Archive for the ‘Jungle Dreams’ Category


His chalance erupted into the cave with lips and tongue spewing fire;
belly- a cauldron boiling with virulent, explosive flammability and eyes;
glowing yellow-red, intense tunnels into the molten core of his volcanic rage –
He Was Alive!
And for that they would all pay!!!.

Deus Ex Distorsio

not the string played but sympathetic resonance
not the game’s play but its “color”
not the story’s mimesis but its voice over
not the life lived but its historical account
not the  stone but the idea of the stone

 the homing in to the dark space
the removing of the essence to get at the fluff
the study of the interstices, the emptiness between sorrows
the elemental subtraction of all significance to deal, finally, with life

Not the Rock but Sysiphus’ climb back down the hill!
Life is actually about the times when we are not obsessively pursuing
The work/punishment with which we saddle ourselves.
Placed on this rock and given life we commence immediately the struggle
To hang on to it and continue throughout our days.

R.M. Rilke – The Man Watching

Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.
Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.

You remember??? I was 14 when they informed me that the hero in the Ants vs Grasshopper story
was NOT the Grasshopper :-( I am still in abject denial!!!!

Concepts distort rather than reveal reality – William James – j baudrillard cool memories of simulacra –
representations of reality destroy reality. each picture, video, story or verbal representation of
a world 
confines and constricts us to and within a subset of reality.  Each is a spoonful of water
from the river 
that we can never step into again, but, more importantly, one missees the river,
viewing only the 
stepped-into selection and its surroundings. Hearing only the splash of your
feet and croak of the frog 
within your local perspective. Because to conceptualize you must
abstract and to abstract you must 
select what is represented. Selection engenders rejection.
Thus the abstraction is a distortion of 
reality – Poetry is a distortion of reality –
Music is a distortion of reality – Recouinting events is a 
distortion of reality.
(because of its lack of dimensionality it forms an imperfect picture of the 
nature of the actuality.

Je pense donc je fausser

But, WAIT!!!! Poetry (not an abstract idea of poetry) IS reality – prosody; therefore I am.
In the beginning was the word (here a frission, and the sound of hamster snoring, give a
sprinkling palpability to things lurking just outside the cosmos of our sublunary ken.

For Whom The Shell Is Quiet

Since you did not ask (doing as you were told {tolled}) I will update you on your status of tolee-electitude.

The shell (without a clapper the bell is just a hollow shell) cannot be tintinabulative and doesn’t toll for any one.
However, you could invert and fill one with wine or Jackie D or absinthe (I rather favor Wild Turkey 101).
So sit back and worry not, the shell tolls not (naught) pour vous but, it makes a fine hat.

Stones In A Twist

Our lives and loves are songs and we, the poets who write and sing them. Shadow Song


I create a palette of words from which my tongue and pen paint  images upon the canvasses  of imagination. 



Metaphor – abstract symbol manipulation. The highest form of culture. We abstract the essence of elements of our world (and our imagination) and manipulate them such that they create images in the minds of others in synchrony with our attitudes and intent.


Ideas like viri need an host to live. They can remain dormant for many years and spring to life within an appropriate host. We make some intricate marks on a piece of paper (or stone, clay or canvas) and leave it where others may one day find it. They pick it up and decipher it; interpret its meaning and the idea emerges;  rampant and infectious.


Beware then, the bitch that bore him WILL be in heat again!

Schopenhauer spin in your skivvies!

Why aren’t Schopenhauer’s “will to live” and  Nietzsche’s “will to power”  adjacent sides of the same prism with the third side being an innate recognition of the 2nd law of thermodynamics. The human psyche understands entropy (when you snooze you lose!) and objects at rest eventually get eaten by objects on the move, roaming and hungry. The base competitive situation in which all creatures exist make the “best defense is a good offense” strategy an odds-on favorite. Preemptive strikes most often are easier to make productive and survive. Hit-and-run, Sartorius style assaults seek to weaken superior opponents, make them wary of the locale and seek other, easier places to forage.

The “will to power” then is part and parcel of the will to live. It is preemptive strategy aimed squarely at survival.


and they all fall down!

And here I am…lost in a sea of words, aboard a linguistic vessel, decks awash, navigating the shoals of time-worn banality and vapid triteness, heading her up, “full and by”, into the piping winds of work-a-day dissonance and duck poop!

Come share and discover the ways that your language can let you “see” a different world than you enjoyed yesterday. Find the rhythm, color, texture and scope of simple and complex words and their positioning.

Thus when Shakespeare, in Macbeth, rants; “I have lived long enough. My way of life Is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have, but, in their stead, curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.” Or Flaubert, in Madam Bovary, asserts: “Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.”

We, “the Hollow men, the stuffed men” ignore and scoff or prickle and puff with the electricity of those bold realisms. The abstract images imbued and infused within the depths of our cognition seem to jolt us into ever deepening perceptions of the dichotomy engendered by our human self- awareness. At once “tapping crude rhythms while wishing to melt stars” or “expecting troops of friends, love and honor and getting curses, lip-service and being afraid to wish to die” ; as sublunary as those conditions are, all the while distinguishing our intellectual capacities with those very writings that eloquently recognize and assess the complexity of these human conditions.

I stand here quaking, knees abuckle, on the brink of everything that remains unsaid; yearning for the simple sufferage of a quiet end to the jaybird pecksnifferances and insufferable sardoodledom of Blog-ites and Press-maven. As one by one the panjandrums of the punditocracy “shuffle off this mortal coil” each vacuum left then sucks some other pretenders into the morass and they, like jackals to the fresh dead meat, tear into the still warm flesh, blood and bone, savaging that which remains of dignity, civility and contentment. The keening, ululation of fear, uncertainty, doubt, hatred of the different and peevish jealousy over anything not provided for us alone, jangles that primordial nerve that keeps us from who we might be.

© 2018 What's That On the Road – A Head
Magic Vision | Design: NET-TEC of Nahrungsergänzung. Coding: Aloe Vera of Damenmode.