The mountains are on fire
and I think, if I would read that
out of context, I would think them
engulfed
all at once
like a matchhead

But it’s not like that and I doubt
it ever has been, not since there have been trees
and things that live in them

No

It’s much more peaceful from this distance
It’s like living calligraphy
slowly rolling over the rocky page

And I know the ink is death
and far from wet

But I read into it
as I would read into any text
and what I find there (in myself)
is a call to being
written in a language 
which I cannot translate

and, like the flame itself,
which I cannot grasp

To suffer is a choice
the burden of inner voice

Isn’t today the day that the Titanic sank?
No. Apparently that’s tomorrow.
The ides of April.
The beginning of spring.
Things are warming up, yeah?
The passengers will get a kick
out of the little
demonstrated invincibility.
It’ll be a story to tell.

And it was.

We bring joy to the Pampas
with our pompous toys
poured out of planes

Toys with timers,
built both by and for boys
parading toward a poverty of
    the soul

Grip and grab
Scratch and drag

He is not a bad man
not any more than the rest of us
but a man like him
one so concerned with
The People’s Regard–with respect–
well
a man like him is likely to forget
that The People are not the folks he
deals with daily

Said another way, he is not a hard man
to manipulate; all it takes is a relationship

Dandus Hound about Lou, Chief of The Vits

A man and
another man
at Odd’s

How come no one
gets along at
his bar?

Social Status - What others think of you
Perceived Status - What you think others think of you
Dignity - What you think of yourself

In order to explain the Shadows I must
first mention the Light, the tree called Babel,
and the Shade.

The Light is, unsurprisingly, the truth of things.
It is physical reality in all its facets.
It is the concrete.

The tree called Babel
is the set of
concepts
in our
mind
that we use to
understand
the Light
and to
communicate
with
others.
It is the 
abstract.

And
the shadows
are the things
that step from the
shade and confront us with
untruths that we unwittingly see as
truths unless we are attentive to Babel
and are cognizant of this echo state of things.

When I imagine something
but only give it a half-breath
is it stillborn
or aborted?

Is giving up the same as stopping?

I don’t know how to do this.

I think that’s okay, though. So long as I try.

    Think probabilistically.
    Measure by spend not supply.
    Find security in your capacity.

    Help others to do likewise.

Chance is a palace
with high towers
shifting halls
and a throne room
stacked and stacked and stacked
with coin
And the throne itself is a kind of
mystery box
slot machine
theoretical construct
in which sits a cat
alive or dead
and also Lady Luck herself
sometimes

The grounds are surrounded
by a singular infinite
probability wave
that obscures the palace
from map and from sight both

Many strike out with the pilgrim’s
intent of finding the palace
and while it is true that the seekers
find themselves on premises
more often than the sedentary
not one approaches the drawbridge
and calls for right of hospitality
   not one
All who enter the place do so
stumbling
    or thrown

And so many push through
    without ever realizing
        they were even
            there
                at all

Futility is a desert
    is a flower
    is a comedian philosopher

the desert is infinite with moisture
only as mirage
    with a sun so calescent
        that the sand would be glass

I don’t know Hate – never met ‘em.
‘Course I’ve heard of ‘ em and
seen ‘em on TV.

Maybe I know their shape like
I know the shape of the pyramids
    I never seen ‘em myself.

I’m kinda worried
    both that one day I’ll meet ‘em
    and also that I’ll go my whole life
    only hearing about ‘em second hand

Maybe I have met ‘em and I just forgot

Maybe there are two Hates – twins
    There’s People Hate
        and
            Thing Hate
    
Maybe I know Thing Hate
    the gate to my apartment
        sure is frustrating

But I don’t know
    I don’t want to give the gate
    that much power over me

A faceless golden statue
nude in the nondescript way
statues are nude

The ideal of health and fitness

Still and towering in crowded places
or wandering through them
helping where it sees need

…

I like to think that the demigods
that were rulers in their day
find themselves not on ten thousand thrones
but in a private room behind a single throne
which only leaders people

On that throne sits the god Leader
who is of Contatus, the Queen of Spirits

What games do they play
in that room behind the throne?

We know that Camus said this
and said it with a bathtub’s worth of meaning
but others have said it now
and many times over
adding their own water
but also exposing the sentence
to more context
and bolstering it in so doing

These sentences themselves become
small gods in the sublimn

And I imagine Camus is there too
perhaps as a demigod

Think of all the humans there
Think of all the small god sentences
Think of where you find them

Camus at The College
where many of them probably reside

What form do their sentences take?

I imagine this quote as a
Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever
named Omish or OMISH at Camus’ side
perhaps even riding in a motorcycle’s side car
with goggles and a helmet

Character your thoughts
Pressure cook them into symbols
Tie threads to knots
and, with your audience, cast lots

You have to package your communication
otherwise it ships nowhere

Who are you
	and
who do you want to be?

The space in between those two
things is turbulent and hard, but
maybe that space is flourishing

I’ve found gold coins in the desert
and gold flakes in the tides

Next, it’s in the forest
where gold hides