Pen & Ink

I try my pen. 

At word, not ink, not yet..

Computer screens 

Are different, 

Is this a sphere?

Is this a sphere?

Is this a sphere?

Can I create a wonder?

All these years, quick to focus, tiredness of me, 

Yet healed, rejuvenated, I think I was visited by 

Something rejuvenating. 

What if, inside of here?

I try my pen

At word, not ink, not yet.

Possible friend sounds welcome.

Potential

‘Creation’

Yetzirah…the realm of ideas (astral blab)

How do I bridge the gaps, to form a ‘manifesting?’

3 to 4, 

As seven is to eight.

Except four ‘outlines’ all numbers. 

These are the questions that beget my mind.

I wonder, at the point at which

At the point, at which ink became 25.

I mean, the point at which ink, became

Became, screen-ness.

Perhaps it still is?

-thrum thrum thrum-

The magic thrums. 

What’s inside, the church(n)ings of my mind?

Accidents, and portents, 

Dinner and kind company.

A thread ribbon thrown out to blake-colter

A two of cups, from a very superficial level, 

on the understanding of my part

Understanding what a thread ribbon ‘is’ and a two of cups welcomes.

The cards are telling me to juggle-no more, for now.

And ceaseless wonders are priming to me, uniquely because, 

Choice and choosing are a part of the choosing. 

Be the magician, colt. 

And balance your boundaries, 

Juggle through below with your above.

Turning around the series and sequence of needing 50 mages, 

Less than a couple of written words about the ceaseless wondering.

Around and around, 

Around and around, 

To put in one place, 

Is to take from another.

Pause, shift to left or right, 

And take from one place to put in another. 

All roads lead to Amber, Zelazny:

Greatest name ever invented. 

Sometimes I wonder at my wonders and another

I feel the need to find my life, my wife?

What a level in which to find myself, 

Conflating the two, because

For my parents, they were – each, that and that and to another. 

How am I supposed to align myself with what is higher?

Think Divine

Think Celestial and mathematical, 

And this once removed, 

In that direction, the words on the screen, to another point in virtual space, 

Conflating with series upon series of circles and acuteness.

Here’s how to hide a secret

I sat here and talk and told, 

Rhythm rhyme, and road. 

Something in ink?

When did this

The ink

Become the screen?

I have multitudes of spheres and beautiful floating adjacent ideas

That are thrumming along next to me

I may have invoked something

4 letter words

SQUARE

Outlines

FOUR

FOUR
FOUR
FOUR

Been on my mind all day, 

Ever since I saw three of them tattooed on my co-worker middle finger.

Has it been the mandela effect?

Can we create a mandela effect?

A story, rather than a disposition of wondering.

Or is Wondering good?

I’m telling a curiosity about my manifesto.

Not to tell a prescription, except move rhythmically with the light.

Almost like you’re telling a story about the number four.

Here n’ yonder, maybe read to the end before trying any of these concepts.

Marbles is a way to feel like you’re hallucinating, wave to the compass. 

Four steps to a manifesto I told myself I wasn’t going to write. 

A curiosity though, I could explore all day on a whimsical stay. 

It’s been so welcome to see coming through an obstacle, 

And to come through my own obstacles. 

Think around them, maybe

Overcome them, maybe about people, new friends.

New friends are welcome. 

Andy Sharp welcome.

The Astral Geographic.

Tis a way until I ‘think about it’

And then it becomes something talkin’

In reverse silence, sort of a whole saying to boot. 

Imagine being able to show spheres, and ideas within these spheres that are talking strongly

About the itch on your forehead, just between your eyes. 

so I believe it’s a forgiveness.

Layers, spherical and guarded, except my friends. 

By my friends, imagine turning the ring and saying to yourself…

Now what was that?

What if 

There’s a spot in my mind where the rest is speaking its volumes, 

 and I’ve gone from here to back again. 

I wonder if Salida is a home, I feel trapped there…?

It’s not an unwelcoming trap, though

-feels subtle-

And a draw back will be welcome. 

It does not feel unwelcome

It does feel like a confusion.

Which is somewhat unwelcome. 

I think the four in me is wondering about its ten.

Hats off to Blake, in his generous love.

His generosity is immense, and love for books

Is something admiral, and helps a beautiful thing to be felt. 

52 

I feel a block with the cards, tonight

I felt a block with the cards, last night. 

The gods on the sidewalk, 

Her and water. 

Water and water.

Her and shrinking, void and master.

Cannot pray

Weird is a mischief unleashed, spoke to me about the rhyme and the rease.

Speed them on their ways, and mystery talk about repetition, study, and refinement.

Here’s to zippety

Bippety

Bop

Hippity to zere

Bippity bop

Can you see the thread in which I wrote a weapon into a corner.

Captured the mischief, and rose its order?

Remembered and search for, oddfellow, and odd

Fellow, now here me this there’s a mastering of the merit 

In two wild a way to do without.

Might I just up and zip out of being?

I suppose I’d have to go somewhere, and do something notable and excitingly fun!

I know him, Theodore of Annemann. 

Or I suppose I know his mental effects with cards. 

And by that! I mean, I owned the book and forgot a couple of effects by him, 

Sadly to my dismay.

A brief interlude, on to a different vibe, 

Hearing the sound of fine technique and and the delicious drink, of which I’ll pour another. 

They are all that will remain, when we are gone. . . .

We are no more than the page upon which our souls

are written. And where does the tale go, when the

book is burned? It may

be remembered, and

put down again. You

and I are made up of

our words. (Myrlin A.

Hermes, The Lunatic, the

Lover, and the Poet, 2010)