what could have been

yes, hmmmmm, it's just this... it seems some of the closest people just don't get it... the whole blogging thing, especially the whole babbling blogging thing, even more especially the daily journal diary blogging thing from the very beginning going back more than a decade now... it started with and is all about keeping in touch, yes, kit you fools, kit is where it began and kit is where it remains... no matter what else comes or came or ejaculated since, the beginning, that is, whatever this or that or the other thing might be, the bottom line redundantly repeats itself like an invisible thread screaming out in the wilderness...

kit...

so it goes, (and so it goes), and sometimes the oldest dearest friends want letters and do not realize this all started out as letters to them, who remembers letters to friends? (one more deleted website of the dozens of deleted websites that told the story of a life and so many other secrets in rhyme and reason and nonsense once out here on the web for anyone to find), alas, the past passed but was once published and even now, somewhere in the wilds just north of lewiston, new york, remains recorded for as long as paper and ink might last for posterity and anyone who cares... you remember caring, dontcha?... really caring?...

and occasionally, the memory of the reasons and rhymes (photographs and memories), or vice versa, bring me to mist up and rarely these days, the babbler finds time to dive in the deep end and pull out a plum, or something like that... so what news do we bring from the depths beyond darkness where only those who see can find their way to whatever it all means and only those with the guts (and time) can reach out and touch someone even better than an old commercial for an old technology that makes old such a relative term in the grand scheme of the human experience, but that's besides the point, whatever it might be...

are we evolving yet?...

yeah, right... the poing is (don't make me pull another smiley face on you), the point too, actually, is, that is... i mean, the point is you are being written to, letter, that is, to you, pay attention girl, dang girl is as dense as a london fog trench coat before road island red put it on to pretend he was sherlock holmes, aside aside, letters, communication, correspondence, girl, it's correspondence (not the school, fool, but the communication through the written word like pen pals and famous writers and ordinary people who just happen to be literate and actually enjoy it do), it’s the letters, arts and letters, letter-writing, go to mail, go straight to the mailbox and do pass go go go straight to the mail...

yeah, so the internet came along precisely when i lost your addresses due to a misguided love affair (it's still the same old story) and i started the hopelessly hopeful quest (glorious, no doubt) to kit, not kiss, though i am not opposed to the lipping, but kit, as in to keep in touch with all of you and especially those who's addresses i lost and most especially the family i lost in the 1997 border wars (not to be confused with the 1967 war, or when i was small and christmas trees were tall) and they may never have actually known even now as some touching happens daily and yet, i've grown accustomed to the pretense of ignorance and selfishness of insecure ego that does not want to accept the public posting of letters is even more profoundly dedicated (consistent, pretty much) proof of being true than any private internet letter cuz the fact is that the snail mail letters ended only because i do not have an address to send a one-on-one personal letter to, would you just acknowledge it already (whatever it is, aye?)...

if that last paragraph lost you along the way, no worries, it was not meant to be any more generally understandable or deliberately obscure as any babbling ever was and you never know when a huge sink hole might open up and swallow your backyard or whole house, for that matter, so pay no attention to the man behind the curtain and follow the yellow brick road cuz there's no place like home times three to infinity and beyond the green door where you still remember dreaming, tink will find a way... some may get it, some may not, either way, it means a lot...

might as well be line dancing...

like, what-evah... the human mind, in its current state, seems incapable of even imagining the true awareness of everything that is possible in this universe and whether any living being can communicate with another who comes anywhere near imagining the experience (of true awareness of everything) has not effectively made contact yet, at least not to my awareness (ah, is that the rub? nyuk nyuk) but there's always hope (even as i allow background tv to distract me and therein fray the threads of consciousness that might be weaving their way through this babble, alas, as the lack of response occasionally bores and allows for the dilution and reduction and slip sliding away of asides like never before, or at least not too often, or something like that), i hope...

what, are you afraid of sex?...

you could have a gymnast's body if you really wanted to, well, you could be a gymnast's body, not actually have one unless one gave herself (or himself) to you... ah, but the libido sleeps deep (or deeply) in spite of the occasional reminder flashing on the screen or, ever so rarely, in the physical life, so don't be sad, cuz two out of three isn't as unpleasant as one out of three, after all... and don't be ridiculouso, the child's fantasy grows without much change, to each his (or her) own, and the world will destroy what it does not understand, for fear dominates the human mind, in its current state...

and what could have been was not, so the spilled (or spilt, if you are from the great white north) milk might be mixed with tears or frets and if you don't learn to see rainbows and play music (through the tears and on the frets, what?... are you missing the points within the song?), but you have the choice to half-empty or half-full your perspective and when you decide, you will live your life that way unless you decide to change your perspective... relativity, ya know?... for me, what could have been smiles from sad and sweet memory and passion for life and love lives on in the hopes and dreams and daily touch of shared experienced, through words, music, and shared activities...

online, offline, different yet both potentially powerful and as real as we want to make it... right from the start... and is it irony that some who claim to want closeness most avoid it while begging for it as if it is being withheld... and some just disappeared into the darkness of out of touch or at least lurker-ville... some do other things, for there are infinite ways to leave your love, not just fifty... and i know, depression seems like such a comfortably common refuge from the real world of death and destruction, loss and insensitivity, reckless promises and careless lies...

but it's such a waste...

not all poisons are physical, after all...

choose your poison as you will, i shall choose laughter (do you remember laughter?) whether i am on a stairway to heaven or a road to eternity or a slow boat to oblivion or going nowhere, you are still welcome to come with me, you know, that's alright with me... unless your poison is self-harming or harming those around you, in which case, i'd really rather prefer you keep it to yourself... i mean, i love you, i just don't want harm around me... take your time, learn the harmless way, and then you will understand what i mean and appreciate my request...

and my caution...

once upon a time there was a lemon tree with fruit that longed for sweetness for the foolish lemon tree did not know enough to teach it's fruit that common knowledge and the way it has always has been is not necessarily the way it really is and the fruit never knew how sweet it truly was just because it based it's self-image on the world around it and those in it, rather than on the true nature of itself... get to know the true nature of yourself before you try to share yourself, or you will only share your reflection in the pool of history and popular opinion... the world was never really flat, you know, and the sky really is not blue, but don't take my word for it, look inside and you will find, if you really open your eyes and trust yourself, all the answers you ever needed have been there all along...

fruit (even beavus and butthead can laugh without knowing why)...

enjoying the gusto of life is not a great secret unless you do not know how and then, sadly, you missed the opportunity by your own volition, your choice to empower fear over love, insecurity over reality, blindness over experience, rhetoric over communication, la dee over da…

meanwhile, back in the mind of the babbler, the hope dreams of promises kept and eternal love remains sweet and tasty and fresh as the day it was born, which brings us to the pudding, or proof within, that anyone can see if they want to so you just have to ask yourself, do you want to?... well, do ya, punk?... ah, punks, now there is a sweet olfactory memory… almost as sweet as getting high, you remember high, dontcha?...

anybody reading some of the babbling i do now and then, or all the time, even, might suppose i am in artificially induced (and flavored) consciousnesses or under the influence of aliens, but i assure you there is nothing artificial or alien about my influences over or under my consciousness… there is more awareness than words can convey and more sensitivity than a body can stand, there is more or less amazement swimming the dark brown eyes, and fun in every molecule (built in, aren’t genetics wonderful?)… but there will not be any name dropping of famous lineage here tonight for the simple joy of being me is all i need to find the passions and pleasures of life every moment even if no one knows or is around to share…

yeah, wonderful… if you understand, the laughter is shared... you can be and feel and know and share wonderful too if you want, you just have to want to enough… it’s all inside, remember?... so you want a letter just for you, well, send a letter just for me, or respond to me and you will see, a letter written just for you, not necessarily in rhyme or haiku… well, the best of intentions, at least… i have not had daily time for the kind of writing i love to do in quite some time… as the inevitable subtle as a brick coyness of perhaps you’ve noticed? points out, the pudding, so to speak, is all around us, all around this blog and those other babbling places i once inhabited much more often than i do now… but the gymnast’s body, err, i mean the right person (doesn’t even have to be the one, i think, just might draw me into a conversation, communication, correspondence, renewed love affair with sharing the written word…

it helps if you think i’m some sort of clever genius…

oh, but who gets all the nuances, references, and laughter in all the asides… or even some of them… enough to want more… can it be any less than an addiction?...

of course not…

so if you get it, even a little, then… until next time… celebrate :)