13… Fourteen… Fifteen…

Hey John,

Send Me_ Send Me _Send Me…silly rabbit_

If I could join Rosie and n.lynn in greeting you this day.
I am constellations away_ over there by the blue-green sun.
It is not a compromise to come here.
It feels like home and…Nothing else matters,

But that home…up on the roof.
Antenna, above my head_ satellite …
to the new frontier
…the unscared_nowhere.

Now here in this town_ in the nearby wood of light.
I saw a tree falling_ from over there…standing
Under the stairs, where I find myself, tonight.

It was so loud_ I just looked up to see,
if someone was standing. Above me…
on the way up to the landing_ Above.
The light was_ just so much brighter _

…nearby…close at hand_ just there
very close_I feel myself wondering_ why I go
for these tours around the neighborhood,
Trying to find evidences of true body.
I am not brooding_ I have a certain excitement,
even as,
I’m working backward _
Trying to raise contact_from here.

Only in_black and white system attics/
facts that can project this quest.
I have to trust the prediction of my enterprise.
I am an un-protected artifact of the lost souls divide.
Even as I know my efforts are certainly burnished w/ age.

I am not found, even, with what
A brilliant night of hope provides_
It has got to come_ through the heart.
One day the soul of the city, and
Countrywide_ side of my mind_
will provide the vision _inside.

So in the end, I feel
There would have to be_ Questioning about what this man does…
By anyone who would ask_ why the incomplete moments?
_A request_ a retake. A guess?
_To go inside.

I shall frown in the mirror, thinking why?_ here,
when I thought I had made it back.
Back to
the ‘Under Milk Wood’ neighborhood.
I wiki’d that, by d.thomas, the one and only.

Alas, I hope, I am forgiven_ for being so far off_ tonight.
I am still_ right here _ Going to the right neighborhood.
I am not bounding with subtle energy. Alas_
I am a distracted messenger of what_ goes for me_ sometimes.
For this night I am places and parts of what remains.

At the edge of this eternity_I see in front of me.
There is the opportunity to retain what I have gained and
the responsibility to regain what I think I have lost.
On balance, and in the center of what love provides
I feel the whole of life_ I feel the support of Time
and a Place_
called the center of me.
Inside.

In the end_ It is the discipline it takes to Understand.
I care in a very deep way_like I never have before.
I am hoping that in the end
all of this work
Will bring me
to my core.

On the other hand
A good thing might be_
If I just dissolved this evidence.
I am not a lamb, or a lamp…
I’ve got to find the source of, and the ability to_
Know_ when and when not to: Send.

Your reporter is just a little too visible tonight,TR

a friend

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by trust the rust (PM , CC ) on Tuesday October 7, 2008 @ 3:30 AM   (del)




“I don’t feel like writing. I did. But now I don’t. All this afternoon I was just spilling over with ideas. I guess I must have spilled them all. Somewhere between here and… wherever else I have been… there is a puddle of ideas. I was in the supernatural hamlet of Hickwick for a little while today. If I happened to spill them there, I don’t even want to think of what might happen. Each idea could turn into a little town in the woods.”

HAH! Ideas spilt into Hickwick and ideas spilt into Vinings, GA would have pretty much the same effect, I’d imagine.

Thank you, John. Thank you for lots of stuff. Love…the plutonic kind…T.

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by Biggie T (PM , CC ) on Tuesday October 7, 2008 @ 4:44 AM




G’morning, T. You’re welcome. I saw two shooting stars within 30 seconds of each other just now this morning, so I made two wishes. One of them was a wish that I might get at least one comment on this post so I can move on. I got four, yours among them. The other wish was private, but it has to do with carpet cleaning.

It is a Platonic idea to find a Brigadoon in the woods. It is a silly idea to think that one may then be able to dance like Gene Kelly, so I won’t even mention that one.

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by John, the Squabbler (PM , CC ) on Tuesday October 7, 2008 @ 6:04 AM




Dylan Thomas and a blue green sun. I might add a fishing boat bobbing sea. My interest in Thomas began as a result of researching the title of a King Crimson album, “Starless and Bible Black” when I was 13, TR. Your fellow countryman had a way with words. We have both lived rather longer than he did. I shamelessly borrowed a lot of Thomas imagery for “The Lord God Drops in on Rhubarb Valley,” but it’s difficult not to when even the most original of my ideas had already crossed his mind. What makes him great is that he discarded most of them while I use whatever pops in. My friends and I tried to do a Radio adaptation of “Under Milkwood” back in college. Tried is the operative word in that sentence.

Out in the neighborhood, Diogenes? Ah. I should walk more.

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by John, the Squabbler (PM , CC ) on Tuesday October 7, 2008 @ 6:18 AM




That’s a lovely image, n.lynn. Thank you. |<   <<   >>   >|

by John, the Squabbler (PM , CC ) on Tuesday October 7, 2008 @ 7:16 AM




Well hello there Rosie. It’s been a while. Summer in Australia, yes. Not here. This morning I had a little trouble locating the ice scraper for my car’s windscreen, and then while looking for the rear defrost button – stabbing madly at various controls on my console – I discovered the hazard flashers, the rear wiper blade, and the button which makes the headlamps go off automatically when I shut off the car. Never did find that rear defroster… |<   <<   >>   >|

by John, the Squabbler (PM , CC ) on Tuesday October 7, 2008 @ 7:22 AM
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