A trip about philosophical-political blogging. Then going shopping for construction materials, another chore and then getting some actual work done, in fairly nice weather.
I keep fleshing out my fixed pages, while sometimes doing a morning post before the days activity.
Today I wrote in the morning about conservative and liberal non sequiturs. The power interest in the culture and world that has us bickering over philosophical misunderstandings. Being all right and all about our liberal or conservative notions, while the real power brokers use democracy as a kind of public diversion. The chasm remains; as to what is sacred in each of our hearts, what parameters we define truth by, and the context in which we hold our ideas as complete in.
Anyway.
Today was more block and concrete making do. I have varying stages of development going on in raising and connecting two walls, which have as of today a nice metal 18″by18″ decorative window. Tomorrow I have varying issues to continue with on the wall as I let the concrete and steel reinforced lintel to set up before I let it become completely bearing. I like having multiple projects going at a site in case one does get hung up for a little while. There is usually no problem with that desire.
PIN SATAN’S TAIL ON THE DONKEY!
In politics. It is inconceivable, but true apparently, that wearing a pin or not is a true test of ones patriotism. To be set up in that stupidity and believe it is true, is an insult to the patriotic mandate to be honest and truthful, let alone, allow for free expression (and not require cult conformity) on such personal matters. What next a cross test? Wear the cross or you are apparently satanic? Baloney!
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Wise one: Why do you torture your reader with words so magnificently. As Heidegger once remarked “Words house our souls, words are like wings…” And my favourite character Bone once saids ‘Words are the wings that th Gods gave me, I will never give them up to you. I have places in my heart that you cannot imagine, and in my head there is a universe that could not even concede an existenc..I dream of mountains where the rivers twist like crystal, where a wedge tail eagle flies the skies of infinity and now, here, I find that hope has become a crime and honour is heresy.” He says all this to a psychiatrist of course, who is valiantly trying to heal him of his genius. Bone dies of a an overdose of heroin, as his lover melissa screams in the cages beneath him and his beloved, friend Julia has her brain fried into a lobotomised, catatomic state; and still survives, eventually to reagin the vestiges of humanity. Melissa once says ” If we had hope we would ask questions. In the Wish palace I re-create myself from nothing, each day I watch myself destroyed in a mirror of someone else’s ream. thje feast is laid, the candles lit, what punishment is this? It can never equivoacte our crime for we are young and vulnerable and Julia is bleeding word each time she slashes her arms, words bleed out through her skin, for she hs no tongue, and the words play on like demented music, a fugue of language and all of it is for nothing, nothing.
From The Wish Palace. 1085 CYT, dirested by Gail Kellly, written by Kate McNmara. 14th May, only eight days after my lovely Abigail, my only sister lay on her couch, the day aftermy mother’s birthday and reading a book entitledd the Winter dream, she died.
Take care, take risks
Kate
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