GG.14,                                 Light off of trees & Ginned cotton pulled like dixey garland  through heavens empty eye. GG.14

Lips dry from. – x (me + sun light) = moisturizing vitamin factor D3 deficient for this here old man. I hope people drive by me, don’t stop and blow the horn. I hope they drive up, blow the horn and then practice suggested safer health protocols honoring themselves and protecting my Granny Gladys  when giving her gifts. They already blow the horn driving by in Arlington. If you are in the front yard of your house, a cousins house, any kin folks house or in the passing lane pushing a Buick two country road lanes asphalt dirt and concrete thick past you it is just manners to honk and wave and to wave back.( a rolled up drivers side window is not an excuse to break against custom). A wave can be either the open or the close salutation. Which is artfully bespoke or decorated bedazzled by a head tilt. NOT! too deep. Just a dip. Imagine a trucker cap: John Deere sitting ahead. The briny malécon that breaks out at the end or from the beginning of green of the Deere and into freedom is weathered and crissed crossed with woven thinly raised peeks of whelped flesh cords, a carving in bas-relief atop sun kissed skin summoned into darkening with the sun weaver stitch sharping the sub lunar lashes below into salt calcified peeks thay disappear at the back of the JDeere hat where the green begins or ends having then, a hidden head.

A head which faulters from able to inable for a moment; unable to bear the bucolic legacy of courtesy despite grievance grudge or resentment.

The driving by hand wave heying.

The sun.

Or the hullabaloo over the factual existence and the nuanced truth that’s rednecks black, brown, white & yellow.

Much less a pandemic.

Ha! ;)

*I think a talent/gift/skill/calling can be found in serving food at a diner, in sevananda ( serving is bliss ) or doing ones best swimming, ones best reading, cleaning, washing clothes, cooking, studying, governing, healing ministering, teaching, litigating mothering, fathering, loving, or by artfully being. I think that finding them is an arduous journey to the flatworld inner earth inside ourselves where God hides the most renarkable things and where King Kong and Rodan live yet may not be foes. Exciting (said like Marcus Chong, The Matrix, after he and Neo talk about the after party in Zion after the battle with the machines.

I have done the most mundane thing. Yet when not measured from eyes opened til eyes lidded or not lidded yet still permanently closed the marvelous deed creeps off stage to the bow in eaves of the shadow lest ego does sees. My ego alone did see the marvelous becoming. And sans anima sana for 25yrs I was sliding, eyes open mouth pinched, into my undoing conflagration by way of a 111 ft rust copper marbled razor blade doused in isopropyl alcohol. If the heros journey were heralded high over heads or shouted out from sunny vale, dimly lit and low, in honor of all that have done their best glory –  be it what it was and issuance of the same for all that are no longer agog at the spectacular but are reaching to grasp their own particular sepectle – I ask, must we all try to be what the dominant culture sells, what we sell ourselves as ideal or must we be shades of the dominant cultures paradigmatic model of success. Can we love what we do and live this life in this time while doing it. I think it is possible yes. We all can’t be the aforesaid for of want of skill or the need of ability. Should we, for lack of self exploration and humility, esteem all other gifts but the ones that are our own; the hidden talents that by various means of endurance, dedication, concentration and artfulness specific to mastering the talent may make a better way. It is there I think, with humility, at the mastering of a talent(s) that we may approach the quiescent impersonal nobility of a monk; the true self confidence that knows itself so much so that it remains unboostful or a braggard. It rightly champions the excellence of others in or out of ones discipline(s).

I feared that the discernment neccessary to take the fork in the road once upon it would never come, be sustainable as a proxy for just being alive or arrive with the least enough strong weak strange elewectromagnetic charmed force to ignite Danni Atol in a nuclear sand sciorraco bikini summer that is harbinger to the end of just living and the beginning of life more abundant. I would do more than the quotidian black revolutionary action which seems to me to be to simply and sometimes to difficultly just: live

Now life and the living

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