MY NEW COWBOY SWAGGER

MY NEW COWBOY SWAGGER AND PANDORAS BOX

AXIOMATIC to me, my cosmos, world and mortaltity was Buddhas words to Arjuna, WHEN A CANDLE GOES OUT IT DOESNT GO UP, DOWN OR ANYWHERE.

However close to atheism, its more skeptial even.
I read in MacEowans a Mist Filled Path recently, that a flame can go out for two hundred years, and if you rub twio stickes together the flame will reappear perfect and intact.
Not even paradignm shift or new axiom, just mystified.

Like an explosion that just gets curioser and curioser, like an explosion of honey, is like Eve, Pandora with her curious box is held for bringing evil into the world. Both out of curiosity, our superior quality,

So this is an explosion, a curiosity that would magnify the sun.And bring guns into the world.
I feel deeply for woman, not just as the ultimate being but by the fact that I cant pass and am so treated as woman every day.

Pandoras Box

Logic, while the cohesion of ou fairly secular society,perhaps stopping muder of Muslims and LGBTIQA. as a ways seemed to me, lacking still. like Molly Meldrums hat. An axiom. We can doze on it.
If there was a sun of late, it is Buddhas axiom.
How much of my life was changed: its a reference point OUTSIDE, ponting INSIDE, were looking at each other with sunglasses, one at the other viv-a-viz.

An Axiom

Ill descibe an axiom as I have discovered many terminology and certainly not all D has taught me, but also that you learn yourself.”Axioms”: the Big Bang, desire, societal norm, progress all in a puuff of magic dragon: axiom. There is now even wackier axioms like ufo abductions, reputation, and if you’re rich that axiom seems you’re untouchable, and yet – perhaps even more insidious, thats what everyone wants. Careening down a a subway I only want me, now. I let loose the line, my certainty

The Seagull Assemblage
Listening to a psychology lecturer in a podcast, he had this Cartesian idea that when you looked at someone the magnitude of them would have to completely reassembled in your mind, and dissembdled the moment something new caught yout eye, a letter say, wherein the process would start again. This seems dijointed, sad and lonely. As if the lecturer wanted to but could not accomplish it, connection. Regardless, his heart was in the right place. Which, though Cartesian,oddly like a lot of Catesianism has a lot of heart.

To Illuustrate to Seagull Assemblage

The computer assemblage: our eyes assembling dots, configurations, maps; a seagull mapped on a screen. We adjust,but its not real. The seagul. The axioms – the computer, the seagull,even to some the binary code is not real.

So, the seagul APPEARS to be AXIOMATIC.

I would argue THE AXIOM IS AN APPEARANCE IN ITSEF.

Illusion (so tired of that word)

The seagull, the statement THE AXIOM IS AN APPEARANCE IN ITSELF,

would appear to imply illusion,
However, between the two, the seagull and the person smiling at this being, there is a CONVERGENCE, much like an atomic structure, or much like a convergence of a box.

The illusion says on a very sperficial level “”TRUTH IS DEAD”, however Neitzche was as much a he liked to beieve himself free, a victm of his
own society nonetheless. Tho much like myself.

Lets rise I, not Nature

I dont qite not know what you see when you see this duck. Is it a duck an ass for your bemusement; an assembled ass. For if we no longer see an AXIOM, surely we can replace it with Santa, if we wished,

Stipution: there is no wrong this human capability: it is the root of creativity and vision and invention.

Yet when we politically and socially talk about black being cojectured and logically made into white, we are at the heart of a corruption, seeeping into minds, but firstly hearts. For a black heart, reverberating around a fete not only darkens young ones but would sicken our ancetors who fought the Germans, and there fore rips into everyones souls. Yet these very ones act meek and mild, as if their massive slander were the result of righteounses; the self righteous peril.

They Issued from Pandoras Box

Pandora was told not to open her box, Curious, she let it open end everything came out, as if it was the Ghostbusters movie.Finally, “worst” of all, out came hope. But imagine everyone who could exist, was a pandoras box. That from us, it all issues, We are all hurricane, dont be belittled, Separating Pandora was kind of like setting up the suburban wife from her alter ego, Woman was domesticated further down a rung, than even Lilith.

But I could digress into the plight of viscious women all the time.

But how dare she ever want to know what was in the box? What is this moral which could never be expected to be upheld?

For me it is about exile, from happiness, a good society, and understanding, There goes the finger waggging.

Yet, in reality, the gods laugh at thes shining silver apple.I laugh too, at Pandoras Box. This tree branch. leading a long road.
Mining, whence issues the horrors but the silver bells. she’ll never choose to be with you Cal,but I shake a branch, from which the birds gather, whence issues all happiness, the road, the branch, the songs and light of poetry, yes fate, you’re a milkmaid, Ave Maria. “and see”, says Bruce Lee, “how this branch becomes a weapon.”

Pandoras box is rolled out like a steamroller. You have to say it was bad. So how then, does the box of monsters ring with the melody of entrances? By letting it.

Buddhas flame – my axiom – was so limited there were no entrances, no exits. I was a box and a monstrosity, convoluted round a flame that I believed was freedom. Yet still, there = no paradigm shift, transformation or reassemblage. Yet the axiom is me.

Im not claiming Im enlightened, good or wise. I just want to share.

Injury: this bit here this bit there till theres a crack. This is a shamanic journey, this piece of written word. I hope to reach another who thinks the same ut perhaps has not yet realised themselves.

On Rimbauds disorieting of all the senses, its relevent in the same way as Pandora, it helps disassemble the axiom the lords have erected…above, I speak of Corbins sacred geography – the vertical, spiritual dimension, and the profane, horizontal dimension. Is this not what Corbin means by the burning bush? I mean is not the geography of the planet drunken at times, is not the alphabet missing a beat, and are not we imperfect creatures having fun? Are we not then armed with Corbin, Rimbaud, Descartes, Buddha and their gifts? And is not then Time a dizzyingly high gift? From here we could speak of illusion, but its so plainly just a cheap trick, a sleight of hand too often repeated, destabalising the self and laughed at knowingly with a wink from one who can think no deeper than news feed.

Enter myself, an explanatioon in so far as we could relate, both practising philosophy: I was born, have done many bad things, try my hardest to do what’s right, now, but still get crap off people for not being as supposedly great as they are. I try to be good but its never enough. Im sure you feel the same. Point is, where I say “its never enough”, well to me, it is. Since I can never be perfect, trying is the best I am capable of. In the same way the Earths Perfection is Growth, and Change, my perfection is trying.To walk a tightrope is grace, I don’t know how many times I’ve fallen off. And someone helped me up. Point is, I now believe in magic. If Buddha was right about a flame not going up or down, and the shaman was also right about it appearing two hundred years later, the understanding of both those being right has shot my sense of awe at the universe to the point that I believe no matter what stories we humans will ever be able to tell will evoke the smell of an element on another planet or no matter how familiar the world seems to me someone some day will find a rock on a creek bed, to love and cherish, which I merely passed over.

Entrance to entrance I found myself between realms. We – as mortals have that complex, do we not – what will we find at the end? See? Buddhas axiom becomes a beat. Im ok.

Entrance to realms: cat, bird, dog, fairy, gnome, upper, lower – could perhaps even talk of human realms, even the heart realm and the finger realm, “sweet feeling”.

I wrote a spiritual autobiography several years ago and it was about illusion. Somehow, my madness of eliminating every axiom until there was nothing left revealed something. It is not Buddhas flame, it is not emptiness. And it might sound like the most solipsistic thing you’ve ever read: but I discovered me, among realms, a bit there, a bit here. But Cal of many realms, flung far and wide even through the messages on facebook. That is my vision. I walk through realms. And in each realm I am there. Even the drug addled “psycho Krieg” realms. And I have the laughter of silver apples. In whatever room, each realm I can be sure, just sure that I am ok, no matter the shift or the quickening darkening, no longer threatens, the Cal realm. Maybe a pause as I enter the salon, but my hand on my gun, the Cal realm. I listen to Ramjet, and he seeks out that realm. And I am there and I listen and I shift into that realm. And I don’t care for a rich realm: I want the green realms, the veins of ore realms, realms filled with laughing love. Lady Earth, perhaps one day…will I see you, I in my form, will surely be…without words, unknowing