#recollections
second thoughts and unraveled skeins vestigial clues
to how we got through ten years at thought speed...
as liars proclaim the JWST is an insider hoax... Eve says
Lilith were never no first wife
Monday, December 21, 2015
4:51 PM
She was Cain sister what
Would not do
What her daddy said do.
She gone east following
One plain foot print after another
East she all us was following Cain
To nod land
Crossing desert sand man
Dreamy lost last
You listen now wives in greater numbers
Number one in Nod was always Lil
Girl god she thought she was or he thought she was
Cain say for sure
She be all that ever loved me
Cain tell his sons
Listen to your mama
Do what mama say
For nine hundred years or more,
You do what mama say.
Mama say she born of the moon
And the sun you say
So too
Mama say she birth the sun so say you
And mama be ma of all mamas
And all mamas was
Tempted and twisted
and they twisted up everything
nobody think straight
Never never never
in Nod east of Eden where sand blows
and nothing grows
Bigger every day
Never was no accident incident all he
Ever was lie long unbalanced
Baby get to learning first
By falling then not falling
By seeing and being no lie
not seen
And time was gone by
Time and again
Old Lil tell lil stories all the time
Faire time story time every year every
Little girl hear this year Lil sing song
And every lil girl be leaving believing
Cain no man able to do nothing alone
Cain cain't know right from left behind but
For her
Okeh okeh okeh daughter of man
Meet at yakum
See what evolve
Shout Lillith raising Cain, Lillith raising Cain
Never be the same
Mama say
So it so Cain say all us was before the flood
The order of occurences
in terms
of time chance
Striving
for balance between faith and reason,
Wiker, Darwin's Rita Skeeter, advises
“reasonable Christians,”
as he calls them,
not to overdo the reason part,
but to put revelation first.
On the other hand,
they should leave themselves some room —
within strict but unspecified limits —
for interpreting Scripture,
and they do not have to reject evolution altogether.
They just need a non-Darwinian version of it that puts God,
morality, and purpose back into nature.
This is touted as an astonishing finding. {Sander Gliboff}
In the influential The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962),
Kuhn made the dramatic claim that history of science
reveals proponents
of competing paradigms failing
to make complete contact
with each other’s views, so that they are
always talking at least slightly
at cross-purposes.
{https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/incommensurability/}
Jan 1
Jan 1, 2026 at 9:52 PM UTC
Were they really the good old days?
I used to bicycle to school when I was young and on the go.
And in Wintertime I mind it was not nice.
We kids would ride our bikes
Through slush, and often through the snow.
On surfaces made treacherous by ice.
My bike was put together with parts filched from ******* pit.
Parts garnered here and there and taken to my home.
I washed them first in kerosene, then soaked in oil each bit.
Once assembled, then the World was mine to roam.
Although it looked quite battered and it rattled every ride,
And the wheels, they wobbled, and it had a squeak.
That bike was mine, all mine, and if you classify by pride
I reckon RollsRoyce would not stand a chance, well, so's to speak.
But the brakes on that bike they never worked.
And its metal handlebars were bare.
And in Winter it was scary stuff,
Because of brakes, and ice on roads,
And never having gloves to wear.
At school (with bike stowed in racks) I would join the queue.
My runny nose and hurting ears,
Numbed hands and fingertips quite blue.
Shivering, cold before the classroom door,
Waiting for my turn at taps and running water,
And for my hands to thaw.
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 12:53 AM UTC
Dappled smooth
marble stones
falling,
onto a heap of feathers
slowly.
A train of bones.
Sharks ...
swift & deadly.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
Your memory is a monster; you forget - it doesn't.
It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you - and summons them to your recall with a will of its own.
You think you have a memory; but it has you!
Memory can be protection; a defense to shield you from trauma
Memory loss can in fact be a type of healing for the mind to further heal itself
Memory, O memory how human yet divine thou are!
Memory is mystic, spiritual, and strange
Memory is a force; a divinity in its own right
Memory is memory
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC
The storm settled,
Gentle winds clear the streets of
Fragmented *~~
~~* Cocktail ~~ Memories*
~~ ~~*
There were one too many,
For one too many,
First Dances &
High Stakes.
Lingering emotions
Faint Recollections
Snapshots of Regretless Mistakes.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
My mother asked me what was my best and favorite year.
I said 2002.
Because in 2002 I was a happy 6 year old. My father was the only man I loved and my mother was my best friend. The only stress I had was getting up early to go to school.
Money didn’t mean anything to me. Survival wasn’t important. The media was just a loud picture box. And opinions were irrelevant. Just Saturday cartoons and the world being the color baby blue.
From 2002 and so on and so forth, everything started to change. Baby blue was turning to a less charismatic gainsboro; and then a Spanish gray.
Before I knew it. It was 2006. The loud picture box was now a god. 2010 is where Mr. Washington and Mr. Lincoln were now looked as tickets for treasures. Second to last is 2014 where you'd get awarded for taking a **** and then forgotten that same week.
Now it's 2016. Far away from the baby blue. Far away from the pastel pink sunsets I use to gaze upon my second floor apartment balcony.
Tired is now a common word.
Napping is a blessing.
Stress is all too familiar.
And as everyday goes by, the farther I feel from ever having that 2002 feeling again.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 3:49 AM UTC
***Fill my glass
of vintage
pleasures,
top it til the
bubbly overflows,
as memoirs
& recollections
effervesce
beyond lucid
drunkenness,
hungover midst
an endless
toasting of
intoxicated
sensibilities***
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
It must have been thirty five years ago now,
I remember the kid as clear as day
His name was Eddie, or Timmy or something
Remember him clear as day, I think it was Eddie
Well, this kid was sure something
A true believer in his ability to play the game
He really loved it, ****** at it, but the desire
You could see it in them brown eyes of his
Or were they blue?, no matter...they might have been brown
Anyways, kid had desire, no talent, but desire
Played third base for me, thought he was a pitcher
But, he played third...that I'm sure of
He didn't have speed enough to move anywhere else
And I think he was blind in his right eye,
So, he could only move left
Good kid, Timmy or Eddie
Had an arm like a rocket
the ball would just explode out of his hand
I never knew where it was going
And truthfully, I don't think he did either
But, wow....it went fast, wherever it ended up
Kid actually made it rain one day
Just because he threw the **** ball so high into the clouds
He was trying to throw to first, but hell, it went high
Always smiling this kid, always...
don't know if he was just happy
Or if his jaw hadn't grown right for his teeth,
But, he was always smiling
couldn't hit worth a **** had a nice swing
But, that blind eye....couldn't see a pitch until it hit him
Cooled us down on the bench though
Made a hell of a breeze when he swung
He was good for that,
lots of wind from Eddie, or Timmy
He did get a hit once or twice, I remember that
Scared us, scared him too I imagine
But, he did hit it, and it did go a long way
Problem was it happened so infrequently
He always forgot to run
And when he did, he ran like a duck
*** wobbled all over, arms flailing, head still
Quack, Quack...run Eddie, I'd yell
He'd smile, and take off,
couldn't see where he was going
But he'd run....and he'd stop only when he felt like it
I remember he was Mexican looking, or Spanish
There, brown eyes...knew I'd remember
anyways, he got called out for swearing once
Knocked the **** cover off the ball
then he stood there and watched it go
By the time he started to run,
He'd Holy ******* at least three times
And got tossed by the umpire
I argued, but, the ump would draw the line at two
Three holy shits...that's a little much
But, he knocked that ball into the next county
He'd probably throw it there too if he tried
The kid had desire, no talent,
but a smile and desire
Got tossed after striking out once too
Struck out a lot, once he let loose with a barrage
And I mean a barrage of swear words ....In Italian no less
I always thought the kid was Mexican or Spanish or something
But, he swore in Italian in front of an Italian ump
Poor kid, three holy ***** in another language
And he got tossed,
If I could get him to stop at two....he'd be fine
Eddie was a good kid, I liked him
He tried, he smiled, and he was terrible
couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat
But he didn't care, and neither did I
But, Eddie, or Timmy, whoever he was
Was a good kid,
I hope he remembers me as fondly as I do him.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
I slumped to the type-writer on a foggy December morning,
tired,
recently broken up with a pretty girl, Allison.
She was 32, older than me and
had long dark hair, pale skin and a habit to chew her fingernails.
Outside, the trees were bleak and jagged, raw from the latter-year chill.
My TV had been left on from last night, displaying re-runs.
Re - “I’m sorry about last night”
re - “It’s fine, look. I’m coming back to pick up my stuff later today, don’t go anywhere”
Re - “Okay”
re-runs.
Previous girl, Wendy, she was nice, worked at a grocery store in town. She could play the flute, though not very well. Sometimes she’d make horrible noises and call those sounds what we were, messy and all over the place, but that’s what made us “work” eventually she moved to Arizona to get back together with her ex from high-school.
“Explain what it is I’m doing wrong?”
“Excuse after excuse you’re always away, off in your own mind. Yet here you are, in the same ******* house all the ******* time”
ex.
Girl before that was Emma, she had a great singing voice, taught yoga and owned two dogs, one was named Oliver and the other Pam.
Pam died very young, nobody figured out why.
Emma cared about her dogs a lot, said she needed some space so she ended things.
Time to sort through life.
“Sort through these boxes, would you? There’s one of Pam with my mum, she looks so cute in this one”
“I met all sorts of people at class today, this one girl, Tracy, wants me to go out with a few friends later, is that alright?”
“Yeah.. yeah sure that’s fine”
fine.
I think I was sitting in front of that type-writer to begin something,
something passionate,
fresh and new to spice up the mornings..
Maybe I’d go for a walk.
I had some boxes of Allison’s things beside the door, it stunk of her perfume and was full of clothes and shampoo, some pictures, too.
Staring at the type-writer was a blank page, Jesus, five minutes I hadn't written anything.
I began with
“Chapter One”
Before getting distracted by those re-runs on TV.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC