Durant Hapke
Brothers, and sisters,
My brain pan is boiling -- questions arise at every turn with the seventy eight.
I'm eating yards of tangled string, each strand tied to another wonder (though challenging, said strings are a rock star super food, spun from rich fibers of both questions, and mad insight -- and yes, beer goes well with this heady dish).
Sure, I'm Jack bird reading, and scribbling (meta maps, baby, hooking above mentioned strings into knots, and weaves), but always looking for a better compass, or a fellow traveler to point the way.
Last weekie week, I had to drop by the corner store for some Camels, was chatting with the owner Bruce Smitty (the one arm dude -- that old freak is so funny, he can make change with that single like there's no tomorrow, and shuffle a deck of cards like a windmill in a thunderstorm -- spooky), so, I'm chatting with him about the proper way to do Jack bird who knows what, and without warning, he donkeys down under the counter, and comes up with half a book -- I mean a book torn in half.
"Some "filly" left this next to the Ruffles. This "devil stuff" gives me the warm Willies."
He hands me the half book -- The Pictorial Key to the Tarot, by Arthur Edward Waite.
"Your into this mumbo jumbo, ain't ya DH? Keep it. If that girly girl comes around, I'll send her around ti your place, not a bad looker she was."
Sometimes old Bruce sounds a good bit like Jack bird Yoda -- "Take you to him, I will" -- Right on you little disappointing green sward swinger, sad wielder of the no longer cool force...
That dude George Lucas is now such a pathetic writer director, that his latest three horrifying films actually created a rip in time allowing him to go back to 1977 and destroy the original STAR WARS film.
What clumps of junk.
And that dumb little kid he brought in to be slave boy? What kind of slave lives with is mom, and gets to make cool crap out of junk all day long?
The little wiggler should be living in a ditch covered with a steel grate, and there should be all manner of retched scum and villainy tapping there flu shanks onto his noggin.
No fun robots -- just dirt, and bugs.
I digress...
So the bit of book is torn off right at the Queen of cups, and I've been working on a few ideas about her, and dig that action, but here's the "Q of the D," what is the origin of that funky mug?
I understand the hot curve Queen is scoping out that covered cup to see the future, correct? Or is it a "side winding other reality" of sorts (I sense she's tripping).
It's been spinning in my noggin that these questions of past, present, and future, have little, if any real meaning in regards to the 78, given many of the notions bubbling up out of the fog of quantum mechanics.
However, viewing all that "science" through the morphing lenses of "human perception" is always a very tricky endeavor.
Riffing is perhaps the key, no?
The spin of the moment, perceiving it that moment of viewing.
I was drinking with friends once upon a day, and met this poet, a women who kept bee's (in those bee boxes you see along the road sometimes, by orchards, and what not), and drank Laird's blended AppleJack on ice, and she was crack talented (I've a few of her poems around here, killer quick good), and she had this funky leg action -- Deep Vein Thrombosis.
So?
So, she'd built this weird round doorway looking kind of a deal at one end of her barn out of some old barrels, and in the early morning hours she would stand in it, and "take in the earths moans, and cries," whatever the Jack bird that sounds like -- but it made her feel better.
I'm not sure about all that, but she had a tattoo of the Queen of cups' cup at the base of her neck, and she called it her "kaleidoscope grail."
What's the story with that? I've googled "kaleidoscope grail" but just come up double Z.
Please bring the mad insight, and we can bust out a new mix.
Durant "the universe expands around me" Hapke
My brain pan is boiling -- questions arise at every turn with the seventy eight.
I'm eating yards of tangled string, each strand tied to another wonder (though challenging, said strings are a rock star super food, spun from rich fibers of both questions, and mad insight -- and yes, beer goes well with this heady dish).
Sure, I'm Jack bird reading, and scribbling (meta maps, baby, hooking above mentioned strings into knots, and weaves), but always looking for a better compass, or a fellow traveler to point the way.
Last weekie week, I had to drop by the corner store for some Camels, was chatting with the owner Bruce Smitty (the one arm dude -- that old freak is so funny, he can make change with that single like there's no tomorrow, and shuffle a deck of cards like a windmill in a thunderstorm -- spooky), so, I'm chatting with him about the proper way to do Jack bird who knows what, and without warning, he donkeys down under the counter, and comes up with half a book -- I mean a book torn in half.
"Some "filly" left this next to the Ruffles. This "devil stuff" gives me the warm Willies."
He hands me the half book -- The Pictorial Key to the Tarot, by Arthur Edward Waite.
"Your into this mumbo jumbo, ain't ya DH? Keep it. If that girly girl comes around, I'll send her around ti your place, not a bad looker she was."
Sometimes old Bruce sounds a good bit like Jack bird Yoda -- "Take you to him, I will" -- Right on you little disappointing green sward swinger, sad wielder of the no longer cool force...
That dude George Lucas is now such a pathetic writer director, that his latest three horrifying films actually created a rip in time allowing him to go back to 1977 and destroy the original STAR WARS film.
What clumps of junk.
And that dumb little kid he brought in to be slave boy? What kind of slave lives with is mom, and gets to make cool crap out of junk all day long?
The little wiggler should be living in a ditch covered with a steel grate, and there should be all manner of retched scum and villainy tapping there flu shanks onto his noggin.
No fun robots -- just dirt, and bugs.
I digress...
So the bit of book is torn off right at the Queen of cups, and I've been working on a few ideas about her, and dig that action, but here's the "Q of the D," what is the origin of that funky mug?
I understand the hot curve Queen is scoping out that covered cup to see the future, correct? Or is it a "side winding other reality" of sorts (I sense she's tripping).
It's been spinning in my noggin that these questions of past, present, and future, have little, if any real meaning in regards to the 78, given many of the notions bubbling up out of the fog of quantum mechanics.
However, viewing all that "science" through the morphing lenses of "human perception" is always a very tricky endeavor.
Riffing is perhaps the key, no?
The spin of the moment, perceiving it that moment of viewing.
I was drinking with friends once upon a day, and met this poet, a women who kept bee's (in those bee boxes you see along the road sometimes, by orchards, and what not), and drank Laird's blended AppleJack on ice, and she was crack talented (I've a few of her poems around here, killer quick good), and she had this funky leg action -- Deep Vein Thrombosis.
So?
So, she'd built this weird round doorway looking kind of a deal at one end of her barn out of some old barrels, and in the early morning hours she would stand in it, and "take in the earths moans, and cries," whatever the Jack bird that sounds like -- but it made her feel better.
I'm not sure about all that, but she had a tattoo of the Queen of cups' cup at the base of her neck, and she called it her "kaleidoscope grail."
What's the story with that? I've googled "kaleidoscope grail" but just come up double Z.
Please bring the mad insight, and we can bust out a new mix.
Durant "the universe expands around me" Hapke