sold

It was a large house with a basement and an attic that was filled to the brim with artifacts. One day a piece of paper with five numbers on it was found being used as a bookmark. The book was old, red, and it seemed homemade. It was in good shape; hardly opened except for one page. Page 51 was about the decline of a great nation back in such and such ending with the demise of an entire way of life. This of course stemming, according to the previous 12 pages, from an evening where a conversation took place between 4 people over drinks in one of those hideaway restaurants in Manhattan back in the year 1962. The one who found this book has refused to tell his story--until now. That house was not just a house, it was a marker that served a specific purpose. Within its walls contained the plans for such and such to occur all the way up to .... No longer fascinated with the book, the one who found it put it in the nearest library. Unknown to this person, the book was placed in its proper place just as it was supposed to be.

The moon rises up in the sky and pulls our fragmented thoughts together in a collage that makes it difficult to make distinctions between one thing and the other. For example, today I lost my cell phone. Now I have always commented on how back in the day pay phones worked o.k. If we needed to make a call, we found a phone and dropped a dime. Life was good in those days. But today however, I had thoughts going through my head. Things like, " What if something happens?" or " What if I miss something and someone tries to find me and they worry that I do not answer; suspecting foul play and unusual circumstances?" So, I worried for hours about having to go down to the place and do the thing and pay for another fucking phone. Ironically, mother called and I heard the phone making that awful noise in the other room. The cell was found and I could rest myself. I checked my messages and nobody called. I really believe there is a direct correlation between the moon and common sense. Maybe the gravitational pull acts like an adhesive making everything rise and fall together. Maybe that circumstance is all inclusive. There is something about this place, this planet, that works us over in ways that we are not privy to.

funky soup mixture

Life is a funky soup mixture containing a plethora of flavors that are sometimes sweet to taste. That sweetness however could not exist without the saltiness that it must be compared to. This yin and yang is a truth that is universal in our time. Who can say, without the heat from a flame and the coolness to compare it to, there would be no heat.
The soupy mixture would be bland without the various flavors for the palet. The more palets there are the more flavors are required. This chain never isolates one people from another. It only brings the yins together with the yangs so we can all have one giant block party where everyone is invited and everyone brings their own. Our reality should encourage and embrace difference if for nothing else but to make the soup flow down easier on those really cool days when it would be the easiest thing to blame someone else.

need not

The elegance shown by the confident one is a sight to see. The smoothness and flow of that person's spirit shows through just like glass and feels icy warm. There is electricity with them that is difficult to miss unless your guarded by false bliss. But the inside knows, and we sleep on it.
People wonder about the meaning of dreams. One meaning is repression and discourse. The elegance shown by the confident one is as reliable as anything, but that show is easily done with years and years of practice and repetition. As time rolls the cracks show exposing the things we tried to hide but never really could.

around the remedy

Sometimes the machine rolls over us and it hurts. We then believe this is our lot, our destiny in pain. We buy in to the false ideas that something is always wrong or out of place. We believe these things and in time we manufacture our lives around the remedy. In so doing we play the role of lost one; common in this fray, and our involvement in sighting and defining some sort of solution becomes relevant only under predetermined guidelines manufactured by those who deal in deceit specifically for monitary gain. This is the machine and it lives and breathes within you-all of us.

effects

Few things are more wrong in this world than people who believe they have a special gift, a gift that is representative of the betterment of other people through the legislative process. This mentality that distinguishes itself no further than that of a child gearing up for a day at the water-park is complete and utter crap fresh from the farm. Special interests have now, and always have, ran this country. It is not the people who get these people elected, it is the people with money that get these people elected. No money, no say! Because the political climate is always shifting, their is a constant struggle to maintain power within the confines of government. Once power is changed, new forces are at work, all of which compete for their own interests through usual and sometimes unusual channels of effective and collective endeavors designed around favors and gestures of good faith. For example, if I donated fifty grand to governor x, then I would get to buy a few minutes with him or her to discuss issues I may have in my community. If I donated a MILLION DOLLARS to governor x, then that would mean my time has more value which means I have more juice; which means I have political capital; which means I need assistance that only money can buy so I can gain even more juice. Once someone reaches their personal juicyness level, and they begin to feel they have the answers other people are looking for, then we have a problem that has far reaching effects on a larger number of people.

river flowing under

Their was no life in those eyes of hers. She desperately tried to hide the emptiness inside but unlike me, who is real good at it, she needed space to let it out in the form of rage and obsessiveness over the mundane artifacts of our times. This was her coping mechanism, her stride, and it was through this level of engagement that would be her demise. It was a suited match however that worked well for a time, but as the wheels of life roll on she found that what was once hers is now mine. She knows that her future holds no redeeming qualities under her current isolation, but like me she will find solice one day. She will find it in a way that stretches far beyond the limits of our short stretch here, she will find it among others who hear her real self speak through written words. The color will come back to her eyes and they will sparkle like a river flowing underneath the gates of Heaven.