Oil Spill for my Halo

Man’s natural condition is intolerable.  The natural inclination to learn can drive man to the brink of insanity, but who actually takes note?  There is a constant drive to differentiate and appear more unique in order to gain some form of favor in the eyes of the world.  The eyes of the world are largely indifferent to all attempts to appear unique.  If you are a butterfly, your pattern is preordained.  Nature inclines us toward the right path. You can’t please everyone.  You will end up playing angry games.

An uneasy equilibrium compromises assets, showing what’s- what-is affordable, rocking regional fashions foolishly either to keep out the snoots with upturned noses or the mentally deficient genome who really bring me down by their absolute presence that contributes to the guilt I ultimately feel for my individuality that requires me to suppress the altruism gene with sheer logic, reason, anger, and hateful demeanor that I feel toward myself and I reflect toward others because I look in the mirror to control my appearance and method act methodically for my own unique advantage and bid for power.

-Sheer Ego®

               There is always some rhyme or reason to the things that we do, even if formed at the scullery.  Heaven is a party without mandate.  Life is endurance and God’s word endureth for ever.  His law sets straight the standards that groups collude against in order to convolute our understanding of the basis of recognition.  I abhor lies and liars for making a life that can be difficult enough more difficult, and although I try to keep those individuals and thoughts behind me, like Satan, buried in the desert dust, hidden, secret, because it serves me better to sacrifice for the eternal mystery instead of grasping onto the pop-knowledge of the day, as much as I’d like to seize it. 

Derrick for my halo, euphoremic plasmanian devil, burden of mischief and misadventure.

Rude, crude, and not really shrewd, he gets his jollies from dear Ms. Molly, Molly Molloy.

Green love drug, sweet herb of compunction and compaction, I overemployed the cat in the hat, pipe I smoke.  Man does not live on food alone, some are driven away by hits, habits, and matches struck. I inflame my nose and pump the carburetor that clears my cylinder and fuels my engine with loose-leaf stacks, a common asset, and reason to get together and share a laugh, even if the poetry of life doesn’t seem to suffice.  It shelters my nerves from feeling pain whilst enhancing orgasm, a strong breeze blowing in the dead of weather.

Lack of feelings, sad path to anxiety, hex of control.  Dumb happiness? Dear money lovin’ race, here’s pabulum.

With respect to spiritual sorcery transparent in the real world
the loss of personal physical elements, transfer of ownership, and
objects displaced does not presuppose conservation of energy, fire
and metaphysics.  Doubting ignorance while acting recklessly,
ranting angrily,
and swinging blindly in cluttered space.  What takes place in the mind can often super-
cede objective reality (as we know it), otherwise Vulcan logic would persist.  Therefore,
what is recognized by the business world (by cognitive neuroscience and psychology regarding preferences and predilections) is ultimately collusion against those consumers using sensory and emotional overload assembly line Pandora products.  Everybody wants a box, you’re not unique.  A never-ending travesty: being lead the wrong way by loss leaders who want to separate you from your pawnables [better than you at chess].  What is your product or how have you been branded?  Own what you are doing, be better than average, the standards have been lowered just for you! 

Our children have been dumbed down by being taught by the sons of distracted teachers who think they have their own self-interests at heart (when they are actually using their head) while they don’t really know how to interest themselves with anything other than chores, toil, and busy-work that they’ve never really been interested in, wondering, “what am I missing?  What is this supposed to mean?” and the children can tell viscerally, cutting you to pieces. 

Cross-sectional statistics are depressing averages. If there is a Gaussian assumption that the bell-curve rises, then why aren’t the 1%-ers occupying the average peak?  To be utterly average is to occupy a depression.  Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?  Raise your head, dead-man, Breathe!

Gaussian Float: Come Frappe.

Fear and trifling, not seeking fulfillment so much as seeking an end to
conflict over income and employment with my father who dads me into
seeking ends beyond my means of capacity.  Perspicacity is a big word.  I’ve seen larger.
It’s another one of those days where the old man taps you on the shoulder
and tells you it’s time to vomanos.  Scoot.  Skedaddle.  Get the Hell out of here.
You’re in my way.  You’re blocking my entry to the path of enlightenment.  It is
unbefitting a man of such inherent virtue to throw all that goodness away.
What’s that?  Goodness, you say: a quality that just seems to fit in all the
right ways.

There was a point, with a bright flowery future in front of me when I believed that ‘everything
in life is an easily replaceable commodity.’  Thoughtlessly, it is true.  ‘Every experience
in life is an easily repeatable occasion.’  Forcefully, it could be contrived.  Surrounded
by users’ domains the feudal prince pauses, chips, and plays.  “There is a way
which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is
heaviness.  The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways: and
a good man shall be satisfied from himself.”  Proverbs 14:12-14.

cast all perfection aside
and bask in all the light it provides
i've fallen into stride
old habits finally standing aside
making way for clearer skies
seen through clearer eyes
tho something still holds me in check
maybe just the pointless task
to "get better"
so i'm setting clearer sights
devoting longer nights
spent postponing my lethargies
owning my deficiencies
condoning fishing in new seas
so cast all perfection aside
it proves perpetually pointless
leaves us permanently homeless
feeling left out within our own chest
spitting out reasons
to cling to past reassurances
it's a sad sight today
through clockwork sight
peering down infinite arms
at past action striking present tense
but a difference this time:
finally what's wrong's making sense
cast all perfection aside

--Spuller, Andrew

Shave your head, tanning is popular, shag is 60’s
Shaq is 90’s
Leash, fetter, chain, chore, toil, work, and grind to get better, well again, healed.
Make more money because the way down feels like disease and
poverty is Death’s financial blessing.  Electrolight
vigils lambert watts and electrochemical insights
expose darkened intestine.  Do it if it’s legal.  Barely.
What’s the point Maslov?  Is self-actualization the highest
ideal?  Call me a taxi tropist.  Growth in all directions
is dispersive and has little to no impact, save blooming
for bees.  Lard lasers bore me.  Mirth
shows a sparkling glee when restless with a loaded gun.
I can’t take back all I thought
I could, but I retained a lesson:
I couldn’t just discard those stripes.

What you think you know doesn’t matter as much as
what you know you know.  If you thought for one
fleeting second and couldn’t recollect, you really
are an amnesiatic know-nothing and worthless
to society except as a dumb fucking breeder.  Yet
the market is already fully saturated with those
types, therefore your quality of life will take a hit.

Better start smoking.

The salesman’s guarantee, ‘or your money back,’ satisfied by complex claims.
Satisfaction must be demanded!  Founded upon a sound structure of
scientific rationale, the basis of reason and reasonability,
highest attainment of salesmanship, the blastulating function bequeathed
to egg (on/off).  The highest guarantee, a return to normalcy, or
*what I expect normal to be*, again, demanding functionality, cash, and
carry.

In my moment of weakness, the world on my shoulders
prevails over me, good earth, covering my fears of tambourine
funeral celebrations, public ticket sales for a proper burial.
Hire the black dress, paid to cry, act guaranteed.
Guaranteed: a uniformed guard against the culminating tirade,
a vituperative eulogy which fails to spare the family.
I’m sorry I’m not sorrier.  I tried to be stronger in my
moment of weakness, I tried so deliberately to lie to myself that I was stronger,
but when that moment arrive, every effort to stop time failed.  The good times,
they were just too few, far between, and included terms and conditions,
applied rigorously with a gray glance and an iron fist.  As we gather
here today to observe life’s only justifiable guarantee, we would
do well to remember the example this dead man set and then do
our best to forget it.  You with the umbrella!  Up inside!
This is nothing if not unlucky.  No good shall come of it.  Save your
soul, lest you die convinced that there is no pain in fire forever. Amen.

Algonquin linguistics, the point of language is communication, yet recovering unused documents and focusing on specifics toward the use and rediscovery of accuracy, translation, and importance to the individual who identifies the secret whisper from within, without…

Economization of effort:  Telepathic communication: not just words, a perception and an overall conceptualization of a reality apart from the commonly agreed upon normalcy prone to compromisingly political positions, flexible-inflexible.

Brooding, fixed gaze intent, tight-lipped, these days are not to be forgotten, forged
in pain, anguish, strife, and agony at being full of youthful energy, yet being cons-
trained by social norms and inundated by constant stimuli that perpetrates
every clear, clean, or pure thought, life repressed by memories of dreams
restricted to the commonplace mall.  Here on the frontlines of the battle between
all that is good, sacred, and holy versus all that is dismissive, determinate,
and to the point, curiosity motivates the intrigued to break the cycle.
The belly of the beast, full of paroxysms, acid, and sixes challenges me to
refill, dares me to renegotiate, and tempts me to a game of pick-up Styx.
What luck!  The bar has been lowered.  Thank jingo and a petridish of human flesh,
scientifically justifiable to consume for the palatial knowledge of a scab, opportunity target.
“Philosophy begins in wonder,” Plato said.

It is sometimes necessary for the artist to understand that it is limitations and
recognition thereof that facilitate a better understanding of the milieu set.
Unrestricted variables float and require more complex machinery to correlate
and pattern.  Conflict, struggle, and strife are universally relatable:
we all have a tumultuous family life, no one wants to hear a braggart’s rights.

Poor me and my Kindle®.  Poor me and my Blackberry®.  Poor me and my ordinateur portable.
For the amount that I possess, my possessions make me sorry, and my lack of possessions makes me sorrier, as though I’m not contributing to stock-core-American-values being a have-not.  I have some.  Not enough, perhaps, more than I need, perhaps, American greed is most evident from the how much we trash and how little we recycle, expecting someone else to clean up our messes like spoiled children pretending to be rich enough for ennui.

The Big Sleep: Perpetual Amnesia

Inhumanism, laugh at everything contrived by man.  It is much
much more difficult to laugh at a sunset, a flower in bloom, or the
loss of something revered.  Repairable sentiments exact while
the Totaled rebate what they can extract from an unfortunate
body born to crash, a fiery fuselage bound to black box, or a steaming
locomotive Supermanned by the son of aliens, (Mexican anchor baby)
stopping short before the racist road blockade, teamstirred by white cops
on executive streets, branching into a whirlwind of baby battering fists,
legal carjackers come to fuck a donut or a Taco Bell® White Supreme.
American fiction, what’s next?  Myth supporting historians whitewash the
human condition with optimistic cut-off dates and a plea for ignorance.

Whiny conscience, another annoying tsk-task.

4x4 shot
Solid sphere orb
Tangent to all
Drug through the mud
Downward reverse:
Upward for all
Flap down push-up
Bird Biology
Fly to breathe Oh
Move to survive
Canvas great heights
Feather of wings

Temple cop-out:
“Wealth keeps me warm
Serve and protect”

Ontology
Generator
Panpsychism

Proxy tazing
Internet bite
Destitutor
The Viking thing:
Flying ointment

“Unflappable because he has no wings, an emotionless intellect, worse than evil.” AC

032512 wiki

Stock options -> Olive presses -> Thales(’ Theorem) -> Hylozoism -> Abiogenesis -> Panpsychism

"That from which is everything that exists and from which it first becomes and into which it is rendered at last, its substance remaining under it, but transforming in qualities, that they say is the element and principle of things that are." substance "is saved", but acquires or loses different qualities (πάθη, the things you "experience").

There is no one beginning.

"In the beginning, SPIRIT within (spiritus intus) strengthens Heaven and Earth,

The watery fields, and the lucid globe of Luna, and then --

Titan stars; and mind (mens) infused through the limbs

Agitates the whole mass, and mixes itself with GREAT MATTER (magno corpore)"

-Virgil

-Wikipedia

Neologisms:

(The ends are self-defined.  “All in agreement say ‘Aye’.”  Democratic spirit, the burden
of proof, peer reviewed (for poetics)) Irk.  Objective qualities meter and
----------points of precision--------------------------------------------- axially tally
aesthetically pleasing amounts to the fashionable individual, who
fashions fashion to suit seasonable reasonability compassed about.
The direction we are headed is the direction we are taking, roger?
Vector tangent to orbital scope, centripetal forces ride a merry-go-round together.

What shields?

From A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda, pgs. 216-220. 

“What shields? What are you talking about?”

“I said that a warrior selects the items that make his world.  He selects deliberately, for every item he chooses is
a shield that protects him from the onslaughts of the forces he is striving to use.  A warrior would use his shields to protect himself from his ally, for instance.

“An average man who is equally surrounded by those inexplicable forces is oblivious to them because he has
other kinds of special shields to protect himself.”

He paused and looked at me with a question in his eyes. I had not understood what he meant.

                “What are those shields?” I insisted.

                “What people do,” he repeated.

                “What do they do?”

“Well, look around. People are busy doing that which people do. Those are their shields. Whenever a sorcerer
has an encounter with any of those inexplicable and un-
bending forces we have talked about, his gap opens,
making him more susceptible to his death than he ordi-
narily is; I’ve told you that we die through that gap, there-
fore if it is open one should have his will ready to fill it;
that is, if one is a warrior. If one is not a warrior, like
yourself, then one has no other recourse but to use the activities of daily life to take one’s mind away from the
fright of the encounter and thus allow one’s gap to
close. You got angry with me that day when you met the
ally. I made you angry when I stopped your car and I
made you cold when I dumped you into the water. Having your clothes on made you even colder. Being angry and
cold helped you close your gap and you were protected.
At this time in your life, however, you can no longer use those shields as effectively as an average man.  You know
too much about those forces and now you are finally at
the brink of feeling and acting like a warrior.  Your old
shields are no longer safe.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Act like a warrior and select the items of your world. You cannot surround yourself with things helter-skelter any longer. I tell you this in a most serious vein. Now for the
first time you are not safe in your old way of life.”

        “What do you mean by selecting the items of my world?”

“A warrior encounters those inexplicable and unbending forces because he is deliberately seeking them, thus he is always prepared for the encounter. You, on the other
hand, are never prepared for it. In fact if those forces
come to you they will take you by surprise; the fright will
open your gap and your life will irresistibly escape through
it. The first thing you must do, then, is be prepared. Think that the ally is going to pop in front of your eyes any
minute and you must be ready for him. To meet an ally
is no party or Sunday picnic and a warrior takes the re-sponsibility of protecting his life. Then if any of those
forces tap you and open your gap, you must deliberately strive to close it by yourself. For that purpose you must
have a selected number of things that give you great peace and pleasure, things which you can deliberately use to take your thoughts from your fright and close your gap and
make you solid.”

“What kind of things?”

“Years ago I told you that in his day-to-day life a war-
rior chooses to follow the path with heart. It is the con-sistent choice of the path with heart which makes a warrior different from the average man. He knows that a path has heart when he is one with it, when he experiences a great peace and pleasure traversing its length. The things a war-rior selects to make his shields are the items of a path
with heart.”

“But you said I’m not a warrior, so how can I choose a path with heart?”

“This is your turning point. Let’s say that before you
did not really need to live like a warrior. Now it is differ-
ent, now you must surround yourself with the items of a path with heart and you must refuse the rest, or you will perish in the next encounter. I may add that you don’t
need to ask for the encounter any longer. An ally can now come to you in your sleep; while you are talking to your friends; while you are writing.”

“For years I have truly tried to live in accordance with your teachings,” I said. “Obviously I have not done well.
How can I do better now?”

“You think and talk too much. You must stop talking to yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk to yourself too much. You’re not unique
at that. Every one of us does that. We carry on an in-
ternal talk. Think about it. Whenever you are alone, what
do you do?”

“I talk to myself.”

“What do you talk to yourself about?”

“I don’t know; anything, I suppose.”

“I’ll tell you what we talk to ourselves about. We talk about our world. In fact we maintain our world with our internal talk.”

“How do we do that?”

“Whenever we finish talking to ourselves the world is always as it should be. We renew it, we kindle it with life,
we uphold it with our internal talk. Not only that, but we
also choose our paths as we talk to ourselves. Thus we repeat the same choices over and over until the day we
die, because we keep on repeating the same internal talk over and over until the day we die.

“A warrior is aware of this and strives to stop his talk-
ing. This is the last point you have to know if you want to
live like a warrior.”

“How can I stop talking to myself?”

“First of all you must use your ears to take some of the burden from your eyes. We have been using our eyes to judge the world since the time we were born. We talk to others and to ourselves mainly about what we see. A war-rior is aware of that and listens to the world; he listens to
the sounds of the world.”

I put my notes away. Don Juan laughed and said that
he did not mean I should force the issue, that listening to
the sounds of the world had to be done harmoniously and with great patience.

“A warrior is aware that the world will change as soon
as he stops talking to himself,” he said, “and he must be prepared for that monumental jolt.”

“What do you mean, don Juan?”

“The world is such-and-such or so-and-so only because we tell ourselves that that is the way it is. If we stop telling ourselves that the world is so-and-so, the world will stop being so-and-so. At this moment I don’t think you’re ready for such a momentous blow, therefore you must start slow-
ly to undo the world.”

“I really do not understand you!”

“Your problem is that you confuse the world with what people do. Again you’re not unique at that. Every one of
us does that. The things people do are the shields against
the forces that surround us; what we do as people gives us comfort and makes us feel safe; what people do is right-
fully very important, but only as a shield. We never learn
that the things we do as people are only shields and we let them dominate and topple our lives. In fact I could say
that for mankind, what people do is greater and more im-portant than the world itself.”

“What do you call the world?”

“The world is all that is encased here,” he said, and stomped the ground. “Life, death, people, the allies, and everything else that surrounds us. The world is incompre-hensible. We won’t ever understand it; we won’t ever un-ravel its secrets. Thus we must treat it as it is, a sheer mystery!

“An average man doesn’t do this, though. The world is never a mystery for him, and when he arrives at old age he
is convinced he has nothing more to live for. An old man
has not exhausted the world. He has exhausted only what people do. But in his stupid confusion he believes that the world has no more mysteries for him. What a wretched
price to pay for our shields!

“A warrior is aware of this confusion and learns to treat things properly. The things that people do cannot under
any conditions be more important than the world. And
thus a warrior treats the world as an endless mystery and what people do as an endless folly.”

Plasma and blood

From the looks of her, she seems to be busy, actively sitting at a plaza Starbucks® with an Apple® computer, a smart phone and a bag full of notebooks and paperwork with pictures of x-rays, medical literature, studying in a coolly lit hallway with blank orange walls along a hallway with three small tables with six small chairs packed tightly together against the opposing wall where hang three medium sized metallic-gold framed pictures with smudged panes for glass containing rustic water-color cafes painted or printed, suspended in white space within the frame.  She scans the little lines busily, shifting between taking brief sips of black focus in a black leather jacket.  Her slim frame, shrew face, and unkempt blonde hair betray her excessive state of nervousness.  Just like that she packs up to leave, jamming things here and there into her pink leather purse that serves well to contrast the otherwise Dior® demeanor that hangs tightly against her other shoulder.  She quickly scans under the table for anything else might be left behind before she scuffles out the backdoor, leaving behind a crumby table and chairs out of whack for someone else to clean up after her wake.

               To be certain…Egads! What an absurd crisis!  All that can be derived for certain is the discomfort in my belly and what food is at hand to solve this problem of filling the gap.  Who’s in charge of the thermostat? Certainly not Palestine! Who? Overpower!  Oh Jewish God, do scramble my eggs and scatter my brain seed along the shared path of trampling underfoot.  Let me feel my weakness in a public place like a derelict.  All that can be felt for certain is that a bone in hand needs be buried (in the mire, in the muck, somewhere outside Vietnam).

               “Porque de tal manera amo Dios al mundo, que ha dado a su Hijo unigenito, para que todo aquel que en el cree, no se pierda, mas tenga vida eternal.” Juan 3:16

               It is truly absurd to believe that anything exists for certain.  Beyond validation, beyond proof, beyond the great beyond and into the tabula rasa, virgin youth, only good once for the novelty thereof, the untamed and distemperate assholes despoil an entire degeneration of firstborn sluts, whores, and prostitutes good to go after a perineum flushing bidet of environmental hazards, me and my gun. [Sandanista Sandbagger, FSLN Ortega, Daniel]

               Holy of holies, bag of bags, multiple of multipliers, an army of tools invade, wielders come to tighten the titans of spunk, waxing chthonic labiae in the name of science by seeing, doing, and experiencing the only shoe way of knowing nothing about everything. [N. Korean human centipede marching 6^th]

               Ingratiating pollsters, popular statisticians face the fact, that in order to be surprised, there must be a question to ask, although in retrospect, I suppose I knew that to begin with, (confusing a priori with a posteriori) so I wouldn’t be surprised anyway by anything, looking froward to an unexcitingly romantically quixotically repast of laurelling in the stymied wallow of invertebrate live-in decisions of longing agoathabite, narcotic curd of yak, yeti, and ytterbium. [Churning Chalmers’ 70]

               Herniated hallmarks, leaky plumbing, burst pipes in the wall, amazing grace of mice, plastic bags as water traps, another housing project is condemned to be unpreserved, especially as preservation itself involves a certain dryness and sterility in keeping or high fructose in jamming Smuckers® full of favorites. [Spongebob’s best burger, dated, spoiled rotten.] Dish I would love to death to eat every day, so why don’t I marry it like an addiction to gravy, key to a man’s heart disease.

               Fun ticket Clark and the National Lampoon’s Family Vacation, easily came and easily went astray.  Moral: exclusivity is only a remark.  I could leave this place at any time, but I promise I won’t.  Poverty is the blessing that holds me to it.  Mercantilism is still a debate set on the gold standard of quidnunc, now that the redistribution is settled near the libertine figurine, statue of torches raising the real red banner of plasma and blood.  I was going somewhere with this...