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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
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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:
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