Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2003 13:51:32 -0800
Subject: rivers of eros





you either is, or you ain't, and the answer to either


is blowin in the wind

----------


written in reverse collation:


etre or not etre, that is the ultimate personal question of the man who
knows more than the true believers know in the worlding games



one of the nicest illusions, is that when you're old, and you start to
see that this old is speeding up and rapidly passing the point of where
any speed at all makes one dizzy, that here you'll fall into the
'loving' arms of some good god who likes you and likes your style


but when i see others styles, tudor's or crifasi's for example, well


i know any good god would not be that arcane



we all know


where the war is


but who knows 


where the is is??

===========

and God asked my me on one warm and sundry summer eve, on an
particularly universal eve event, one 'now' and long ago "gone away, in
yesterday", gone along into the long long ago, "ken, see here"  (S)he
said, "the thing i'm most extremely mystifed towards is: 


who or what created Me?????????


could you give me a leg up on that one son?


i tol Him/Her no, but that maybe (s)he ought to pray about it and see
where that got him/her

===========

is the warrior


RE-FUSING


any part of the refuse


of language, while refusing the refuse of its other


or to say, living,


at the center of

                   a rock and a hard place


or even maybe, and exactly at, 


the fount of 


hard rock places


and god created beer, and saw that it was good


as so thus, hangovers spread across the land, and across the face of
the deep


remembering, existently, always, that a peek (of the deep [segway comes
here, pay attention dear reeder]) is all we each get, but everyone gets
one, and it is when some comprehensivly bent soul peeks at all these
separated peeks, collates and arranges them into some coherency, it is
then and through the collative of the images created by the words of
the laughing animal of all these individual image-peeks that we can
move an inch closer, each one, to each other one, the particular one
closer to the universal one, iraq one to america one, desire and hate,
war and peace, love and cholera, etc


i refuse to listen to the fucking news, there is nothing new there,
heidegger/nietzsche, who epitomize the new, are never spoken of by name
there



THE WHOLE WORLD, is an attempt at imaging, seeing, and all saying is
aimed at imaging


the images that matter are not, at first, universal, or at least not
universal at the level of their making but are very, extremely, so very
singularly particularly, of the this or that man (child) who: did this
or did that, and the image produced from this didding of this or that,
this becomes "the precedent(s) for".   first for the precedent for
there to even be an image at all there, as in, if you don't "show up"
then you won't "be there", so everyone who "was there", who showed up
at the creation of any new myth level image, well, when the image is
finally rendered on the wall for this myth, for this new
"enlightenment", there arises a kind of sadness, because while the
image may be inspiring, the actual 'real' behind the image is, well,
lets say for example, the image of iraq and bush, or maybe, the iraq
league of no woe-mans rights versus the bush league of no fucking
<underline>____________ (fill in the blank, give # of iq)</underline> 




 our age of ___<underline>(fill in theblank)</underline>________ is the
age where, one must be warm enough, if one is truly to enjoy one of the
deepest spiritual pleasure, that of a cold north born wind, tempered by
the latitude of its "drift toward"



we should only do what we want to do

we should only want to do what we must do

therefore we must do what we want to do, 


we want to do what we must do


you is a writer boy, for u ain't no singer, least a'ways not one as a
that "one" who worked to be a one, "in the beginning"


you saw, more than others in one way, much less in others, but you
never been a nihilist


------

we could go right to the top and


we could go right to the bottom, up to you cowboy


git thinkin

--------


u got to get right behind it son, i said to my self, and see it whole,
or at least as much as you as 'that individual', can


<bold>try harder to see, try harder to do, and always try harder to try
harder


</bold>my i, alone with all its selves, rises up, goes down, sweets,
then sours, loves then dislikes, hates only the leaders whose
leaderings are all of a selfish bottom, tho this i do know, that this
may be the only way, altruism is too weak


the art of: prizefighting, of a thinking, what it is


the universal that underpins the particular, this is key


"the heart of oak" horatio, hornblower, silent as the moon,


a prizefighter, but of the mind, skill in feint, parry, thrust.  speed,
at the draw of plot, apprehension of the lay of the written land,
contiguity in the rhythms of a syncopated daring, employing when
necessary the dishonesty of honesty and the honest honesty of a decent
dishonesty, the turning on its head of all that "passes for (lay-manic)
knowledge so far".




He thought about the story he would write. One thing for sure, if it
was to be a story in a class by itself, the first of a genre, then of
course honesty would have to enter from the first line. "Honesty",
yaaaaiiii, eieeeee, first i suppose it would be, that that word would
be the one most needed to be first understood, except of course, for
one other word and without which word even honesty would not come
through the fire without casualty to the otherwise pristineness of that
seemingly simple conception, which was, and still is, the word
"understood" itself.


so let us begin our tale by first understanding what it means to
understand, let us stand before this word, at a place that is also a
bit under it, in order to have that correct point out on the view
needed to understand understanding.





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