Middle-finger picking good...Mountain Music Arcadia-style...
Middle-finger picking good: "μυδυμε δοιοιθ."
Ancient, Greek...
Japan? Via the Bodhidharma...
BodhidharmaYoshitoshi, would you...
“Why did Bodhidharma Come from the West?”
(or the Patriarchetype) of all Patriachetypes.... ?
Lord (Byron), look at what it's come to...the happily hoi polloi
Crass democracy in the name of a "conservative," "Republican," republican," wild orgie of violence of a part, and home, and in the fabulous Middle East.
Lord, look at what it's come to...
Greek sex-workers, join the rest of the third world, Ungulate Merkel's E.U. Economic Ungulate Miracle, mirabile dictu! Praise the Lord!
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch:
Guns, not guitars, are the new grave and image on the right, and, no gravity in sight ,for the N.R.A. bigwigs, as of now.
Levity worthy of Mary Poppins...
It's all Greek to the I-can-not-image-in-where-or-why-not Iconoclasts of today's Byzantine Crass Democracy "Republic" in name only. "Elite" is a dirty word, whilst "elect" means to elect "the elect," the one's who are both biblical and constitutional literalists and origanlists, as if anachronism were an only-Greek word to hoi polloi.
The oh-so Fabulous Middle East, ME-19,and ME-163, even... ME-43!
19.
163.
43.
-2.
Yield at once, to the temptations of aloofness, from all,…temptations.
Let us not dwell for too long on this pinched pyknon picking
from an Island (over-)populated with Bodhidarma
post-war meditations. Let’s not dwell in faux ‘austerity’ of a Balkan peninsula
denuded of trees so long ago in prehistoric archetype if archaic Arcadian times, that Panic
ruled, and bronze, then Iron, and Mycenian rage gave way to Glee, and Hiroshima.
No, let’s flee, singly, one at a time, or, in monastic, cellular communing, into that false real, that real false, and let us yield at once, to the temptations
of aloofness, from all,...temptations. Zen-beyond-Zen,
an ironed-out jewel-net reticulum of fateful
futuristic choice.
“Anything that’s small has to grow, and always grows.”
This is the word not of one who’s a believer, but rather of
one who is believed.
“Forty days and forty nights,” as a given has muddied the
water, muddied the truly austere, throughout, down through the centuries, the
record, must be corrected, it was forty-one. Four times a year, and in each season a time
for this alchemistry of question, antecedent,
three time, then...consequent.
“Why don’t you take a good look at yourself and describe
what you see.”
And:
“Baby, baby, baby, do you
like it?”
"So I decided what I’m going to do now" saith the reasonable
facsimile of Bodhidarma , this time "I
will travel away from the rising Sun," and the pinched pyknon alone, and "refuse to yield at once, to the
temptation of ‘aloofness, from all,...temptation’.”
The Blue Ouroboros
of the Desert of the Real:
.
Verily the Spirit of Nuftule Branwein ("we haven't had that spirit here since 1969!") has ascended that spiral staircase, it is the case, that it is the case, of Warped Passages (viz. Randall, Lisa etal.).
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