If I'm working for Leonard I can send him a timesheet. We have the gas receipts too. Thanks for letting me know...imaginary friend wrote:Casey, they are not signs from God, silly. They are signs from Leonard.
Casey
If I'm working for Leonard I can send him a timesheet. We have the gas receipts too. Thanks for letting me know...imaginary friend wrote:Casey, they are not signs from God, silly. They are signs from Leonard.
It was "As The World Turns" or "Let's Make A Deal" or "The Three Stooges". I was forced. "Hercules" was the worst... I must admit to watching "All My Children" a few times to avoid it.Violet wrote:...and at the very least, a thorough gleaning of the Stooges would probably have most avoiding this particular spelling conflict, even many years later.. [this is a smiley moment, no doubt.. but as many know here, I try to keep such usage down]..
I'll give you that the wind's influence on a contrail, sculpting it into attention-getting imagery like wispy clouds, or angels to some......if that jet plane left marks that look like wispy clouds.. that in turn look like angels, maybe.. or a cross.. it's just a means of triggering ideas and imagery in the mind that may or may not get us to someplace interesting.. and that may or may not link up to some larger picture we're beginning to create.. they don't have to be "real" clouds for this to happen...
Looking for signs from God planted a pecan tree in the desert for Turkey Vultures to stretch on. For example....maybe just looking for signs from God causes all of this (!).. (just kidding).. (I think)..
I understand this, it's the same way I used to program, or write scripts. How they come together anymore I don't know. But for that type of thing you can swipe pieces from one and put it in another, commands remain the same and variables are transparent - while debugging at least. I don't expect we'll be able to communicate until we're swirling spirits ourselves.so often I write rather unconsciously...
Here is a follow-up to the Mill Flat Fire at New Harmony, please read if you can find the time: http://www.thespectrum.com/apps/pbcs.dl ... /909010307... I do know about this sort of forestry "management".. the trouble is, as I understand it (I haven't read the article yet, by the way), is that when this occurs naturally it happens often enough so that there isn't much brush to burn.. the problem of just letting this happen now, and rather arbitrarily as to when, is that there is a great deal of brush that has to burn.. so the concept might be reasonable, but the reality of doing this is obviously rife with problems.. (especially for those with houses lining the park)...
I can take this section and empathize because it's a recognizable point I reached myself.Apart from End’s Decadence
My illness starts here
down
and into myself
the poison
pressing against this life,
pressing
as if it could stop this breathing.
but nothing. just the
mind’s knowing
of some darkness coming.
What I hear here I wasn't really paying attention to until after I'd reached the point above.Black hornets, busy
in the ramparts. not a tree
stands that isn’t
weeping; this
blackness in the air
overtaking
(the
romantic’s kiss, even)
as here this quiet, this
charred earth
is really all our grieving…
I hear this as a reference to God - to whom all of information goes somehow but I couldn't say how. I am not privy to high level science.Spirits too are crying, whirling
in the afterlife, taking
us our dreaming -- in this, their final
warning…
I can't grasp this, especially in context. I'm the one who has a car named Dorothy and mini-pickup named Silver (not to mention a bike named Sapphire). Behind every mechanism is a soul - an operator or programmer.Something is to blame. no
mere human
could arrange it. just
this mechanism; its soulless
obligation.
Is human love, as we were taught it, possible without reason? In the beginning was reason, nothing was created without it. Can you sing to me of reason, which it could be said created love?and still:
Serpents climb that ancient tree,
Knowledge brings its daggers,
Yet I am wont to sing to thee
Of love, ‘tis all that matters ––
‘Tis all.
Casey.. thanks so much for this... it seldom happens.. So, you end here on a profound note it seems.. I read something about this.. something about love being the servant to knowledge.. not the other way around.. Perhaps we are here to further God's self knowledge.. with each of us providing a unique experience, which furthers God's knowledge of "itself" (don't know what to call God, actually, pronoun wise).. that is, if we are, indeed, each a part of God.. I'd like to dig up this material again, it was far more profound sounding.. and surprising, as don't we all suppose (well, you're an exception here) that love itself has the upper hand?.. not knowledge?.. the latter sounds a bit cold.. a bit.. academic.. but then, I'm something of a romantic, I guess.. Still, this comes back to me frequently.. don't forget, Violet (I say to myself, only that's not really my name).. don't forget to use your noggin'.. that's what it's there for.. existence is not just all warm and fuzzy love stuff.. you've got to exercise that mind of yours.. and actually, Casey, I'm due for a round of knowledge gleaning, as it's been a while.. and I'm getting lazy I think in that regard.. there's this "taking in" period, for an artist, that is.. then the gestation period.. and then the throw up period (that's sort of a joke.. but gestation is equally disgusting sounding).. no, then the output.. whatever that may be.. a poem.. a song.. a painting.. or a film..Casey Butler wrote:I can take this section and empathize because it's a recognizable point I reached myself.Apart from End’s Decadence
My illness starts here
down
and into myself
the poison
pressing against this life,
pressing
as if it could stop this breathing.
but nothing. just the
mind’s knowing
of some darkness coming.
What I hear here I wasn't really paying attention to until after I'd reached the point above.Black hornets, busy
in the ramparts. not a tree
stands that isn’t
weeping; this
blackness in the air
overtaking
(the
romantic’s kiss, even)
as here this quiet, this
charred earth
is really all our grieving…
At that point, after hearing "EVERYTHING", sort of recognizing the state everybody else was in was a "But stop, don't you see, don't you see?" kind of "proof" to me that it was all part of a grand design.
I hear this as a reference to God - to whom all of information goes somehow but I couldn't say how. I am not privy to high level science.Spirits too are crying, whirling
in the afterlife, taking
us our dreaming -- in this, their final
warning…
I can't grasp this, especially in context. I'm the one who has a car named Dorothy and mini-pickup named Silver (not to mention a bike named Sapphire). Behind every mechanism is a soul - an operator or programmer.Something is to blame. no
mere human
could arrange it. just
this mechanism; its soulless
obligation.
Is human love, as we were taught it, possible without reason? In the beginning was reason, nothing was created without it. Can you sing to me of reason, which it could be said created love?and still:
Serpents climb that ancient tree,
Knowledge brings its daggers,
Yet I am wont to sing to thee
Of love, ‘tis all that matters ––
‘Tis all.
A wonderful poem, but I can't resolve the parts in a gist that remains cohesive at the moment.
Thank you for sharing it, Violet...
Casey
Actually.. interestingly enough.. there may be an operator or a programmer, but according to some of the more "out there" material I've read, there may well be a "soulless" element at work here on this old earth.. but even if this were not the case, there is something about systems that can seem to be beyond an individual's power to have control over things.. In the sense you are speaking of systems, we can talk about a computer program, and know that a person or persons put that program together.. but in this other sense.. I guess a wider, more abstract sense.. the world can seem to be devised of systems that we have very little power over.. so.. that in part is what I was getting at..Something is to blame. no
mere human
could arrange it. just
this mechanism; its soulless
obligation.
I can't grasp this, especially in context. I'm the one who has a car named Dorothy and mini-pickup named Silver (not to mention a bike named Sapphire). Behind every mechanism is a soul - an operator or programmer.