Poem: "Visions Pass Before My Eyes"

newer title: "The Private Response Of An Intelligent Well Behaved Young American Child" late 20th c.

newest title: "To A Future Understanding, From A Past Misunderstood"

Visions pass before my eyes

of other times & other lies

& stranger claims of 'Truth' and 'Right'

to counter mine of Dark, & Light.

Strangers' cries of 'Understand!'

through my fingers fall, like sand:

they cannot, will not, comprehend,

their way obscured by Reason's End.

dedications

for red - ( & thanks troodles)

for troodles

A Place For Everything & Everything In Its Place

Upon The Motivation By Which I May Impose

Order Upon My Papers & Effects, The Result Of A Strong Desire

To Succeed In This Endeavor,

At The Very Least To An Extent Outwardly Sufficient

To Warrant & Produce

Genuine Relief & Pleasure

In The Eyes & Heart Of My Beloved,

A Most Kind, Compassionate, Thoughtful, Determined, & Patient Man:

&

In Recognition Of The Instrumental Nature Of Such Desire,

As Well As Appreciation Of The Most Great Benefits & Advantages

Likely To Be The Happy Effect, As Well Of This Very Gentleman's Response (An It Be Favorable),

As Of That Same Motivation,

(An It Be Genuine).

So I thought i would research organizational techniques may be there is someone who writes 'the disorganized genius' who understands how much more comforting a desk is to me upon which there are hella things.


The search? Enter "how to organize tips for disorganized genius still happy not sterile" & feel lucky.

“The first step is to establish a more organized lifestyle that suits your personality—it’s not about living in a sterile environment.

well thats encouraging. maybe this one wont talk down to me, discarding the standards by which *I* measure success. i read on.

It’s a conscious choice that’s conducive to how you interact with your family, & how you want to be perceived

well she's spot on with that. if it isn't for living with my love of my life - who is by nature much much cleaner, & for who his living space was always a source of great pride & enjoyment - i would have no motivation whatsoever. rather the opposite. fuck those bitches. fuck this assbackwards society, with its torture & its special privileges & its health care system killing people & with the way it treats the other, the poor, the downtrodden. fuck these lying motherfuckers. fuck them from when they first took delight in being a source of pain, & fuck them all the way through to forever, where i hope when i get there to find them frozen, suspended in the æthyr, their opacity fading ever so very gradually, stopped in their tracks like hiroshima clocks by some horrific device their kind is just about now set to invent, some bomb harnessing and pairing the awesome destructive potential of karma & deploying it in a gravity substrate to synthesize & detonate a quantum perspectival karmic singularity...


you see its karmic. so its selective. why am i unafraid? its funny, i lean back to answer again this question, a favorite with journalists, especially if they have never met me before. i chuckle softly because they expect it: everyone is still nervous around me like i am some sort of Mad DARPA Scientist eleventy gazillion times more demonic than sweet Oppenheimer, yet to repent having won (or inherited) the 'Death, the Destroyer of Worlds' award (title?). I like to fuck with them some, since its nothing really of which to be afraid, not if one really DOES love the Good & really TRIES to see things as others do, to love their neighbor as themselves, to love their Creator above all. Its so ironic this divide, as they regard me, obviously convinced their opinion remains unreadable, as they look at me in fear & disgust. As they are careful not to get too close to the reclusive genius who discovered quantum perspectival karmic singularities; as they laugh nervously & refer to me as The Sicko That Invented the Karma Bomb as they cut to make room for some of those new hip interactive ads....


no doubt the ads were for the Keep It Simple Now Certifiably Organized System, or KIS'N'COS. All the rage.


*ahem* This piece is not the evidence of an advanced case of procrastination as it would seem to because, uh, at first, uh, well, i would think that if i didn't know me as well as i do. Luckily for us, Gentle Reader, I do, & its not. Um. In any event I tip my symbolic Hat to Susan Brierly, author of the piece quoted herein, lest i offend: Susan, I encountered your Park Place piece in a search which not only provided me with strategies, but also inspiration, as you can see.


From the article:

✻ Purge first, then sort.
✻ Assign everything a home.
✻ Organize similar items together.
✻ Dedicate 15-20 minutes each day to creating order.
✻ Break projects into manageable baby steps.
✻ Celebrate your victories to keep motivated.

this i can try.


but: i would like to find out the exact parameters of the "line" that separates acceptable frm unacceptable behavior. I would like to know hoe these parameters were determined, so that i may go to work at inventing a good hack: i bet i could probably push that fucker out near enough to the familiar cluttered mess (of which i was & wanted to be proud) to satisfy all the requirements.


but: i am not proud that i cannot control my desire to blurt out something, sneer, or spit. when i was younger i did not react so quickly, but now it really pisses me off.


Where is that line? We have the more misdemeanorlike (or, i guess, 'softcore') habits about which i am expected to be embarrassed & from which i am assumed to want freedom. Then we have the felonious, examples of whom are referred to in that language of the dominant social opinion, unquestioned hidden assumptions, nazi like. the "hardcore hoarders" mentioned above. fuck you.


i am not hurting you. am i? if i am i want to know. i need to make absolutely sure i am not first, as a moral imperative, ad the requisite authority by means of which i can st& & survey & fashion my local environment as i see fit. because i am an adult & a brilliant one at that, because i am hurting no one & i consider my mess beautiful; because i am the one who has to die when it is my turn to die.


of course, everyone knows it isn't like all that. not such a big deal. whoa whoa. don't trip. don't overthink it. its not such such a big deal... its all good...

Free Counter

The pure joy that is existence has been by implication & will be by expression to me unveiled, even in all that seemeth sorrow

Because I have to start somewhere, here.  Ideal not being actually actual, and all that.  Try to follow the one and you get turned around, confused, lost if you don't realize its you that should be leading... its complicated but if you sketch it out the logic is inescapable: propter non per accidens sed causa sequitur hoc Follow the other, if you can, maybe you'll last til you're a little ways out; eventually there you are, unable to keep up.  Either way there you are face to face (again) with your own death. (Long pause). With a little effort I can balance for a while on the impossibly thin edge of right now, Weight palpable of first impressions yet unborn in minds of whom it will not have been dreamt in my philosophy. We live as we dream, alone. (Unexpected, sudden: 404, File Not Found). Whatever I might think , think of what you think of, or think of what I know about you, dear reader – I can take our understanding for granted, I can work on it, build upon it; ethics aside, I can do all these and the link is swift, reliable.  Even with you, Whoever You Are (and by the way, welcome!  In the words of an old dear friend of mine, Leave some of the happiness you bring.).  Reliable that is, until I attempt to prove it exists.  Until I refer to it.  Or actually rely upon its details, reference and assume common understanding of specific particulars.  (Perhaps I misread the error code, now that I think of it...)  Perhaps you know what its like, what its been like wanting to be... sure... of... who or what or the existence of something, someone to save you all at once from meaninglessness and oblivion... (Shit. That's a 403. No authority; no access;  Additionally, a definite apprehension – that I would remain nearly entirely clueless, even should such capable philosophies somehow come to be appropriated – was generated in the hour that has elapsed since, suddenly and gloriously resolute, unheralded, alone, and with seeming confidence I clicked where no me had clicked before, and decided to begin, to begin Now, and Here).

Not with this Server.  Tempts hope. Optimism, like grains of rice strewn in front of you, if you felt compelled to count them....  Does that mean with a different server, or port... 

ha! and i thought it was going to say something austere and sweeping, like, it was six o'clock in the morning  of Tuesday the fifth of January twenty ten when i decided I had to move.  When I finally realized something, though I bet earlier than most, that not only weren't things getting any better here in what used to be my country – in what now is, apparently, my 'homeland' – not only does it seem to not be getting better, folks –

Sigh.  Now i don't want to be so pessimistic. It's too important.  This is where the ideal meets the real like rubber and road.  I don't even drive; heh; good metaphor maybe - maybe.  The here meets the now in this my Blog that I have been anticipating For So Long Etc.., where the as-yet-unformed is shaped by my forward momentum.  Thus we often can catch (if we are observant, and quick) a glimpse of the Truth.  Thus the noumenal world, the web of event, can be busted red-handed in correlation with, and seemingly caused by, the set of possibilities in which it had come to be packaged.  

Thus future event, or anyway, one's experience of future event, which is after all functionally indistinguishable (ok i mean in everyday consciousness, for those well-dabbled smart-asses out there) from, is dependent upon – I want to go ahead and say, is created, is magickally called into being, by – wait for it –

the language one uses to describe it.  Whatever language:  but it appears that meanings are not arbitrary.  So:  here we go:  and: I hope, right now, that I will have been saying: if anyone needs me, I'll be in some New, Sane, Civilized land.

There's the catch.  

Can't solve it all today.  I have a beloved to make love to, thank God.