Blessings of the Early Morning, or, Matutinal Maturity

 

“Now, nothing M. Achille can do will surprise us: because he’s a crazy loon!” Sartre, J.P., Nausea. p 69.

The Statue of Liberty, the verdigris cynosure of New York Harbor by Eiffel and Bartholdi is a grand symbol, (a nod to Coloso de Rodas) that welcomes ships to harbor with a reminder that, like the contours of the Lady, liberty consists of strength and grace. She weathers all storms stoically.

I’m still compelled to contact Jameson® (press that glass to my lips), who still occupies cogitations, free real-estate.  Resentfulness is unhealthy.  It is also hard to avoid.  Treatments entreat, spirits call upon me to express my anger whose outlet is a thousand miles away.  If I give my anger a name and personality separate from my own identification with myself, is this emotional suppression?  Do I oppress myself as consequence?  Think about it this way (from notes):  I hated when she texted me about her boredom, that she lacked creativity, but that she believed her own thoughts.  A real snare!  If I were as intrusive as to feign mind-reading, would the mind not recoil?  Active listening is the only scientific approach to understanding another.  Even then, “…the heart of kings is unsearchable” (Proverbs 25:3). A mythos may be archetypal, but it is either adopted or phasic.  We choose what is wished to be believed about oneself or it is a product of our circumstantial nature, an elicited response?

Foreign emotion, trained like a Pavlovian fear-response to the death of a N. Korean tyrant, if native, a true self self-preservative (pickle Rick pickle Locke’d (between a salt and a briny place)).  Am I a hypocrite for abandoning myself?  Just because I don’t reflect in one particular mirror anymore?  When one’s existence is reduced to a case of rubber rods, remote controls, and cutlery, existence itself begins to lose its meaning, essence of one’s entelechy.

The city streets are a fritillary!  Bob, divorcee after 35 years (to put his kids through college) puts sufferings’ durational amounts into perspective.  A denial of self, selflessness is a virtue, but so is being fully embodied! Six years of resentment that follows, but finally getting to see Genesis, still a great show even if Phil Collins needs a seat now.  Bob, retirement age himself, is finally going on an Alaskan and then a Magellan-esque cruise of his dreams with his 88-year-old dad.  He’s got a girlfriend in Maryland now (the dog!) he calls up nightly and visits monthly.  She’s a high-school sweetheart who used to be serious, but now she’s fun!

"Daddy?"

"Yes, son?"

"What does regret mean?"

"Well, son, a funny thing about regret is that better to regret something you have done, than to regret something you haven't done. And by the way, if you see your mom this weekend, be sure to tell her SATAN, SATAN, SATAN!!!"

Forms of enslavement, sicknesses all!
Vicariously male, vicariously female, sexually
explicit, role-playing gender transmorphic
munchausen by proxy. Disease vectors all!

Hijabs, masks of modesty, faces inform but they also belie. It seems either hypocritical or ironic of the French government to, one year, ban the hijab in public and the next year to mandate masks for public health? Doesn’t understanding of life and death come from belief? Is there not always some outside entity compelling our forward progress? Modern man places much faith in the grossness of what can be seen. A more modern microscope or telescope and existence might justly explain itself! Again, “As the heavens for height and the earth for depth, So the heart of kings is unsearchable” (Proverbs 25:3 (wholly this time)).

Take it off, slow.

Put the gun down.

Tell me what to

Wear again, Kim.

Does the ruling-class not always view the unwashed, unruly, and illiterate masses a threat? As it was in the Dark Ages, Bible withheld (for fear of the Devil’s interpretation), academia thrives on relative ignorance.

The administration of effective medicine has always been a ceremonial procedure, beyond substance itself.
Vaccination: Catholicism::Alternative therapies: Protestantism
SARS-CoV-2 aka COVID-19 (Δ,Ο) is merely a comorbidity, an usher to the gates.
Death is a hand dealt by the seer.
Death is a mask worn by the grim.
Death is a wage owed an err-er (graciously withheld).
Do we not all suffer somewhat differently and somehow the same?
Proximally, the pox, hexed upon us all, was spread.
Unquarantinable, the spirit of revolution, spun again.
The centrifugal force of prayer punishes the wicked like bad blood and elevates the righteous like good serum.
Most notions are subject to reinterpretation.
Character building:: a growth process:: a tumescent erection? (Check out my linear thinking!)

Forensic scientists test a pearly secretion. The priesthood of Vaccine Vatican, Wuhan Labs have been injecting their protein spikes into children as young as five, the sick fucks! Meanwhile, in merry old England, Prince Andrew enjoys the fruits of nepotism despotically. Ghislaine Maxwell sketches a court reporter, marked in her eyes for voodoo threats. Once one feels well-protected, insulated, and invincible, one feels powerful. Surrounded by the wealthiest, most powerful, and influential people in the world, at a soiree to celebrate their own charitability, a billionaire leans over a young former sweatshop employee, saved for her potential, and demonstrates affection carnally (ala “Salò”). In a “Twist of Fate” by Olivia Newton-John(son), Maxwell shows the courts, Channel 5 News, her butthole. Turns out she had been playing “Hooker with a Penis” by Tool all along! Then she stands up confidently, shoulders back and gives a sort of, ‘who among us doesn’t…’ type speech involving slathering unction and finger up assholes before she finally sits down once the jury is moved to tears, she sees, but for all the wrong reasons. She is sentenced to be drawn and quintupled on a pentagram for good measure.



The gall of the Gaul to believe that economics, environmentalism, and freedom of choice were all modern concerns! I’m having trouble at work and the post-due rent notice for my house in Oklahoma City is giving me anxiety. I also just smoked for the first time in a few days so my stress is through the roof (by choice!)! Am I wrong in taking a principled approach? The world living in accordance with society is a divergent phenomenon increasingly. Participating in traditions that harm the earth (more than farming) the very nature of which we are all privy to by simply breathing. Am I being flaky? Am I procrastinating? Is this writing merely a masturbatory gesture? Does it make a better person of me? Certainly society cannot care if it remains unseen. Must I engage before lower limits are set on my credit? How much do I care about my social credibility? Me worry?! I’m an honesty machine! I’m not making you suck it, bitch! Do you not have a choice in the matter? The shit that comes to the top of your head is vile. Can a certain woman be taught to not be a whore? The impasse is that she both would enjoy being smacked around and she would also use it against the abuser who’d hit her, thus the situation is absurd. Refraining from violence is also a choice.

What was the trope she liked to be choked with? Crazy needs to be explained. Does craziness have nooks and crannies like an English muffin? Eating is rational. Does craziness have a home? With padded walls. Revenge is also a type of pornography, beyond being simply a cold dish. Those enjoying revenge the most believe themselves slighted, but craziness knows she was, at least once, irreparably, and it wasn’t her fault, being too young to defend herself from certain onslaughts. Subsequently witnesses denied her validity, thus the liar’s paradox of learned behavior. When one is forced into a situation outside one’s control, one becomes resentful, and resentfulness is also crazy, but supposedly resentfulness can be managed through stratagem as craziness may be treated or alleviated through medicaments. (Music is an indication of kept society and music is an indication of what society we keep.)  Did craziness teach herself to be unchaste? Does craziness reach into perpetuity like Sunday’s crossword, forever online or squirrelled away? Without meditation, ignorance, and craziness willfully, she will not! Willful ignorance is close-mindedness (not fun!). How does the word of God diverge from what is democratic? How is plastic in the ocean not apocalyptic? Craziness knows the third eye is real and suffers a type of irreparable blindness. Woe unto our increasingly litigious society! Craziness is quick to anger and prone to trauma, resisting arrestment and suffering the consequences. The individual, in control of one’s own thought process, chooses in the moment to write, but where do the words come from that they somehow all make sense to the reader of books in context? Growth is cellular division; unchecked, it could be cancerous, but does life grow like a tumor? Craziness’ nausea grows, watching herself die, desirous of slowing the fuck down, but she cain’t.

"Brother Cain, how could you?"

"Favoritism is bullshit."

"Then we agree!"

"No, we don’t, I want to be able to do what you do, but I cain’t. It’s who I am. I was born to be resentful and am thus cursed with resentment. I keep getting sent back to Earth to toil and slave. These is nothing to show for my earnings since I dissipate as I would my suffering and my greatest desire is that unchecked, unmitigated vanity when it comes down to it in the end, but wouldn’t it feel nice now to be deemed worthy of certain favor deserved of the Heaven-bound? What pleasure! What great delight it must be to… usurp?"

Thwack.

Wind inherited, a suffering new Satan roams the desert alone with imaginary friends and embodied acquaintances interacted with as if illusory.

Yesterday I had a dream where I was in a car with two cops and I was not driving, not one of them, nor was I their prisoner. We clipped a van in front of us, sent them spinning into a field. This van, once at rest, came back at us at suicidal speed, glanced the front of our car coming over an embankment, and completely flipped. The van must have been full because bodies and parts were being ejected and tumbling inside the crumbling chassis. I couldn’t look for more than a second, I woke up.

Is my craziness caring too much about someone who would ultimately betray me? She has already been married more than once and her resentment is contagious and it would ruin my life worse than COVID. I would rather die by natural causes than suffer unnaturally. What is artificial about my suffering? The name for my disease is my name because it’s not incurable lepidoptery! I mean, I love butterflies and all, I guess the thought never crossed my mind to engage in the activity of categorization, collection, and conservation of winged insects before? Save the bees! Even netting moths would be better than the research of Chiropterae that is observing the wife's guano!

What is responsibility? An existing pact or an agreement with existence itself. “If you wish to keep existing you’d better do as I say!” she’d threaten disagreeably. Philistinism remains thankless, and there is no arguing with an anti-intellectual, since words are, to them, meaningless. And as words, to them, bear little weight, they languish. Words convey nascence necessarily. Craziness wants to tell me ten more times how I suck and how much and how quickly she can find someone else to pay for her burnt bridges and other debts related to her clinical gephyrophobia.

“Don’t place that supportive structure anywhere NEAR me!” she’d yell. “I’ll support myself!” and then she’ll claim to not know what she was saying despite being a grown-ass adult.

“You understand that words being spoken convey definite meaning to the listener, correct? Or aren’t you listening?”

A Philistine, too vain to appear dumbfounded, gets angry instead. “You know what I meant!”

“I do!”

“No you don’t you lying ass, don’t! Don’t empathy, honesty, and TRUST mean anything to you!?”

“I thought I did! Honestly!”

“Well now you cain’t!”

Thwack.

“You motherfucker, you weren’t supposed to BLEED!”

She’d cry at the deceased, realizing a posteriori what should have been known a priori now that her troubles are ten-thousand fold, troubles that were making her crazy to begin with! Crying to a corpse, expecting more from it than a giant mess to have to clean up, is also craziness.

Regarding evolution, the word itself used to mean something literally along the lines of “to want/will/wish” (e/ex volere) and (e/ex volvere), “to roll/turn/trundle”. The word itself makes me think more of Tibetan Buddhist prayer wheels in a lengthy row as a monk passes his hands over each, sending them spinning as he walks by, than it does about birds becoming bees! Can dating exist in such a timeless place? Love is eternal, but is its eternality recognizable to a sexual fanatic? For too many, love is a momentary and fleeting gesture that imprints a sort of definition recognizable only to similarly traumatized individuals. Time is a concept that implodes into a moment when time once slowed to a standstill and everything was made apparent and from that moment on, I knew. I knew you were a cheat! I knew you were a liar! I knew you were no good! And you went ahead and justified yourself anyway! You became the monstrosity of my dreams, how dare you?



What was the last chance I took? I could ask myself that, but then I’d have to define chance! Chanciness, the ripper of my jacked dreams, wakes me matutinally. She’s the hot box to my Dutch oven. This morning, we attempt our face-to-face interaction-ritual with her back to me, and regard one another askance. Chanciness is iffy, touch-and-go, “Don’t poke the bear,” she’d threaten. This was her way of telling me she wanted to be left alone. But she was in my house in my bed, and it had been known, so it was no mystery that she was an imposition. She knew the score, and she was making me lose to her benefit. Chanciness is like the lottery, a tax for those who struggle with mathematics. Long-game loss-leaders have been tallied, Eric and Tommy with five each, Chris with twenty, and Bob with thirty-five years lost each to Chanciness. There is, like Craziness, no vaccination for risky-behavior (yet).