jumbled musings

[Socks]

In my rushing ecstasy I penned a message to a celebirty and mailed the letter when it was complete. You cannot easily guess to who, and cannot know about why. Only should I receive a reply will the content be posted and everything hung out to dry.

And you will understand, partially, why I spent my effort and my time high, on pursuits as fantastic and bizarre as cinnamon on applepie.

The romance and the idealist tell me yes, man, it must be done, the blunt and sober after fact call me fool who fell for the short effect. But the truth is not that simple, and holds against the frame, a canvas stretching far and wide. On which some throw pretense, living rather mute from a refrained sort of sense.

No. The right state is the grand one of frenzied passion, of bold ambition into zealous inspiration, that turns sudden realization in release of instant satisfaction. As wonders are created in the majesty of alternate conscience, of infinite potentiality in uncommon universal harmony.

Hmm... yes, that is the place to be. Reality so strange it escapes prediction, but is familiar and repeats on end time and time again, from inception to actualization, the fundemental basis of all existence. Where chance and change give birth to purpose, forming reason and fostering meaning. That I travel acorss the land in search of, bounds where entirety converge, into one truth and inevitable fact.

Nirvana at last, if you can reach it before they close the cap, lower the casket to its earthen floor, and never know what you missed, for a promise of some golden door. Where moss grows thick and not a sound stirrs, from those who sleep below the hollow fern, snoring silently as they did in life. Asleep, and out of sight.

[Socks]

Oh how sweet the sound of music from the past on these ears here at last. It's only natural, nature is poetry.

"Empedocles is generally considered the last Greek philosopher to record his ideas in verse."

What a revelation and extraordinary practice, ancient and still ahead of its time. Great men think alike, it seems.

[V]

My socks