death song...

I'm slowly leaving the material world to it's consumable self, fading away into more intellectual concerns with less thoughts of accumulation. Maybe that has to do with what's already stuffed into the basement and my aversion to the E-Bay culture as the way to salvation. That doesn't mean I'm giving up the finer things in life afforded by mercantile pursuits, it just means I don't spend nearly the energy on portfolio worth than I used to. If it produces then so be it... that is not my core agenda. I also don't spend time trying to figure out how things work or why they are the way they are. I'm more into searching for the reasons for the whys of interpretation instead reasons for why things are. I'm not sure it is that important the interpretation is that important. I want to lift the cerebral carpet and check the swept under dust for the subliminal truth... the one few are willing to speak.

 

Why now is there this relentless search for these subliminal truths that did not appear the first three quarters of my existence? I think I have a clue, and we can thank the current passing of Norman Mailer for it. This digging, scraping about hardened impenetrably perceived surfaces is my death song, be it sung for the next 20 or 30 years or the next two, it is something ancient, primal and is driving the inspiration, the ascension to perfected clarity. Things I used to think that mattered, no longer do and I need to convey that significance, one based on the life-long accumulations of perception, experience, and the residuals of applying them. Being brought to this point where as a participant within a social structure I didn't have much of a say in, I see more clearly the reasons for not giving my energy to certain levels of toxic irrelevance. When I finally get all that have to spew forth spent... then I am done... literally. Mailer had quite the long death song.

 

Tootles Norman. If you run into Kurt floating about in the cosmos, feel free to belly up to whatever one bellies up to wherever you are and drink yourselves into a more reasonable oblivion.