"Believe me, you will find more lessons in the woods than in books. Trees and stones will teach you what you cannot learn from masters." A canonized saint* (references1) said this, We all really know this. I watched a hydraulic crane demolish three old houses the past two days, making space for guess what...? A parking lot. A parking lot for a big office building. It was horrifying. About as horrifying as the fly trap at my job. The " big stinky" it is called. It is a canister filled with grease and dead fish, and a 6 inch thick layer of trapped flies, writhing in the stench of death and decomposition. It is EXTREME. Maggots swirl on the corpses of their ancestors, only to be reborn into a hell of perpetual static death. It must roar with a white noise in this prison. And it is so bamboozling to think that somewhere there is the proud patent holder of " big stinky" fly traps. A peddler of death jars. The way the old houses stood quiet surrounded by old trees that leaned on their old bodies on the morning was quite a peaceful sight. Well yesterday, I saw a house reduced to a pile of shattered wood and dust in less than 5 min. The crane just drove right into its side, and with robot strength it ripped the roof in two and swung its arm to and fro until the walls fell in on themselves. The crane did a sort of jig and stamped and stamped its shovel down shattering glass and crunching old wood. The edifice of this brown old home wiped away as quickly as someone erases a chalkboard. This was an extreme story. But life, that deliberate stubborn thing that it is will sprout up something out of all the death and destruction, even if it is simply me sharing that quote for now. It is important, I believe, to look around for what is here may be gone tomorrow. And it is the nature of nature to tell you things as it flies past, or as you fly past. If you stop, and look at a plod of dirt, a little plant for more than a second, life will suddenly and miraculously start to sprout up out of it. You will see upon a closer look, even the harsh face of concrete is crawling with tiny black ants that are making a perilous journey across the searing surface of what is like unto us the ashes of Pompeii. The ants have found a crack in this moonscape that is hard to see with the naked eye and they are thriving along, as they do. A small little sprout has landed in a crack as well, a weed, and despite it's size it is flowering and sending itself off to greener pastures, it has hope perhaps. Hope for what? Possibly just hope. And hope is quite a lesson to learn.

You got to know which way the wind blows, you got to sleep in evening primrose you got to smother all your guts in wild milkweed. You got to be unappetizing you got to eat things that surprise you, you got to hang from a leaf and bleed(sing). You got to drink a cup of that yaupon tea. And you walk in winding circles with a paintbrush and a purpose waiting for that oncoming Meteorite. And you scatter through the pipes/ all salt encrusted mind and your boss, he just gave you a knife. (drink a cup of that yaupon tea) and you practice what is ruthless your ambitions all grin toothless you are a nomad in the land of the extinct. And you have been reduced to a slogan and a cliché and you don’t even know what you mean. You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct You are extinct

PROTEST AGAINST YOUR LOVE. PROTEST AGAINST YOUR LOVER. SHE IS NOT MY WIFE. I AM NOT HER HUSBAND. SPEAKING OF LIES…DO YOU REGALE THE KING WHO MOCKS YOU? WHO MAKES YOU ANGRY? ALL YOU COMMON FOLK SPEAK LIKE A BLAZING OVEN. STICK YOUR HANDS IN. LET THE SKIN BURN OFF YOUR FINGER TIPS. FAILURE OF MONARCHY: WILL YOU BRING ABOUT THE RESTORATION? (HOSEA) HE EXTENDS HIS HANDS AMONG THE EMBERS. ALL NIGHT THEIR ANGER SLEEPS. IN THE MORNING IT FLARES LIKE A BLAZING FIRE. THEY ARE ALL HATED. NONE OF THEM CRAWLS UPON ME. Pay attention. In their perversity they have sunk into wickedness.

127,486,972. 127,486,973. Highway 787 takes you anywhere you don’t want to go. Perhaps it is best to reference the experiment. Here you will find Rodney the tiny dancing cowboy from Beaumont, Texas, which is close to where the Historic Bragg Ghost light appears.

What Happened to you? So easily confused? Well you’ve stumbled into the room where you keep all the Christmas decorations in your mind; In the basement: Below that movie. I have to eat just like you do. You have given yourself to the dogs. Fears passed down DNA don’t hold it against me. We once sat side by side with Tapirs that grazed in the fields. Now, what have you become? Just commercials of yourselves and all these words don’t mean a thing.

Look in side those hollow eyes the will hollow out your soul. If you look in long enough they will hollow you out whole. Nothing is left but empty space and your empathy erodes. Dopamine, adrenaline, serotonin, and cortisol. I am one of them, it turns out, not some statistical margin of error. With a hand to hold the hole inside your memory where that bathroom floor’s so cold. Mother (2) save me. Must be nice to see your reflection and believe it’s beautiful. It’s hard to stomach all this sometimes without turning up your toes. All those B.E.K.s appear and circle round your door. We’ve all been touched by the prose of old dead poets once before. You won’t let them in, you can’t let them in. You can’t let them win. The conclusions that can be drawn from this specimen: Steal away into the forest and find love that is innocent. Even though you were broken and decomposed, You will live. “come and sit down beside me, let me hold your hand just so, I have something to tell you.” You will live. HERE I AM.

R.I.P. Lots-o-love

Society is hell. What about original sin? (See Fig 6) Fig 6. What about original innocence?

John Campo said often “ You Bound to look like a monkey when you grow old.” (see fig 7.) Don’t fear the letter C. when it’s up in the sky it looks the moon smiling at me. Don’t count your teeth when look down in that sinking well. Jonnobonnaca he’s one mean son of a gun. Jonnobonnaca; he loves everyone. Dance the bolleta with Lucile. You can do what you want. Do what you feel. Remember just one thing. Don’t fear the letter C. Do you think the world will end? Or is it superstition?

Sclera, you are me as a girl from another dimension. It may sound silly, but , when I crawled under the sink did I even mention I met myself from the future and she said, “ It’s been such a long time” as I said, “It’s been such a long time coming.” Stimuli, you lie, you lie (5). Lucha contra los molinos de viento. I’m fat but I can sing! (4) (Ref. Comperos de valle) (Ref. Polyushka Polye) Old Flo rides around on her tricycle peddling flowers and still says the rosary. I believe she’s the same as me just born in the year 1923. We say the same things. Wantaneargreenanolewantanear (play backwards) While you sit by that oak tree. And you must think that you are me but from some other dimension. While I’m hacking and yodeling with beady eyed birds and some lonely whale singing at 52 Hz, and galaxies swirl and cicadas emerge from the dirt while I tinker with chromosome chemistry, trying to recreate somebody who’s just like me, but from some other dimension. All those kids they all stutter and say the same thing, they say the same thing.