Saturday, December 31, 2011

A Fatal Conglomeration of Toxins

Without a filtration system - mechanical and or biological - fish in a tank will die. We have to do certain things, don't we? Buy toilet paper, fry breakfast sausage in syrup, read to the children when they can't for themselves. Thus one assumes the mode of cranberries, one adopts a salty way.

Without you I am a block of wood on which somebody has painted eyes. Feathers fall, memories are recalled. We pull the past out of our brains, polish it a little, and call it reason or cause. The filtration system - whether mechanical or biological - enables the inhabitants of the tank to survive what would otherwise be a fatal conglomerations of toxins.

I am saying it is all in how we look at it. The ghosts near the forest rallied a last time, but I threw Jesus in their faces and they gave up with nary a whimper. Or am I remembering the old dog who died approximately one year ago today? Without some method of arranging our memories, we would lose entirely our longing for the present and then what?

Perhaps it is because we transitioned to hunter gatherers? Somebody said hey look that'd be a great place for a village, let's make babies and hem our stories in on calf skin. On the other hand, there's Las Vegas. Well, we have to perceive until we accept we don't have to so . . .

So one wants to mitigate what obscures a natural joy and peace. Transform obstacles to love? We arrive at each moment with the capacity to be born again. If a certain language leaves you cold then go find your own flaming pronoun.

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