Today is the day that I say, “fuck it.” Fuck it. I am so tired of the esoterica, which in the back of my 57-year-old mind is capitalized because it was (is?) a product used to fade dark spots on OLD hands and faces. So here I am. Years and years of studying mythology and…
Category: Ephiphany
Letters to Me 3/30/2020: Fear and Soothing in Pandemic America
Anything in brackets was inserted while editing and added only for clarity. The painting matched with this I painted in December, 2018 Monday, March 30, 2020; 13:02 So I asked for the truth, and I opened YouTube, which is the [one-sided] salon of the 21st century, or one of them. There are opinions on just…
Premeditated Post-pandemic Epiphany
In this unprecedented time
Consider that your mind
Has no memory of this
A time you couldn’t kiss
Ascension
This is the first journal entry in the blog. These are the actual words that are hand written in one of so far four notebooks. I began writing in these notebooks just before the dawn of 2020. They are filled with poetry and diagrams and very little personal data of my mundane existence. Whatever is in brackets I added for clarity. I gotta quit fucking around and get this show on the road.
Uncharted Moderation
Getting to this blog required moderation. That song, All or Nothing at All, fairly summed up the meter of flow which drummed the rhythm of my life. It is as of the writing of this that I have stepped off into the unknown, knowing that not only do I not know what I don’t know,…
The Philosopher's Brush 