a minimal subliminal cyclical redundancy
meanderings by rm dustin
This place I deposit thoughts, E-noodlings where my synapses have coagulated recent perceptions. There are no absolutes. Like all manifestations it has had its evolutionary moments. This is the latest. There will likely be more...
About Me
I live with many free thinking, free spirited, patriotically challenged, religiously void life-jesters here in and around the delta, scattered in-between the tributaries of the Skagit, peppering the hillsides, or burrowed into micro valleys. They are my friends; spirits entwined, layered, and folded within this realm where aboriginal and Norse lore meld amongst the mists sent inland by salted surges. I am not here by chance.
6/28/08
Not being beyond getting behind, a very easy place for me to reside---just ask my accountant and she will emphatically nod the affirmative---I am blinded by a bigger picture that glares over the tedious aspects of day-to-day existence. It's not that I'm lazy. I just don't care much anymore about the quibbling over semantics. It's not that I'm forgetful. Remembering detail just doesn't rank. I don't feel overly elitist. I think the counters and stackers of the world should be the highest paid people on the planet and honored many times a year for their sacrifices made to further foreword momentums. But I'm particularly stuck, locked into expressing as I see them, these nuances of what and how that are mostly ignored by those that participate in them.
It's not too important to me as to why the little Asian man walks daily, many times over, from the south end of town to somewhere north and back while talking to himself---sometimes entering a circle, maybe a vortex, where he finds focus---his verbosity increasing and then he'll shoot out of the ring, maybe jumping back in one more time, maybe to recheck his premise, and then off he goes on his way. This happens quite a few times daily, many times in front of the shop, and oddly in that exact same place where all the cars turn around in that strange weekend parking lot dance trying each to return to their preferred plotted paths. I've placed myself in the center of that circle many times wondering if a time/dimensional occurrence will form, a transference, maybe a simple minimal mind out of body experience... nothing yet.
What is important is how he goes about it all, his ticks and tocks, the schizophrenic ricochets, the dangling cigarette that bounces about during tirades with the invisible whomever he is conversing, the oversized wind breaker that droops to his knees as he vibrates his life force uncontrollable away into a probable soon nothingness, and finally how soon and preferred we will forget his existence, this time he spent frightening or entertaining... depending on one's point of view.



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