An entity that made sense Unexpected and unsurprising

monday, the 27th of June
She is more than herself in so many ways. Her household
and the considerations of the offspring who make report to her in the circuits of their own timetables
and the employees who know that there is an invisible weight that is brought to bear - in excess of her face which smiles upon them as they make their schedule. She marks the passing of multiple man-hour days. And more insistently, unspoken, many people meld their conscious activity to her, she who lives not in her own life, but in theirs as their cash-flow incarnate
and the logisticians
the merchants
and the entrepreneurs
the clients
and the restaurant lunches
The priest who makes his mark and the importance of the authority in whom he brings to vast avenues of society some humanity and sense and succour
As she turns in her own life, the visage that is turned to her is the workable guise of an understanding deity
she is always welcome in this house
the people who are with her who know who she was before she took on the lacquer of tangental generation's perceptions
the people who know her beyond knowledge and the details that provide that knowledge

She came in a car with me and she did something unutterably kind. So kind that a great store of magnanimity radiates from the mantle of the Earth and through the torque of its spin. The world is very good
and it is more than human
Tomorrow and the next day it will keep on being and she will
and so will all the things that rely on her likeness a little less permanently.

much of

which things define the way you understand the style of life you live?
how much is supported- exclusively- for the pleasure of old men?
really?

do a little dance

Saturday, June 11th
like the consistency of pond-weed saturated H2O, like Zurich, remember? the sky is murky and it's dark, too, so the buildings avoid notice.

They are all high-rise here, more spaced out than in comic books.

and the lights in the windows look like eyes with glaucoma.

"By your own logic...", the accomplice took leave

Tuesday, the 7th of June

Television. People over a certain age thought it had stopped. They remembered it as a distinct characteristic of an earlier time, a time when people were still open to the idea that everything was being reduced, and indeed, could be reduced. This was years ago.
But its uses and the urge to represent forged a panoply of mediums, variously as popular as tv.
And there still was tv. Sound, movement and colour. The simplicity of its information, so suited to the anthropological predilection for recognition, delivered a visceral comfort and those who chose could always make it available.

It was lifestyle. A lot of lifestyle was going around though. All of them different, and in different lots, but generally around, no changes there.
One thing was different now. Something from before had stopped.
The overfed old, white men, podging obtuseness as they touched the young, other people's children, dropping words like education, poverty, opportunity.
The images of scrub and anthill and the non-transmission of the dust and the smells.
The silent young and the incredible import instructing and canvassing, canvassing.

A pandemic susceptibility, noted here, in some observations on a condition, known as "rice butt" that afflicts the local population.
Despite its negligible taste and consistency, it is cooked over and over again in the course of millions of lifetimes, and people choose to have a rice dish. I reckon rice has an addictive component.
I don't believe that the body is equipped to process rice, not in these quantities anyway, and while they are being saturated with rice, there is a toll exacted on human bodies by deficiencies in nutrients and valuable minerals.
And by the age of 30, the ablebodied adult population (which is what 30 years old is here - the pinnacle and pivot upon which to hinge and swing the sum-total of understanding in the net of society) are built like tanks.
With every mouthful of excess rice consumption they wage a war on their genetics and physiognomy. In the lifelong process this takes, bone and flesh are inexorably compounded and eventually they look like a sack - smooth-skinned bundles of compromise, mounds of pointless muscle. Boys of 16 to 28 have rice breasts, rice pecs. Girls have puffy forearms and glutinous legs. Like jelly in gladwrap. Everyone has inflated fingers. The skinny ones do not eat.

but a mere invectory

What if there is no difference between anybody? What if we are all fundamentally part of the same creation and contan identical potentiality to anyone else and all that differentiates us is timing?
What if the long long pattern of the equations and permutations that are encounters over the period of human life on earth is non-repeat, with the pertinent question - does your mind lead you to this point? this is where i get interested in the possibilities of this "unknown" - what manner of things have occured and what entity has been brought into being and then to it's close, and how does this leave us?
If there is no more us, then is there any "what next?" to ask?
Some people think that there are things to attain, or things to jump over, or things to fulfill. Some people march forward in their minds with the invocations of another person's voice keeping them mindful of this prophecy or that.
Some people hoard the milestones that their predecessors have set up and meter out their days through a heraldic calendar of solid futures, each to be sought in the footsteps of their individual totem.
Some people have a lack of faith and rote their experience of light and air to a dogma of projection

of all things for God's sake! (an anachronistic injection from my appreciation of sense)

values imperfectly mediated and faultily voiced by idiots with loudspeakers.
Projection is a lie that covers nothing, it is an unnecessary lie at that. What if the lies of the projectionists were openly regarded as aural fabric that ennable said projectionists to be clothed for the duration of their life on this planet in regalia and insignia that dissemble the abject exploitation they require? What if that was all that stood between us and our own happiness and widespread generosity?
Is that all? Or what more can be said? What more can I say? All the other thoughts that I've been having while I was typing this, which shall be expanded over the next moments and through moments on other time scales, what other things/something elses shall come?
What if there is no such thing as an ending?

There is no such thing as an ending (from my appreciation of sense)

I am elated to ask the question.