repetition is flattery, flattery is cheating?

so using reverse psychobable on myself, i return from a comment behind the candoor to present a future entry made of past substance and much nothingness just like in the beginning when exploration was more important than meaning and abstraction lead to wherever it got me...

or something like that...

wow, both of you from the snail mail days... and sadly, i do not have the last letters you wrote to me (not being able to pick up where i left off so rarely happened to me in this life before the late nineties and i still have not completely adjusted or accepted the permanence of the disconnection cuz, well, after all, who knows better than you two that i am a dreamer, aye?)...



no matter what thought, i am so glad and feel so lucky that you both found me again... the threads of the tapestry of this life have been so frayed for so long, after all... and speaking of hard to find, in a very real world way i am hard to find the way peter was hard to find in hook, but the inciteful kid did find him when he squeezed his cheeks together a few times and looked deep into his eyes... and the child shall lead, obviously...



does anybody really know what time it is, or what the multi-layered meanings in my babbling truly really means?... what have i said about anything anytime, after all... even the shadow mayb have never known, abd where is he now and where does that leave us?...



meanwhile, as for finding me, i always thought i was as easy to find as the pink elephant in the china shop, what with blaring my nonsense and such and such all over the internet in the most public of places... but for the quickest trip to the space before my eyes, i am at (e)thereal daily these days... several times a day, sometimes... i finally revved up the daily diary journal blog discipline and there it is, brief and to the point, sometimes, not much like this comment, but then, this comment is not there, is it?... no, it is here in the depths behind the candoor where the babbling may have peaked once upon a time between the blinding fear-filled pastries of exploding dreams and crushed hopes and the massive recovery and rebuilt transmission parked between my ears on the way back to the euphoria of being me i am slightly feigning today...



what?...



yeah, so anyway, i am still mind-dumping at realtime and less often, here, behind the candoor, where the internet provided an escape from the dreams beamed down from planet candora and the almost return to everyday consciousness that the original live journal where candor could be anyman's (or everyman's... or womans' for that matter, just ask jackson browne) once emerged...



so then, with the demise of bellsouth in the jaws of att and the corruption of the yahoo password due to the confused cookies crumbling all over the once proud internetm so i moved my main email, for when i respond to email, to candoor AT gmail DOT com...



and all those those websites where i can be found mostly sometimes, though there's not been much time for the second and third more babbly places lately and i still have a love-hate-ambivalent feeling about email, but this redundancy may be less useful than it appears... so maybe i blog for the sense of safety that comes from public exposure (lately i've been asking myself why i blog a lot cuz someone who may become a new friend, the first in many years, asked me and i don't have a completely satisfying answer (and isn't that the sign of the potential for a friend by my definition {and isnt that an old familiar phrase}, the inspiration to search for the perfect, or at least a completely satisfying answer to a question... to dream the impossible dream, after all, and still i do it my way la la la)...



anyway, perhaps just for the webmazement of it all, or simply the ego trip, i casually announce the existence and paths to more websites i babble and rhyme at are listed at more blogs and crossroads, but i don't have communication set up on most of those places...



and whatever the reason, finding me, i suppose, cuz that is what i want, really, even if it is a playful game of hide-n-do-seek game most of the time, there is always the po box and phone are on several of my websites, including this one and myspace and facebook where the whole world can search to find me (and if i am lucky, more people who knew me way back when will find me... actually, to find me, just put my name in google :)



meanwhile, in another part of the mind...



34. lately, i eat myself out of the plane of consciousness where my awareness belongs.



35. this has been going on for a long time.



36. time is still relative.



yes, and then, after lapsing into the midst of yet another of the many 101 things lists i was making to try on the norms of the blog world some time back, i emrge stuffed with nuts and fruits and ridiculousness that, when peeled away, might be the foggy laughter hiding depths of meaning so profound, there is no one on earth ready, willing, or able to succumb to it's power and still maintain their independent composure, whatever all that means...



there was a frog that represented something entirely different that may or not have meant anything important that related to anything... and in the end, i must do it to remain alone, for that is the result and on virtually every level of consciousness, the end does explain the means, even when it does not justify it...



love saved, loved gaved, loved living, love giving, and some accept, and some receive, and some just take, and some just give... where is that precarious balance, after all is said and done?... perhaps in the fun, which is all the girls and boys want to have, after all, most of the time... so carry that weight a long time boy, cuz nobody's gonna do it for you... it's life, and you're on your own out there...



which is why i come here (to the garden of the madhouse?)… i can be myself here, which is ever changing anything that the moment might inspire, but it’s still me, all i can be, the chameleon waiting for the partner so the relatively fixed point in space can be chosen and connect with another relatively fixed point to form a line, which would really be a never ending series of spiral whorls formed by two freely moving bodies finding their mass, in close proximity, influencing and altering their orbits, floretting, even, exponentially like a helix painted by Fibonacci or fermat or archimedese, even, ever wandering wondering around the fractalosity of the moment … but enough hyperbole, i mean, before we step down to the level of the magic fart (what was that about squeezing cheeks together mentioned earlier?... oh but then again {and again and again and again and} we all know the real magic was found in semi-classical literature and not even the xian dynasty or in many Galician petroglyphs such as the one in Mogor, even, can explain the last few references…



so we can just enjoy the show…



pause to nod off :)