…times when one seems utterly to disintegrate (!)

New post tomorrow … meanwhile, some money poems added at twitter.com/tribalephemeral (written on, not about, money)

Lost in Mist


Flipping and catching the ruler, one finds that things look different from the different ends. The ends of the scale, while a seamless whole, give disparate images. The Whole of Life transcends, the particulars of it opinionate & form reality tunnels. Chaos is not the quarter of it. Falling into silence, the gathered Zen practitioners zig zag across the plain on Razor scooters, only rarely being fooled by Maya into zugzwang. No riots obtain when riding rails of fantabulosity, careening between the monster that croaks, ‘I, I, I’ & the loopdemous squawk & blither of all the parroty subroutines throwing up screens of mimetic¹ garble from moments & days & years past. While there are stretches of calm at times, among and between nutrition & sleep hygiene & increasing and decreasing osmotic gradients of intoxicants, yet also, there can be times when one seems utterly to disintegrate although still ambulatory…

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