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About Me

209 POR VIDA----------Also real quick it should be said that dying in order to live doesn't necessarily need to be reacted to in the conditioned manner in which convention has implied and impressed through social truisms and marketing alike all throughout each of our periods of consciousness so far on this fair, floating and screwed-up planet regardless of the particular time period, and that rather than fear the evolution via change, either painful or joyful or simply and altogether confusing or necessary for advancing against chaos and the dark in any fashion or even, eventually, with a certain flair, a certain flowing style or manner which sets you apart and which we all, I'm assuming, are secretly, even to ourselves, hoping to achieve by all the action of our lives and attempts at creating beauty and music and art or just smiles where before there was only commerce or advertising space and/or minds closed off to things that inspire and take your breath away, cost essentially nothing but time and the courage to exercise the capacity for emotional reactions to sunshine or special words or people or places or colors/sounds/feelings/ special specifically and ineffably to you, and give off a little bit of whatever the word Heaven is cryptically hinting at in all those books it's mentioned in, you should just dive the hell in. Blend. Flow. Let yourself get burned. Get loaded without narcotics (or without all that many of them anyway...)----------Trees moving with the wind are saying something the same way that sharks, because of their efficiency at "killing", commonly and unfortunately are perceived only and merely as that: Cruel.---------- Nothing happens if nothing happens.----------(And if you have to, you can just live for a while on Yerba Mate and Kava.)

My Interests

I'd like to meet:

William Saroyan. My ego in a dark alley. Phil Anselmo. (Or actually all three of us at a Winchell's on the corner of Kings Canyon and Palm (that's now a Walgreen's) in about 1985 on about a saturday morning after a soccer game at Ayer elementary and in the wonderful fog (and smog) of a Town Which Shall not be Named. My father about to buy our trio a maple bar and some orange juice in those weird plastic cups they came in, before he goes outside to contribute the smoke from a couple Camel straights to the atmosphere of memory.

My Blog

Actually, my blog is documented on a Remington Silent-Type,

exclusively utilizing strips of pressed and dried wood pulp. This is all done in real-time, and, (fortunately for all of you), said apparatus has yet to be "hooked up to the network".
Posted by on Wed, 15 Feb 2006 12:31:00 GMT