Hmmm... how long has it been...?
Long enough. All I can think about is my New York, Astorian tied Brother, or should I say, I think of his absence?
Grove, America is not the same without him. The very ground of Delaware County grumbles for his footsteps to return to his native soil. The Water's Edge beckons for a sunset rendezvous. "Curse the beast and leave!" cries the Cabin. But,... his task remains unfinished. Only he and the LORD know the details.
He's a true Oklahoman Erickson forging a path in the groin of the beast---objective: sterilization. Cutting the fucker at the quick, yes??! I believe so. Serves them right. Before 9/11 NYC was the proverbial puppy with two peters, no? WTC? Double fallus? Anyway...I hope Kyle reads this and it puts a twisted prophetic grin on his face as he envisions his silhouetted exit, one fist in the air. Behind, a crumbling, flame encapsulated, NYC screams for salvation. Yes, HST would be proud. So would I.
But,... it's too early for any of that.
Oh LORD, too early for that.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
(1)
A traveler mixes his wine
for a journey to the deep
bowels of uncertainty
He pauses
marking the spot of his entry.
Swaddled within experience
and reaching for his staff of truth
the valley ahead looms in tangible
shadows.
Deep inhalation
and a quick glance to the setting sun
he descends
resolute
The shadows start to whisper.
A chill engulfs the traveller
as the stench pummels his stomach.
A sip of wine eases the upset
and trains his eyes for the darkness ahead
for a journey to the deep
bowels of uncertainty
He pauses
marking the spot of his entry.
Swaddled within experience
and reaching for his staff of truth
the valley ahead looms in tangible
shadows.
Deep inhalation
and a quick glance to the setting sun
he descends
resolute
The shadows start to whisper.
A chill engulfs the traveller
as the stench pummels his stomach.
A sip of wine eases the upset
and trains his eyes for the darkness ahead
Friday, April 10, 2009
4/10/09 Rant
What can one say of this OKC stint?
The Red Buds are nice. The Village, my present barrio, has all that one would desire within a mile or two radius, save for hills, streams, and unmolested natural beauty, not to mention my wife and unborn daughter, Lydia. I would give anything (almost) to meet a person of like mind, drench conversation in dark coffee, share a few controlled muscle spasms on an instrument of choice, or breath in the air of an untainted intellectual environment. The fantasies of man in exile.
Peace, how scarcely you visit the fringes of this world
Ribbons of incestuous thought bind its inhabitants
Wound tight like the corset of a whore.
Where is Elliot's Red Rock,
David's Secret Place, to hide from the bastard creatures of our Days?
The Sun's Darkness and the Moon's Blood suffocates the heavens above.
Ahhh!
The Red Buds are nice. The Village, my present barrio, has all that one would desire within a mile or two radius, save for hills, streams, and unmolested natural beauty, not to mention my wife and unborn daughter, Lydia. I would give anything (almost) to meet a person of like mind, drench conversation in dark coffee, share a few controlled muscle spasms on an instrument of choice, or breath in the air of an untainted intellectual environment. The fantasies of man in exile.
Peace, how scarcely you visit the fringes of this world
Ribbons of incestuous thought bind its inhabitants
Wound tight like the corset of a whore.
Where is Elliot's Red Rock,
David's Secret Place, to hide from the bastard creatures of our Days?
The Sun's Darkness and the Moon's Blood suffocates the heavens above.
Ahhh!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
2009 Sabatical 3/09-5/09
The thunderstorms initiate Spring. It is here.
My wife, Sarah Elizabeth, carries my daughter---it makes 28 weeks, conservatively.
Sarah refused our home, so I sent her to live with her parents, asking a month to examine reasonable living quarters. She wanted me to become a corporate slave (sic), so she can count on there being an exact amount of money each week in the joint checking account.
Sheesh.
I survived on the hospitality (mostly boarding) of friends. My family, Erickson, Vernon, Knox, and Robbins, preferred my absence, instead of seemingly insubordination (sic).
For the dual purpose of leaving town (for asylum), and appeasing my wife (financially). I contacted Israel Jackson, asking for 27 dollars a day (plus per Diem) in exchange for getting me out of town. I promised my presents (mostly knowledge-based skills) would be beneficial. He hired me for 150 dollars/day, but no per Diem.
After one day and one night, the powers that be trumped both Jackson's and my own endeavors. Jackson said I must go. I asked for fair home, but confessed that I would use it to see my brother in NY. He refused, so I took the metro to Nashville.
Packed with necessities (clothing, a week's worth of food, toiletries, violin and my attache (sp) case) I ventured Nashville for three nights and four days. My Nashvillean experience is reserved for the ears of my brethren. Nevertheless, Nashville will burn, unless there is not a change in the status quo. The name of their NHL team should say enough---The Predators. I did have a conversation (twice) with Keith Urban. The highlight of the adventure was when I met a man running a shop on 2nd Avenue between Broadway and Commerce. He lived in Fayettville, AR, for twenty years, and had friends in Grove, OK---an honest man, he was/is.
Next, I returned to Antioch, TN, where Jackson and his crew were remodeling a Wal-Mart. He promised me 100 dollars and fair home, if I tallied and categorized his last year's receipts---all of them. Both he and I made good in less than 24hrs. He also asked for my financial services (for hire) each time he completes a project, so that he does not again get a year behind.
Tulsa for Saint Patrick's, where I was with Summer, Marybeth, and Bryan Larson. They were excellent, trustworthy companions. Their generosity has not gone unnoticed.
Contact was finally made with Kannin Ragsdale. He carriaged me to OKC.
I remain there/here still.
My wife, Sarah Elizabeth, carries my daughter---it makes 28 weeks, conservatively.
Sarah refused our home, so I sent her to live with her parents, asking a month to examine reasonable living quarters. She wanted me to become a corporate slave (sic), so she can count on there being an exact amount of money each week in the joint checking account.
Sheesh.
I survived on the hospitality (mostly boarding) of friends. My family, Erickson, Vernon, Knox, and Robbins, preferred my absence, instead of seemingly insubordination (sic).
For the dual purpose of leaving town (for asylum), and appeasing my wife (financially). I contacted Israel Jackson, asking for 27 dollars a day (plus per Diem) in exchange for getting me out of town. I promised my presents (mostly knowledge-based skills) would be beneficial. He hired me for 150 dollars/day, but no per Diem.
After one day and one night, the powers that be trumped both Jackson's and my own endeavors. Jackson said I must go. I asked for fair home, but confessed that I would use it to see my brother in NY. He refused, so I took the metro to Nashville.
Packed with necessities (clothing, a week's worth of food, toiletries, violin and my attache (sp) case) I ventured Nashville for three nights and four days. My Nashvillean experience is reserved for the ears of my brethren. Nevertheless, Nashville will burn, unless there is not a change in the status quo. The name of their NHL team should say enough---The Predators. I did have a conversation (twice) with Keith Urban. The highlight of the adventure was when I met a man running a shop on 2nd Avenue between Broadway and Commerce. He lived in Fayettville, AR, for twenty years, and had friends in Grove, OK---an honest man, he was/is.
Next, I returned to Antioch, TN, where Jackson and his crew were remodeling a Wal-Mart. He promised me 100 dollars and fair home, if I tallied and categorized his last year's receipts---all of them. Both he and I made good in less than 24hrs. He also asked for my financial services (for hire) each time he completes a project, so that he does not again get a year behind.
Tulsa for Saint Patrick's, where I was with Summer, Marybeth, and Bryan Larson. They were excellent, trustworthy companions. Their generosity has not gone unnoticed.
Contact was finally made with Kannin Ragsdale. He carriaged me to OKC.
I remain there/here still.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Labyrinthian Lie
I am revisiting the Labyrinth, or the Labyrinth will not let go of me.
There exists, in my person, an affinity toward all that is little known. Satisfaction, on any level, ceases to resonate, save for this persistent seeking of truth, encapsulated in the obscure. Why? Is is rebellion? Is it a secret disgust for the group mind in general? Is it hate of lies? Maybe it is a neurotic need for a "running crisis"? I can only guess. The precision of self-analysis, at least for myself, is limited.
I covet the discipline needed to examine personal events, thoughts, and influences leading to my present mind bend. Maybe I should try? Practice, right?
I remember sometime around puberty, when my grandfather and my dad were talking about the illegality of the IRS. They were excited about reclaiming past taxes sent to the IRS, and possibly suing the organization for emotional damages, millions of dollars in compensation. The idea enchanted me. I told all my friends, but none believed; further, nothing happened, especially monetary compensation.
In the fall of '00, I was offered the "red pill". There was a meeting of the minds, members of an organization call Save a Patriot. I heard discussions about the "voluntary bondage" U.S. citizens who accept social security numbers, drivers license, and birth certificates. It was there that I was exposed to Dr. Horowitz, who forever changed my mind about commonly accepted "truth".
I've heard that one builds their world philosophy between the ages of 18 and 24. If that's the case I'm fucked, because it is during that time period of my life that everything, everything, that I believed to be true was found to be, at best, a half truth. I was confused, mainly, because i felt so overwhelmed with this new knowledge, that normal activities became meaningless--"vanity of vanities". I believed the only option was to "love Big Brother". The New World Order was eminent, why fight? How do I fight? "They" had covered all their bases; we were to far gone.
Then, there was "faith", the last bastion of "hope". If all the affairs of men, from air, water, food, medical, social, and political designs sought the demise and enslavement of humankind as a natural resource, what was left, faith? "The just shall live by faith", right? The situation must be otherworldly; there must be something beyond the empirical world that salvaged a "remnant" of mankind. Faith, what is it?, an English word, with a Latin etymology tied to a transliteration of trust? Trust in what?; something for which there is no proof. But, we fabricate proof, in the form of canonized scripture, and the belief that "God" preserves "His Word". What is the sum of scripture?--- the "chosen people" will rule the world. How convenient for them.
But,!!! is that it? Sheesh, i hope not. Work and buy, work and buy, work and buy,... meaningless! Enjoy the simple pleasantries of life, through the work of your hands,...crap! "Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die." Where is love? What does it look like?
We are told God is love, and that Jesus is God. Jesus said that if you love me you keep my commandments, ie., love God, and love your neighbor as your self.
Is the true God the God of scripture, I think yes, but for different reasons than what I was taught. In my opinion the term scripture encapsulates all that is; every human being, every word spoken, every facet of existence serves as a type of scripture, or revelation of God. The problem lies in the qualifications. Once a qualification denotes an aspect of God, it is no longer God , but a creation of man that is worshiped. Any form of religion is an antithesis to the true God. In my opinion, there are no exceptions.
So, Here is my labyrinth once again. So much information comes at once, after a seemingly barren period, that I now realize its a pattern, repeating toward an end---I hope. This time is the forth time since I was 18 that I am confronted with a multitude of sources of information, all at once, pointing to the idea that the very fabric of humanity's mental constructs are based on lies. The whole gamut of human activity is a mental prison much like the acclaimed "matrix".
In the Spring of this year, for some reason that I cannot explain, I was able to be pulled from this prison, for nearly three weeks, seeing the duplicity of all that is as booth "good" and "evil", simultaneously existing---almost as the same thing. The only criteria to determine which was which, and at what time, rested in the intention or motive of each individual. The "knowledge of good and evil" is an assumption of the heart of man, and an idea rooted in emptiness, nothing.
There exists, in my person, an affinity toward all that is little known. Satisfaction, on any level, ceases to resonate, save for this persistent seeking of truth, encapsulated in the obscure. Why? Is is rebellion? Is it a secret disgust for the group mind in general? Is it hate of lies? Maybe it is a neurotic need for a "running crisis"? I can only guess. The precision of self-analysis, at least for myself, is limited.
I covet the discipline needed to examine personal events, thoughts, and influences leading to my present mind bend. Maybe I should try? Practice, right?
I remember sometime around puberty, when my grandfather and my dad were talking about the illegality of the IRS. They were excited about reclaiming past taxes sent to the IRS, and possibly suing the organization for emotional damages, millions of dollars in compensation. The idea enchanted me. I told all my friends, but none believed; further, nothing happened, especially monetary compensation.
In the fall of '00, I was offered the "red pill". There was a meeting of the minds, members of an organization call Save a Patriot. I heard discussions about the "voluntary bondage" U.S. citizens who accept social security numbers, drivers license, and birth certificates. It was there that I was exposed to Dr. Horowitz, who forever changed my mind about commonly accepted "truth".
I've heard that one builds their world philosophy between the ages of 18 and 24. If that's the case I'm fucked, because it is during that time period of my life that everything, everything, that I believed to be true was found to be, at best, a half truth. I was confused, mainly, because i felt so overwhelmed with this new knowledge, that normal activities became meaningless--"vanity of vanities". I believed the only option was to "love Big Brother". The New World Order was eminent, why fight? How do I fight? "They" had covered all their bases; we were to far gone.
Then, there was "faith", the last bastion of "hope". If all the affairs of men, from air, water, food, medical, social, and political designs sought the demise and enslavement of humankind as a natural resource, what was left, faith? "The just shall live by faith", right? The situation must be otherworldly; there must be something beyond the empirical world that salvaged a "remnant" of mankind. Faith, what is it?, an English word, with a Latin etymology tied to a transliteration of trust? Trust in what?; something for which there is no proof. But, we fabricate proof, in the form of canonized scripture, and the belief that "God" preserves "His Word". What is the sum of scripture?--- the "chosen people" will rule the world. How convenient for them.
But,!!! is that it? Sheesh, i hope not. Work and buy, work and buy, work and buy,... meaningless! Enjoy the simple pleasantries of life, through the work of your hands,...crap! "Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die." Where is love? What does it look like?
We are told God is love, and that Jesus is God. Jesus said that if you love me you keep my commandments, ie., love God, and love your neighbor as your self.
Is the true God the God of scripture, I think yes, but for different reasons than what I was taught. In my opinion the term scripture encapsulates all that is; every human being, every word spoken, every facet of existence serves as a type of scripture, or revelation of God. The problem lies in the qualifications. Once a qualification denotes an aspect of God, it is no longer God , but a creation of man that is worshiped. Any form of religion is an antithesis to the true God. In my opinion, there are no exceptions.
So, Here is my labyrinth once again. So much information comes at once, after a seemingly barren period, that I now realize its a pattern, repeating toward an end---I hope. This time is the forth time since I was 18 that I am confronted with a multitude of sources of information, all at once, pointing to the idea that the very fabric of humanity's mental constructs are based on lies. The whole gamut of human activity is a mental prison much like the acclaimed "matrix".
In the Spring of this year, for some reason that I cannot explain, I was able to be pulled from this prison, for nearly three weeks, seeing the duplicity of all that is as booth "good" and "evil", simultaneously existing---almost as the same thing. The only criteria to determine which was which, and at what time, rested in the intention or motive of each individual. The "knowledge of good and evil" is an assumption of the heart of man, and an idea rooted in emptiness, nothing.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Mystical Memoirs: Part II
I believe I was seven the day I read the story of Solomon, with my own eyes. I reasoned; this is what I want, Wisdom. So I asked the LORD for Wisdom.
Sorrow and Grief followed.
So, I was nearly fifteen when I used wine, women, and song to quiet my mind; however, only music served its purpose well---for a while.
Micheal Jackson, Kurt Cobain, Hendrix, Dave Mathews, and Dylan mixed comforting music with discomforting thoughts. My angst doubled.
Sorrow and Grief followed.
So, I was nearly fifteen when I used wine, women, and song to quiet my mind; however, only music served its purpose well---for a while.
Micheal Jackson, Kurt Cobain, Hendrix, Dave Mathews, and Dylan mixed comforting music with discomforting thoughts. My angst doubled.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Mystical Memoirs; Part 1
I started thinking this morning about the events and rational that compelled me to concern myself with the marriage between mysticism and reason. Upon retrospect, I realize that my task is an attempt to eradicate an internal conflict, present from childhood, rooted, at least, in my first memories.
Two specific memories serve a starting point. Both take place about the same time, and the same place: at night---between the ages of four and six, and in my bedroom on 6th Street in Grove.
The first experience begins when I am starting to sleep, on the top bunkbed, when I feel like a brick falls from the cieling and hits me in the head. At once, I feel dizzy and the room starts to spin , and I become paralyzed until the motion of my environment ceases. The second event, this time on the bottom bunk, I awaken from a dream, but can't move. I look towards the foot of the bed, and there is a black figure with blue eyes holding a saw. Laughing, he starts to cut my ankles. I am startled by my own crying and yelling, then the figure disappears.These two events implanted in me an awareness for inexplicable experiences. Since childhood, many similar instances occured, mostly with entites sinister in nature.
Like most stricken by fear, I saught council with the highest authority on spiritual (mental)matters that I knew. In my case, such council was my grandmother, one who I held dear to heart, and the wife of my grandfather, the pastor of my local church. At age five or so, I had an awe for my grandfather, but my grandma was my friend, so I went to her first.
Of course, she quickened with righteous fury and began to rebuke the devil, and all demonic activities, from my resting place---in the name of Jesus. Now, to be honest, my grandmother's response to my situation formed a template for problem solving; whether the problem be mundane or extramundane, her's was the satifactory approach---at least until the tail end of my prepubescent years. There, around the ages of 9-12, reason began to temper my maddening mysticism.
Two specific memories serve a starting point. Both take place about the same time, and the same place: at night---between the ages of four and six, and in my bedroom on 6th Street in Grove.
The first experience begins when I am starting to sleep, on the top bunkbed, when I feel like a brick falls from the cieling and hits me in the head. At once, I feel dizzy and the room starts to spin , and I become paralyzed until the motion of my environment ceases. The second event, this time on the bottom bunk, I awaken from a dream, but can't move. I look towards the foot of the bed, and there is a black figure with blue eyes holding a saw. Laughing, he starts to cut my ankles. I am startled by my own crying and yelling, then the figure disappears.These two events implanted in me an awareness for inexplicable experiences. Since childhood, many similar instances occured, mostly with entites sinister in nature.
Like most stricken by fear, I saught council with the highest authority on spiritual (mental)matters that I knew. In my case, such council was my grandmother, one who I held dear to heart, and the wife of my grandfather, the pastor of my local church. At age five or so, I had an awe for my grandfather, but my grandma was my friend, so I went to her first.
Of course, she quickened with righteous fury and began to rebuke the devil, and all demonic activities, from my resting place---in the name of Jesus. Now, to be honest, my grandmother's response to my situation formed a template for problem solving; whether the problem be mundane or extramundane, her's was the satifactory approach---at least until the tail end of my prepubescent years. There, around the ages of 9-12, reason began to temper my maddening mysticism.
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