Public Journal:

?: you abstract…

miss you, abstract…

It’s time to go back to normal…

:chores-mop:

I emphasize with Abstract, being that I when I was 25 I was a writer asking all the difficult questions and near death. I wish I had got to know him better, but he didn’t like to follow up very long with the answers I gave to his questions prefering to discuss those of others. I respected that, the answers I developed to life’s questions are really not the preferable one’s to have, even though I feel I must share them.

:chores-laundry:

](*,)

My last poem sucked. I admit it. But one of things I’ve noticed is this draw to abstraction. And I’m not sure if it is because of middle age, or that I am truly burnt out, or because of my turn to philosophy.

 Stuart:  people always wonder about me I seem to go in a daze, head in clouds, philosophically speaking, and bars: yes: I sued to have a bar, but in ee cummings fashion like there are 21 ways of looking at a blackbird, it had its place time. Now it is a Jewish mortuary. Ironic.  I could write well not thousand maybe 20 pages about just that bar, but no, drink makes me forget nuances, it's been a while$

But I discovered gene pitney there and diana ross, some day will be together, and course read sartre. The beach during the day and nights at bar. Nights of Calabria in this case santa monica.

Someday will revisit, and start smoke grass, but now have to put in good example because just got daughter off it, and her husband, who got out of prison recently for possession.

Sartre! Where have all those existentially reduced days when nothing else mattered as the nights perfumed by roses? Walks along the boulevard, seeing the sun set as you were walking east on the boulevard,and just talking down the boulevard. Or really walking down the boulevard of the real sartre, the real paris boulevard of Kerouac’s Satori in paris, where yes, you can paint yourself into a very blue van gogh night.

It’s a dream. They are the puppeteers like the waiter in nausea, and I am on a string. Or vica versa.
(There was a song by a blue singer say 20-30 years ago two black brothers one was bobby purify, he had a great son “I’ a puppet”. Back in those days songs meant more than they represented, just the other then what your schizo-analysis indicates, that words nowadays can’t express meaning in totality.

Now just cut and dry, and don’t get m$e wrong, I have always been a weekend warrior, never had my hair long, always had to work, since the age 12 ever since getting off the boat at ellis island, and when c.1968 my friend terry asked me to go to monterey with them in their bus, to see big brother with janis joplin, I knew I couldn’t because I had to work at terminal annex post office in los angeles, where bukovsky of post office fame worked same time, I may have bumped into him many times, isn’t it incredible?

Then after reading about him and reading him, thought well, here is another kraut with a great longing which never ever will go away.  The only other local writer comparable is john fante.  who wrote bunker hill, a great piece of fiction.

Well so long for now from your friend obe

obe, d63, I can use the word friend, but not without contrivance anymore than someone at the equator can speak of snow. But, you’re both welcome.

Stuart!

we are adopting to each other’s way of saying things…

I mean,

Think about that…

Obe!

Well now that I am sober, and remembering you implying that it’s a good idea to write to each other rather than at other, the word gambling in your initial few paragraphs comes through. And I will respond to that adequately tomorrow. As far as friendship is concerned, stuart’s conditional friendship is very real in light of the fact that some of these communications are resoundingly more literal, our imagination having a hard time how to delineate
Exact meaning, description. I try to contextual in an effort to de construct a singularly constructed set of ideas:::and I think this effort have been very early on sowed with seeds of thought movement beyond a purely reduction of the phenomenal. At this stage, I can best express myself purely visually, and better yet as a half asleep man would: through the utilization of dadaism, surrealism, and alchemy. So do not get me wrong, I do not do this in order to b e unique, or having ideas of attention/deficit compensation, such as the wish to stand out stylistically, but in fact, that is what I have been trying to do for quite a long time. It is not by any means original, but I have been taking off from places where others have left off.

But give me a day or two upon proper review of your subsequent message, and I will more properly prepare myself for it, if I feel I am even capable of it.

 And if I feel I am not capable , I will try answering, nevertheless.

Pass the apple sauce please; we are friends ------ to be clear ------ is it apple season? Yes, I really like them, I mean in pie or by themself, I don’t… well, ok I’ll have some; what is friendship, but a split second when people’s values intersect and needs spiral in recipricosity; my brother, you will always be my brother, we have shared so much, I would do much for you if you needed it; that is I understand the dynamic of the joy I get in being beholded to one such as you, who I can help in an ease of manner and with a light step knowing that all (who matter) believe in our mutual obligations.

Not even to blame he who no longer would know you, it’s not that they feign nonrecognition, they see you in another layer of meaning, one would recognize one in another layer of meaning with more trouble than to recognize one with another layer of skin, or without any.

Actually, that point you make concerning surrealism explains a lot.You certainly seem to take a stream of consciousness approach in your manner of expression. You and Stuart both might fare well on Ambigs mundane ironist string. You should check it out. However, I encourage you both to continue to do so here. It’s what the public journal is about.

For myself, I’ve been focusing on poetry for the last few days and am having some luck. I’m hoping that some of the feel I develop in my focus bleeds into the way I jam with you guys. I’m planning on hammering away at that until about Tuesday. Then, after that, I’m thinking about getting back to my Deleuze studies and actually grinding my way through Difference and Repetition. But I think I’ll start with the reader’s guide which is kind of obscure in itself.

Hope you guys will join me. You’re crazy stream of consciousness ramblings are always an inspiration to me.

Deleuze said in an interview that friendship was a matter of knowing the other’s madness, that if they did not know your madness, they could not be your friend.

Good jam, Stuart.

I hope I’m not crossing the wrong boundary, that is let me say it in less clear terms, that is more clear terms if you will, it is maddness season. Ok, I don’t like it, in a guise or by itself, what, ok… it’s true I have to try hard to grip that layer, but it’s online, offline I rarely get angry, that is I’m not mad at anyone, but myself, does that make me mad, nevermind, once again let’s hope we can keep this within the framework of Deleuze (who’s he?) my prediction that is in itself a part of the predicament the prediction puts us in, we can all know friendship may not be off the table.

My guiture/piano/recorder(??) is out of tune, long out of tune, I can feel the off key vibrations as I write here lately, I used to be addicted to cheep computer games, the cure was the internet forums, what’s the cure for the internet? You both are likely to be well-qualified for the newly developing field of friendship with me, but don’t forget other career options are available, better ones, maybe all of them better ones, who am I fooling, I’ll know both of your maddness if from nothing else than if you don’t take those other options; a qualification based on a qualification, if the new teacher must teach to be a qualified teacher and the students must be taught to be qualified at whatever, where is the qualification coming from? Perhaps there was a prerequisite, the world itself, speaking for myself I failed, that is I passed the prerequisite… I’ll leave it there…

I’ve done iam’s thread, 60 posts worth, I also did his ‘start here’ thread, iam, has full qualfications to be my friend from Deuluze’s standards, but he doesn’t want such friends as me, that is I have yet to find even the remostest qualification on my part. (By the way once my strings are practically falling off the surface, then disregard, such, that is such as that just written.)

Actually friendships are varied, qualifications need not be set in stone, as in the old times, as when a friend in need and deed, was written with the blood of each mixed, or later in chivalry times. All that’s probably irretrievably.

On madness, well, being mad at the world pretty well says it all, the cure. Is remote, and definitionally it’s either internalized or externalized in varying degrees.
When it’s shared, its called a political viewpoint.

Stream of consciousness is great, and is a way to get into hidden truths. I really believe this, and the currents, the sources, are there, waiting to be outsourced, in veins of meaning which is quite remarkable. It is uncanny, as we grow older, how acutely one become aware of the fact that all current’s merge with the great river below. Carried to it’s conclusion, one cannot know, but can sense the truth of this.

I haven’t read anything worth reading for a long. Time, but things will come to me by and by, as did Polanyi in a dream, and some other things which may relate to things we talked about. Later.

Anyone can stab you in the back literally, but only friends/family can do so figuratively. Yes the long lost perhaps only dramatized days of blood brothers is over, irretrievable because there no longer exists in this world a foundation, figuratively people’s respective blood mixes like oil and water. I would settle for a friend who would promise to stab me in the back, figuratively, but also mention that they will at least make an effort not to twist the knife. When Ceasar was on the floor looking at Brutus he was surprised to see his friend there, when I look up the only surprise I could possibly have would be to find a friend of mine was there and smiling… I exagerate; even a feigned smile, for appearances or because they thought of something funny they heard earlier that day, would be ok, hardly startling. I would be surprised to see the glimmer and arched eye brows of one who is trully amused… not really, if they were my friend shouldn’t I wish that they would enjoy them self even in such a moment, or exactly in such a moment; a moment that reminds all of us that life’s short, enjoy the moment. That’s why I say to make an effort not to twist the knife… not for my own well being, it’s symbolic of one’s intent, twisting means one has resolve, let’s not have resolve, let’s not have a indescision either. It is the absurdity that is the most comfort. That my friend would do so because it is absurd. No malice would be appreciated, joy as said is ok. Some people have always known cold steel from their friends in such a fashion. Friendships for them become absurdities in them self. You who are my friend, they say, will betray me, hate me, it’s enevatable. The absurdity is double, in that the one goes into it knowing the outcome and the other who only smiles ironically upon such a prediction, still let’s such a lark become reality, with no thought to the friend who they plan on betraying’s foresight. Let their be one more absurdity, let the friend leave their hate behind, their indecision if any behind as well. Let them deside what they are going to do, that is where and with what knife and do so with the absurd in mind. I don’t want pity in their mind, nor indecision, nor hate, a mind only of the absurd is most fitting for such an act, then as said a smile would be ok, enjoy yourself as if causalty alone had been at work.

So actually I would settle for very little; no loyalty, but no pity, no regrets, and if hatred must come, let it be no stronger than the hatred one feels towards a wild dog who steals their sheep or to let the analogy of me be more accurate, hate me no more than me as a wild dog who does God know’s what.