We go

Notes

God: for the sake of the last days of this year, we will give a word to a book found quite easily online. because? well, these boys at hand have always spoke so nicely of me

and the mason is familiar with these doctrines of philo: that the supreme being is a centre of light whose rays or emanations pervade the universe; for that is the light for which all masonic journeys are a search, and of which the sun and moon in our lodges are only emblems: that light and darkness, chief enemies from the beginning of time, dispute with each other the empire of the world; which we symbolize by the candidate wandering in darkness and being brought to light: that the world was created, not by the supreme being, but by a secondary agent, who is but his word, and by types which are but his ideas, aided by an INTELLIGENCE, or WISDOM, which gives one of his attributes; in which we see the occult meaning of the necessity of recovering 'the word'; and of our two columns of STRENGTH and WISDOM, which are also the two parallel lines that bound the circle representing the universe:

that the visible world is the image of the invisible world

that the essence of the human soul is the image of god

and it existed before the body: that the object of its terrestial life is to disengage itself of its body or its sepulchre; and that it will ascend to the heavenly regions whenever it shall be purified; in which we see the meaning, now almost forgotten in our lodges, of the mode of preparation of the candidate for apprenticeship, and his tests and purifications in the first degree, according to the ancient and accepted scottish rite

Surveillance: close to 900 pages of pure gold. no wonder plato has been around in art exhibitions and in studies regarding philology and etymology for the past week or two, for his ideas are quite respected here too, indeed. historically, the book is interesting, no matter how correct its sources, especially in regards to cultural exchange between the greeks eqyptians jews hindus and what had you, finally forming a base for gnosis. interestingly enough, some quite important pieces of the puzzle have been admitted an emergence in palestine, back in the grecian times of course

Last Christmas

Demons

“on this account then, especially, as it appears to me, he speaks of them as dæmons; because they were prudent and learned. and, in our old language, this very name occurs. hence both he, and many other poets, say well, who say that when a good man shall have reached his end, he receives a mighty destiny and honor, and becomes a dæmon, according to the appellation of prudence. I therefore give my vote for this, that every learned man, who is good, is dæmon-like, both while living and when dead, and is properly called a dæmon,” was put in the mouth of socrates.

THC dreams

don't need to lament in vain

when seeing such beautiful dreams, yet again

I know there's not a soul at sight to provide TLC

so no wonder you long for some THC

oh forget about it

and sing me a story, kid

two fine ladies were inlaid in comfy sofas accompanying a rather old square shaped television. it is difficult to name reasons for the manner in which they treated the subject of conversation for the evening, but among them must have been the combination of too salty asparagus soup and red wine causing a slight dehydration revealed in complaints of headaches.

   "it makes me feel unattractive, like there would be something wrong with me, you know? and it is not just him, I've had this issue with all the men I've had. it is as if I would only deserve sex twice a week, usually after sauna, and definitely only in the way HE prefers it. god I'm so frustrated!"

   "maybe it's because you've only had them finnish men. from my experience, you know from talking with people and so on, here up north the implications seen in the definition of the word frigid found in dictionaries do not apply."

the lady with the long blond hair reached over to her laptop to demonstrate her point with the following.

frigid |ˈfrijid|
adjective
very cold in temperature : frigid water.
• (esp. of a woman) unable or unwilling to be sexually aroused and responsive.

   "that's it! hahaha!"

   "yeah so from what I've observed, like from all the girls I've talked with here, they're the ones who complain about the very same issues that you just now. and the men, well..."
   "you know what really nails the point here? markus said to me, again, a couple of days ago when we talked about all this, that he does not want to hurt me. that he just wants to be gentle."

   "like you were a kid or something."

   "right!"

   "we really need to get to the bottom of this. natural female quality, if one can say that, is to be passive in a way. you know, open up through passivity and acceptance and all that. men, on the other hand, are supposed to be active, revealing themselves through action. it makes sense, right?"

   "yeah go on."

   "we used to have a guy at the office from denmark. he was all neat and tidy, you know dressed very well and clearly took good care of himself, nothing wrong with that as such, but. he used handbags. no no no seriously, he did! like small bowling bags that were not big enough to be called a proper gym bag. I don't mean to sound rude but. c'mon."

   "well us girls do have so many things to want. pretty things, social privileges... and scandinavia being on the top of the so called societal advancement on earth, no wonder our men have understood it to be beneficiary for them if they could just loot some of our gems."

   "last week I met a friend of jo's during a dinner party at her place. he was her old professor or something, from the states, here to teach sociology in the uni. he said that in finland there wasn't any true class division back a hundred or more years ago. sure there was the upper class, but it was such a minority in comparison to the majority of finns who were like farmers. and the work that the people did at farms was rather equal. it was a necessity for the man to call out to his wife from the field, c'mon dear come and dig up the potatoes with me, and so there developed no strong sense of separation between the sexes. of course there were some differences in types of labor, but there was no difference in activity level if you know what I mean."

on an early sunday morning, our black haired lady woke up to the sounds made by a snowplow outside her window. no sign of a hungover, thank god. instead, the conversation the night before was the first thing on her mind, and she could but stare at the back of her man, in itself a reminder of her chronic sense of being rejected. 

it was only a lingering hope on the back of her head to some day find a reason for the prevailing state of indifference. a wrong word, she thought, and could not come up with a proper antonym for passion. keeping her mind calm, she acknowledged that from the point of not knowing there usually grows a chain of suppositions. like, now, she could say many a things deemed inappropriate inside her head.

if I am to live a life long and vital

my companion ought to be a bit bestial

to speak one has to open up a pair of lips

but true language can best be read from my hips

  I don't want a man who's best known for his intelligence

because I've seen braininess leading to nothing but prudence

Confessions

confessions of an escapist

and

history of a runaway kid

confession number one: at times of not wanting to live my life, I dream myself another one

one cannot know for sure what triggered the development of a runaway nature in a small boy from an island lost in time. women tend to speak about middle child syndrome when giving solace for the mother of this particular boy. according to this folkloric idea, a middle born child tends to grow up with no true sense of belonging. fine, thought the mother of the boy at hand, and like all true believers in wise gods accepted the lot given for her little one.

during the early years the father of this boy was heard laughing out loud stories about how his younger son wouldn't let go of his dreams in the morning hours, not even after him bawling words too ugly to repeat here. the boy would have to be carried into the car and driven to school where he would finally, after a few slaps on his cheeks, wake up only to walk in to continue dreaming in class.

confessions number two: when I was ten, I learned consciousness can be altered

the boy began the process of becoming a man at the tender age of twelve when he smoked his first joint, and a bit later through his older brother met people from who he could acquire larger quantities of hash, to sell in his school. in the years to come, his dreams slowly turned to a continuous haze, and a love for all that life could provide for a dealer. you see, there's not really that many professions that are more social than drug dealing. 

his first real job was at a construction site run by an old man with a cocaine distribution ring. and like many other men who have seen the best of their days but still continue to hustle, he too couldn't really trust any other human beings but bitches and young boys. so, our runaway kid became his first man, thus independent from the monetary support of his family, but tied to several roles for his new boss - a friend, colleague, worker, protector, therapist and of course a diplomat when it came to relations with the bitches. 

not for a day was there a shortage of his drug of choice at this time in his life, that being mdma - it became his daily method of escape from reality, for two years to come. the poor boy was eaten out, body and soul, only to run away from something unknown. 

confession number three: I am only happy when traveling, or when being in a place where I cannot belong

ironically enough, the boy under scrutiny never learned to swim confidently. at a tender age of six he had been playing on a beach of his home island, when a heavy wave sucked him a great distance from the shore. after a struggle he reached solid ground again, and maybe due to this experience he later chose to look for a home from inner cities. 

thus, when reaching his twenties, he traveled throughout the continent of europe, without having an idea of a goal in his mind. through amsterdam, berlin and the baltic countries he ended up to a city by the frozen sea, only to spend the following years stuck in the east side of that cold capital.

people often think there to be a need for such things as work or studies or at least language skills in order to move about through national boundaries. our boy had none of those, for a runaway never needs other tools than a pair of legs.

confession number four: being in love is like escaping into the being of another person

our boy was running in the cold night, from bar to bar with no expectations from life, having a keen eye to all that came to his path. from the mass of intoxicated wanderers his eyes met a sight which was like his reflection, and felt a similar sensation that narcissus must have felt when seeing his own eyes for the very first time.

so our boy had met the same gaze in the eyes of a stranger. in a split of a second he knew himself better than ever before, and had the courage to do what men are supposed to do. without listening to objections, he took the hand of the stranger and lead her into the solitude of two.

thus a runaway kid found home from the arms of another on the run. if love was math, this would be a paradox. as such, that's not bad, for enigmatic love tends to lead to the need to unveil the mysteries behind it. and from such a process one might learn a bunch of things, though the last time I checked these two hadn't learned how to stop in their run. quite the opposite, to be honest.

confession number five: I had never written a poem before falling in love, and I had never sung before loosing a love

Coke

what you promised would eat my brain

was analytical philosophy, statistics and cocaine

I hate the feeling of white goo running down my nasopharynx

my pneuma appears almost as grotesque as was eraserhead by david lynch

hey higher beings

forgive me, please

for I'm just a kid, suffering for the first time

maybe bill hicks was right when saying this is just a ride

yet you know I shouldn't be called a lotus-eater
I'm doing all this for something more than pleasure

so grant my heart a few extra beats per second

and I will promise to become some kind of a legend

AM Hours

an insomniac antisocial self destructive vampire, speaking. there is no feeling more smug than the one brought up by being buried under clean sheets and extra pillows, on a bed leaning to a radiator upon which a window opens to a street busy with busy people. one must have done something right in the past to experience absolute laziness during pm hours. 

daylight time has always been defined with eyes ready to close at any given moment. how can one be such that whatever pm hour is appropriate to close those eyes and fall asleep, with ease? all acceptable explanations are coo coo.

blame the moon. blame other people for being such energy suckers while awake, thus reversely corresponding to incubi and succubi. blame numerology. blame light. a namesake of mine hit the hammer with a nail today or something. she said pm hours draw one to sleep for being so boring. life being too boring.

these am hours at hand are nonexistent. there's nothing to do, thus no expectations. if I try to close my eyes they just pop wide open as if that was the most comfortable position for them there is. an hour ago, back at three am, I thought about going out, about walking, maybe even to see if the ocean is already covered with ice. give me a comrade for these sleepless nights, and I will go.

this when of am hours is accompanied by where of 247 zone. at this part of the main street of helsinki, some three kilometers from the center, there's a 247 pharmacist,  247 dentist, 247 supermarket and 247 mcdonalds in between two 247 gas stations, located at an approximate distance of a kilometer from each other.

a couple of years back I was suffering from a literal heartburn at two am, and decided to try out the above mentioned pharmacist. it was late spring or early summer as far as I remember, and boy was I surprised to end up queuing at am hours. at night you cannot go and do your shopping by yourself, but there's receptionists picking up what you want behind the same counter you normally ask for prescription meds from. thus I easily eavesdropped others in such hours being after snake poison and vitamins. 

last sunday, after 5 am, I took a half an hour walk from the very beginning of the main street in the center to return home. I sang all the way and told stories to myself, and maybe that's why I didn't remember the potentials provided by this zone but before seeing a cab waiting on a sidewalk across the street from the 247 supermarket. I wasn't really hungry or thirsty or in the need of anything, but the idea of doing some shopping at that hour pleased me enough to cross the street. I bought two croissants and a packet of salami. on my way out I noticed three cabs right outside, waiting for their drunken customers to return with whatever.

during am hours it is easy to play king of the world. and mind you, king of the world would never bathe his brain in a solvent.

am hours am hours

I am completely yours

time seems not to interfere with space

where I'm used to seeing your beautiful face

these precious hours are without humane ruckus

my heart's longing cannot be called a brief hiatus

am hours am hours

they used to be all ours

I love space devoid of fellow men

hope you recall it in your opium den

there are many secret places delighted with at least one am visit

remember my villa by the ocean, or my tank with a swastika on it?

am hours am hours

oh how my heart flowers

The Kid is Ready

God: this will be the end of the domination of our dialogues. the kid is ready

Satan: the kid is ready!

Surveillance: incredible, so fast. I know we have been working towards this for months but, honestly, I would've thought it would take years. well done, kid

God: last words of advice, from all of us, should follow

slow down with your mind, kid. you have learned there to be all the time necessary for that which is necessary. let yourself experience in peace

you are now at the very bottom of the egoic downward spiral. you have seen that which remains after stripping away time and judgement, and chosen not to have that cold, repugnant, nihilistic being as the sole witness of your existence. as an experience, it has been a tough one to understand there to be no inbuilt meaning in anything that exists. the ego has suffered when it has had to admit there to be no such things it was programmed to believe in

now is the time to do something else. in your dreams I've seen you dive through windows without causing any physical damage. kid, that has been symbolic of your future as a being who knows that every moment has openness to it. remember the feeling you've had in front of those windows of dreamed lands? 

if this is real then I will die if I jump out. even if this is not real it might be that my body is somewhere in the material reality in front of a real window, ready to jump through. I can only know that I exist now, while I can only believe now is forever

yet your mind never hesitates in front of death, for it is wise enough to know that the risk is worth taking for it is the only such rewarded with freedom. this is why, now, you are ready for the crossroads of life. you are free to see all that is without the burden of the petty will for immediate survival imposed by that ego construction of yours. everything will be as it its, new and fresh, with the whole universe being free of the burden created by constraints put up by pseudo-conscious egos

all aspects of every phenomena will be completely clear and lucid. they might not have the meaning you want, but they have their own meaning, respectfully. alas, your future will not hold the security necessary for keeping that ego happy. but, fuck it, that thing never is truly happy anyway

thus, you now have the entitlement to write. all hail!

Surveillance: ok kid, so remember, beings and things do not have intrinsic existence in themselves. all that is comes into being through the conditions created by all else that exists. what I want to say is, in short, that observing is a precondition for understanding

everything is in every one thing

Satan: experiencing is also a precondition for understanding, don't forget that. I'm on your side, kid, and like I've said before, many of the things revealed by me to you have not been beneficial for my business. but still, if I were you I would keep in mind that all experiences should be balanced. give more than you take, that should do it

Plato: be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle

I stand in front of the abyss and I like what I see. I see all that is in the light of two eyes, the eyes of mine - one forever, one for a day.

the divine archetypes are present and accepted. language of the beasts is accepted, for it is the language of the earth. the only reason to use the mind's eye to look beyond time and space is to form a context for that which is, and the only reason for such contextualization lies in words, and as such I return to language. nothing lasts forever, and that nothing is when documented. I now know, that my body is the documentation of me.

there exists no authority in the lottery of meaning production, thus everyone is a winner. everyone gets what they want, and for this, it becomes an absolute necessity to know what to want. I want beauty to prevail, and by my means beauty will prevail. it will be associated to all that is. notice, that I am here to disseminate how to construct an internal space, not to give recommendations for its contents.

a mind can realize itself in the most wonderful spaces. it can find itself from the dark lairs where humans gather to experience immediate realities as a collective, and it can find itself from the solitude of the empty streets of sleeping cities. in dreams I have learned to use all my mental capacity to change that which manifests into something else. in the conscious moment of standing in front of a mirror and seeing one's clothing switch in an instant it is learned that ideas will eventually reflect themselves in that which is sensible.

creation can be approached through observing potentials and making them actualize, making them real. one could argue, that that is all there is to creativity. but, I have by now learned that one important player in the game of creation uses the following technique.

in order to win, challenger x changes his strategy with every hand played. by doing this, he tricks the others around the table into analyzing his future behavior from false premises, causing them to make futile mistakes.

the world is complex enough to assume there to be accidents, random events, even though all my mentors have emphasized there to be a divine logic to things. slowly, there will build up a theory behind this logic, theory tangible enough for a single mind in a single lifetime. but after knowing the rules of random, what else is there to know?

years back I had an epiphany about the meaning of life. one cannot cease to exist if there are unfinished business. and I'm not talking about material business, but spiritual business. if there is a lesson to be learned here and now, then that moment of here and now will have to come. there's no option, and there's no running away from such realizations. back then, this caused me to question whether ignorance is as blissful as it seems. and by ignorance I mean choosing the road of beliefs instead of questions.

it turned out that ignorance is not blissful. at all. it might seem so, because those deemed ignorant usually play such a front to those who they encounter, due to not being able but to rely on that very front, and as we know, happy beings get by easier than non happy ones. problems emerge when that front cannot handle seeing doubt in the eyes of others, thus never accepting offers to see within itself. such beings are most content when doing something which gives them a place on whatever hierarchic structure they've chosen to identify with. but being content is not to be mixed with bliss. how can there be bliss if there's no true consciousness?

if there is to be a key to eternal life, then it is one which demands never to lose that firm grip of the common thread that binds all. the maze of connections from which one can find a way out only through death or through a window. I know I just got to find that window and jump through it.

I have wished to have a mentor in this maze, someone to trust, someone to guide me. someone capable of seeing clearly with just a quick glance. now I know that someone was by me all the time. thanks, guys.

Johanna Tukiainen

loving life is easy when one is born to move spatially, i.e. to navigate. inside my head I can see many great things, like reconstructions of space to move in, zoom in. I can ascend high from the sky and see where I have been and find the exact square meters once owned. in dreams I am often mystified by the scenery presented by my graphics processor.

on another continent I once sneaked out from the american museum of natural history, and wandered to a side street, onto the steps of a two-story apartment building, just to smoke one cigarette and feel the space, the sunny winter february day. it was necessary for me to just sit there, and then, for one truly is only through a moment of total solitude. now, nine years after, I had no difficulty of finding the exact doorstep using google earth, with a search word central park nyc. my internal spatial map immediately saw where was that location that I can now call 40.781521, -73.976532.

Under the Stars

there used to be a time in my life when I could just walk out of my apartment building with marble floors to a holey street made of asphalt. for forty meters I would walk uphill from the huge front door, then turn right and walk until the end of that street, say 100 meters, to the bottom of 90 stairs. that street was called via glorioso, and I have to admit that those moments on the steps were always glorious, given the view over the roofs of rome.

usually I climbed up there at night, for being unable to sleep and just wanting to be somewhere under the stars, smoking and wishing for a miracle. now, here, I'm like a caged animal. as far as I have observed, it has not stopped snowing for four days, during which I've gone out only once just to buy warming red wine from the alko across the street. I have by now learned, that the winter cannot be healed, not even with votka.

in short, there's no option for a place under the stars to meditate in.

Highway to Heaven

three or four nights, two or three nights badly slept. I think it was the phone call, during which I felt my heart sink deeper and wrap around itself. or maybe it's the coldness of the nights creeping in from thin walls.

trance states are chemical induced states like drugged up states. I cannot believe I've learned to dissociate. especially for I never really wanted to learn, or at least I never consciously tried. but, I guess due to my subconsciousness knowing about such a state to be experienced it also wanted to experience it. damn, I might be fucked.

what's the big deal with dissociation you ask. well. it's uncontrollable. there might become a day when I just fall down from all I know, that being what I believe to exist there where I am in a given time and space. I have never done any dissociative drug btw. never dmt or dxm or ketamine. never. I have not wanted to. I've been afraid a little to be honest.

and now it's coming onto me with very little control. It's coming onto me in a way that under that state, in that state I really don't even want out. my body experiences nothing but my mind experiences too much. it's like ten times more cool than no gravity. or how would I know.

this well documented neuro-physiological development heals psychological scars, apparently dissociating the connections between perceptual and painful emotional components of traumatic memories (thereby eliminating the associated fear and anxiety). this results in a healthy and deeply harmonious way of functioning, an optimization of the performance of the brain.

if it is trauma that lies behind my newly born dissociative capabilities then I truly am fucked. for then I know it's possible, and thus we are all fucked, to a degree. I know shit will go down in the future too, and apparently my pussy ass brain thinks the best way to handle such events is to dissociate. I hate this escapist bullshit.

so what to do. oh yeah took me two seconds to know. there's at least two different approaches to meditation as far as I know. the one which seems more difficult and thus the people competitive by nature usually go for it, is meditation as in emptying your head. I've done that in the past. always had great difficulties with it, but at times when walking on a street I can turn the autopilot on and not think about anything, for few minutes that is. longer time, as an idea, seems a little distressing due to it possibly leading to the above mentioned dissociation, though I never remember actually experiencing that, but many people tell stories about loosing parts of a drive from place a to b in a second. I've been very close to people with that kinda experiences.

the other type of meditation leads to something called mindfulness, which means self-regulation of attention, focusing on immediate experience, and a particular orientation toward one's own experiences, characterized by curiosity, openness and acceptance. that sounds conscious, right? and being conscious on my opinion is a good thing. one must learn to face hard times, including boring times.

does dissociation naturally make space for the development of another ego? how do sharks roll? how would I roll if I were a shark? I am right brained, one can see it from my eyes among other things. my right eye is smaller, especially in the mornings.

if I were a shark, my right hemisphere would probably want less sleep than my left hemisphere. it would dominate my being. if something bad would happen, then it might want to not to live that much anymore. thus maybe sleep more, giving the leftie some more time to hunt and swim and such. for a shark can never stop.

I remember a long time ago when it was the first day of summer, the most beautiful day of that summer, and we were drinking champagne by the ocean. he told me about a guy in southern italy who would swim with the sharks. how he had at first accidentally wandered to a group of tens of sharks while snorkeling alone. the sharks surrounded him in an oppressive manner. the guy had no hope other than what he could have, and that was faith in himself and his character. by controlling his fear, he managed to make the leader of the group of sharks see him as not food. as someone who is cool. after that, he swam with the same group many times, and had some science to prove that the sharks knew where he was and when he was to be in where in the ocean, so they could hook up.

I've once been to a city in an island in northern norway, a city that's a great distance from any other city, andenes, which is known from whale killing and a nato base. there's a sense of life in every place on this earth - in my memories of distant lands I have a feeling memory among other memories like spatial maps and events that form stories. andenes felt like death. there was no people on the streets, it was a rainy day. a freezing wind hit the harbor from somewhere not seen in the horizon of norwegian sea. the nato base was a small compound hundreds of meters from the city, but I could see it behind the fence which separated me from the asphalt covering that few hundred meters. in a place with very little flora it looked like the world had ended.

I know nothing about the brains of whales. I don't know if there's such knowledge, and am too preoccupied to google. 

Cannabis in Finland

Hollow Mask

the first snow is on the ground and so is white also my wine

desperation came running through the garden, but it's not like I'm here to whine 

it's just that I would've hoped for honesty from the stable keeper. the summer is all gone and I had no idea we had a white horse

though the signs were there. I saw my dear friend be sick like from a hard galloping through the lands, unlike the kind of relaxed, zen-like feel you get from riding our old mare with the name verde through the small pathways of mother nature. too bad I was really too lazy to ever visit the stables myself. there was always someone at home to do the saddling for me

forget all else, for honesty is really all I ask

and I can help you see which way faces the hollow mask

for I'm in the process of disintegration, saying bye bye for preconceived concepts. this has made me be like a mother to a number of street kids, those with no capacity to realize a home on their own. why, I don't know. maybe they're in the same process, though still trying to figure out proper coping skills, level 4, for when I've left for long journeys they always seem to find another heroine to be my substitute

What do I have on my Hands?

Surveillance: I'm sorry I haven't really been contributing into this study as well as I could have with all my capacities to see all that is in words pictures film statistics you name it, data. for there's a lot out there in regards to love, like poetry written in a state of desperation, you know, art therapy and stuff like that. ok, so this is from a web diary of some young woman, written in two parts back in like 2009 or something. I love the way people imagine a password can secure their musings btw

I am very wrong in many things 

I look so horrible in my eyes that I belong to hide, I'm thriving for solitude. got my spirit really insulted the night it left my body, and now it has been whispering demonosities in my ears for a week and another week. no blissful mornings anymore. tension within causes my back to turn to rock, neck to thicken ever more, and as a new feature I feel the joints leaving under my clavicle towards my chin be like violin strings

I am more aggressive day by day 

what do I have on my hands?

 

right now I know where I stand
got familiar with what I have on my hands
today went by too hot, so hot it gave me a headache
run like a dog with harvested power from years left behind

saw friends, all the good friends
even the ones not seen in months

spirit tried its all, tried to communicate from distance
spreading sweat in the night all the way from ooppera to the depths of kallio
while whispering
 

mambo
mambo!

but it is not my mission, that I know
no tools to build in my hands, says the law

God: I don't know what's the point to speak about love anymore. in case dear readers haven't noticed, the sphere of men has been dominated by the culture of disintegration for the past decades. everything is being splintered to pieces...

I could go on and on about this, but let's just leave it for I'm too depressed right now

Ayn Rand: decomposition is the postscript to the death of a human body; disintegration is the preface to the death of a human mind. disintegration is the keynote and goal of modern art - the disintegration of man’s conceptual faculty, and the retrogression of an adult mind to the state of a mewling infant

to reduce man’s consciousness to the level of sensations, with no capacity to integrate them, is the intention behind the reducing of language to grunts, of literature to “moods,” of painting to smears, of sculpture to slabs, of music to noise

Hyvä Suomi

Cinnamon

“I'm sorry about last night. it's just that nowadays william and I get together once in a blue moon or something. how was your weekend?”

“good. on friday I saw some covetous hands in action, you know how men sometimes try to possess women like only demons do, and on saturday I celebrated the dead. sunday, well, erm, I don't remember...”

I delight my women with macaroni con cinnamon and sugar

artists, like the greek gods, are only revealed to one another, said Oscar

remember kids, learn to direct your passions correctly. all in life is energy anyway, so that shouldn't be as tricky as it sounds. don't burn your hands. stick them in the snow and wait for tomorrow.

Marla Pence

Joan Didion: a sign on haight street, san fransisco:

last easter day

my christopher robin wandered away

he called april 10th

but he hasn't called since

he said he was coming home

but he hasn't shown

if you see him on haight

please tell him not to wait

I need him now

I don't care how

if he needs the bread

I'll send it ahead

if there's hope

please write me a note

if he's still there

tell him how much I care

where he's at I need to know

for I really love him so

deeply,

marla

marla pence

12702 NE multnomah

portland, ore. 97230

503/252-2720

Looting