K READS MENTAL X 3

So i was rolling with this sweet-as-saccharine, pretty young latin thang, on an real affective high, joining in the bipolar unilateral uncompromised brilliance of the new day, treading on an adidas insole grip, feeling like a princess for a change, when suddenly she stopped and turned me around to look at this ugly street scene. She said something about getting a french roast at one of those less than average corporate coffee outfits, maybe Seattle's Beast or Starfux or something. I really cannot pay attention, on purpose.

Hey hey hey hey now! I said, making mad circles with the palms of my hands facing her, like I was painting a Starry Night again. What did you say?

She told me again with great controlled precision, almost irritable-like. 

Were she not so saccharine-sticky-sweet like, with her unfrosted platinum blonde wig all situated like real hair on her dome, I would have been audi 5000. I gave her my full attention, and my pressure cooker started heating up a bit. Not a good feelingstate for my mental. I tried to channel it out of my shoulders with a roll and a couple of shrugs. But it got locked up, in between the blades, and started bouncing around in there, my chi, like a video game-gone-beserk. Damn. I wanted to slap her already, but it was just a thought.

So we went anyway, and she got her gingerbread shot or whatever, and I sat impatiently on the cold, dry, laminated redwood, waiting. I always wondered how I got into this kinda mess. Some double-blind study was I. Blinded first by her beauty, then by my own future idyllic daydream of what life could be in the presence of said beauty. Never once did my mental suggest sitting on a plank in Central Yuppie, California, while holier-than-thou got a gingerbread.

mental -iii

So i was rolling with this sweet as saccharine pretty young latin thang, on an real affective high, joining in the bipolar unilateral uncompromised brilliance of the new day, treading on an adidas insole grip, feeling like a princess for a change when suddenly she stopped and turned me around to look at this ugly street scene. She said something about getting a french roast at one of those less than average corporate coffee outfits, maybe Seattle's Best or Starfux or something. I really cannot pay attention on purpose.

Hey hey hey hey now, I said, making mad circles with the palms of my hands facing her, like I was painting a Starry Night. What did you say? 

She told me again with great controlled precision, almost irritable-like. Were she not so saccharine sticky sweet like with her unfrosted platinum blonde wig all situated like real hair on her dome, I would have been audi 5000 on the bitch. I gave her my full attention, and my pressure cooker started heating up a bit. Not a good feelingstate for my mental. I tried to channel it out of my shoulders with a roll and a couple of shrugs. But it got locked up inbetween the blades and started bouncing around in there, my chi, like a video game gone beserk. Damn. I wanted to slap the bitch already but it was just a thought.

So we went and she got her gingerbread shot or whatever, and I sat impatiently on a cold dry laminated redwood waiting. I always wondered how I got into this kinda mess. Some double-blind study was I. Blinded first by her beauty, then by my own future idyllic daydream of what life could be in the presence of said beauty. Never once did my mental suggest sitting on a plank in central yuppie, california, while holier-than-thou got a gingerbread.

Reality crept up on me and backhanded my chi out of tilt!

Memory #2009. Zero points. Tidal wave music. Current of gratitude -- ii)

Continuation of an earlier suggestion by K, years ago. Completion of a semi-conscious thought...

Religion was unpopular in areas where its leaders did not sway political power. In those areas, religion still dominated and tormented millions and was smoked, ingested, digested, inhaled, and slammed by minions. Obsessing minds like Helen of Troy.

In supposedly 'free' countries, those who believed they were free wore spirituality on their luxurious auras and referred to east meets west and quoted prominent thinkers and spiritual teachers so to keep good standing among social circles.

'Keeping it real'

They often ended where they began, these social circles. true to being a circle.  Comfort came in being in the same place and unevolved; they called this state of stagnation: HOME.

No words meant anything, really, because all words could be traced back to the dead language, which was alive in all words. They called it dead because they were free and unconscious. Only when the people slept did consciousness appear, and they called these 'nightmares' and spoke of consciousness as though it were a horrible curse upon them.

And yet they spoke of consciousness with great philosophical energy made viral, and some claimed to be more conscious than others.

[These were know as sleepwalkers and allowed to exist in a harm reductive state, and went back far in time in hopes of rejecting the notion that anyone (anything) like them could possibly have ever existed before them, for they considered themselves unique.]

Fortunately, their condition was terminal at best. Rebirth would be promised them for centuries before termination due to the giving up on them by the divine (he who giveth up on no one).