Music! Drums!

Beatings of hands on outstretched hides
echo through the night.
Dancing children, moonlight cricket moanings,
Cast over vast savannas with
Elders chanting, visions and transcendental moments of
harmonic bliss playing on the bird bone flute. Flash to
Electric bass booming in the dark with keyboards
and young girls twisting in the firelight
pentatonic realities of electric guitar playing  
funk, and the procession of notes
perfect!

All souls one, beating with the night.
Beating with the drums.
Screaming half naked, wild and full of drugs
and the right ones.
A harmonic industry of electronica and ecstasy, a decadent tribal fantasy land.

here we go again.

Our conscious being, outstretched over the fabric of time and space
played by the hand of the ancient primordial tribesman of protozoa. Every note an eternity, every moment of every being and everything beating as one!
Tranquility and soliloquy of music.
Harmony and beauty and intelligence.

Pulse movements and beat droppings, spinning by the neon lights.
Cannibals of interwoven overlapped miraculous hippie skirts
with dreadlocks and armpit hairs, unshaven legs and unmistakable smells,
and no one cares.

New age alchemy of alkaline waters and wondrous miraculous healing stones in ***** dens hiding from the undercovers.
practicing yoga and tantric rub downs, relaxing in the hanging curtain of smoke.
Lecturing on the absolute perfection of the tetrahedron in the ashes of Buckminster Fuller seeking complete shelter and sustainability from this monstrous and hideous human creation of western ideals and ramen noodles.

Speaking of elves in the absolute present sense and giving them names! Leaving little room for debate, and honestly, why even bother if you're that far down the rabbit hole.

Electric forest hallucinations,
Ego death and eternity.
Music in the background of the night
and in the background of my life
speeding up and slowing down
to conform to the tempo of the soul.

Entire band coalescing to a lone thought,
guitar fades to a single sailboat tied to dock over a silk blue stream hanging by the moon.
Bass fading to the single tribe song beating of the drum in time
and that drum beats fade to the memories of rain on the aluminum roof,
frogs croak by the pond at my childhood home in Eastern Kentucky,
rain falling on the pond also,
fireflies and crickets in the hung-over dew of the morning.

Fades to a picture of the Earth in the black and empty backdrop of space
a spec of dust in the cosmos,
hanging by a thread to eternity.

Mine not yours and don't tell me otherwise
I loved him first for his genius ridiculousity, brilliant insanity
Idea:
two fleets of zeplins
the former carries ready made homes
the latter, bombs, set to carve craters just the right size to drop the homes into

I fell next for his spiritual science, new age pragmatism
Thought:
maybe all of us are intrinsically bound by a integral of gravity and that integral turns out to be love.

But I love him most for his heartache, his depth for melancholy
Feeling:
tired of being a wordsmith and mathematician and designer and sailor, prepared to instead become a part of Lake Michigan's great biology

What I'm still trying to love is his hope, relentless in optimism and downright unscientific. The thing that took him off that ledge. I'm glad for it but I cannot call it my own.

Coming Apart

marketing value of brains
marketing worth of knowing

college sorting machine

Murray from the Bell Curve

Just yesterday Lex Fridman, and this guy
odd co-suggestion
- do you think we are evolving?
A shared culture,
shared tastes and prefer-
ences incessant conferences

2022, and a few, a rare few, seeing
bits in patterns of eight,
2-bits, et cetera

Samuel Johnson, obscure as can be,
practically kabalisticly mysteriousus,
sum mostus
firstus, fundus mentalis, serpent mind/

Marshall McLuhan 1967--
Buckminster Fuller

The Beatles, et al,

Acid, Grace Slick, Tallahachee Bridge,
Rick Ridenour Suicide
1970 - too late, too soon, take your time,

put it back into your head, your head, baby,
it was all real
it was all real at the time, so long
so long, since we found some body

to love, till the end
of time,

tipped and split into ever more, after
never before.

There was never such a time as this.

A glorious hstory of jew in his array of spirit today
that rose on a dream where bona fide with proprietorship it posted its golden way in a suburban place near the bay.
This glorious monument of her time with mayoral sublime
and a museum grew a Buckminster Tavern extemporizing resound
she lie in midst of my siren that denizen Yankees.