Speedy tennis and a tin of Silvo by the gate … the sacred heart and a schooner in the offing … Padre Pio at aviator altitude and Buddha on the light switch … moonscape going homey and this Cancerian scribe a few steps over the digital precipice in non-linear gravity. Well the scales are spinning and the baseline is zombie-fluxing, with amnesia atttempting to envelope meaning. Generally a fine time to be about a dead-can-dance good morning twostep. Even in the postcard corridors of level 13, pressure chamber 101. Begorrah.
For sure, the notes of personal twostepping pierce through the muzak of general theming … like Family Day … and crack the glaze of private picturing. Met with compassion this is a cue to recognizing the familial nature of species bondage. To? Self propagation in separation: claustrophobic drama in the mausoleum-casino of hide and seek. Until more than glaze is cracked. Just now, on the way to my beloved’s new healing space I slipped a goodly coin to a street guy on Whyte Avenue. He said to me Happy Family Day. Same to you brother. Same to you.
Let’s get cracking
