  Bee pottery hexacomb, I don’t care about being anything, just a person who matters, as I treat others at the end of the line, as a resource for rent.  Shy from so much judgment, those who judge others invite others to judge, be unconditional not unrequited (secret to all happiness, so says the New Order Stray Dog).  And there’s always dirty money involved isn’t there?  Isn’t there?

@1551

                And now as I move past the former… the former…closer to the fully formed oyster looking for a laugh, I don’t like feeling vulnerable because I know I am and I like to forget.  Everybody but the most hardened combatants have vulnerabilities and even then…hearts and heels.  Everybody loves a laugh.  Hard to find that tickle spot?  So cold.  So heavy.  The floating soul of some vision-inducing rock on the surface of some struggled-upon planet…with so much luxury water gone to waste, now a laughing stock to aliens and a broth of hilarity to everyone else.  Alfred E Neuman’s anxious father, one generation removed, worry gives way to madness.  The music, the technology, and most importantly the medium (is the message), the external adaption to cultural evolution brought about by the eternal consciousness that strings theories that are really morphing mandalas interpreted in different ways.  Drama occurs so much in one whom humor is lacking, (often the result of prolonged dehydration), blessings to the stage performer, and curses to the lamb astray!  Who is that special person who can draw the light of the sun through a cloud?  Thinking I’m someone special through emotional wringing, feeling sorrow for myself! Indeed! How dissimilar?  Look at me growing old and sour in the cold in ill health.  People are dying during the season of my birth again!  Rig an election!  How well does the democratic process relate to self-governance on a personal level?  What general recourse does one have but in-season cauliflower?  Romanesco?

@1616

Ptoleymon!

Book intent – “the sequence of operations starts at the apex of the hierarchy with the intention of conveying the idea or message. But that idea is as often as not of a pre-verbal nature; it may be a visual image, a feeling, a vague impression.”

Onomastics – “the study of the history and origin of proper names, especially personal names.”

And so, with only a vague impression of what I wish to communicate, the sequence continues with the living God adorning all apices.  Live free (from sin) and die happily, “but this people who knoweth not the law are cursed,” (John 7:49) so through right-mindedness lives may be free from suffering and all anxiety of free speech and clear conscience seeking glory that sent me?  A mental midget in stilettos with a spastic colon and a tin twat came traipsing down the causeway.  Hipposticks!  Mastodon Nostradamus, “once you’re on the road and you have an idea of what to expect when transporting yayo, the borders and boundaries become seamless.”  Terminally determined pachyderms fucking with the brainwaves of fortunetellers and almanac maniacs in inglorious frames.  American war for attention, an English pickle, a Jersey grenade, and a Mexican standoff.  Thoughtful industrial gas holdings, bacterial digestives, acetic kombucha, onomatopoetic boom-stick, scribbling sounds, “they grow like flowers, there’s so many of them, but there’s only so many of them,” farming dreams (wide awake), speaking acronymic matrices, fa-fa free-form associative smoosh.  “There’s something bigger happening, fibril tickles, PT murmurs, fool’s Austicks (alternative gold bars), vitamin $¢hool...” buzzing on potions lightyears ex machina.  Metagnomic stereotypes, comic elegance over café sax.  Buzzing breezes from humming bees intrigued by my Old Speckled Hen, suds handicapping, mixed judgment to questionable acts bleed condensed sweat full of salt and Fe.  Private ear bass parting radial Sun king-of-all-media out-of-control in Japan.  Christian Pong-a-Long, romantic euxyl, rock currier, and French fatigue, the mere attempt at excellence is what separates most people from attaining their goals…banging Asiatic broads for some soldiers, existential ideals from other mindful men, and then there are some who enjoy being engulfed by their projects.  Acting lightly in the dark, American deviants enjoying American football socially and mischievously distance themselves from the competition with some commercial slogan, “Tortelli Suant Simmons banging mothers Zappia, wound-up, spilling neuro seas of salty sentimentality and elegiac stridency with the pipe of Prometheus,” and there’s certainly a pill for sexually diseased personalities?

Ultraviolet Quicksand Simile Droste and Origins of Seven Deadly Sins

Orthodox lions, tigers, and bears Oz Seuss Megalodon [DD1] with a hundred kilo hard-on autistically thrashing the controlled ego that watches hour-long displays of mating dominance that go unabated while the uncontrolled ego gores dancers that happen to be triplets, two of which are cyclops’.  Cyclops sez Marshal Cadenza [DD2] picks up paycheck slop in his low riding cruiser sporting masked aviators judiciously disturbing the peace in the name of the law of badged undulations.  Libido mosquitos’ blood suck the youth from their parents. These dehydrated children are far flung from the roots of the family tree, a tree of life bearing more than bargained-for fibers that make up The Fabric of the Cosmos: The Illusion of Time.  Brian Greene, a good magician name, resettles his stomach by barf-farbing gluten-gluons.  The game-changing sacerdote rolls his die and contextualizes the moving mission that is less of a miracle and more of a mirage, relatively, rhetorically speaking, asking, “If Time isn’t what we all think it is then what is Space?  Does it have a beginning? Will it have an end? Where did it come from?” three NOVA wine deep into a purple fable slurry, the ultraviolet quicksand of destiny, and an x-ray diffraction of fate.  Where did words come from?  Was it an attempt to put reason to rhyme?  Does rhyme have a reason?  Does a countertenor contralto?  Logic is like a recursive simile Droste.  The laryngeal timbre of the little voice inside my head that supersedes schedules alternates on a whim so it seems to habituate choice to control freethinking.  Freethinkers fancy themselves beats, Beatniks, and those of an anarchistic clique who reject reification, not to be rebels per se, but to abide the necessity of rebellion.  Judas I, rebel to his own cause, against the merger of sinners and saints, empire righteous in his own mind, a privatized Aceldama of dreadful associations and due discursus, the son of perdition is eternally betrayed by his own misgivings.  Military torture and the apocalypse, governmentally privatized properties surveil the residual riff-raff, hell recumbent on stoned springs.

                There needs to be new fuel for old flames.  What do I keep doing always?  The self-control freak domesticates his own soul, he stays out of trouble, and he represses suppressions into recesses forever.  There would be no courage without risk.  There would be no risk without reward.  Politicians’ policy-make, police police, and sleep soundly lying guard.  But it’s convenient to blame the taxers for my personal relationship issues for what amounts to a minor yearly concern the IRS levies on my statistics to keep me humble.  Am I vain?  Am I narcissistic?  Is it wrong to not share feelings with a woman who is sick, desperate, and a wet blanket to boot?  Insecurities and lack-of-securities are unattractive.  The former is lame, the latter is dirty.  An over-abundance of preferences is more childish than urbane.  The modern neuromartyr, rent-strapped, a victim of circumstance, an ambivalent contradiction, reminiscent of former ambitions, Hello Kitty dogma, ‘shit happens’ philosophy, “No Exit” playdate, wall sartorial, how far must I ascend to reach you, (dishabille girl)?

7/21/13

                One man’s mutt is another man’s hybrid. 

                Uber-judgy, lisped-out, high-pitched queers, smokers, jokers, and midnight tokers street-debate evangelist banner-wavers.  They get excite! When they come out of dark bar show boxes and into the light of SunChip brand sweet and spicy bbq flavored great multigrain taste! On a day so sublime!  Oversexualized street slum ping-pong up out of the hizzy fo’ shizzy keepin’ it bouncy on a rolley table.  God’s so over his geometric phase, hydro-fractal Being, He’s not doing the color thing either, sending affectionate greetings through the screen din window.

                “Mom!” her son says, showing his mother a sack of un-red onions before throwing them under a passing bus, summoning automobiles to the kitchen street, hot with carrots, celery, cumin, and eggs.

                “Your father doesn’t get it, the people at church are dropping like pensive flies before stained- glass planets.”  The should-have-nots turned iconographers with a sprinkle of chaste water onto golden crosses burn opium incense, and chant, ‘candles, candles, candles…’ mesmerized, even hypnotized by the short-term goals that fill in for long-term goals to get perpetually laid by founders who talk soup. 

                One man’s mulatto is another man’s hybrid.  Hybrid Irish, green eyes, St. Patrick’s stick-to-itiveness seized the day.  He drove the snakes away with the isle’s demons while the episcopi vagantes remain.  Blinking, backpedaling on a mountain bike o’er smooth city slopes, an apoplectic whiz kid aided my dissolution. Beyond, a jetski cresting waves.  Offensive rumors spread like the legs of a stinky French whore, “Hey! Who ‘ you callin’ a French whore in my French Quarter?” she rallies slutty troops like the easy, breezy west wind. 

                Jamz be bongo, black/African corner cataracts chaw’n ginkgo quid for mnemonics.  Gay – socially licentious – petty lawbreakers make spectacles because they are opticians who think that life is but a joke.  The mote and the beam attaboy controversy.  Multimedia adds ads, not petunias.  “Outta mmy gzarden, boy!” and out pops an Irish thumbed genie, third horseman of the apocalypse, singing, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wage, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!”[DD3]  (Revelation 6:6)

                A sarcastic southern city blooms Duke blue, faithful and loyal to the devil who cleans poop out of uncircumcised foreskin in baby diapers.  Tanning on the beach with the vitamin D fish out-drying their computers in the long grass near the runes of rah-rah-Raleigh.  Not just tall but bigamist, antichrist dines with swine and wears pearls.  This is not excessive I keep telling myself.  NBC Shaekarevoletta, “drink dog’s blood and die of the plague!” Back in the lab, Soxhlet, agar plates and petri dishes, syringes, a Buchi rotavapor, the drams of the drinking bird heat engine.  A Venn diagram: Eternal, evolving, or eternally evolving? A couple cogs in an ethereal mechanism of eternal truths and temporal facts that take their place among the hetaerae and polytheistic deities.

7/24/13

I have faith that my faith will save me from self-determined damnation.
What is eternal?  Truth.
Can truth evolve?  No, facts evolve and become their own truth that takes their place as a part of history in an expanding universe.
What is eternally evolving?  The content of the medium.
What is the medium?  The membrane, shell, coating, or filter through which the message is delivered unto thee.
What is the message?  The basis of understanding.
What is there to understand?  Every (little) thing and nothing at all, one.

Pain exacts its lesson, painlessness induces forgetfulness, and discipline’s disciples remember what their teacher told them to do, “Follow me,” Jesus, not on Twitter, in the flesh and blood, part of the meaning was found in the virtual, touching Thomas’ reality during the touchable times when stone masons chiseled stories upon time testable tablets that shattered at snapchat rates, one instakilogram hit the decasecond, six colossal frames per minute at speeds approaching one ultra-broadband mobile gigabit.

I have faith that standing up for what’s right is the right thing to do.  I have faith in Grassmannian tautology – the parameter of all linear subspaces of a vector space of a given dimension – named after Hermann Gunther Grassman (1809-1877) the German polymath, not to be confused with Gunter Wilhelm Grass (1927-2015) the German novelist, members of the same vector space, but in different dimensions, Germany over time, hairs all aswarth. Also not to be confused with grass, the uncontrolled substance, orange haired lady.

                The eternal mind strives toward perfection of itself within itself, a confluence of integuments and shell game in a corky husk.  Neither porky nor husky, I’m dying a rather Cambrian death, nevertheless trite, outright, and conniving.  If I could parse the words completely they’d hang me to a ‘t’ (for tree, not to be confused with the Tasmanian ‘T’ for Tasmania, which wouldn’t make as much sense in context, although they could tie me to a Tasmanian devil, the carnivorous marsupial, not to be confused with the Anglo devil that doesn’t nurse in a pouch.) Not nail me to a cross like someone holier than me who died for the abolishment of all sins and moral vices, who paid the cost, being the boss, for nicety.  Who’d believe in ascension, bee?  How does that help me pay the day’s wages?  The skin that I’m in: balding, liver spotting, and frail ZABOUT 2B ARF-rittic!  How ageist?  Is that the gist? Ageism is still a normative belief of falling into an eternal pit of condescension as the days go by when one sits at home and judges the sins that our retired fathers have visited upon their sons, reflecting Ezekiel 18, “…the fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge?” atheistically, whereby you humiliate me and protect yourself which is exactly what makes it wrong and you should know me better.   Your dogma is: If it smells bad, kick it, father.  We get it, she’s fat and she smells bad, you can tell by the tissue damage and the emotional scarring, fiscal inconveniences, and who really gives a shit?  Not you, your ass is clean, and the asses of thou forefathers, be they ever bidet’d.  It’s nearly 4 (1557) and the dogs are barking and the Eth are reeling in their selfish catches for close quarters and tight budgets.  They know what I’m saying just about as well as the class-system elitists who won’t listen to good reason if it doesn’t line their pockets with something cold and hard like rigor mortis.  The deatheaters, the skull’n’bones, and those just dyin’ to be real-deal rich all know from college-level Ebonics, “If it don’t make dollers, it don’t make no sense,” or whatever that homeless Marine out of the red said…

               What’s mined is yours, landowner.  Land downers mine, unthinking of diamonds in the sky that can neither be privatized nor nationalized, two edges of the same earthly blade.  A broad, a blunt, and a cash crop forge the mettle.  The national government wages war on the private sector, deemed amoral, that smokes forbidden fruit from forbidden trees, which, like the spices of diversity, are good for one person’s health and bad for another’s, as a matter of perspective.  The active ingredients of marijuana extracted into oils and then baked, fried, or grilled into any infusible comestible for athletes, for those with sensitive lungs, or for those who aren’t too fatigued to follow a recipe or formula.  But smoking is so Kool and the kids gotta getit inem’ quick for fear of not fitting into a morbid social setting.  Shotgunning beer, taking bong rips, and blowing lines of not Coca-Cola while hootin’n’howlin’ late into the 20’s at 2. 

               It’s an us vs. them mentality, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em is the cliché, but joining their ranks is less a matter of real sacrifice and more a matter of gluttony, greed, pride, and the rest.

A proud look
A lying tongue
Hands that shed innocent blood
A heart that devises wicked plots
Feet that are swift to mischief
A deceitful witness that uttereth lies
Him that soweth discord among brethren

Proverbs 6:17-19

                “…adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, sorcery, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings…”  Galatians 5:19-20

Gastrimargia: gluttony: lustful appetite
Porneia: prostitution
Philargyria: avarice: irascibility
Hyperephania: hybris: intellect
Lype: envy
Orge: wrath
Kenodoxia: boasting
Acedia: dejection (sloth)

Gluttire (to gulp down) praeproperissime (most hastily) laute (loudly) nimis (animals) ardenter (passionately)

Gluttirepraeproperissimelautenimisardenter.

                Homeownership: homo nurse hip, drugs Inc. are sure rations.  Logic rationally dictates that walls be deconstructed for an opener society; may the truth be heard, be made apparent, and hurt.  Strife filled strivings of a raving mad lunatic condense what the American dream means: opportunity.  Opportunity to do what? That, “They shall not build, and another inhabit; they shall not plant, and another eat: for as the days of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands.” Isaiah 65:22 Shalt thou take personal responsibility for an entire community?  Thank you lawmakers, enforcers, our streets are safe, go home now, before idle hands become you, and ye order someone else to dig a ditch, fill a pothole, or plant a tree in your stead, all good work for a day’s labor that requires no ammunition.  Enforcement slaves enforce slavery.  Gentrified units collect on impoverished communities where both sides are to blame, sinners all.  Those worthy of blame enforce blameworthiness.  Cops and robbers are Hell’s allies.  Lucifer v. Belphegor; Mammon v. Beelzebub; Satan v. Asmodeus; Leviathan’s triple-header (Binsfeld, P., 1589).  And some people are undecided about the nature of unseen forces that shape our lives.

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 [DD1]‘big tooth’

 [DD2]An ornamental passage (in music)

 [DD3]Revelation 6:6