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PEOPLE
DO
LIKE
ME,
AND
WE WEAVE
OUR
HAVEN
TO
HAVE
HEAVEN
Scaling
the hurdles of identity: I want to clear from the start that I
know good will and feelings can be extended to far and well beyond your
immediate reach; fire, air, water and earth have always carried away and
presented detritus or delivered tokens of our goings on elsewhere. One
starts out as a warm droplet, pollywog, wigly embryo, child, family-, clan-
and neighbourhood-, a community-, village- or metropolismember, as a citizen
of a country and inhabitant of a bioregion with more or less deeply but
in any and all cases shallowly registered racial roots progressing from
very personal to global, from sub- to superconscious participation. The
latter is more powerful and influential yet draining when isolating and
devildefying dominance rather than friendly and reverent curiosity fueled
the expansion.
Early influences:
I, Piet Bouter am the grandson of a butcher who raised
one more (went foam at the mouth type babbling batty), one meatwholesaler
and one who made froze meat go intercontinental (my father). I'm his only
son but have many (20) mostly butchering nieces and nephews on his side;
the overgrazing boom in a nutshell, proving itself worldwide as a cutthroat
shortterm exploit. I was to have a funny exposure of psychically
weak spots through an overdose of some supposedly boil ripening homeopathic
remedy made of rotting flesh later on, come to a head it did and not just
one, my skin was crater country in 3 places (see Neysa). My deeper and
less burdensome heritage took a while to surface from my timid gullibility
prone dairy drowned and sedated to avoid paternal clashes, semi conscious
beginnings.
Lack
of mom's assertiveness stunted my courage too. Sins redeemable and sinners
damned not withstanding I broke down many times to the point of wanting
to die when I was twelve but found solace in bed with an Old Shatterhand
or Tarzan book as effective medicine for and later cause of this condition.
So, my reading career started out as passive escapism. It seems I fell
on and into warhardened ground with complimentary gloom tinted dredge,
drudge and work some more ethics, smack in the middle of the most fertile
riverdelta of northern Europe, 15 miles west of Rotterdam, peopled or should
I say cowed with dairy industry and some pretty famous shipbuilders all
along one of the canal and rivers two and a half miles away each in 3 directions.
All
in all a far cry from the lighthearted and clowning acrobatics, wilderness,
song and dance which had me spellbound when I saw some on tele. Picking
apples with a part African French woman named Chantal who sparked me up
to spiral away from the dynasty aspirations that had weighed me down, I
found trees a haven of limbs for more freely animated ones to work with
during the first strike out on my own. The
association pathblazing and therefore blessed (tho not unmixed, due to
drying effect on all mucus membranes and slimey secretions, including joints),
contact with the plant once held sacred and very useful nearly planetwide,
may have helped considerably to free the flow of soulsearching associations
and extricate myself from them thar bloody serious ties too.
A job in Saudi Arabia was the springboard
to extensive travelling, preferably on two wheels with as many dances and
chances as I could find to squeeze in on my erratic individualistic way.
I tasted the serenity of the Himalayas and the immobilization from cannabis
indulgence (eye juice and other slimey secretions impaired) and then having
overdone and done with life in the east I turned around and struck out
west where while in the state of Washington, my first reading of Robert
Graves clinched my dislike for patriarchy (though through mother's intercession,
father's funding fueled my for this reason modest needs by then), cranked
my barely budding fancy for verbalization and further focused my venus
in taurus inclination to love treelore. His historical grammar of poetical
myth in 'The white goddess' filled with agespanning treecalenders and -alphabets,
blood, omen and animals contrasted nicely with present day wilt, pulp and
erosion and its high, surpassing merely Olympian drama, it was just the
thing to ease my transition from a routine of rolling thousands of miles
through high country, desert and arid territory to confrontations with
sneeky bastards like American versions of lawenforcers and weird Seattle
population; he conveys a sense of life during climax climate before the
leached crumb of interglacial aftermath; now we are down to sedation and
lies subsequent to the horror and magic he described.
Let
me name some more of my credentials, so you know better what is talking
at you: I grew up in the fully cultivated yet still fertile river delta
of the Rhine in a village butchery, some of the early states of being that
molded me are apple trees viewed from a stroller in the bakery's backyard
next door, my boxer dog, loneliness, baby cow food overdosing, boring school,
psychosomatic bellyaching which got me cut up to loose my healthy appendix,
I got good nosetraining, sniffing at all sorts of scenes, delivering meat
from door to door (and later selling vouchers that way in Colorado), but
I didn't realize how often Holland's illmanaged cowshit masses make the
place smell bad till after returning from travels to other climes. I protested
against the protestants and butcherschool, I watched Hollywood romance
(Gene Kelly and Errol Flynn), Catweazle, Monty Python, Bertrand and his
St Bernard, Thierry the slingman, nature programs, acrobats and listened
to the musical clown Herman van Veen, Freek de Jonge, folk and symphonic
or jazzy rock with relish, smoked cannabis on weekends, had a long virginal
(except for a heystack orgasm across the belly of my next door neighbour's
daughter who had been covering me in equally premature kisses for a while,
which stopped abruptly after this incident) cerebral love affair and a
motocross passion, I read Asterix and Erik (Bomans), van Eeden's: "De kleine
Johannes" (little john), a book about a man interrupting the preacher indignantly
to hold a more in- or enflaming sermon himself instead) and Jean Dulieu's
Paulus de boskabouter made a huge impression, he worked with his wife and
daughter to populate a stretch of forest with speaking animals. I started
in on Toonder's to my mind most magical comic in the world much later as
home away from home, taking a few 3 story pockets overseas with me to supplement
the pile of NRC foreign weekeditions which one finds in good libraries,
as I did at least twice a year; other highlights were B C a comic that
was staple in a paper my dad used to read, it got superseded by the likes
of Calvin and Hobbes. I found besmirched porno in the only sparse woods
found 10 minutes walking from home along a 'provincial road', (forerunner
of what they call the truckroute disease in Africa?), Krishnamurti, Alan
Watts, Rashneesj, Tolkien, William Blake and Kalil Gibran, all the later
finds and fondnesses are mentioned in the bibliography, like Tom Robbins,
his work is so good that I read it out loud to myself!! Something I had
once the privilege to do in front of my school class every friday from
adventure stories set in the Dutch Golden Century.
Mom:
Mama's memorable mammary ministrations kept me docile,
its bovine follow up kept me sedated. She says; "Don't touch that
dirt", yet she clutches the hurt already. Pain is taboo and the light meetmate
matching keeps losing ground (blijft in gebreke, ontbreekt=breaks not).
Mom has two idiots on her hands, complementary halfwits, a king and his
fool. I had a rerun in with Body Electronics (see ch 3L) via Habiba's Megatripolis
just before mother succumbed to the next installment of Dik (real name
is Dirk but his partner called him Dik in a saintly sort of way) the dadheads
knife literally disjointing her (for a new hip), I thought it was time
to shout him down and put him in his place (see below). Mama's strategy
is silence and minimalistic modesty, utterly in accord with inanimate ,
yet very feminine, (cause) all life bearing rock, she even seems to harden
up like it physically, but it taught me respect for the equally hidden,
heavy and humble participants of celestial and generational tone setting
in our terrestrial ghetto of the milky way. Why feel grateful for my mothers
policy of shielding me from involvement in mere worldly affairs?
Pop Pafka:
Why do I make my dad pay for sluicing me through to this less etherealming
underwhelm? Cause he did not do it good enough? To punish him for reminding
me of my own lobsidedness and for his lack of surreally spiritual subtlety?
One way or another we seem wedgelocked into this willy nilly crosspurposed
succor searching from each other. Why did he not see the child that came
to rumble the rocks with musical tools that toll-tell the birthbell right
of a new way of life for us and a wholed hell of lots more for our recurr(ent)ing
forerunners and -bears? He sold a metalmolding factory called Arma the
same year I was born for Christ sake! Need
I be suprised at my fascination with an insurance mathematician? Before
I could get away from lonely bad habit ruled rhythms and routines to try
look for a voice, a stage and an audience to make myself heard, earn a
dynamic pulpit pedestal and have an impact, I made do with rolemodels such
as Tarzan swinging on his ropes, Flynn raising his sails and Robin Hood
twanging his bowstring. I wish my voice and fingers could keep up
with my thought, but they got censored, and so lost much control and confidence,
meanwhile papa pushes in my eyesperverse sermon tapes and has a big infection
in his ear from a removed wart (for not ever listening to his godgiven
sun perhaps?) When he did, quickly getting upset and me that way too rather,
but even when and though he feels weighed down with guilt, this thought
doesn't seem to occur to him, though mama tells me he is preoccupied with
me a lot when I am gone (well could he ever use an education there! He
means well though and that keeps me out of trouble (wether his or my kind
I haven't found out yet). His birthcard challenge is skepticism.
Always
check if your confronters and fatherfigures can fathom and comprehend a
turn for the better, try to argue simple definitions and etymology first,
do not get upset or angry, try hard not to give them that pleasure and
proof of having mixed with a proof of wanting power over you.
Daddy rants and brave him much as I tried,
retort wasn't welcome and so constructed quietly after hiccoughing, regurgitating,
retching and barfing up later what I was forced to swallow, not easy considering
the force with which he rammed (aries) his emphatic imprecarcerations home,
I found 'm so hard to take lightly or easily. When all is in the balance
though, we are no doubt on equal terms of stand off endearment.
Too bad
he seems to see less to be thankful for about our exchange than I have
good reason to be; how many fathers can and will offer the purchase of
a territory for their brood, never mind allowing no say in or over his.
The well intended christian split between blood ties and merit hasn't panned
out so good yet Malicious
male issues (see 9L): In the spring of 1990
I finally realize dad's motives: he is jealous of the skills displayed
by his challenged sun, on who's choice of battlefield he feels incompetent,
so he rules it out as irrelevant, feels challenged instead and pays me
a bribe to swallow my tongue which I assbackwardly allowed to take the
wind out of my sails, (one reason why I could believe Marina's story of
her being my mother back when I was the unfortunate Crownprince Rudolf
who broke off the Habsburg dynasty with his not so gentle retreat, he took
a lover into death with him) he seduces me into apathetic betrayal cause
that is what he himself feels for a second whenever I start on an enthused
roll. What percentage of parents really provides for their kids and blind
spots anyway? Thus the realizations of my motives are stunted from the
christian taint which promotes sacrificial sell out of autonomy to a judgment
I despise, loathe, abhor, deplore and found depraved in return for the
comfort of money. Do I take my mothers lead? Anyway, as I said earlier,
she kept pouring the babyfood to avoid the confrontation and later I masturbated
to take the edge off of me some more though at the time I only felt it
took his edge (in me) off instead (see confashion towards the end for the
ultimate Freudian twist and squeeze dynamics concerning coherent come ons,
pick ups, put offs and/or let downs). I also felt my folks should have
used the lull in bottom line depravities of war which occured in my formative
years to feed my info and movement hunger to taste; instead, they stuck
to the crisis mentality which shaped them besides the belief that their
periodic recurrence is inevitable, even a fina one is soon to come, and
followed bloody circumstance of less likable kin to a more superficial
but all the same perpetually propagating version of the past preliminaries,
such as was the protestant gloomdoom and thus never perceived it (the lull),
yet kept the myth of spoiling me alive, OK they did give me an expensive
gift now and then but... didn't know how blessed they were and neither
did I manage to make 'm understand.
Dear
father, there are things in which I have started from a relatively more
advanced (dis)position; in other words, where you look childish and I look
grown. Dad is an accomplished man in terms of the sexist, racist and colonialist
cutting edge of the institutionalized greed establishment made to appear
respectable from hard work, but in a larger context and better (longer
term) league he is a novice, awkward, shortsighted and heartless.
Dad
figures I kick him and the west in the nuts but he is projecting the truth,
apparently purporting to suffer what he pepetrates, when his attempts at
overriding and bending my deepest characteristics fail, he abuses and belittles
them anyway, he would like to set me little task after little task to reel
me back in. He once wanted a tree dismembered and got very upset with my
transplant proposal. I argued that what was useless to him might still
be good for someone else but "it is mine to do with as I please!", just
as he once thought I was too. The king screams: "I do with that tree what
I want, it is mine" (pass the scapegoat please, I'll pretend its your spirit),
better to have it slaughtered than me, but he made me cut it up, which
gave me a tough time not to identify with the poor scapegoat, we challenged
each other to change, let it be optional hence forthwith from my side (at
least or too? I had more expectations from him all along perhaps, rather
than the other way around). Two
dreams: "Money, the fuel of adolescent productivity and extension
as in Germany and California on the virge of losing virginity, leaving
the burning ship to step into soft tec flying gestapo gest a pose or gestation,
postpones the oedipalization". In
a dream mightily fueled by my first cold and lonely topleague writing ambition
in the shape of a margin scrawl I did at second reading of this section
about agression and preparing for difference, in the 'Case of California'
by Lawrence Rickels quoted above, I went to my mother saying I had
to kill dad or leave since he had aggravated his devilish projections upon
me and was publicly, pubicly and prayerfully grateful for the confirmation
of his suspicion, neither did he conceal his rummage for evidence, I was
very mad at absent fatherhood, censure, patronizing and mighty ungrateful
for substitutes and surrogates but even more upset for forbidden low-golem-logo
modeling (he once stopped me when I was using an 18 pound pestle on gravel
in a metal mortar on his asphalted driveway) in any but flesh and blood
versions: "let pregnancy make a man of you the hard way" He had dumped
my oevre in the water and now started eating it, after which a violent
wrangle ensued. I
dreamt of a rainbow regiment improv I was in on only halfheartedly, it
turned out to take place in dad's backyard; I didn't get the work done,
he wasn't happy, bottomline is not to be a traveller without pride of place,
let's weather before we wither.
Story truthfully
told:
A kid born from the precipitous union of a faintly and fractionwise Jewish
looking sickly sort a gal and a blue-eyed darkhaired go-getter who turned
butchering into a thriving meat im- and export business directed from a
shack at the abbatoir, became what was fended off yet feared it would:
an intellectual, interested in others (besides everything else) of the
sort a war was weirdly ostensible enough, begun and done over, that is
to say those who saw the ultimate consequences of reactionary tendencies,
could think 'm through and spell them out satirically in defiance of horrible
consequences and yet however mockingly, still help 'm along with perspicaceously
descriptive lip giving services, thus provoking the reactionary wrath of
others while not defusing or escaping but exercising their own (T Lessing
for instance) Such writs usually pre- and proscribe, hint at, allude to
and picture their adversary's inhumanity, turning into their own demise
when thinking tendencies through to absurdity, even when intended to defuse
them, a Jewish mother effect of warning and deterrence is a myth and does
not function any better than vaccination as I said before, besides, after
a certain point the hunger for effective action makes you restrict your
comment to, if not replace it altogether with 'taking to' direct spheres
of influence, and yet, there is a time and place for everything, so it
is not always a complete waste to spend them pointing at what is wrong
and predict a steady state, on course worsening and acceleration of status
quota unless no alternatives are suggested.
Once
upon a nobler time those who were challenged could choose the weapons,
we need to dig a little deeper and even design some. This spectator 'versus'
spectacle type tragedy has seen its umpteenth heyday and will not much
longer make for such a taken in stride sort of indifference I hope, so
that clear heads which discern all sorts of impersonal tendencies are not
quite so helpless about their own influence on and stimulances for the
shaping of immediately affecting events taking place across these in practical
respect interpenetrable fences. This sort of dark legacy hangs over the
violet deaths of Theodor Lessing and Keko-Siwa-like hero's from Nomansland
to Nigeria. Hordes of other Hebrew hybrids in Hollywood seem to go on suffering
such scenarios and settings.
Real life is always within reach if stakes
claimed are modest enough, if one owns up to ones pow(d)ers of pronouncement
(see the anecdotes just above rain and blood).
Think
twice about leading the way in a direction quite opposite to the one feared.
Feel as unfettered, free and in charge as you really are, were it not for
your own apathy. The misunderstood genius is a dramatic theme daring us
from behind every baby crying to let it grow up to one, dying to let us
know, and women who so often are at the receiving end of no longer childlike
polymorphous but poisonously prolonged perversity well into great grand
motherhood rarely face the risk of transference squarely. Incarnations
of best and biggest brother besides jesuslike freedomfighters converge
endlessly rather than finally, perhaps...I guess......"
But back to our story now; the little fellow
had an aversion to, plus the luxury of avoiding, paperwastage for such
descripting and commentary of merely human affairs from and by birth as
it were, and if it wasn't that, his parents had embraced the protestant
work ethic and tried to convey it and their instinctive sense of dangerous
accursedness resting on 'stof doen opwaaien'= make the dust blow meaning:
having a social spotlight impact much beyond the pulpit or shopcounter.
He says: "But I can't betray my best talents just cause I need to work
on my lesser ones to not lose sight of humility, these are the holy days
for division of labour, cocksure arrogance and Jewish brands of Nazism,
Walter Zanders notwithstanding, besides I don't mean dust to blow but grow
up and around and that can't by any means lead to arrogance, can it? He
tried to find fresh starts that tied in to ancient beginnings and going
ons. Despite many hard feelings and near miss declinations of death wishes
which cost him a healthy appendix, this son of a modern god grew up with
a faith he and his dad could "move mountains", one of the few forcefed
Bible texts to impress him. In a very conventional sense of not boat rocking
success. everything had been going for him but once escape from its unbearable
pressure through speed, one of the ballsy staples he had enjoyed riding
with daddy along with chocolatehail on buttered bread, it whisked him through
relatively unrelated rigours; he decided to look for the most common denominators
and deepest sweeping generalizations that yet had practical value, or actually
he found them and maybe they found him before he realized he had been looking
for fairytale magic formulas that would not lose charm in sobering real
life.
Pollution is a measure of inefficiency, a people for being's profitloss
telltale Thus he and the extreme, femininely passive, capacity questioning
cornerstone quandary foreshadowed In the very name he carried 21 years
already, stumbled on each other in the shape of his reading an Acres USA
article and he found it worthy of all the effort he could muster and invest.
Rock flour can be used to every little bit of household organic waste with,
this absorbs all volatile energy and leaves the freeing way of life that
treats even each plastic bag gently, like a wanted and wished for baby,
holding most things in equal wastelessly recycling reverence and comes
to feel strongly about the need to leave fossil fueling in the peace of
the highly esteemed diamonds shaping and water heating powers, so that
offending even the best noses, kept as far away from pollution as possible
would come to a stop. This evolutionary development set him right with
the Gods of Oxygen and Carbon (two down and a hundred to go). The freshly
pulverized percolation power of powdered and thus potentized rock would
see to firmly rewarded faith in photosynthesis fostering to follow up on
delivering performance of promise, adding scrumptious scruples to help
own up and rule out pollution causing nonsense.
It can't be an altogether unsensual
act of sheer will to start avoiding and phasing out down time for focused
mind through muscle mastery on edge preventing premature orgasms or postpartem
exhaust fumes, not only from competitors in a race but altogether.
So many people have
extended a warm favorable love to me, just like my mother did, but as dad
was the hardener, toughener, resistance, obstacle and occupying force that
prevented true conscious contact for which me and my mother made him pay
(too late of course to prevent traumatic habit) damages and repair quotas
to none but obverse avail, bycause I became more independent and detached
with money than I already was at the homesteadying base where I had to
follow orders like a slave to prevent exile, but the two feet shackeled
to the weedfree ground grew up to become an out of step shame to be bought
off; the anchorchain to loca-and reality turned into a lifeline for freedom
of mind. "Your
mother is mine, oedipushy pal", he said subliminally.
Dad and me were as will versus thought,
Gordian knot cutter and coaxer; in some respects dad is like the Africans
he scolds for being lazy and dependent on their children: fit
the molds and fall in line; the wait is for that sword to come between
authority and childlike improvisualization to playfully circumnavigate,
symbolically frolic, clang, joust and parry with true stakes, but until
then precipitous clout rules his small world with a short fuse, being an
aries, his temper snaps as easy as elderwood, even so nothing is ever bad
enough to stop deserving a dab of good.
Singletrack minds like his scorn contrast
and crave action.
I know I share a basic dream with Keyserling but he throws me back to face
my source of income, my voodoo baby coo and woo. Must my dad refuse my
kind a kindness cause I did his or was it the other way round, are we voluntarily
accepting what is worst for us, do we gargoyle and turmoil away at each
other?
I am a bribed clown, I travel too light,
as if destitute, I make a bloodbound offence taker pay, I project, he is
justified.
Dad
praises god for sacrificing and crushing the paradoxically only thus redeeming
sun son... maybe to give the sinner a sense of pride, a crack at becoming
a respectable receptacle to gain a respite and win some time or something.
When I tried to make myself at home, I was haunted, when I worked
for my welcome, I was held in thrall.
Dad stands his ground, he may be on his way
back down but mentally he still stomps around, though his legs be weak
and feet flat, his voice still booms like a weapon, he may have had nothing
but the same sort of denial contact he displays for me, with his own father
and accuses me of what he himself acts out in order to help recognize himself
in his father for the sake of continuity perhaps, but it seems to sanction
his passing of judgment and rather than identification in love with nostalgia
more secretly than I am.
Avanti vascilanti, (s)wallow no more but
focus!:
I cannot sleep, I must be awake, there is a war on death going on in my
head, it tries to span the globe entire to tie all in time matin'
loose ends and loosening all too tight ties with dedoubt cloutish and voracious
appetite for veracity in refrac-city. Can it all be done, do I scorn to
punch the keys right in the center of a whole world of my own as the only
starting point for radiant growth and attractive rentability?
5 line sentence: Have
I elected eclectic negligence, bottleneck nooselaced my fellowmans finery
filaments, have I tended to tentatively tempt and rent where I ment to
mend or attempt a redemptive circrimp unscramption, a script unscramble
for, I mean an uncramp scriptition, a bold clouty kindness, a voice that
ligintimates itself feelingly and responsibly, yet shifting disguises with
remarkable merkuriosity to avoid sticky vacancies, all this to free time
for the complementary mining of overfull stocks and stucks to re- and prestart
from scratch and help it stretch for and on a way with and of tenderness?
I hint and point at it; allude to it; hanker after such a selfsame pad,
cover, toolbox, toyshop, suitcloset floaticle to walk my beat in. I mouth
my money indeed when I half, quarter and decisively divide my leftout and
unresolved presumptions into eight decently dotted and knotted norm establishing
circumstances. It helps live people become ancestors and verses them on
visitation rites to o so deeply green vista.
Pyrogen,
a homeopathic remedy made of putrifying flesh, a dog's drug, stands my
drizzly draggily drone brain to a-t-ten(t)sion in good stead, tis an intelligence
drug, as is brain itself the best, once literally that forbidden fruit
of knowledge if you can believe Oskar Kiss Maerth, who had 6 pages with
6 mugs on each of people and monkey species interspersed in such a way
that they paired up nicely, he argues skullcracking was in fashion until
Jewish golden ethics broke away from human blood sacrifices (something
Graves praises 'm for but did it happen after they had gone too far in
and with their lead already?) saying: "whoo, that's enough, too far already,
steady steady, lets trade goods, wage war with whatever other means, but
not use each other as drugs". When they came to be envied and even hated
for this progress, they were forced into trailblazing the next stage and
paragon of wealth, concise symbolic representations of massification, jugular
juggles or netweaves and casts, how's that for thoughtfood as insanity
research input for you, proffie Gilman? (see Jews, ch. 6)
Let
lost causes rejoin inefficient victuals, I don't write myself, jerk or
saint, perk or taint, I know the meaning of every infinitesimal gesture,
thoughtform and intention sprouting from renewed old form-motivation while,
only justly so and then when I play the paralization price for clarity
of thought and become an offside symbologist, the kind impulsive people
have an aversion to to the point they 'll start wars over it, instinctive
action may be selfpreserving but it takes a little consideration to involve
the masses in your schemes and the aloof manipulative, penetrating observances
of intellectuals don't remain as selfless and impartial as their initial
sparks of playfully attained insights aided by comparison and analogy were.
Haven't I sampled enough to establish coordinates,
sequences and frequencies in categories to lose the loss of being lost,
to quit disjointed focus on the happening to be on going reactionary blinkbrink
sideshows? Isn't this book correct enough to be carved in rock. Am I not
owning up enough yet to disengage repetitively infectious resonance? Instead
of such returnity I will find, fund and found the time to loose every vertical
noose within reach and range, drill out a bundle of mini marble columns
and stakes in the mountains to make tiny water reservoirs, plant holes
and get sacred heometry modeling material to hawk at the Anne Frank house
cues all at once.
I
am a thought and intuition harmonizer, a strategy formulator, I see people's
strenght and weakness at a glance, I am expert on autonomous behaviour
from scratch, but can I commit myself well enough to reach the physical
part of the struggle and bring aforementioned quality from my head to my
heart, out through my hands and so forth enough to make a difference?
My
raw war reversion serves ice vice reversing:
Today my aims are highly mineralized raw, ripe, fresh fibre filled fruity
draughts and fast info bite fibred to account for light shafts as complementary
balance for voracious and inspirationhungry puppylike pupae that we are.
People (like me)who find the market spoilt for commonest (most common,
not communist) good ideas become outraged and discouraged when they stop
looking for an audience hard enough.
I mug and lash dead rock into free animation with this mobile jubilation
station here. I slug and smash the prefuel to be in gear, I lug and mash
it in these rockroombearing arms to set the stage through which all ripe
and rich can come of age feeding hardness of teeth, softness of intestines,
and fertility of compostin' piles by the bucket, pail and bushel basket
or 18 wheeler, ocean tanker and sprayplane load to fill ful our heritage.
Now
is not this a tree and leafy likable tale telling, lucid as light through
diamonds, is my focus clear, do I shoot straight, make a point, come clean,
strike home, become quite the rage? I'm a lean clean lone clown buzzing
business' bee, bizzily fakin out, chippin' and flakin fresh dustspecks
steadily rubbed off rocks set free takin up solid and static yet
paramagnetic minerals you see and slakin much of their thirst so they will
later do the same for a tree cause I like to walk all over my bank
and make sure it don't hurt when I slip into the reptile mode to slap the
change around; bof-paf-blop-glip-sop-plap-gloop-floop-splat-flap-spray.
I
pound to found as much fat of the earth's whirl-wide garlandable girth's
being as I am fated to help it feel fine once within the reach of a mint
conditioning tool-toy, to take on lively cover and shape after putting
the lumpy bits through a loving squeeze with it for the discoverage and
soaking of rock, wherever a real root route radical is welcome and that
is any where rain(and shine)bow blessings are left to be teamed and geared
up, where intermittent scorch and flood need to be remagnetized, balanced
and integrated; depent, decoop and mine fresh and raw oxides, undo stuckups
and choke downs.
Trying to find the time to do the miracle
cure boogie with the elusive bogey and bogus freedom fleeing flying Dutchman,
time to heal, sooth and repeal putrid laws to be real and fragrant.
Chimerae
of significant others lead me back to the States in 1992: a child which
may be mine and Madonna, nor can I ever gainsay a mainstay like Rainbow
Gatherings.
I pioneer the spiritual inventor index, including
those endangered by bitter end/fresh beginning border misjudging and monopolizing
doctrines, not much else out there worth exploring more.
For a typically feminine and poetic inversion of my aims hear Stevie Nicks
her album: In the mirror.
Please
apply implied explication of why I try to un- and postply rocks as a deply
and supplication for an appropriate reply to sunny supplies:
I must add a note of deep and balancing truth to my insistent exhortations
aimed to facilitate understanding rhythms and time scales in nature. How
did I acquire all this info about the transformation of formation? Whence
the intent to inspire and uplift the hard and heavy shades, what musical
and liberating potential for expression do I see in what appears to be
a link rattling ball and chain gang chore on the surface? Why do I turn
semi-permanent unlocking of quasi-terminally anchored rock's mineral molecules,
hitherto perceived as punishing activity into a way to, through and beyond
human rights and duties pleasure spectacle? To help sunny reduction.
What I am driving at is that no matter how
vigorous and exhausting man's exertions, they are well spent and rewarded
most when directed at an o so very narrow range of consistencies at the
viabilizable bottom of the raw material pile to take the dead locks off
the living clocks, such as we too are, provisonally rub sustenance off
rocks. Of course rockcrushing technology can be app-b-roached from all
directions. Paradoxically it was my lofty, aloof and loafish spectatorship
which served me and hopefully my near and dear ones, which is all of you
I fancy, to see to and through a tickled and not easy to clock, rather
solvent sense of time frame, range and scale, setting off and out from
the most solid next nearest starting points at hand.
The fact that ingenuity can come to be applied
to strategies for more efficient participation along nature's own parameters,
allows me to take present culturally dismal appearances even less seriously
than I did when I was just a roving fool with a budding eye for mineral
detail. Puzzle wizzes like me:
Rock is dead and patient weight, resting down below our lift up and grow
wrenchlink skin returnity trick potential. Pattern its tension slighter,
smoother and slithyer.
When minding and grinding the nitty gritty is left to be taken up by powerful
nitwits and their stoutspoken fudge of world affairs forgetful of their
duties, is only a dogged drudge of a puzzle wiz like me fated and tempted
to try see it through badly timed and ill fated unsurefootedness into daily
rootin' life? Piet
Bouter route: I seem one
of the chosen few to play underdog, devil's advocate and runner up to wanna
toss, riddle and turn rocks inside out (this thought makes me sigh and
doubt sometimes too tho) When captivation becomes the rule for the ruled
and the bar for the barred, such serene obscenity seems to take no less
a stouter clouter than someone like Piet Bouter to save the day from the
befuddle huddlers, saying simply: I insist you desist ! (No ? oh well,
mortal portal daytimeside closed a while longer is fine too I guess)
Quite the moving mobilization stagerage:
Send new life through the reeds with a fresh bout of clout, them thatches
hold up less and less well without fresh paramagnetic hard rock silt as
used to flood the lowlands hereabout. aint coming clean around which puts
us t rout and commercenary sell out When we turn the benefit of the
doubt inside out, it is still good and well bad to bluff, nothing
but meritorious clout is crude and swell enough, to match hardest rock
right real stout. Do you wanna try our toytool for a bout?
When
you whirl and swirl from mud to marble with the girl, she just
can't help to start losing her pout. We want you to take your converted
sweat back home we got your size right here to fit you all out, wherewith
your rock when well watered will put on some shine to send the moist mists
up and frame that light right tight, real tensile 'n tout. If life could
speak, it would say: "wanna be like me, learn to juggle chaos, are you
gonna be fine, wanna be and add nothing that ain't just? Then please take
to mining dust, give a rock a shine and vica versa for versatility. If
we can't share a dream our sleep will not face up to the light of day that
may bring the match for so much more, like time to stay and play.
I
am responsible for a possibly great work, which is not responsable for
my possibilities.
I
am a bout to stop the stride, strut, dangle, twist and fruge as shortsighted
use of charm to bait the humbly dumbly moist mistresses and turn my attention
to bumpy lumps of mute desire so I can focus on the ultimate dreamjuice
unleasher, a growsome muddler model, cause only the hard stuff keeps us
in the right and out of the wrong kind of trouble. The tout wit outfit
that suits some ballsy braves, (see ch 4).
Make up 2:
On sale and for hire: humble and modest masterminder of human and all other
beings their rights-implementing tools and toys draftsman, looking for
a band to start sharing credit, food, shelter, clothing, laughter and song
along a campaign trail itinerary with and out with, besides parcels and
tracts of land to sanctify, bedabble and trace, for a time that can stand
the test of its teccy tooth born race.
Poor
kid me; bad start despite fair looks, strong voice, agile, smart and sexy,
but feeling pangs of loneliness due to too few, long and far between strenuous
tenuous pillars and powerpoints of my global network, rather shaky due
to repeated losses of and slackness with adresslists and feedback, but
built in the flesh though for much of the time, especially at first, I
preferred work with the dead (living leftovers of deceased beings, transtemporal
personalities and the lesser known parts of history at that) and death,
not (yet) through wires or cornucopian mineral sucktion devices unfortunately.
I will design fitness equipment that befits
a fitterment of the outer environment which comes down to an enhancement
of not only muscle, but extra- as well as intracutaneous subjectivities
with concomittant expansion for the old sense of identity/immunity/autonomy/charisma.
My ideal is a world tour of already existing, most diversified and empiricallky
ranked among tastiest orchards to, if possible, help expand them and/or
to establish others, taking a prefuel potentializer, a mineral music mill
and plenty of other means and media, like a fruitstore, library, stage
and sproutkitchen kit along. Confashion
2: I lose face again and
again yet gain depth and tranquility to buoy up heavy seas and ride along
on everybody's high horses for a short spell before mounting mine of effacedness,
I must give up trying to fine tune and personalize my fueling without grounding
my stop and go tease squeeze, in other words root my head in the sky, hands
on tools, heart cohering and feet in a surely sustainable ritual. For a
while I was conv-ert-icting myself to constant return of the suprise promise
premise that I bore empty and bare more than filled full.
Half a year after a good idea, 't is incubating
still born on who knows what whiley wave or which help it lacked to brave
the turbulent times round the soul's tracks. I left more modest wonder
and longing behind before too; tease and touch, full of empty promiscuous
promises.
Where now, deep waters, how now thin skin,
you can't hold it out and you can't keep it in. Charge heaven to
raise hell, tout tensile and full swell, 't seems I came a good distance
without having left and set much time to tick (rock to reduce) far too,
very well.
Being sociable, merrily laughing and loving
is a turd tightening identity shaper I missed out on initially ("schei
toch uit man"! = stop, cut it out, let it go, don't have, and stop trying
to have it your (anal) way; scheit = shit), my pace was slack, slow
and dragging from growing up in relative isolation, dad gone a lot or acting
the tyrannical censor, mother had hardly any contacts to speak of beyond
the polite butchershop counter besides steady as she goes live bloodtie
ones on birthdays and so a dejected gait to the point of a youthful deathwish
became my fate till my oats ripened and their pressure made pussy look
too good to pass up or at least worth a sprint to smell at better and try
a little eye contact for my couple of couplings worth a month, followed
by immediate regression to spectatorship, with this treat and retreat tide
I got to see my and other peoples potential through the magnifying glasses
of fresh and fluid penetration, followed by impartial distance, high, heady
and promising ideals I dared not live up to though and left them to be
swallowed by melancholia. I didn't become aware of this enough til I discovered
a high percentage of fruit in my diet made me clearer headed, physically
springyer yet less horny. I then started to change scenarios a bit. Here
ends the saga of loudmouth and muting father, muted mutter mother and sputter
the holy child. touches
of enthused and empathetic adjustment to subjective, sympathetic reaction
in order to fruitfully juggle actual, possible, potential and real
relatives.
feelings
fine and yellow:
To judge a person coming at you a waste of time and pretend good neighbourhood
by looking away as if to honour and respect autonomy of the kind and to
the point that you enjoy but won't help 'm aim at and reach quite enough
just yet, entitles them to respond to evasion and find flaw in their turn,
soft challenges cannot be blocked from your carmaccount.
Play forcefulness
convincingly confident and 'vert'ical enough to maintain an open and soft,
not a struggling heart; tensility avoids the inwardly constricting squeeze
but aims, gears and focuses the outward one to humble favors, such wellwished
and washed rocky appeals and expressions of morality callibrated my welcome.
Proper
hyrarchicalization of statistical evidence is like esthetisized clock proc(k)urement.
Mutual desire fuels recurrence of precursors
containing resonant inertia.
Breathless: the distance dance, the sideways
glance offers glimpses of slimily sluggish crawlacreep frillamental hairsplit
second guessing the disciplinable subjects, remains, remembrances and hands
on experience possibilities which indecisive jumpstartjunkies tend to ride
to death unless the selfengendered magnetics catch on and can follow suit
on foreign soil. For collar bone heavers though the action is instant (Dutch
and German call it the key bone).
What makes the rainbow network so vital and
unquenchably creative is its voluntary participation mechanism, its charismatic
beggarin' within, for and beyond the world systemic, a true glimpse of
what a good future can hold, mold and unfold.
By all means sharpen the blunt blades of
analysis but don't forget to cut instinct and intuition loose to wash the
dust down and help it grow up.
Every body can star in what little they
can do.
Unerring instinct does not deplete resources
but quit to the contrary eliminates rivalry by means of providing for more
than just one self. If my surplus of mulling over correct action postpones
that of others as well as my own, such symbolic stuff as this can't count
except against me, then again, if you look before you leap from quandary
to quarrie and try mobilize surplus you are on your way toenable scar-city
to share in its abundance.
Don't ever rev her till you know how to
rever her. Emote
routine into omens of moment, bid 'm be welcome.
Emotional supply meets and recruits physical
demand to match inert resistance.
To
hold your breath involuntarily is subjecting yourself to bad feelings.
Have the encompassing impartial touch;not
with head, hand or heart seperately.
Do all women have he art?: Dreams are very personal;
one on one encroach a key to the success of Jehovah's witnesses, yet consciousness
at large is a global soupswirl with tectonic lumps and chunks, friction
and fireworks, squirt and sacrifice. Taboolessly alert people can follow
the daily renewing onslaught of twists and turns on a poetic and powerfully
loopy ride better than those set on the (t)racks of more sterile and doctrinary
logics. The sunny and voluntary side of contacts accept the dreamway switch,
bounce and toss about of identity without losing the thread, every past
thing that was relative and impressive gets shaken, hoppered, size selected
and winnowed to facilitate association and drops through the screening
your heart is set, screwed up and adjusted to, wether sub- or superconsciously,
half a lungful of THC helps a bit, anymore than that and I'm off the handle
with the throttle stuck at a scream, wether in neutral or highest gear.
"When lubricity is lacking, it is time to
set rock cracking" say the formerly fleet floating rag raging- champ to
rope rigging chum now slowly starting to vy for the title of rickety-crack-boom
to chomp-flow-grow hitching man.
Set fresh dust free in rain and shine to
help all organisms grow best so flesh does too cause blood can flow
with zest in veins fed food fueled with the heeded call to mine further
along the very same fractal ratio line.
Dear babe, is your feed and fast such that
your dad can swing you round by the ankles and let you fly till straight
up over his head, is the tensility primed by sweet- and ripeness closing
the cycle of joy invested at the mournfully uptight rock again. More and
more of which shows up biding time at this mineral, moisture and photon
forces frequented liberation front?
Good old plain and various community is like
a crossbeam that needs to be held up by a priorly established pillar of
self sufficient singularity. Emphasis on the latter takes the sting
out of powerhunger if not its threat, cause such uprighteousness puts out
to help their helpers to some radically vibrant clout.
It takes inner as well as outer inertia relaxation
to host and manifest spirit, modified by evolving orientation (precession,
etc) and omen reading accuracy, the decisive touch for life's elegance.
This state of being is endangered from polarizing instead of integrating
the elements, which would make (for) woods blessed climes.
.
(stat
installed) end of october 98
Is this
the only disfunctionalcounter(ring)
culture
left?
Half
of this site was created/gestating during the 80ties (links
thereto are in the table of contents for instance)
and
the rest since then (latest files at tops
of all content files).
Last corrections/updates
and add ontos: late july 99;
last major
corrections to this file: 1997; last additions: 98; last minor corrections:
july 99;
A site
navigaid:
Switch to soundbite sampled files of the newer works at this site from
Blabsabs_Index.htm
Use the links in the latter half to reach my older work
(via
appetizing one or two line characterizations of the aphorisms, essays and
segments, which vary in size from a few lines to a page or two)(those
with titles are listed in the table_of_contents.htm)
These most mulled over bits are again briefly described (differently,
including proper name plus keyword source(l)inks)
in the abstracts
file.
One may
prefer to switch to my guest appearances and check my credentials first
(sometime
anyway I hope): /intro_to_currency_issues.htm.
Then there is the off the cuff stuff: my several (11 files) list picks
and interactions via:
table
of contents for all list post files.
And finally my (another
11 file): correspondence
collection.
aim
responses at: poetpiet@hotbot.com
An older
version of the above:
Brief
descriptions to the main features at thisBottom
line
aphoristically
ballistic
solutions
(afford
and) arouse
beleaf
systemics
by
piet the punchline pioneer
who shuns not hardest of tasks: (no,
not leading a paper and print free life or a personally owned phone, computer
and car free one too, that's easy; but) to
pinch pith to most universally assimilable of powders cause "it ain't so
bad to be a paracletic dabbler with all these newspfangled plexciting
and gruesomely growsomizing autonomobiles"site
are at:
(1)
Blabsabs_Index.htmSwitch
to any of all other files within this site via
(2):
/guest_appearances/intro_to_currency_issues.htm
or (3):
/table_of_contents.htm
or (4):
/list_posts/table_of_contents_for_list_post_files.htm
or (5):
/correspondence_file_contents.htm
1= (almost
as (internalinkrich as) 2+3+4+5