One of my favorite tweeters tweeted this most zen-like principle:
It’s easier for you to act on your desires today if you don’t … More for Virgo
This is ambiguity on a poetic level, more beautiful as the accident that is its serendipity.
Yeah, sure, the elipsis leads to the completion of the sentence via the url that begs all Virgos follow it. But it doesn’t have to. The sentence is nice and sturdy as is. Just take away the dot dot dot and put a single dot at the end instead.
Continue reading easier if you don’t
Just parked in the driveway as usual
On inertia now, noticing springs uncoiling
Like night crawlers in our rain of waited
Out lawn-watering curfews, casual
Conversations on everything from petroleum
Products to fabricated spreadsheets shredded
Into pleasant rats nests for the time being,
If you don’t mind, until the pressure of scrotum
Returns to our mutual days of balancing
The yearn with planting seed in years of drought.
Not that anyone thinks it would matter
Even if they knew what you were doing
In your head, going through grids like mail slots
Behind the desk at a hotel lobby.
Just checking things out, sorting through
Bundles of joy before they turn against you
Like the wind against the tide going in and out
So many times, over and over, screaming
Toward rocks and caves hidden to all
But the native elders and their wives.
is hard to find… it’s harder than a brick to find. Especially if it is a perfect brick you are trying to find. Perfection in a brick cannot be overrated. No perfection can. Yet, a brick of perfection will go unnoticed amidst all lesser bricks because nothing other than its equal is capable of knowing such perfection. Part of its imperfection is that an imperfect brick cannocomprehend the perfection of a perfect brick. Continue reading the perfect brick
This is truly a question that I am frequently asked. This is a question to which I would like to hear more answers than the one I’m about to give. It would be pretty cool for people to offer their own conclusions as possible answers: “Is a Sacred Clone… such and such and so forth?” Even that answer is sounds good to me right now. Think of a sacred clone as a clone that is sacred. All too obvious, I know, but it’s that
The fun lies in the multiple layers of meaning. The term “layers” can be deceptive, implying hierarchy of each meaning, one over the other, disparate definitions insulated with layers of nuance and interpretation. Such is the hazard of bias, inflexibility, rigidity. Words are alive with their meanings. All things alive grow and change and evolve, potentially into something unrecognizable. And so, sometimes you just have to move on. Some words just don’t mean the same thing they meant a generation or so ago. When one does not accept the plasticity of language one is not likely to accept the inevitable communication failures that result.
Clones are identical, right? I don’t know. Most if not all the sci-fi literature I have beheld seems to emphasize degradation as the common theme. Rule of thumb is that a clone from an original isn’t quite as good as the original. Same goes for a clone of a clone until all integrity is lost and it just won’t hold together. And so, what’s the point? If a clone is not identical to the original, why would you want it?
One of the meanings of the term Sacred Clone could be that that particular is different than all the others. But then, is it a clone? Would the difference lie in mutation or some other fluke that allowed it survivability, that it should not degrade as others of its generation? Again, I don’t know.
All emperor penguins look alike. To me, they sound alike, they act alike, they smell the same. And it is a scent without nuance or subtlety as far as I can tell. But they know each other. Mates know their mates. Parents know their offspring, and can distinguish one from another in the throngs of companions upon returning from weeks away hunting and eating.
A friend and I were playing billiards. She was beautiful as far as I was concerned. But she was a bit older than me, had children half my age. Talking about this she mentioned something, threw it out in our conversation like any other sentence. Yet, I have heard nothing as profound spoken so casually in any conversation since: “We are much more alike than we are different.” And she wasn’t talking about the two of us necessarily. That was when we looked up and noticed a crowd gathered around one of the TV monitors at the Student Union Building. Ronald Reagan had just been shot. He survived. My friendship with that particular beautiful woman did not. However, if you put the two of us together in a crowd after all these years, we would find each other. We would know who the other was from that other time and place and we would enjoy a visit and then move on.
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