Welcome to the fastest yet most solid(ly formatted) poetry on earth:  about 7 Megs spread out across over 88 files (averaging over 88 K'z colourful concept- harmmonized and hyrarchical wordsequences, including 4 megs worth of images, even) worth of contextual  BLABS = Bottom Line Aphoristically Ballistic Solutions meaning: Solutions which break uncivilly polarizing centralizations up or open, wether institutionally animated or simply, inertly dormant yet animatable, by pushing the logistic limits (to light) inventively, notably those (rocks) constraining vertical metabolisms (of trees).
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appendix 0: Pawlicki, virtuoso of virtuality and miraculous physics.    appendix 1: close but not quite my philosophy in quotes from fame claimers   appendix 2: Letter to Lay (by) day Madonna from '86: only natural------The optimistic historian's sequence and schedule in brief: gravity- -testosterone- --strength- --brute and dumb dominance-- -greed-- glaciers- --gods-- -goodness--- grace; from bad kinds of power to kind powder dabs; rev her reverently; torque update and spin stability, not traffic safety but safety traffic for force and forces to find their place in a gentler 21st century; I say she is a staying player; pow(d)erfully feminine writ large.     appendix 3: How I acquired and lost a US green card.     appendix 4: some personal stuff between Joern and me,
perhaps useful for the next well intended pilgrim(age).
 fragments and excerpts from Tom Pawlicki's virtual virtuosity book:
How to explore higher dimensions of space and time
about martial coherence: From time to time we read reports in the press of frail women lifting an automobile to free a trapped child, and men tearing steel doors off hinges to release drivers from burning cabs, these people are proving the power of perfect muscle control in alternate states of consciousness.
To appreciate the structural problem involved in subjecting the human body to stresses on a ton scale, take a flexible wooden yardstick and bend it into a semi-circle. As long as the curve is assumed slowly and evenly, the wood will contain the tension. But if a knick or other fault appears along the curve, the rest of the stick will straighten out, concentrate the tension, multiply the leverage at the fault, until it breaks. Similarly, the body can withstand stresses as efficiently as an ant as long as every muscle, every bone and every joint carries the tension in unison, otherwise tendons will pull, sheaths will rupture, and bones will crack.                In order that muscles contract in unison to generate an ideal wave motion, it is necessary that every molecule in the body involved with the relevant electrical discharges move coherently too. When molecules move coherently, all random motion between them is eliminated. In other words, theta consciousness is what you feel when absolute stilness pervades the interior of your body.                Perfect coordination of the human body is the effect of coherent electronic discharge, extending conscious control of mind over matter considerably beyond the respectable fringes of science, but biofeedback research has already proven that a person can control the electrons of specific atoms, individually or en masse with a practical degree of precision.                A magnetic personality is literally so, charisma is the energy field of integration, a voltage discharge can proceed with proper resonance tuning, this is how Jesus knew that despite a hustle bustle he was also purposefully touched by a person in a state of grace, if He held your hand and induced polarity, you 'd be off across the waves along with Him.                Coherent vibrations are what a laser is all about. A living laser would glow with a peculiarly sparkling effulgence, rather difficult to gaze upon, Now if you refer to your Bible, you will find accounts of holy men who manifested all the properties modern physicist calculate to be proper to the atom. This coincidence staggers belief. You must understand that the laser is presumed to be the most sophisticated invention ever conceived; the one thing man has created new under the sun. There is no way for a laser to have existed naturally or otherwise before 1960, yet the Bethlehem shepherds must have seen it like it was to tell it like it is.                Life is a natural evolution of laser mechanics, techniques for tuning the atoms of the body for increased efficiency of laser action. The difference between the normal taxpayer and the superhuman demigod is determined by the organic integrity of the biological laser.                Coherent resonance is the definite property of crystal. The ability of crystal to amplify sound and electromagnetic energies by tuned resonance is an analogue of the laser on a lower scale, The human body, and every other organism is living crystal. At the time when this insight was realized more than ten years ago, the concept of a colloidal crystal was ridiculous. By definition, crystal had to be solid. Now you can buy liquid crystal toys. Long flowing hair is an example of fluid crystal.                The virus is the one creature that cannot divide to reproduce itself. No wonder the discoverer of viruses called them living crystals.                Ever since men first gazed at the heavens, we have known that we are destined to impregnate the planets (tsk, tsk). And now it looks as if Mother Earth is coming into heat. Well, if we are sexy, who wants to be smart? Seeds must be practically immortal. Our destiny to leave the earth is the source of humanity's search for immortality, and we shall begin to function for the purpose of our creation when our immortality is established.                All the people pounding on the pearly gates for admission into Heaven are like teeny boppers, believing that adults have nothing better to do all day but spend money, tool around in flashy cars, and swing with sexual licence. But admission into the society of adults means pulling your weight every day (to back up your specified visiting card voucher so you can buy goods and tax receipts to pay for the govt. services if, where and when you know you shall need some (a very Zube like comment)).                Mathematics is tautological. Creativity is nothing more than a faculty for looking at life from different perspectives. Mysticism is looking at life from points so different from the ones established by your society that no one else can perceive where you are looking from. Mathematics, therefore, is a creative art.
The meaning of life is created each moment by each person, determining how they succeed or fail becoming the master of their fate and captains of their soul.                Charismatic personalities generate a field powerful enough to invade the highly permeable bodies of therefore guilt ridden people, who gather, as groupies, like iron fillings attracted to a magnet. In this physics, "guilt" is not a judgment of wrong-doing. Guilt is the natural perception of personal weakkness. Guilt is the natural state of childhood. Guilt is the unquestioning, naive suggestability that is characteristic of children and all other oppressed people. The delusion that all flesh is born in sin arises from being born helpless and magnetically permeable, in an unintegrated state, like soft iron.                There is more salvation in raising crops than in raising idols.                This mind now open for sharing.                The threshold of maturity is defined by the emergence of sonic superconductivity. Ego maturity therefore is the definitive "spiritual power" that the mystic Masters have going for them and that the rest of us mortals miss out on. It is physically impossible to be sincere or think positively before your ego maturity develops. Until this level of physical integration is reached, all enthusiasm is fated for frustration, all promises are made for breaking, and all prescriptions guaranteeing your personal power to control your destiny and wow the opposite sex will do you as much good as a Ferrari does a child. Drugs, in fact, are positive thinking in a pill, and we all know how pilheads survive the freeway of life.
 I condensed the following considerably (piet):  Your ego is a field of sonic intelligence defining your personality, it merely wears a body, your ego could move to another medium and often does; these harmonic ego bodies: ghost and spirit, are usually to weak to animate the body and so remain in other realities or dreams, leaking a stream of thought that stimulates your emotions but otherwise fails to move you into action. Weak and childish ego's act out everything without reflection. Ego's fundamental sonic frequencies are tuned to its material, erotic arousal is sonic superconductivity and overtone related, you could not survive rockmusic's cellhomogonizing violence without it, the undertones are contributing conscience and insight. Integration is the name of the game, a change of tuning is merely a change of timing, mood, memory, foresight and creative solutions keep you grounded and whole, unaware that you are a host extending through hyperspace.           An abrupt pace of alter-e-going 'comes over you', blacks you out, multiplies your personality and scares the horses.
Lucid dreaming is acceleration of spirit on the heavenly highway, the state that was called psychotic at the beginning of this century, psychedelic in the middle of it, will be normal by the end of it.             About the four dimensions comprised by our cosmos: material, sonic, magnetic and electric.
The intelligence manifested by your sonic field gives you street smarts, that of the electronic field is exprienced as reasoning faculties and the electric field inheres in your genes whence instinct arises and divine inspiration is received
Appendix 1:  close but not quite my philosophy in quotes (my comments are bold (more than one sense) and in brackets (more than one set as often as not))
Just for sake of contrast I would like to show what mainstream philosophy has to offer along my lines of reasoning, give or take a few twists for focus by quoting the most Gaea friendly versions I could find. Chockablock filled full of reducible riddance rock is what they are after unwittingly, but for all their agonizing they still turn the wrong things inside out, get sequences screwy and  sub-, in-, ob-, re- and pervert the whole issue; J J Goux seems to fare a little better though with less spectacular writing than his equally up in the air and less down to earth French colleagues.      Feuerbach quotes:  God is idealized capital, heaven the theorized commercial world, Marx and Feuerbach try to overcome splitting of subjects (but I try to split subjects and absorb them). Marx was right in that the subject is not the sum of social relations primarily but that of physical ones as well (mineral and monetary)         Hegel:  art comes to organize matter                Vaneigem quote:  Radical theory grasps the individual at the roots and the roots of the individual lie in his subjectivity, in that soil which he possesses in common with all other individuals. I want to live without dead time, in the zone of true creation time dilates.
Goux quoting someone on Bataille and Baudrillard:    Their critical surrealism argues from the position of the excluded: communication is only possible on the condition that it irrupts into the order of death (only rotten examples given though like loss rather than gain of identity, platonic ideas of god are perfect simulacra forever radiant in their own fascination. (see Kellner for a sound handle on Baudrillard, his predecessor Raoul Vaneigem and his following such as TAZ, temporary autonomous zone launcher Hakim Bey)
I forget who (Goux or him quoting somebody?) on promiscuous Lyotard, the wildest and most prolifically verbose hairsplitter I had the pleasure to be fascinated by (mainly: Libidinal economy):  ....colonization of death by skin and social membrane, growing pluralism and particularity gives evidence of reasons deeply diverse branching versus reason's unity at a higher level of abstraction (Habermas) (I think that may be symbolic for the sun seasoning but gets misinterpreted by warring monotheisms)
...find the physical corrolaries to the objections from the subconscious...  ...reason is critique is power.... (to flower flour)
The prosecutor sums up the crimes of capital, but Alice wonders: what is it that makes theoretical discourse so indeterminable? Why does the intellectual head take so long to produce the healthy body of socialism in the obstretics of capital? It is, for Lyotard, bycause the result of this investment of time and grey matter (not rock and dust) can also be considered as the jouissance of capital, a channel for libidinal intensities in its prostitutive arrangement.             Marx once said : "It is certain that one beautiful morning I will put a stop to it, but there are circumstances when one is morally obliged to be concerned with things much less attractive than study and theoretical research.  And Lyotard translates into the libidinal: "Not very attractive", says the equivocal prosecutor, "your beautiful proletarian body, let us return our gaze once again to the unspeakable prostitute of capital". So here is the reason for the delay and the cause of Alice's unhapiness. The old man is cheating on her, besotted as he is by the object which he loves to hate.
Jean Joseph Goux says the following about the unrepresentable in Symbolic economies:
Law reason order, form and controlling power are not preexisting transcendent principles, constituting a logic or logos to be conceived outside of or apart from matter in movement; the existence of a dialectic of nature means, in other words, that matter and its organizational laws are one.                Hence thought, consciousness and mind again become functions of nature, products of matter when it is organized in a certain way.                The ontogenic journey from woman to mother `(from the in- to the organic?) requires mediation by a phallic instrument, enabling the male subject to accede to a reality that coincides in principle and position with a reunion with the woman.                Between mother and woman there is nothing but the difference of a rift that tells  the whole story of the masculine history of the symbolic. This split, which is both "nothing" and "the whole (hi)story" is the very one that I am inclined to designate in another domain as the rupture between nature and nature  (rapturous rupturer between nature and more or re-nature?).     ...symbolic practice, science, cannot autonomize economic bases... (yet)....has direct infrastructural impact....                   'If Hegel finds music to be one of the most elevated artistic forms in the idealist dialectical hierarchy, if as Kandinsky's model for spiritual abstraction, it heralds the future of painting, music is also without doubt the signifying practice that most nearly approaches the biotic anchoring point of the subject, an appeal to some internal source of open-ended organization at the intersection of the cultural symbolic system and natural potentialities. In mathematics we find, on the one hand, the strong point of practically the entire history of idealist philosophy, the most serious objection to empiricism and vulgar materialsm, and, on the other, the signifying practice that today most acutely exposes the problem of the subject's irreducible place-that is, the living subject, organized and organizing, and not the transcendental subject of classical philosophy. This trajectory and its necessity are reminescent of Lenin's surprised observation that it is when Hegel is the most idealist, he is also the most materialist. And this enigmatic path of hyperidealism is the way of the dialectic of reversal. Until idealism peaks, there seems to be a latent, repetitive fixation upon a Kantian position that prevents our direct apprehension of what materialism is really about, confusing it with realism or empiricism. It is only the term of these contradictions, at the summit of a certain economy, at the vanishing peak of a particular reduction (mental), which makes possible the conception I adress here as an implosion, and unexpected torsion, by which the void of the ultimate economy becomes the very site of the natural-material anchoring point. Perfected spiritualism, idealism at its apogee, at the diametric pole of the objective material base, ends up turning back upon itself in a dialectical loop, affirming the practical unity of subject and object in a rooted productivity. At the acme of dematerialized signification, at the zenith where the only reference is of the most abstract interiority, music addresses itself to this inner emptyness, latches on to something of the subject's biotic anchorment point, and, doubtless beyond the pale of image, beyond phantasy, causes drive in the subject. Mathematics, the cognitive practice that is most detached from immediate sensory experience, the diehard bastion of idealism from Plato to Kant, confronts us most pointedly with the question of a biotic junction, the only simultaneous leap beyond both the epiricist conception and the apriori conception of the origin of mathematical notions. Thus, we might describe a loop, an internal path, like the utmost limit of internalization, by which idealism coincides with what has to do with matter and nature. The entire history of idealism (which is also the ontogenetic trajectory whose endpoint is in phallocentric (biased?) systematization) is a progressive passage fro a dominant position of external reflection (connected with the moment of sensory consciousness) to a position of internal reflection, which is then overrated, glorified as the point of contact with effects of transcendence and irreducible alterity-with the source of meaning, or rather the effect of the source and the production of meaning. External reflection and internal reflection do not refer to two distinct, segregated worlds but may rather be conceived as two faces of a single "surface". it might be said that the effect of transcendence is the infinity of inexhaustible matter, but flexed back upon itself or constructed "from the inside out" at the peak of a movement of dematerialization as productivity of the "spirit". The passage from absolute idealism to completed naturalism must be conceived in this loop, this twist, this coincidence of opposites topologically conceived as two sides of a single-edged surface, one of which however is first. But this dialectical path, while comprising a privileged historical stake, as well as a determined logical moment in a series of patterned moments, must be repeatedly traversed.
To retrace the generating or engendering conditions, those of organizing organization; to touch the nothingness (?) out of which meaning germinates in the form of organized matter (this butress) of which consciousness is one function like an embryo (the golden embryo of the Vedic hymns? the egg of Brahma? the Hegelian seed-concept (?) whose growth is not yet complete....Incompletion, open-endedness, decreeing the generative void where the unrepresentable finds its nourishment and its lack......
this was begun and almost done in 1986, the era of  her hit: "open your heart" (..I'll make you love me, I'll hold the lock if you turn the key). A perfect inversion of fun fundamental matters of course, coming from a female. Archetypes of which rocks and prototypes of which locks are. If even that couldn't snap me out ou my dreamplay simulalalike isolation and lethargy, what ever can?             Dear lay-day Madonna:  How about a tool-up-date on (y)our key to succes? I am Piet "Rotsstof" (rockdust) Bouter, sometimes a doubt sprouter but I aim to be a stouter clouter more consistently, who grinds and polishes the steeps to help set aflow the deeps. The first cozen name I remember was given by my maternal uncle: Pluis (=fluff, the verb: uitpluizen means to get to the bottom of things), my father called me luis in angry moods, that means parasite and yes, he still feels the same way and I am still charging him a fine for it, helping him help himself to his selffullfilling: 'or else' prophecy. But I need some better funding and I love you besides, so here goes; I forged you a key to clue into my treasure chest and take out what measures up to your own heartfelt sense of what matters at hand deserve reward for patience and rebuke for impudence. I trust we have enough dog-year-born sense in common to avoid dogmatic answers, so let's not talk trash but religion.            Feelin' religious, are you?  Take a look at Mat. 16-18: The doors of hell (Sheol, Hades, death rather than evil) shall not hold out against or remain shut for the church of Petros (Kephas in Greek), a name not current as such before Jesus coined it, the keys to the kingdom of heaven are with this church and whatever it binds on earth shall be bound in heaven and what it loosens on earth shall be loosened in heaven as well (note it starts with earth both times) which means the putting under and releasing from obligations on both the physical and mental levels in order to conquer the dark holds of death.
 Jesus came not to wage war on women as Graves erroneously felt (he seems to confuse dust with his crone concept which knows only bloody kinds of payments), but on the passive and meta-gender-wisely speaking most reactionary relatives of more animated femininity on rocks and its dusts, to relieve life of suffering unnecessary age old timebiding woes and pitstops repetitively. So spirit per- and conceives, accomodates, guides and mints fresh credit to acknowledge and assimilate rather than resist and avoid inertia only to become like it to the same degree, it is groundswell and homebase of the fallen state, yet, springing and falling some more, have a great one, be where the best fruit ripens or square: crystaline, dead, dry and/or cold. We are growing from, yet in, and why not for the same universal breath we can never outgrow. Jesus farmed souls thoroughly and I stick with my gut conjecture of his church; no frizzle frazzle walls put up to pen a herd or hoard a stash in,
 but sanctified nature supported from bedrockbottom on up to the loftiest crowns, with us picking our way through it day by day, all it takes is some sword modification so it enlivens and lives up to his (r)exquisite (pro)vision requirements.               The optimistsc historian's sequence and schedule in brief: Gravity- -testosterone-- -strength- --brute and dumb dominance greed- --glaciers- --gods-- -goodness-- -grace. Unsanctified nature has often hid under deathly white cover of mountain sheering glaciers (who knows, maybe cause of nasty viruses like us), grinding her teeth in icy moods and gnashing her continents to wipe the slate clean and lay out a fresh supple ply of blessons for cueing classes to try clue on, in and through (this?) time. Thus not only rocks get a new lease on life; after minerals, ice and sun don't shield but wield to each other, the curtain goes up for a next batch of sinners to try follow suit again.  Fresh crummy dirt from our marblous world underfoot gives suck-core to all organisms from one-celled on up; we all take root-, find foot-, wing- and finhold due to this laboriously prepared banquet, now under attack from ravaging voracity.             Mineral and mental currency circulations have many parallels, see the work of physiological chemist Hensel, 1884, and that of insurance mathematician and eminent economist Beckerath, who inspired the likes of equally forgotten Rittershausen (especially early on) in between the big wars. Hensel regards the rocks as our forebears and I suggest we get down on our knees to pray for strenght and then wrench the basic blessings from them, speak and act up for your constituents, without this sense of supplicatory sapientiae we may fall prey to the equally imperative albeit more primitive force to do it for and yet after and in spite of most of us. The only difference is standing in line time as doggone usual, while the whitish wet wintry downlike crystals that flutter and fly, harden and clear, weigh, compact and grind to embrace much of the earth in a hellish cold clasp.             This is a more Tolkienesque than scientific concept of the tides from ice ages and concomittant cold hearts to biomaxively diversified climates; planetary scarcity due to our shift from manifold climb, mate (pry or climb your primate mate) with modest offspring to a herdlike boom hog and bust hoard stampede and frenzy of unrequited fertility, exclusive, monocultural and competitively compounding mismatches....... man gets what he gives in the long run.             I feel aforementioned moody mode may be approaching but preventable; it is fueled or held off with such a clearly warning, disease fighting fever by greenhouse gases, (perhaps severely misnamed ice age gases really) stepping up transpiration, cloud transport, land ice and then tectonic pressure building, volcanism, cloudseeding dust, etc. Hamaker saw the jetstreamstretch, dip, wave and (whip)crack before anyone else did. Anyway, carbon in fossil fuels can become diamond if we leave it well enough alone, we now enslave and poison ourselves with its compulsion era suiting propulsive qualities, holding natural remineralization off and at feverish bay.             Most critical masses, human races and kinds included, are as slow and inexorable in momentum as ice ages, a fine match of dodge, joust and parry to witness if you can womanage to stick a round but you wouldn't miss much if you skip a few stages after a fatal switchflip; by the way, feel like making some fun ones, do you? You are practically sitting at the controls already!!                        Pre-venting (my kind of) fresh air fun (rock crushing) is fundamental for feeling fine.            From bad kinds of powers to kind powder dabs: Trading conviviality for survival irrelevant and trifling pursuits earns us all the more shame, blame, tar and fetters when forgetting the good ol' days and beating around the scrubby Bush administration at a time when our analytic unpacking impact capacities are used, busy and employed far beyond the pale, scale and scope it takes to manipulate minerals in a likeably musical and productive way. The public eye is blurred from the exhausting attempt to catch up with the none too clean carrot dangling one way traffickers and lives in a delusive peace with controls which keep them in their place and wars delegated to the 3rd worlds.        From defense to deterrence is a small diffuse term shift sophism busied on fear ruled con-culture-fronts but if any government made sense, it would start up an offence department since such seems to be sorely lacking and it would never be confused with the defence department either  (but maybe we can vote on gradually swapping names, not to mention budgets).        Do you now know how to excersize our selfpreservation drive a few octaves far beyond our skin and very next of kin? Give it a humbling (not a dirty word yet is it?) but constructive twist and turn away from fighting over scarcity to provision of abundance: defuse agression coming to a warhead and rerout it to fresh and raw support for the bottom rungs of life's ladder.             Rev her reverently:  When our weather, and I mean the whole biosphere, calls the bluff, who will be the hero ready to face the challenge? I am only none other than a Dutch dust prying and retying, selling and buying man, shouting: "all hands above board, defend diverticality and photosynthesis, hoist the millarm-sails, man the crushers"!! Let love's colours fly!!!            Great rockbust-chop-crunch and hop, gravel unravel, grit-grate-clop-riddle and simultaneously or at least consequently powder-wet-dabble-spray-spread spirit inspires vitality and motivates music, most people just don't know it yet. Karmic justice tailors people's cross-s-word puzzlement to the tune of their solvency, so they don't have to lug, bear or feel burdened by it.             You can never lose it and all your defaulting is only postponement.             Wielding time in the shape of handsize inertia with a lovely weatherability effect rather than the usual pitching projectiles and/or defense bulwarking purposes, avoids having to yield (life and/or living) time from neglect of such; it is crucial to grasp the crux of the matter and pull your weight to freedom, turn the tables in the temples of symbolic life by turning the periodic tabloid dynamics a few notches on up toward livelyer interaction on earth's beautifyable surface fed by subtle frequencies.            I am trying to dream up a musical rockpulverizing workout gizmo which is quite a jump away from the handtool made of 20 $ scrapmetal that I slapped together in Wales. Something like a frontline contentertainer which lets mint conditioned unravelled gravel current back down to grow up.             Torque update and spinstability: We don't need traffic safety so much as safety traffic for force and forces to find their place in a gentler 21st century. A muscle, solar, wind and water powered rapid fire mechanism for various screen size selected gravel conveyed to barrels arranged harmonically and in pairs pointing in opposite directions to neutralize the bucking effect, strong enoug to pulverize their charges upon impact, that is: when hitting the second Buckyball framelike, receiving sphere, similarly proportioned and tuned, containing the firing for fresh ashes range. The whole seems an odd mixture of heavy metal steeldrums ballmills, fire engines and church organ pipes. Pebbles are periodically hoppered into their proper fit gage of waterjet propulsed barrels pointed at corresponding tones on the frameball that covers the first and the whole process is triggered by a player in a third.             This rubber rub-time and timerubbing bubble with its finger as well as  wrist-han d-elbow -shoulder-thigh -knee-foot and toesized key contact-board, besides a number of different harmonic lenghts strap 'n stretchcords to complete this work-play environment which is a work in and out from mineral to muscle. these gizmo's are mobile and sound like peace in the making (ends meet) from miles away as they juggle and chew boulder size rock with moistened dustclouds lit up in colours to cheer the night workers anticipating the organic kind they will feed. I will churn out some good tidings of rock in more than one sense as I sing along with the percussion of rumbling and snapping gravel, being crushed as a libation to the soil, mimicking the glaciers; plucky participation or silent suffering, what will it be? Stop identifying with the inertia of solid rock, thinking: after me the flood or over me the glaciers. Does this rock your spirit, do we see eye to eye on the inspiration of rock? Divorce of spirit and matter results in linear, chronological, uniform and sleeping inertia. However mobile and skillfully skinfull organic life becomes, it can not betray its descent from stolidity unpunished, witness most of humanity living by the skin of their teeth in an unmanaged, timeleach-, -throttl- and -consuming combustion game race of worldwide magnitude with all accompanying discolour-, -figure-, -memberment, dislocat-, -tract- and -organization thereof. Rocks inspiration will come easy when we mine, mix and roll some through a musical mill, take time to make it come alive with a crushing thrill, life's potential lies underfoot, a bouncy fertile crustcoat stays and fruitfills our various falls and stretches all kinds of limbs to make or break love with. Surface rock repels water and light but when mingled to mature in timely rhythms, it rewards our conquest with colour and scent of flowers, sound and form of rustling leaves and singing birds. Sustenance is cyclical, sis, so have a healthy crush on death for more and better of the sorts and kinds you may have on animate substance and idols, it wouldn't put your nose to the grindstone in any conventional sense to use my plumbcrazy post primal rubbubble booby contraption. Take the cramp out of death with some creak, crackle, shatter blows for freedom and start time to tick, tease and tickle our bones. I know no better way to kill time than by previving some stashed form of it.              When stone is cloven, flesh can be woven, light folded and dark developed.              Squeeze the living daylights into that clamped shut mineral money manifold and have a good time, there is more than enough wound up tight and tidy time to lay bare. What the 20th century considers legally on, is naturally off course. Once we mint new coin of the realm as can-do-currency that attributes to growth of profusely diverse, wild yet harmonic colour, sound and scent, we may appreciate and put a price on sunshine. We will see that we are timely time, in and of it as much as it is ours, in and about us. Rockdust pre- and re-, -pays and -pares our efforts with a larger (super)sensible sense of identity, never mind the heritage denying strains of psychedelics, fantasy and/or science affliction fixers. I hope this is helpful in fitting you a handle to get a grip on this cutting edge of nurturing thought that literally fights for light's right of way and schemes to reach into the decreas- and unfolding dark.           I say she is a player and a stayer:  This bit is inspired by and a rectification of the 'not a player' judgement passed on Madonna, close to my kind of bee queen (see introduction), who's topmost rock deserves its (g)room to help it breath and grow as much as anybodies, by the otherwise brilliant writer (Michael Angelis) of the Bolton article in the jan 93 issue of Esquire that I found amongst Amsterdam eviction site debris; piles of computer and dance magazies, bags of flour, couch, etc.  It is also a show of unequivocally scale-slid, ranked and range registered seniority, besides guidelines to help neutral discrimination and equitability garanteed by respect for precedent and priority of (ab)originality, so frequently floundering from fucking mystification of the most simple, primary, vertical, from radiant to grave and back again, ecological principles: earth's nuke mineral stew stirring, power generating, central windup-gravity foundation skimmed for treetop financing, fresh and refreshingly cycling dust spent to help all phenomena from dusty timepealings to juicyer sexdealings come about; a how to metabolize and phase out: fashion for fuck sake to fascism for buck sake.             Perverts emit and mischievously measure the for such purpose perfectly immoderate money,  like primers time and meter media way above and at great future costs.             The ultimate media are rock crushers in my and hopefully soon your understanding.               This is the damn sight better not left unseen equivalence between thoroughly rough enough powder code and nutshell buzzwordrep a whole new breed of grippies will need and heed. Just as I prefer fruitily structured water (solar fired foliation fluids) to gain in volume, content and importance over polluted or frozen kinds, I care to catch and keep coming to get back to shade again from present shame and scarcity, rather than sit in stinky traffic frittering away thus shortcut-spent pleasure potential which cuts the visionary fire of eyes for ancestry short. So say I, your vertical commuter-puter traffic comptroller, an uncroaksome (Dutch pun on onkreukbaar = uncreasable meaning immune, impeccable) raw rock to ashes usher and masher musher at your ice-age mimicking yet preventing service: Piet Bouter (means turd, bone or boulder, with or without u or perhaps butcher from the french boucher), a skinny and blue eyed not to mention more modest version of Bolton but better in the lower registers vocally and a few leagues away beyond mere teasy appearances aspirationally. Cheer up you psychoactive sidekick crowd, here I come, ready to s-team up the ranks!            Pow(d)erfully feminine writ large: From much and many matriarchies, monies and multistory biomaximass to queendoms like Madonna's flabbybrained mistress-minding a polluting business is no progress of course.             The former queen mama's realms once reached from bioregional watershed to riverfork, then shrunk to hearth and home. Now they stands to lose their very crownjewel-worthy wombs unless we men give back what we absconded, blasphemed and abused.             Learn to bring elbow hellgrow room where it's lacking and take a next and flexed one at the same time from that very brimming burstable rock wouldn't misfit us now. Empty the filled to leave something growing and outgrowing wastelands, most of which has anthropoid causes. Man's ministrations can pierce skin, cut clear or break ground with abandon, but can they grind rock and make that fun? It doesn't look like it if you judge by forced labour prisonpractises of earlier erae.            For some aeons now, man's appendage, formerly a more integral part of the wombmans's domain, emancipated to run rampantly amok, throttling all other, deeper and even more archaic forms of femininity by way of restrictfully (ab)usuring females as frantic babyplumbing among other of the meanwhile many forms of specialization to serve the thus self and everything else amputating dominants as slaves or crosscultural cannonfodder.             Women's sense of identity has converse-quent-simultaneous-ly shrunk to superficial skindepth (if that much escapes disownment) set off against a snowwhite, frozen feeling, backdrop.             A needfull deed now being the return of daredevil-treecaring to pay proper and proportionate (p)respect to of all earth's life inclusive dimentioning guided by fullfledged feminine guiles and gears. Inflation of money, sperm, bullets and bellies which defoliate nature run out of steam if and only then, when and if we learn to leave the rock. Spread some risk, reknit rock and grit, fadle and feed it into the stream of life that once and will ever be started from the beginning, spin excalibur, don't pull it free from its peace- and purpseful place in rock; one is not free to fight for ideal, idling, idle, idolatory, vain or plain dangerous and scary scar-cityfying purposes. One is set free to set free. Give Gaea her glamorous growth gung ho guts back to diversify, be kind man, fall in step to support her on the uphill bits and bites. Instead of abusing the ride, be an abnormally animate gravity anomaly.            So perhaps we lost the respect I am talking about only for a while, only to gain 'prespect', after having thoroughly explored the involuntarity of cramped quarters, and embodied mechanisms of scar(and)cityfication which our descendents shouldn't have and need to put up with; my guess is we will eventually learn (give or take a few more ice ages and lapses into barbarity) to 'prevent' and provide (preduce= prereduce) produce, free sunreducible preorganic, rained into and shone upon minerals from themselves and their tight quarters, give and grow these bones their levering cover of lush flesh back.            Are we heading toward the worst kind of miniaturized dead end called social insect perfection (witness the speed with which the original 58 Bucky balls were turned into 'Fullerenes'...well..OK.. maybe he was exagerating a bit) without the bee's saving grace of having planetary plantcare high on its list of priorities?. We certainly mimick crowding of rockparticles and trees OK; if we can't even space ourselves, how are we going to space them and vica versa or which sequence would you prefer? A galactic queen of your very own choosing at the price of pristine principles and relatively crowded isolation in space colonies or a world class one of mutual consent which the truely uplifting troll enthralling trouble attracted through some unadulteratedly acculturated vertical sharing capacity to might the good and subtly bright right. Quietly homesteading wilderness with a private queen seems idyllic and small community utopia but what's good about the US hails from that angle on and of their history. Either way we deserve what we get. A swarm of planets is not the least any tight ranks crowded sun (Hensel considered the sun feminine and so does his language) will settle for, militancy that lacks charm is not my piece of bye bye apple pie, wonder not when the lovely ones learn to avoid smelly or fake fire.            The bee's social and sexlife and his workaday-routine are surely way over our heads and hearts for now, their queen and her codes keep the bees chivalrously happy, I am sure. Not for much longer perhaps when polluting industry supporting queens (like you?) push 'm of their turf.        Funny thing is: most people mean well enough, but they muddle on into trouble clear out of their depth any which way, forgetting to dive into it Deucalion-some, Antaeus-like and Cernunnos-ly, buy the last's 'Lord of animation' type meal, sow-show and current ticklets; knock on hearty heaven's door will you? You too or even you (besides especially you) are practically standing on it (for the third time).          I wish you all nothing but the best kind of ash-stash and dust-lust, adjust ice, Using arms to score and regain ground for disarmament sake cannot succeed without peace pre- and recycling  hard- and soft ware (crushers and seeds, land labour, and finance selfhelp seeding exampes) following in their wake and in tow (see LMP's star: Beckerath) for the oppressed population who have been promised peacekeepers and -makers             Sports, war, music and providance in all its culturally dug in varieties need not be so contradictiously irreconcilable is what I am trying to say and see, (I think I do too). What else are prophetic writs for, ready for a vitalizing mix? Jesus wants a ride in one of them treetop-clearing storm-driven light-lensed and -lensing buckyballs some time soon. Another few of the fun things I learned from Fuller are the spin 'n twist grind- and/or breathing octahedrons; 4 symetric axis with slightly triangular, sliding and connected pump-sprockets or copious cernel-conchi-comical gears on them. Slightly supercilious undertones? For all I care and perfect my name may be NObody, a Neatly Organizing body that is.           All this is meant for the ears and hearts of any Pete, Petrus, Peer, Piet and empathizers of and with their carma; they must meet and mate the backlogs of charma to become the bride of Christ, its crystal christening christians or suffering and wandering Jewry suffused Heathen ready to come clean and build the neat contraption that mounts the clouds to attract and unify profligately proliferating new testament and global (no longer only but very much also though evermore local than that) family of fractionated factions to take the friction from fiction and dic(k)tion so we have some to spare for its forgotten proverbial cornerstones.             The sunny sons of Gods? Perfidiously protestant personifications of radiant mercy. Let's mime evolution as poisonlessly as possible.             Masons, nomads and farmers must all handle and treat rocks  (to) the right (kind) of way which won't be done with blocks but their dusts to start the myriads of life cycle clocks.             Twelve years (half of which roaming the US) worth of preoccupation with (p)articulation-practice and  resistance -switch- -flippancy-potential prelimbering comes to choisest fruition and pokes a pointy finger to and through the smoothest surfaces of icey age-long cycling synchro-no-time to leave our fill with musically derived vitalization.            PS 1  I have plus/minus 240 pages of this kind of urgent shit (slightly less compact) looking for a publisher.....hurry or else I'll squeeze and squirt it onto the Interranet.            PS 2  What are you making fun of Michael Lewis for, are all your readers jealous or are you trying to shock your macho and patriarchal readership with someone hot on their tracks (see Foreign Affairs, feb(?) 95)? If the truth wasn't out yet, it is now and still no end to trouble, nor beginning of making the fresh and clean kind consciously. PS 3 concerning another Esquire article: The enneagram is tricky, try extending the downward lines till you have 3 triangles, you 'll find the center of all of them in the one fulcrumb spot (see chapter 9L).
 Unsent letter to the deferred investigation office of the Immigration department about the pulling of my resident alien card. So I was care free and happy go lucky with a budding fancy for organic farms but an unfortunate turn of events got me to see the inside of the slammer for the first time ever. I found myself in a dungeon with some illegal mexicans. Getting back on the same track after this ordeal, the last spasms of which I am about to relate to y'all, was for ever behind these bars, in the past. I did manage to start making vague and more focussed plans and mobile moves again, but things like this event surely pushed me more in the direction of my at any rate already outspoken preference for things past and left behind with scarce a trace, studying rocks and dead people's work on my own. I am now torn between BC and NSW as destinations for a rescue mission, though Barry Lynes, the man who wrote a book about Raymond Rife said I bothered the remarkable people I have such a good nose for, more than I helped them, I think the old grump should speak for himself though I am the first to admit I seem to promise more than I deliver, yet I dare not quantify and time my venturous visions, they are only prophecies after all, and perhaps not of this earth, a deeply melancholy distancing and levering device in the rhetoric arsenal of people like Jesus I Imagine, trying to instill a sense of detachment in his no doubt all too often very hot and bothered audience.
Officers of all kinds are sorely tempted to spout the power phrases inherent to authoritarian positions for lawenforcement, which has its place, but if you are not selecting people (let alone laws) carefully enough, the most insecure people will gravitate to these jobs very eagerly. This came to mind again when I was told to be disposed of as they pleased, implying I stood accused as I had 12 years earlier which started this greencard acquisition ball rolling. America can be quite maddening sometimes. The farmer I visited back then feuded with his Immigration officer for a neighbour while others bribed these people, anyway, this one handcuffed me in the tourist office with a valid visa in my passport, within 12 minutes after my first ever arrival from 300 miles away, 3/4 of the way around the states in just over half a year on a motor cycle, accusing me of seeking employment. Former hosts attested to my remunerationless help in a letter to the judge sometime the nervewrecking following month on which grounds I would have been deported had I not gotten married to a friend of a friend during the postponement of trial instead of suing for damages.
  I am arming myself with the not so obvious and easily reconnoiterable rationals for monopolies, prisonwalls and all kinds of nastiness to defuse and defy all of it some day. A downcast attitude (I had just been robbed of the bicycle that carried half a year's worth of tat and me over that very same border only less than a week ago going the other way) and shabby appearance is not a crime, I had and still have plenty of money for my sober life, enough to make their suspicion grow even more. which started when I told the truth about my adress or rather adresslessness. I should have known better than to think/hope that an explanation about how I'm willing to be rooting rather than rooted would  made the grade of grok-ability for an Immigration Officer, wishful thinking doesn't make it so.
PS a personal note made public to invite all and sundry to right what I wronged. It is my proud pleasure and punishing privilege to present a 'spin off Peace Plan', perhaps better called: Piet's Plan;
it won't be one of the close to 1500 Libertarian Microfiche Publishing (35 Oxley st, Berrima, NSW 2577, Australia) socalled peace plan issues, adding up to roughly the equivalent of a quarter of a million, approximately and on average, A4 size pages (in reality many more since all manner of size books are reproduced, some out of print, nearly all of them without or no longer with copyrights, on liberty, freedom, anarchy, secessionist, cooperative, capitalist and monetary freedom writings from the last century and a half or so)  even though most of the material herein (besides my own and its godfather John Hamaker's work) was initially selected and archived by, though would have remained low priority if any at all, at any rate, it came from (or was found at, rather) LMP's proprietor and perpetrator, Joern (John) Zube (pet peeves: tolerance, non-coercion, experimentation at participant expense, etc, especially that last example sounds great, but how are science fiction freaks such as John is one, ever going to leave the earth alone and not turn it into mere raw material for escapist projects, just cause they don't like it the way it is?), who imparted the fiching skills (nothing to it but a lot harder, more laborious and trivial than working on a Mac as I am doing now, John has a laptop that was unused til the warranty ran out, too small to run windows and psychically charged to discourage me from the use of it which was promised through the mail but it reapeatedly and miraculously failed to save what `I keyed in)  and allowed me to partake of his to a number of peculiar points and degrees divulged in fiche 1, unquestionable hospitality and private archive (the eco-part of which was probably by his son who moved away to become an independently contracting artist) which I managed to fancy, court, woo and phantasize about for 2 years before 'penetration' and to which I had liberal access for most of my Berrima sojourn duration, ending after a week of camping on the next door vacant lot with my tarp and a stint under the awning of the Journeyman Bistro with the cooking gear John had graciously donated to make up for his abrupt eviction following the paniced presumption of injury to his holy cow the copy machine; as it turned out I had merely disengaged the latch to cut out the blower while I went and checked on some page numbers. Having been so absorbed in this only partly private library material, I had failed to build even a semblance of a minimally social safety-net-work for emergencies like the one which put me on the street rather abruptly, even though between oct 96 and middle jan I had a six week break for rainbow trailings, and an amazing one it was, late at night just before dark, a rainbow came to stand solid and continuously for a good little while. Berrima had a few to show for itself as well.
Let me again reiterate that it is my pleasurably privileged punishment, fateful choice of destiny to....who is my..I...you ask? Ah... well..., me be PPP the PP or PP for short (at the oz rainbow I heard that Aboriginal records are called pp's as well).
Punchline Pioneer Piet the ProsePoet (formerly at www.xs4all.nl/~poetpiet, attempting to reappear in more pinpointingly targeted fashion)
I went to Australia to see if I could expedite the Net availability of Beckerath's work, digitize it and stick some on my home page. He is JZ's biggest source and inspiration, so far only to be found in German on a Duisberg server which is best in a way cause his compositions are exquisite and would lose melodic flavor in translation if not content, but maybe there are better readers for him than the ones that happen to speak German at the moment? JZ has become so reclusive that he hasn't even any netheads swarming around him although he practically pioneered the idea in the early 70ties!!! !  ! and I didn't fulfill his merry dreams to invest in machinery and figure it all out; he went and bought a small scanner but it will most likely sit and lose its guarantee too before he will pick it up again.
      The main topics in the planned 5 or 6 microfiche were to be: Remineraliztion, Native cultures, Pollution, (Land)ownership and Gender, Hippies and Community movement all of which I consider to be subsumable under BIRTHRIGHTS  broadly speaking but nowadays badly trampled, isolated, poisoned and disowned as for instance overruled and -run indiginous plights testify. I see my treatment of these subjects as stepping stones to the (pre)limbs of a desirable and more or less  Pluralistically Pan Political (G)Radiant Religiosity and Pragmatricky (P)Revival. To give you a hint of one of my most salient points let me say that the cult of individualism has great dependency as flipside attached, but most stars and rulers don't rely on the good will of subjects; the white race now, as others before them have their own peculiar sleeve trickle down legalogistics and the further you are niched up the pecking order the more you catch, like a plant competing for that central sunlight.            Territoriality and common ownership is well established for all species, even among the most wide ranging migrators, but the greater the human individual's distinction, the more he can block his neighbours and shape 'm into poweramassing tentacles; the one in a million fight used to take place in the womb, now the girls wanna feast their eyes as a jan 97 Sydney Morning Herald book (by Hrdy?) review has it. Well get yourself behind a litup, lensed and projected reader in your nearest library containing such scholarly devices and see what a guy who's father thought he would grow up to become a clochard has prepared to aid your conscious dreamtime conception.            PS The masters of this aborted production (single sided copies according to John's proven methods) ended up being scattered in different places, the bulk of them were given to be taken to the big scrub environmental archive and library downtown Lismore by someone; I had finished reading them at the Byron Bay Env Centre which had moved to and fused with the tourist office (between my first and second times passing through on my way to rainbow gatherings both times) so that they now have lots of people coming in asking stupid questions whereas formerly things were awful quiet in a mall corner. I had counted on doing community service to work off a no bicyclehelmet fine about which I wrote some angry letters, continuing the offence most of my stay and copping quite a few more never to be payed tickets for it. One has no idea how a helmet bakes one's head under Ozzie conditions. I lost 400 dollars to the opportunistic greed of one of my temporary colleagues there; sleeping in the loft of beachhouse under courtcase halted contruction (frame and roof finished), I had left my moneypouch in the lost and found box of the alarm protected centre where I did some work sporadically, stashed my stuff and used the teenytiny kitchen, a few times too often for some of the 'serves him right' mindset sporting participants.            Like the cover was saying, my stint at the Zube archive drew to a rapid and abrupt close which took me by suprise even though the wear and erosion of my welcome were evident, this was due to a number of to him very unwelcome suprises such as the stow away passengers I brought with me (lice) and incompatibilities, not the least of which was my choice of topics, considered sub- and perversions of the series proper. John's equal treatment motto sounds nice till it becomes clear he means to put traditional owner/operators on equal footing with fresh imports and a high price, payable to bribable pawnmen in power on what had been priceless and precious till then. We share a number of stocks in trade, but interpretation and emphasis proved to diverge widely. My reluctance to waste paper accounts for the sometimes untidy, unsharp and skewed way these my first attempts at fiching ended up. I wager to be able to make fiches with 3-6 times less paper waste than John has on average but will probably switch to electronic publishing. John searched out some netnavigation equipment ads to expedite negotiating the butt-in and branch-out we spoke of previously in letters back and forth, my tightwaddishness contrasted sharply with his generous offer to allow me the reforestation of his bleak backyard.            Lets start the story of our interaction at the beginning, if only to give the next person who likes to answer John's calls for help a lead. .I spent almost a week vacuum cleaning and although I collected about 8 bags full, John (as he prefers to be called, just like not much German escapes him any more except the occasional: Scheibenwischer= window wiper, but for all somewhat less irrelevant cases of aggravaation a sudden: "shit!" captures the condition)  maintained I was merely relocating it or letting more in with my insistence on ventilation, remarkably little  of which he seemed to need even in the presence of an admittedly well filtering copymachine, but then again he seems to do with as little breathing as possible anyway, using various means such as sitting still or stuffing himself very frequently. It was obvious that he started blaming me for missing or mislaid things as soon as I had consolidated some of his fanned out dustcatchment piles and stacks of year- and month old scribble and print pile mixtures leaving no workspace on any table surface.  Leaving a window slightly cracked for his own good was progressively taken more amiss and finally chastened with the worst accusative questions (do you mean to kill me?)  from the poor ex-prison warder yet.  Further insupportable but expected examples of his suspicions were: causing rather than saving him labour, though I must in all fairness admit he went (or was taken as he would probably argue) out of his way to give some of my preferred topics priority treatment, such as processing 60ties and 70ties Green Revolutions (the original unperverted term meaning selfsufficient homesteading and autonomous community fostering), and Synthesis, a Libertarian Social Ecology rag from the early 80ties, Unwin's (puritanism building the steam for expansionist culture) and Werner Zimmerman's works               (a sun worshipping, raw food (spirit),              Gesellian monetary and land reform (soul)              plus I believe Rockdust in Agriculture (body)              proponent (such as there were a whole bunch in Switserland at one time, I met some of them as old timers at their nudist colony on lake Lausanne) for instance; I feel he compromised on topics at least as much and/or often as I did. I just could not stomach adding to the already majorly bulked up body of Libertarian drivel, sterile and bonedry early liberty and freedom musings that embody the worst of capitalism  and imperialism as unbudgable facts of life (so admirably contrasted with true diversitythough drastically reduced by firestick culture already, in 'Taming the great Southland' by William Lines). Besides the facts that our interests didn't overlap enough (which wasn't credited enough due to my indestuctible as much as naive faith in 'conversion', see Rickels). I was not neatworking enough to help him process the biggest enthusiasm we share: the work of his mentor Ulrich von Beckerath (4000 pages to go, probably as rife with repetitions as the first 4000 already filmed ones), though even there I have my reservations; about Gold being an unquestionably preferable Standard and store of value plus a most suitable means of payment as long as it is not so exclusively for instance, especially since nowadays it always involves deadly poisons to get at the stuff as cheap and (silver)quick as posssible.
His reaction to my case of headlice, picked up in the Malvern hills that summer made me realize he was easily threatened and disgusted, he concluded from my autobiographical fragments that I was most likely a carrier of Aids virus which gave me occasion to briefly elucidate Peter Duisberg's work, tell him my child and her mother don't seem to have it though a roommate of 15 years ago who's bright orange ski outfit was in my crumpled duffelbag wardrobe a long time had wasted away considerably some few years later.            A first flare of ill temper announcing rifts and severance resulted from my trying to specify and stipulate a bit of unadulterateous foodhandlement to make my gift feel good which does depend on reception (see further on). No harm in that I thought, but it was perceived as a 'tantrum by en enraged child who has been deprived of a toy' as he said in his page long criticism of the incident, when all I said and explained was why I don't like to see food I took the trouble to search, select and pay for, denatured by cooking etc. A small condition for receiving what I consider most exquisite gifts.            This is what triggered it: he butchered and froze some ladyfinger bananas I had bought which as he had repeatedly worried aloud, were going black and off in the fridge, I soothed and shushed as often, but not critisizing his unripe citrus and tomato entries in turn.             At that time we were still sharing food; offering and accepting tidbits and dishes back and forth but since then he has consistently refused fruit offered, ostensibly cause priced above his budget. I soon found out John hates to admit he can be improved in matters of diet and others, he doesn't take a hint or example.              Let's take another hindsight flight of fancy and continue to counterpose and contrast.              My supposedly unpalatable, prejudiced and persistently chaotic misplacements of both material and concepts which came and went with offensive slurps, slops and slothful, lazy, insubordinate defiance to his bulge bellied, gluttonous, moody, irritable, short of breath, illtempered outbursts, wasteful impracticalities and incapacitating addictions (scifi) eventhough perhaps y'all best apply to us what is best in all and every case. Don't look too closely at our imperfections or anybody's really, unless we or they become public figureheads with lots of hopefully voluntary (and we for some wouldn't want it any other way) support from (and for!) dependents to represent (which gives 'm a right to insight on and into our every move and action so the bigger your constituency and popularity is the more you should be obliged to walk around withunobtrusive camera's up and running). Look at the best of our work instead.      Ironically, one instance of his selfdeceptively perceived oppression became clear when he complained I had forced a currency on him, though he of all people should be the most on guard person in this respect. I came 'home' with a Dutch delicacy one day, a black licorice and bonemeal coin/tablet, tough/gooey but sticky if and when you bite down on it. They have the peculiarity of coming in different shapes, one series of which is money denominations, so I offered some and made a joke about tender tenders in the spirit and series of the ones I use to make clear and dare I say palatable? that mineraldust as coin of the realm is highly digestible for and by our subjects and forerunnering organisms, but he wouldn't even look at it so I insisted on doing that at least and apparantly seeing was believing cause he popped it in his mouth right away, unable to resist testing the hardness of this currency which made it take his toothcap off (for the insult of pretending to feel I had forcefed him the stuff (I'd rather fast the man a while if he let me). Truth is, I wasn't even allowed to accidently brush by him, let alone touch him.
A word about his spastic ventriloquist bubble belly culture.            I myself haven't had absolutely sober and tight control over my intake portioning or turd toughness myself either, our differences are but relative (both gemini, I a '58, he a '33 model), yet John meats me by a bile.
The bananabungle described had repercussions; once John demonstratively (even defiantly cause I had offered him some delicious pawpaw)  cooked two huge pots full of fermenting ones, the type of fresh fruit one might be lucky enough to encounter at rainbowgatherings. Instead of seeing the cosmic joke as far as you can make accuser/confessor schizphrenia into one, I burst out indignantly when told it was I who liked the rotting and fermenting fruit, such is the nature of affective infection, bad enough when some one guesses your thoughts although that can be a blessing, but this was dangerous and scary (as if he was on a par with me by tricking me into a confession dressed up in denial, I do like my fruit well ripened this is true).
In january John blew his paranoid top, the shock of believing for a split second I had ruined his baby, the precious copy machine, was the last drop and impressively obsessive enough to base decisions on, it's called erring on the save side I believe. I had merely disengaged the copyer's door latch contact so the fan would stop wafting that low negative ion air through the archive while I went to check on some missing pages getting side tracked by the radio dial at the exact moment John came fishing for further proof of his worst suspicions with perfect timing, having to put up a defence against disagreeable expectations is a bit tiresome and a tad too uncomfortable, though perhaps the noble task I came for and should have taken most serious of all, who knows. Some people look for opportunities to project, confirm and justify (in that order)  their worst fears and a prisonwarden even ends up doing it willy nilly on a routine basis, I guess. Somehow our less than ideal and coherent expectations coincided and despite its sorry focus life goes on, up, away and out at a new tangent or two. My last Zube residence entry was to cook the 5 frozen chickenlegs he refused to be made a present of without feeling obliged to offer an explanation (the following days were quite hot so that it became hard not to let things go rotten as about 2 handfuls of oranges did). I now no longer witness his compulsive harangue against some considered  particularly important government kinds of inflation, as a Rooster one can't help involvement with statemenship, be it o- or covert, If I may hazard a guess I would suspect his mama was so impressed and traumatized with the inflation years that she sympathetically devalued the nutrients by flooding and choking her child with 'm, a common ailment even in normal times, perhaps that's why he persists in the pattern. When you base your decisions on the split second when conditions seem favorable for a jump to make believe conclusions which are invariably of the they are out to get, poison or kill me type paranoia calling for righteous rage, you are painting yourself into a corner. Fear and proximity to the object of it is the source of the expression: scared shitless and so it out of one. This gro(w)up dynamic process starts with quelches, rumbles and eventually stink, these subjects are at the same time taboo and haunting no doubt as are concepts of prior appropriation of indiginous people properties for instance or pollution unless to suggest that one should give the polluter ownership of  what he in that case soon enough merely used to pollute. Greenies hate humans and space is the place for this denier and resister of cosmic influences all the way into the very seat of one's soul.            Some reason for friction was found when I learned he was a rooster(yearborn) person but he denies validity of any and all such disposition substrates and consequently has no control over, however much desired, transcendence.
On the last note to JZ I wrote a sincere thank you for some and severely unspeakable loathing and disgust for other aspects of his personality, but what I really meant was the way he dealt with these cause one is never only a passive victim of the stars, to which he is physically attracted as much as he has to suffer the weight which he denies them consciously; i.o.w., he belittles them mentally, yet is beset by the consequences of his own involuntary manifestations of and through 'm. One learns to project, then expect and  parry them as a true statesman like Chirac even if the main battlefield never leaves ones own heart. He is not among the stars and getting at their vitally conveying convenience enough yet says his secret macho dream, maybe a bit of cryonics will help but if he sells enough microfiche to afford that he will be immortal enough for a while; when they get read and acted upon that is. But it is tragic when demonstrations of power from marketprofiteering takes the money and runs (mines the minerals and migrates, the stuff of lore in vogue (Sitchin)). Kick all reverent idolators off of 'unused', relevant and lecherously coveted resources and make a way to the stars with 'm cause we wanna finally feel 'm Goddam it, to hell with homegrowth! Joern is a true moral majority Australian from way back in this respect. His mother like so many other people's probably could't find a tree to park the pram under nor the opportunity, encouragement and confidence to let a child bond with nature and motherly dirt. Jewish self-hatred comes to mind, Pi in the sky at all cost, even the earth. A cute paradox becomes a looming, controversial, high tension contradiction as one gets closer. Most harmful stuff co-opts, parades and paroles their most deserving oppositions as served lip and serving or falling short and is given the practical slip as in this case. I wish you much perspicacity.
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