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 September 12th. 2013 the days go by like i can keep up but really i can not.  So many inspiration and so little time and yet, all is time enacted and devoured; consumed, Life is love’s actions.. if we feel apart of something we do less for what we are not apart of.. as one looses to another..
  the internet is such. The model of the true character is marked by only one thing for me..action. ..
  the internet is a derpessives dream, but where for the depression.. do people , can people,  learn to much? And isn’t that consumption a two edge sword,,
  (consumptive games, movies, our conversations being shown as advertisements. Do we become of the “to us” a friend’s words,, “the sold Fantasy within the creative physical conversations refuse to have as a world body,, The Emotional Impact of World Responsibility And Vibrational Mental Health.
   it is a funny thought, because as i look it all changes,
 Waiting in some quiet part of the mind is perception.  
Waiting for reality to align with the dream. remembering nature, until realized, politically , economically and culturally.  When awareness perates where words wont go; square pegs and round holes.  

 this is a new computer and i like (and don’t)  its automatic response.
 the internet is some where behind a button..
 some where just out of reach

 ,, the internet stopped people from publishing real magazines for the price of paper. But the disposable cost of knowledge seems the premier problem. A thousand hours of mankind erased with one mean mind or just a mistake (the Delete key or a burned out hard drive) .  The action of the arm on a cup of coffee and all is gone.  All of you, words hours motives. vanished like it never happened moments, so easily typed, related mentioned, alluded to , made simplicstic and metaphysic, Gone. where ink and pen dont follow.   
  I can not read my writing. long hand it looks worse then doctors,, even with my years of eloqent sqallid trying, ( i have been making the “o” s bigger, and in the sciptive  font i write in, for which i can not change b ut have tried.. makes square letters, contracts my goals of curved lines like in nature nothing perfect, perfect is the ultimate fobile, , in philosphy and line..
the writer being tricked to use the computer.. ,, Maganectic surfaces, I would prefer writing with buildings again.    Watch the nail going in. Giving the spirit to a set of spierits, the memory of joined conscious a trillion attoms only know, frames and walls and key wholes..
  . What was, is no longer. and you can not share the facts of time and tide with another. a humanity is lost for the suppression . So devious, for true knowledge is permanent. Who controls the spread of knowledge control history, funny that, with rumors already of electrol magnetic devises,, electro magnatic pulses,, they clear hard drives.
So if you are serious about anything make more paper work,, Likeing to think of the before paper time, where it was buildings as books.
 what would our work read,, sheer surfaces, all.


all ones life.. can be easier
looking back through
glass pipes
 smoke fading emotions
 visiting tentatively, the past sight hurts
and smoke is a cloud which take you there,,
 we change ourselves
back and forth
we care we don’t. we care. we did
we , the collective self.
so much of it told , advised, instructed,
demanded, or in extreme
effecting mobility
 each movement of conscious mental activity is good
as long as it isnt
 asking for its rights,
rioting, or sitting on a down
 town pavement, talkin
 on the phone
about bombs
 while driving ,
as long as you are not..
over taxing the debt card
 allowing bankers to steal
your unemployment check ,,
 As long as you are not personally
 stealing, or littering
 in a sixty mile radius
 around a school
wearing blue on a all pink day.. each movement of conscious mental activity is good unless it is trying to get an education while worrying about how to pay for it, and how attached you will be to the system and how suppressed you would be if you thought of that all day, As long as it isnt thinking….. each movement of conscious mental activity is good ,,

a butterfly and a joint,,  
a jump start
 never hurts. ..

  So the question again is what do i write about?
 I think about me ,, the metal patient,, un mentally existing , holding on to some point of humanity denied by the larger picture, to them i am lay and un aware,, i have done nothing that an ape couldn’t do.. and i feel them.. I feel the system giving me the thumbs down , staring just over the cracks edge, Innerly knowing point and process have been motivations. Knowledge and  experimentations of humanity by feeling: by response to “facts”.
    oh maybe alone and guarded facts, sort of like people talking of the green giant of environmentalism being a bad thing. Like any ultimate truth is fascism..
 god equals energy..

 the battery is about to run out.. cigarettes are gone, i stop writing for the night.. The street has the same lonely shadow. Orange lights against the white cement embedded lines. Grated  straight . when they say there is no straight lines in nature. what surrounds me I am.
     but yet the Reality should lead.. but i guess the powers that be blame system ,, and why system is supposed to  be in a state of change, no perfection allowed.. and yet body is perfection natural and divine. a “given” , and can not be argued; truth..  so much time is wasted on discussions.  discussions which in global economics  makes people a lot of money , and denies others,, for one that profits looks for no change but their increase in profit. and money is not oxeagen, not food. and yet you say it is .. it supports planet ,but only against Wars,, major wars, minor conflicts are always going to happen in a global system , and the child that thinks of aliens and real life. real life..
  thinks of the need , but scowls at the deed..
    , and planet is yet dying because of the arguments and with it ourselves.  i can argue my pulse,, while the world divides into factions of the color blue to get a number into the Deluxe Nuclear Fall out shelter.. or the Geodesic Dome in under the sea.. and i can not stop dividing myself into polarities.  I love you I hate you. i accept you i reject you.. I occupy , i have already died.. 

bob was a dog.. and there we have it

 September 12th. 2013 the days go by like i can keep up but really i can not.  So many inspiration and so little time and yet, all is time enacted and devoured; consumed, Life is loves enaction.. if we feel apart of something we do less for what we are not apart of.. as one looses to another..
  the internet is such. Thre model of the true character is marked by only one thing for me.. real action. ..
  a derpessive dream, but where for the depression.. do people , can people learn to much , and the is alsos consuption.
  knowledge a two edge sword,,
  (consumptive games,movies, our converstaion being showed such avertisments we become of the “to us a freinds words,, “the sold Fantasy within the creative physical conversations we still refuse to have as a world body,, The Emotional Impact of World Responciblity And Vibrational Mental Health.
   it is a funny thought, because as i look it all changes, Waiting in some quiet part of the mind is a perception.  Waiting for reality to align such that all is just the dream remembering nature, until realized.  
 this is a new computer and i like (and don’t)  its automatic responces.  the internet is some where behind a button.. some where just out of reach ,, the internet stopped people from publushing real magazines for the price of paper. But the disposable cost of knowledge seems its premeir problem. For just think a thousand hours of mankind erased with one mean mind or just a mistake.  The swipe of the arm on a cup of coffee and all is gone All of you
the writer being tricked to use,, Maganectic surfaces, I would preferr writing with buildings. as i soaked my  construction into its magci also..
  Watch the nail gooing in giveing the sprit to a set of spierits joined , frams and wall and key whole..
  . What was, is no longer. and you can not share the facts of time and tide with another. a humanity is lost for the suppression . So devious, for true knowledge is permanent. Who controls the spread of knowledge control history, funny that, with rumors already of electrol magnetic devises,, electro magnatic pulses,, they clear hard drives.
So if you are serious about anything make more paper work,, Likeing to think of the before paper time, where it was buildings as books.
 what would our work read,, sheer surfaces, all.
   Of course Masons
 had to go “see
with an emblem
 of the maze. ..
“they didn’t know” .
they didn’t say..  
   the words of reign.

 and funny how we respect the “knowledgeable people” in this age of reason as motivation to economic devises only,   And ourselves, a hindrance, our emtional sight an opinion of what we see and not, what we see.. like it can be changed, that a “plant” becomes its definition over all and not the many greens that accompany a leaf. we are constantly thrust back and forth between what we are and we must be. remain on either side and you are either a humanist or linear.. one will  never fulfil the cravings of society. one is the water the other growths. I have been and will always, work on the water.
I care not for schedules or “must do” stuff..
for where is the crying to equal
the tortured,truamaticed
what crying equals,
the unknown.
such that stepping into place besides some sobering thought , projects answers,, our bio electrical thoughts giving to humanistic tendancies,, a one world feeling. and energy concern,, i will not be good ,, happy until m, my projnect for the future once agin leads,,
  the mind a child to care about,, for desperation produces, global realization of the white winter deformity,, we know what’s write takes from what is wrong. a million books on crayons.  

ok.. so i have been off line, a rare world where people talk thorugh you dont like what they say all the time,, off line is diverse and scary but real and sorted  like here a person is,, a whole website with video and reactionary accounts of buying a toaster as well as comentary on poitics or what ever you say to it.. yes it has voice recognition and changes for who ever is infront of it.. the whole site becomes something different,, you can watch it change,, here it is handling a buisness action, here, a romatic one, here it just sees a person wanting a cigerettes,, and it gets harsh and casts off the exchange, it is reactive.. and so special. you might have one aside of you there. go ahead and say hello to it..notice the reaction time, weigh that agains the amount of social media it is consuming,, or myabe there is so much traffic going on that you cant see, but the site or ( person) looks at you and so much is said that you want to stop time just to understand the picture, you try and press pause but,, you are off line, and all it alive.

  so i have been hacked to death with the enertialcall.. so once agian i will be rebuilding.. and stay tuned,, i will and am writing much lately..  oh and i got a cat,, who is keeping me wanting to be home alot.. she is so cute. and confused each new thing in the house she much research ,, i love it..

Never accepting myself is where this all leads me, the reason for which come from an emotional nuclei more than a reasonable neutrino. with the right wrong and psychotic i understand of myself and move to cure through slow understanding and interaction.
I am hungry , I poured out my water in the dark thinking it was waste, didn’t check and maybe drank old orange juice. Maybe as in I am sure it was old, and not maybe I drank Orange juice.
the size of a book makes me remember days where this was my only goal. Even as it suppose to be hard it is a step of what i expect.

March 18th
A sick wind flys over the moist plane of a field.

Joan was just pullin gin the last of the laundry, it had been a nic day but as the sky truned grey , she had gone to grab what was left of the bed sheets which refused to be dry the time out.
She could not do the laundrey this way and had been paying and driving all winter, but today was a great day for it, well since morning.
claude was inside waiting for the paint to dry. Waiting for a hope to cross his throughts something which would help. something to ease the poverty of his and Joan’s life.
Jobs on the internet lead only to messages where he won the tottery in some place warm and would have to just give his bank account number address, social security number, and other information. shoe size was included on one, he guessed to fit for the fool’s costume, they would send later.
Would the hope come ? He was so smart. he thought about most things. He figured out almost everything he ever placed his mind to, built and or fixed lots of houses over the ten years on and off working carpentry which started just lifting shingles and watch for his hands with the saw, and ended with telling people or really answering question if the crew knew less than him, his boss always looked him in the eye when telling what was to be done, just before he ran off to get the next job or just say hello to the people who have jobs,, everyone worked,
So Claude knew he wasn’t that dumb. but he just couldn’t figure out economics. Not the part where it says, You have to have money to make money , he understood that . it He understood give a pear that cost a time the price of a dollar, Just cause you could.
Hell he figured everyone knew the Game called Drug wars but he couldn’t see spending his time that way , the catholic’s had a word for over charging. In fact all religious orders understood avarices. but it don’t feel right to make it a common practice, everything was such an investment.
Investment lead to pre planing of life. such that if my time is invested in scraping money from its owners, his soul would forget the second. would invest in physical pretend, a fostering of plastics pretentious plastic people . plastic potential. Intuition and souls, ecomonic is like shitting I have to do it but i dont want to talk about it. someone said sounds like mark twain, One thing clusde never did was give up his reading , Unemployment also suited him.He once even got to spend four months in jail just ketching up with contrempory publsihing He wouldnt call it letereture grammer school wouldnt cover his declairations so his writing he rately shared.
and when he did he cheapeened it some how wit his presents, we discount what is infront of us.
Staring at the computer screne gets one to wondering . how many micor waves can one person contact with ? before you get cancer. or how many animal studies were done before releaseing a wide screene just after he wondered what kind of sites did the rate go to . . the rain had started Jean ran in.

Two and a half acres had watched a sky together since 1924 as Movers would measure. Burdocks and crap grasses a two feet long.. again as Moblies would call them. escaping dead leaves and bits of trash , a high way , a small stretch along the eastern edge seperate from the other acres, the two and a half would all join together and sing. thought songs they call the , Movers hear it, As their word russelling , Wind against the long grass hairs , tenicals , feeling, “The sky passes. Clouds and their sick Jokes, Making shapes , just to amuse themselves. The jolly over all.”
Faces, and animals, long streaks of whitish slim puff ones condensed to frayed twine-ish-ness, or and larger puffs like countries, each edge a profile, shaded, changing with sun and multicolored in the moisture. Rain changes as then looking with heavy sober eyes sober, the weight of the world as exchange with a far away mother sea. Moblies are make of her, but only we are able to understand the breath of life a constant, Each for a place of being each an importance.

the artist kada

the chart by kada ink pen on “thin wood”

to call a minute home.

To fill every page
writing like speaking
through amber windows glass behind viewer
I would to reacall
a why for which
youth aked,
when youth knew.
so flet and obivious
which fails me like memory
as age decends.
i am filled with
in the Age of Feeling
for once was and yet remains , lived less
as dreams supported some yesterday
hold no shelter now. a guessed romance
a story with character
where is; “ever after”
Supported , trusted weary
calmly professioned
money stablity togetherness
a vision whole.
It Age of Man knows
feeling cast away
like a weakness,
the rotted beams
instead of the cycle
of light. store bought arguements
explained tunnel vision
and a why for blinders legality.
invested neutrality
for what you do to me.
age of man limites an age of feeling
of Acceptance, Mutuality.
screaming illrelevance
of common sence
in spite of thee.
governments should have goals
coonly held as love and freedom.
of wieghed whole of a one.
if i can think it
it is of all.
where romance the lived dream
fantasy lifestyle need
understood itemized inclusions
when life style leaves for law
lust love liberty
lapsing limited limmerics
with lecturious learning
leering learning
love liberty longingly level law
liboratiors lead
linearly leaning love for law liberty
legitimte longings
I can reason like excuses
Until i feel and know more
knowing mooring
living light lanes.
spirals to limitlessness
living fantasy in liquid
oh bio pilot.
You see I write like i am talking to you , reader
like i can accknoledge we are having a conversation through concentations culture
but more and more you speak little. locked passive
where you would once
explain. now you sit and enjoy
where once you would touch
now you type. Teaching temporance talents
a ches game in smaller reactions
exact locations
when you are in know where sold
eggects self denial engendared solitude
only hearing voices passing.
waht are we , but often seconds
of expalinations told
with itemized emotions
communicated minute, If i told you I cry
you say i live
Age of feelings
so deported
from the age of man.
where common sence is an explaination.

___after this date__________________
    i would to remember there is audience, my so many subscribers hanging off in space without attention you will go away, but then how much is worth a subscription for free, how much is guilt and how much is pain worth for not speaking. lived Driven.
     and yet i would force feed the dialogue, grazing from importance to a common determined survival of spiritualness in technology, I would yet only be able to tell of self. the breaking of what is to what has been, and what ultimately is and has been. Truth is what never leaves, Nature is what never leaves. of self there is a determined voice I felt. It is only of me to tell my own insanities, though if all was put to test it would be more. the science of a metaphysical nature more than anything else that lead me to ghosts. to waves and energies, to holistic mental meditations, a sorted brain that reaches with ,, I think the government has to take over the production of solar panels,, a world (we) unity around a clean energy souse.. well as clean as the smelting of polysilcon will let it . what a gasly smell. warm liquid sand partials plastic-ised.. but  i believe all of the middle east should become a green house,, and the imf should collect taxes.. oh no i got that wrong the World government bank thingy,,and save the rest of the Amazon as a Global Preserve,, the first in the global preserve system. oh yea,, creating new zoning laws making solar panels mandatory with tax write-offs,, buy raising electric rates? ALL Business zoned structures..with only Residential exemption to be allowed as in what manor of “free energy” used. reacting for a buy back system that will out produce electrical structures,, nuclear power and coal. but having the solar banks on every building. this also would reduce the fear of living next to a terrorist target decentralizing power.
    and then we come back to the first argument,, to rule self is a powerful thing, but rule one slices and takes what one needs and cast aside the rest,, but then ,, the layers built , and removed, are only versions of life. Each subject to observation.
     rule one.. there is no rules
    rule two.. all action could lead to personal clues to ones path..
     rule a,, ghost are real, aliens are real, corporate world domination is real.. you are infinite, as a conscious and even if that is mute, you will never understand how close to light you are, and yet you will. and pretend it is a new thing.

       You ..


you becomes a smallness cry in a room ,

as much as a lonely road hitchhiking,

as much as all the other roads,

and possessions physical creates as the path moves. but it is the path which is knowledge ,,and  it is the reminder that you like crackers.
      touchs , taken or torn, tortured or tempting,
     self envisioned essences of shcrokra,, out body lands, and astral innocents. a place of being then choice is only to feel or not. so you go and drink and forget the sins, your emotions become soap bubbles and fine glass you can not touch for fear of yourself. for feeling at all.
     your fault , you loved again. 

     the phrases of ones life are spelled out to them. them alone and there is not exterior understandings which can settle life for another. So left to our own understands we eventually give up trying to understand. and clear is the understanding we didn’t want to see, it was to hard it was so intuitional it reminded one of feeling. Reminded becuase of the techonological analzes of spirit.. emotions are secondary to the limitless never , seen through astral travel,, or schorka experiences.. namely ,, the now ,,outwieghs then . a someday
    a goal.
    releivances to body state,, history emtions narrow our understanding.. such that we are forced to know them,, first.. and yet.. most dont.. becuase the consciousness of Belief is larger than a conscious of the know.. becaseu we can not handle the blantantly obvious.. to large meaning ful.. lol.. when it is ony feeling. at its base wthout the hindracnes of a someday,, or emotionally learned self belief I e.. history.
     when the now changes ,
    it is logical,  holitsic, well temperanced.
     as well as historic ,, emtionalness.. the focus of faith. and the devotion of religions. but as a natural function a sence of faith, metaphysical love.. energy and causation.
     most would agree on the useless to the single person.. so masses must admit the simplicity for any thing to happen globally.. a rule one. in a maze of captiolisms.  

    and empty pose
    assorted to an individual
    haunt , endless notorious
    self scrifice.
    or to know you must die.
     if to survive
    on what level
    where is important but self sight?
    what reads
    pains in progress
    and as long as
    they are not right here.
    here repreating of words.
    for onlysfour letter word
     celebrates all what moves.
    but know one is pain need to be described,
    so inherent of visions. one day we are older
    crying trying
    wondering what life
    aswers we lived
    to bad the wrong way
    but yet was the only way we arenot loverant of mistakes fomaliies forever
    a live must represt
    but no one is pain need to Be described
    so inhereent of vision. Give yourself Reason
     They = I wish
    I could deal
    with the seperation
    betwen ,
    they represennt mother
    brother , spouce
    they corporate dreamers
    oour lives int he hands are nothing grants
    self develpment beyond clostered controling
    body system
    convert is easy
offer until they get it,
    but to it constantly

Dec 24, 2012
    what youth we hold to discover
     looking through the pictures of others.
    what is meant seems hardly the care
     it is the infinite we look for there
    to shrouds us in innocence covers.
     Like hope is the  silence of shimmering lovers
    the promises of all in its twinkling.
    singing , drawing, continuing
    when static consuls none and lights go away until
    another year discovers.
    when the spectacular represents an apple
    with shine but rebounded off infinite use,
     held just beyond your grasp
    the inner core hardened with green mold
    the outer shellacked perfecting
    a look  like a “should”
    glassed hardness
     like a rock
     which isn’t.
    the bows of “why” abstracted on surfaces
    leading to creations against normal purposes
    like creating the apple to know why it is so hard
    so cold , so reasoned.
    and a picture gives back our souls,
     to be ignorant,
     to be saved,
    to be romanced
    once a gain.
     Slowly the last of the Year, fades its distance in waves , work not , work, a constant reworking for vacationers. Empty streets line buildings.
    Streets departed from.
    the congregation of the corporate.
     Structures, Minimally staff. Skeleton crewed.
    speckled block wide empty lots,
     the seeming movement ,
    infantile rush hours,
    are inhabitance, civilizations
     which shortened hours,
    counts the days until all
    returns normal.
     Busy , impersonal. Comfortable.
     You making money off you.
    you making money off me.
     Speeding . Anxiety and slower
     personal exclamations.
    Spotty Personal.
    secretive and sexy. cultured lust in blinks and
    by passing looks.
    Real Human.
     And then I read, what becomes from purpose inserted with doubt, i wonder how well the listener hears.
     I do not hear myself well. the story from the empty streets has no mind behind it.
    the intricate specialization of Joe or Joan. I have only scene. the street. A New England winter. Christmas in fact.
     All i see is spread with me with the taxi driver, alone and waiting for the next chance to make some money, some fulfillment . Some achievement. waiting.  Watching the birds, . soaring in the now quiet sky. A silence which leads to soaring on winds, telling of peace without the bi legged.
     a small town by number of inhabitance surrounded the lots of buildings, fine lawns, batches of perfectly maintained like a suburban paradise by uncitzens, outer towns still with Many trees and residential homes. With streets named after contractors children. Mona street and Cuddle me drive.
    Buildings of corporate-ism. Boeing , Itt, Sun Micro systems in habit for land of the older east. The whole town was a huge pig farm once. Years ago
    A place where you married your cousin. When Boston , forty five south was still herding cows to market. All relevant until one day. Someone saw a lot of Bye-able land. then their mystery people talked and planned. Small rooms with scotch, while the worms turn tree dropping to nutrition. Mosquitoes bred at a million per second.  Farmer grew close to a worst season ever then lost and mortgaged equipment , house again. and again. Indebt and determined to live. Men with suits come and measure, Take pieces of the ground. Gives the farmer a cigar for each ten acres, the box feels good like a marker for ones personal best.
    Mrs Farmer is so inspired. Seeing little junior going to college and would love to stop milking every morning ,, baking every night , canning, feeding, sewing. Even the flick of thought comes of not dealing with Farmer. Forgetting rise and fall of the market. Each Year removes more color filled hair, a slow working to grey hay compared to the Irish sky.
     The chickens peck, the dog barks
     While higher and higher the trees grow. the squirrels live inside. Scurring here and there away and back. to go away again . Storage for more and more of the winter is coming in the middle of July. the spiders create webs which birds fly through to go to the fertile places where the dirt is soft and wet, like farmers fields after the plow, though in the early predawn today the vegetable garden will do. and tomorrow while waiting for Farmer to do his season of destroy.
    Images forgotten to pavement and solid lines, compacted earth stones, tar, asphalt.. taken from so many places , trucked , hauled Here to cover the fine earth , The farmer would never remember as he looks onward, Years later. Investment to keep him warm control by that young guy. given to him by the cigar guy who never returns calls just sends check from unknown sources and farmer fattens for the kill.
    I sit on the hill and watch what was my vision. the empty streets. the holiday spirit alone. the car, my friend.  I sit here a lot to see stories of the unmoving. inert. Consume like a cat of the tales How and where, saving shadows and following flys. Chain link fences come from somewhere and long tired hands , have manipulated large rollers of hard wire. Leaving imprints for psycics.  
     the fence link for one place Barbed wire for another. the asphalt the cement rock the glass and each car tell of people and places they have been touched. passed by , adjusted such to be sold and left with purpose but without moral rights, the fence argues who is he to keep out . when anyone who wished climbs over. or there to stupid to figure out the gate.
     The car has a two way radio that sqaulks at me addresses , times. It get angry when i don’t listen. It is Christmas day . I am the only taxi out.  Sitting on a hill.  Missing what could be; if fantasy really worked.
     The tree , the gifts , the smiles , hugs and kisses, special food and the community meal. If only I wasn’t working, fulfilling the services which can not sleep if it is to be trusted. Someone must be on and i sit like the cops, the ambulance, the fire truck. But it is all time and money and the longer i don’t drive the less i earn.
    though fantasy is always greener. I have no children , didn’t fall into that space race of training another’s mind, consuming a life of emotions , smiles for profit, frowns for pain, but I am the most loving friend, Uncle, guy you meet. I stare hopeful of recognition from dogs and cats for all moments of love I hold for moments to fill these long hours to consume love.
     Eventually once the bankers talk with the others in the smoky room, figuring out the set of organizations needed to complete a renovation of a ten square mile area. Brands and food chains , residential houses for workers, convenience stores and bars. Five corporations buy 100 square miles of farm and forest with only purchase of 10 square. the city created has other towns around which must see this economics take over and applaud. Not to comment on industrial waste and higher carbon emittions. Not to comment on the increase in home values which raises beyond the owners ability to pay. Its all cash and more cash. its great, while the water supply suffers and cancer regionally grows. the once sleep fishing tourist town of summer houses forgets purpose formerly , and builds, and builds.
    A new town created from a number of Farms only increased everyone else and more come, as housing worth drives higher taxes. Driving out more farmers.  the first five large companies come but the fix is in so the next company comes and the next. I do business with you so i want your available sharing parts. My children want your schools. and I tell two more of the boon bringing my culture and my plastic movable demands. the Catch a worm replaced by Walmart. The local store by a Seven Eleven with a gas pump; the small leakage never seen. Only the worms know. As i sit with the engine on. the warm interior to the cold outside.
    Tales come from the inert. Storeys we don’t see because we don’t look. I have no choice but to invent a patter of reasoning to fight the insanity of progress. I don’t drink the water. Everyone in town is having troubles with fibermyalga and tooth decay. I can’t eat the treats for there isn’t anything unmodified about them, and the beef has antibiotic so i only eat meat if i think i am getting a cold and to ward off the flu. I wouldn’t breath if i could help it. for the partials of aluminum spread by aircraft to ward off the suns now evil rays scare me. If i could only accept the cancer and stop my attempts to understand the inert. for it is only me waiting for a job to ease my thoughts of permanence. on the hill side , alone. Only me to live some fantasy of understanding speed and media have taken from me. So fast that we cant see our wake. while the heart of the matter is left behind for people without jobs to consume the left over love. to remember the inert as a heart.