Sanctity

In the way Sam and Ken and Mitch teach us about their rarefied glimpses into freedom, in the way Mt. Blanca is sacred only by reminder, a certain night doing certain things at a certain tavern is a beacon in the night as one journeys down in elevation from a retreat from urban density and cynicism. I can say that I met others and learned from others and dove into disruptive images and moments in which my freedom was as raw and pure as unfettered frozen death in the nighttime Animas as it brings me back to the river bed from which I daily splatter in hidden primordial ooze. What drove man to cross these waters and risk familiarity? Risk it, you say? Despite this language's insistence on building a 'past' or a 'history' or an 'identity' from which events emanate like an omnipotent chia-pet, I go forward to (to quote Buzzy Schwartz) "loosen up, not to fill up." I eat as a glutton to then eat as a poor person, poor from Nepal, yet as rich in mountain snow as གངས་སེང་གེ.

I see sand, I see white sand everywhere. This must be the white sand that has blown against the mountainside. Do you see how it begins right now, and how it is everywhere? If it isn't sand, then nothing is here; I cannot have visions of dismal blindness: one either sees the sand or the film projector of one's own nightmares. I turn to clutch my lost love as this film grows terrifying. Instead my right arm crosses to an absolute zero frozen abyss, and now I've lost my right arm. From the sand, in my armless walk in the desert, I see the purple mountains. The various letters of the alphabet are perched there on its peaks.

Argentina

"When I'm not drinkin, baby, you are on my mind..."

Blues and jazz teaches a lot about them alphabet letters when you stop and listen.

Picasso

There were five paintings. Each one had meaning.

One, Miranda, who knew her right to remain booty. Hillary, who had more blond funk than George Clinton. Man, and that was only 2/3s way. What? You say? Yeah my gig was 3.1 there, 3.1 on the turnstile, and 3.1 to get Moses's ass home where he rested and prayed and praised in the glory that is god's sunlight. A good race. The two attorneys dismissed us without prejudice, but there may be civil action. The Inn hosted the dark hair 6-month local of a brunette honey-pot. She's not a regular yet. Dr. Chrome made move for a foul smelling (ostensible cute) lady, but he smelled a rat. Garage was gargantuan rocking for Thur. Wisconsin threw her metal, escaped her Viking, then fell back into the sadness that earlier led her night.

away game

"I'm not the man they think I am at home.
Oh no no no, I'm a rocket man."

1. Sydney is from Georgia and she is beautiful. 2. Restraint in conduct results in eloquence. 3. As she quoted, praised, and poured to me her raw heart, I thought of Job. 4. Hutchinson Island's beaches matter, but not their bars. 5. I would take a bat to the head of the enemies of my three cousins. They are gentlemen and scholars. 6. The altercation in Hutchinson Island was twofold: One, some wanted to rob us, literally. (This is the same as 'Some wanted to beat us.") Local girls can't sense game, as my cousins have more game than the Stanley cup. 7. Sidney is a woman of God, and makes God look very fine, fine as hell. 8:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvQwXOCKNLY

Brasil

Ladies and gentlemen, the country is Brasil! Maximin goes to Brasil! Obrigado, obrigado.

Office

So I swing by the new office, akin to Chrome's office, but this one is empty most late nights unless there is a game. It is a sportsbar. Jean is 28 and angelic and nursing her first Cabernet because the bar is slow and her shift might as well have ended. Heath just got off from his nursing gig and needs a Budweiser. Josh is working the bar and he's from South Dakota and almost could pass for an unshaven Turk, and he's one of the best folks in the city who can give you the honor of serving you a crown on the rocks for 4 dollars or a sweet teat infused vodka for free. But Jean fits the bill of the old place in Indiana: every server girl has a story and a PhD. In Seattle, assuming something similar, a girl told me she considered suicide after I asked her what sort of PhD she held. "I never got my degree or finished high school. I haven't felt this blue for a long time." Jean worked for an orphanage in Peru and had feelings about inner city schools. Her face was rare and cocaine her thighs and arms ass beckoned sexy feelings. She brought her knees to her chest but sat unguarded and chill. She's from Milwaukee, she says, and mix of lake and motor and germans made the orange flag indicate a hook on my tipup. Jean can teach and tell you a lot, but I wanted to take her home and know her better. I didn't need a number because I could see her again because she works there. So I gazed at the silhouette of her face and lowered my glance to her thighs, once again. Every day I live freely, no matter the country or context, I see new things. Most of the time I postpone my adventures due to fatigue or lack of focus. This night, in deep exhaustion, I wandered lonely to eat a burger. I met Jean. If she carried a clipboard I would follow and point and nod. Decorative urns.

Sushi

So this guy goes out with his 'roommate' and they're already tense and it happens the first sentence from the couple next to them is "You will get half. Straight up. I am a man of my word and I do what I say. Straight in half. I do what I say. I am a man of my word." I ordered a large Sapporo and 14 pieces of 1 dollar sushi and some hot meal for the guest. It is customary. A young mid-twenties couple looked like they were itching to fuck, maybe for the first time between the two of them. "I am sorry for all the sharp comments, for snapping at you. I am sorry for all of the sharp comments and snapping." A leaden water entered the pond and the circuit was complete. The young couple grew dark and withered. The sushi was fresh and wholesome and the eclipse of dialog, saki cloud. She cried, she didn't begin to cry, for the tears were old and weary. She left and he followed. The young couple listened and followed. The orange was fresh.

Wingman

After the original M came M2, from M1M2 night, and with her it came and went. Then there was an r. Monday night after blowing a great trade at the workout joint, the roommate subbed and winged for a Tajik, and man she was a looker. Then took my eyes to CL, and traded looks but thought of my Tajik princess. Then thought of Egypt and its glory. How do we improve relations with our friend in Egypt? Telecommunications are fine, but how do we reach out? I scanned the statist literature of NY Times and got nothing. I called Von Mises and he told me to gather courage. He told me to begin with my missed gym incident and evaluate why I failed. I determined I was weak in spirit due to poor existence. I began to rise above my meekness. I was given epsom salts and alaskan thunder. A warm Tuesday evening began white and soft and wet. My love played pool in white form fitting shirt and jeans. She fought and drank.

Cats

Zettel

187: "Why can't a cat be taught to retrieve? Doesn't it understand what one wants? And what constitutes understanding or failure to understand here?"

155: "A poet's words can pierce us. And that is of course causally connected with the use that they have in our life. And it is also connected with the way in which, conformably to this use, we let our thoughts roam up and down in the familiar surroundings of the words. "

Riding

Well if moraline says riding takes it out of you, then riding it is. I will announce the country in due time.