blank blank fullness

“my hands want to hide in your hair, slowly stroke the depth of your hair while we kiss with mouths full of flowers or fish, of living movements, of dark fragrance. and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet, and if we drown in a short and terrible surge of breath, that instant death is beauty. and there is a single saliva and a single flavour of ripe fruit, and i can feel you shiver against me like a moon on the water.”

- julio cortázar, rayuela, 1963

Thanks to only on de marit for this gem. Kind of my other-half when you look at our sub titles...
Theirs: This is not for you.
Mine: This is for you.

"This incident is one of our last calls to change our mind and behavior. Simply, as a species we cannot continue like this, time is over. It was over long ago... Animals and plants know about this, they have been patiently trying to guide some of us into a better existence, teaching us about stillness, telepathy and the unseen world. They know way more of what we know... And now, in this nuclear incident, who think about them, who is concerned about the dolphins, whales, and all the wild life that might be affected by a potential nuclear fallout? Not a single reference on the net. I find this funny... to say the least.

Regardless of what is happening outside I am very optimistic and in a very positive mood... how can I be in a positive mood while witnessing such devastation? Well, it simply means transformation. Nothing truly new, and as we know, we are all going through the filter in one way or another."

Twitter has slyly satisfied my writing in little bits, allowing me to give and release drops at a time while behind the dam a tidal wave was where I swam, awaiting the moment when, [Oh our dear Japan...]
Satisfaction in a wide worded composition, take your time to listen while letters repeat the silence half way towards sound
My writing has been employed under other capacities, with a more structured tone of late
Yes this too is great, it's all alright, it's ok
Notebooks I carry with me, notebooks behind my bed on the window ledge, books abound fill with an array of notes for work, notes for play-work, notes for good-work, notes for love-mind-body-work.
Insights and must-do's, he, she and they all too
Me-isms from a flash of the mass of places I've placed my head, attention fed, fed, fed
Drop the work as it may seem. Undo its seams stress the intenseness of absolute loss into a 'this' -- at once you'll leave and find yourself
And she comes up for air
taking gulps between a depth swallowing sorrow, and a surface returning tears on a steady stream of all-consuming I-don't-know-how-much-love-my-heart-can-hold this is it's beat: running over and down my cheeks; yes, it's free, free, free
Like a journalist chasing the next-best lead
Impressions picked up from agendas, stories told from the book of life with our talents pointing to Omega point procession adding layers of new repetitions
And a name lost in the aisles of history creeps into my 21st century screen to place into me here those timeless realities -- whilst lilies invisibly mark the air I breathe
And at once with that she's thrust back into her seat where slides slipped by a screen along a wooden-paneled wall with ceilings high enticing dreams; Paris, school-girl scenes
Close-ups remain imprinted upon the brain Campin's altarpiece his details all are she sees
Eerie coincidences cease not to paint her nearto folly of I-can't-believe
Which of course means that's what must be, it must be, there's no clearer way, it has but thrust it'self upon my head and shivers run throughout, felt to awaken even those proclaimd dead long ago without a doubt
In this sea of possibilities how does my free will dictate such impossible chance to let it be
this my dear, the magic dance, catch the reflection, glimpse the trance