ST15 ... The blues don't last
most of the time
Sometimes the blues is so bad it's almost black, thank god they don't last. Though, that is one of the main reasons the blues creeps in. Possibly it is the root to all hues of blues. Today everything changes so fast, faster, more than any other time on this sacred earth, in the collective memory. People blow in and out of your life like stormy weather. A few hang on and at my age that is becoming more infrequent. Death is so much closer than it was, inching in, snuggling up. At this age that is just a reality that one must slip into, like it or not.
At any rate the world is much more difficult to navigate and not just because of the aging process. There has been many times when life was treacherous; wars, world wars, the trenches, lost loves, rape body, mind or soul. But i believe this underlying world-affairs-awareness and the war on freedom mass-scale is unique and can be extremely depressing for most for moments, on the surface and through to the deep crevices of the brain. For some, these moments last a life time, months, years, and sometimes they just attack head-on and somehow sometimes you manage to escape. That is where i am at today, i think. A panic attack for no known reason, maybe it was the toke, definitely the pressure surrounding my brain lately. It was not any more than a flash really but sometimes the obvious atmosphere of this world condition is mind boggling. I hear all the summaries from lizards, micro-waves to life-saving-needles and most all have some validity somehow. No matter how strenuous it gets there always seems to be a way out, there must be.
The sun is pouring onto my cafe table in this late afternoon, thru windows of falling leaves of autumn air across wet street tar from this little town in nowhere land. The laughter is over whelming. The cafe is filled with tables of women, old and young. All the men are outside smoking and talking about politics and pet toys. I am here with an americano and a head full of stuff and pain. A headache really. It comes and goes. Never had these intermittent head-pains before. Age, airwaves, many conclusions. Breathing properly helps. (I got a poison headache but i feel alright - Dylan)
Where is all this heading and of what part do i need to be a part. I'm always looking for a crack in the space somewhere, where the light might pass me through. Either way, get me on the ship, pass it thru my brain or portal me through, anyway, just as long as i get out, throw me some waves to the light.
I suppose when things get so bad out there, the mind has the final say in eliminating its self for good/always/ending it. That way has never cuddled up too close to me but it could. To be or not to be, of course that question has come and gone in numerous shades thru life. You just shrug it off and move on. I'm afraid there will be more from our sensitive masses that will crash into this wall head on. The brain can only handle so much of a mind full of sticky knowledge, fairy-tale facts and a heart that has lost its step with the earths beat. That’s our world for the most part.
Relying on AI as a god is the utmost issue. As humans we are loosing touch with the earth, the universe, it's magic, it's unique ways of implanting knowledge, knowings, life direction, truth, love; an emptiness filled with spirit - life, love, god, truth, beauty - all of it, is fading in the minds of man, replaced with an on/off digital data intelligence. The gray field of mans uncertainty is finding its world obsolete, the beauty of wonder collapsing within the circuitry certainty of modern-technology.
It is the ultimate war; man old and new against nature. Trust in your heart is a life time work. A weaving in and out of abstracts so noble but opposing by its very nature the pureness of simple loves knowing. There is a distinct difference difficult to understand with concepts alone, or at all. That is the whole point, impossible to describe with words, abstracts, precepts, digital certainty and thought itself.
I think many indigenous peoples had a much clearer understanding between thought and visions of spirit. Our science has put us in touch with aspects of creation itself and possibly this is just a stepping pebble towards a much clearer relationship between thought and reality. This appears to be the main direction of humanity at this point, a lab bent science. At any rate, we have a bunch of psychopaths at the helm of humanities direction and they must be eliminated before we can truly entertain an honest attempt to survive with a pure heart-felt connection with this universe. That is a must.
Honest people in an honest world understanding nature by the heart and copying its forms into structures that work in harmony for all aspects of human and all species. This is a possibility with Implosive Technologies for the structure elements but there is still the human mind bent on destruction that needs some help, intervention presumably.
I think i'll leave it at that.
The cafe is quieter, closing time is quickly approaching. Another day moves into another like my love does, thru any kind of weather. Struggles and calm-seeing braids itself along the crevices of my mind; the abrupt conclusions that were swimming around my brain have left. No aches anywhere, just slow thought swirling thru the cafe air bouncing off the magical molecules arising everywhere. Time is interesting that way, it is always present, always willing to entertain.
I was fooled not long ago for showing up at the carnival with my head wide open. Now i am searching for valves everywhere. Wherever i can find them, open them, close them off, what ever is applicable. They hide behind firm surfaces and misty air, difficult to detect, utilize then eliminate. As a light feather, you can smudge through non-sense no matter how thick.
Later……..
a coffee. a like, a whisper.
WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
My Work …. Images - sales
A whisper on the wind is a message in a bottle is a heavy sigh, a hearty cry, a night sky with soooo many stars.
The blues, the greens, the ambers-- they swirl in windy back alleys and between closely set buildings with no windows on the shared sides; they stir leaves and stray cats' fur and the memories of the very old.