Burning The Past

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Ten o'clock in the morning, and the temperature is a muggy 58° (14.444° C), and so humid I can see the droplets of moisture in the air, even as blind as I am is. The sun is nowhere in sight, and according to the weather report, it probably won't be until tomorrow. As long as it's fairly warm, and it is fairly warm, I can dig it.

The probiotics I've been using for a couple of days now has not been a pleasant affair. I've had stomach aches and headaches galore. I've tried to ignore them in order to reach the good end (not knowing what that might be), but still, it's aggravating and highly uncomfortable. The headaches are the same as if I'd been constipated for a few days.

When I have been able to relieve myself it's like diarrhea, but the relief is helpful when it comes to pass (pun intended). I was afraid that the diarrhea could get out of control such that I'd get dehydrated, but that has proved to be a useless worry. Maybe it was just part of the way this stuff works. In any case, I am is feeling okay now, and the headache I woke up this morning seems to be going away.

Here I'm writing about my personal life as if this were a teenagers diary. Well, it sort of is a diary or a journal, as well as being my way to contemplate my own life on a daily basis. Things pop up here that I don't usually dwell on. It's just that I am doesn't lead a very exciting life these days, at least the sort of life that makes for exciting reading.

To me, I am is doing the world a favor by not writing in it's inimitable "tossed-word salad" fashion as it has for the last decade or so. I am is getting senile enough without deliberately doing it as controversy. It's a form that allows him to explore the world in an off-hand way, but its not all that pleasant for his readers. It might be even mo' bettah if he were to stop referencing himself as "I am is" to indicate his state of being in the first person singular, but One can't have everything and eat it too.

My brother came over last night and called out to me to ask if I wanted to go for our walk. He can't call me on the phone like he has in the past because I don't have a home phone number that works anymore. My account has been eliminated. As soon as I realized they had disconnected both my home phone and my DSL connection, I threw my old touch-tone phone in the trash, and then, last night, I used the trash (including my old phone) to start a fire to burn a brush heap.

Good riddance. It was very hard to keep clean. Not that I tried to keep it clean. Sometime I'd get so embarrassed that my non-visitors would realize how seedy I am can be, and I'd spray it with rubbing alcohol and wipe it down with a paper towel to get the worst of the gunk off of it. Now, I don't have to do that anymore, perhaps the angels won't be afraid to tread here anymore.

The dreamtime apparently doesn't like the probiotics either. I had horrible nightmares the first night such that I woke up practically screaming. Well, not last night. The first dream I woke up to was about a puzzle and a guy that seemed to need juggling skills as well as intellectual insight to even attempt to solve it. It's kind of vague now.

The puzzle pieces were like intricately shaped wooden tiles, but I couldn't discern what material they were made of. He was working inside of a picture frame setup that was around two by three feet in dimension. the puzzle pieces were maybe a half-inch in depth and didn't protrude beyond each other, so that the pieces he had already put in place were a flat surface. The puzzle part was all about shapes.

He worked at a frenzied pace as if he had no choice because the puzzle pieces were being thrust at him at breakneck speed, and that's where the need for him to also be a juggler came into play. Candidly, it was a fascinating process. He wanted me to learn how to do it, so that he could stop doing it. I woke up.

The second dream I woke up to involved a beautiful young woman that I never knew all that well. She was/is a married woman, and that's all it takes for me to not get too close or let my emotions run wild. She was always friendly with me with a ready smile, but she seemed to be friendly with most people.

Her smile had the same affect on me as maybe the Mona Lisa's smile does in the Louvre museum (never been there). We had no relationship in the dream other than the fact that she kept popping into view between scenarios. I don't remember much about the content of the dream itself anymore, except that it was not a terrifying nightmare, and I was happy about that.

Writing my new .sig file came as a delightful surprise to me. It's like an 800 page book in one sentence. As a poet I've constantly attempted to reduce all my drifting thoughts into as few words as possible, but for me this one statement was a tour de force. It states everything I know about projection and where it leads to. Oneself.

I wrote an e-mail post yesterday about using other people as oracles, and more specifically how that comes to pass. It was a clumsy, ill-worded attempt that could have and will be better done, but the fact that I got the rudiments down in some fashion was pleasing to me. I haven't gotten any response to it, and don't expect to. The people I addressed with the post had rather reach for ancient dead prophets for insight, and I have to be satisfied with that.

Describing the processes that brought my grasp of insight about the cornucopia I reach for in order to ken the physical world, is not something that came to me overnight, and I have suffered dearly for it. It has cost me everything that most people hold dear over a long period of time.

To recommend that others take up that cross seems tantamount to asking them to submit to heinous torture. Most of them don't have enough time left to undertake such a journey even if they knew how to do it. No blame.

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