Saturday, January 28, 2006
Today's Writer's Tip: The Deconstructed Altar
Two mugs of tea, one for the masculine, one for the feminine. Choose appropriate mugs and teas and coasters. Mine are: a brown cowboy mug I got when I visited Denver and Boulder far to the west of Boston to see my sister who was writing a report on greenway plantings for cities, and the other is a green on white Ann of Green Gables mug from when I went with my shy redhead librarian girlfriend to visit her hero the Ann of Green Gables house on Prince Edward Island to the north of Boston, and I have fond memories of her because she cried when she realized we had to break up because she was a lesbian, but I said that's fine honey you just be what you're meant to be, and I cried too, and life went on.
Denver Cowboy sits to the left of my computer on a forest green Mexican design coaster that my dear wonderful wife from Texas purchased when we were visiting her folks. My father was German and I grew up in a New York State with a sister and mother and father. Sometimes I got teased for being German. In college I listened to a lot of German rock and pop music as introduced to me by my German professor who became my best friend for a while until I got all metaphysical and weird on him years later, and I had a local girlfriend who was in German studies and took me to Germany twice and moved there and married a German after I broke up with her. I made experimental lyrical electronic music that I sang in German for years after that, which was on the way to metaphysical breakthroughs including feeling spiritual connections with some past Germanic composer/authors. I do a lot of writing in English (which is my wife's last name, and she is a language teacher), and I'm writing and you're reading in a language that is closely derived from some old German languages. So Germany means something to me, and surprisingly my wife's area of Texas actually was settled by a lot of Germans. Thus I will never forget a billboard I saw with her once driving between San Antonio and Austin (I don't think it's there anymore). A jolly boyish guy in Lederhosen was saying "You all kommen sie back now, ya hear?"
I felt right at home.
(Is he American? Is he post-modern self-engineered? Is he Terran? Yes. Yes. Yes.)
Mmmm, a sip of Honeybush tea. That's the green on white feminine mug on the right on top of a green and blue floral four-cornered design on white Mexican tile too, also purchased by my wife. Normally the right side would be the side of the masculine, the will, the action, the personal, things you can act upon and from. The left side holds the cowboy mug, normally the feminine side of receptivity to the universe, of accepting and working with the universe to enter harmony and see the ways to get what you want smoothly for all benefit. But since the left and right sides of the body cross to the right and left sides of the brain, respectively, then it's never really clear whether it matters if you flip the sides' gender. What works is what's right for you, including doing something entirely other than reading this obsessive essay, or "obsessay" as I will henceforth maybe say.
Cowboy holds ginger tea. Now there's a tea of action. Cowboy is accepting my action self, to work on my computer. Further to his left is snacks. Dragon Fruit, from a hip food store called Trader Joe's. Dragon Fruit is an exotic woody tasting fruit, named in the East, but otherwise known as cactus fruit in the West where I believe it originated. To the right of the house of Ann of Green Gables - that Shakespearian Pollyanna who grows to be a woman with her own strong mind - I lit a rich orange candle that I must remember to not let drip.
By the way, some spacey world dance music is playing in the background, from some Buddha Bathroom series or whatever the marketing department has developed for me. I'm okay with it because it's actually pretty nice.
If you follow these altar specifications exactly prior to any sincere writing session (remember, it is the heart that matters) then you may become licensed to channel me and write a blog like this one, that is your choice. I've given sense coordinates to a psychic position, possibly. However please be warned that this state of consciousness is copyrighted, so anything you may channel from me is copyright by me and even then by my estate after I have shuffled off this mortal coil as they say. I do this not from pride or jealously, after all I'm heaping the adjectives for rather mudane joys, but only that I and then my estate may retain the ownership rights of first refusal as well as control editorial and distribution processes.
I say this to be fair to my own glimpsed but heretofore unnamed muses. Sorry, dear friends, but until you manifest physically to be in the needs of sustenance like teas and Dragon Fruit, as am I, then I am obliged to point out that I'm the one living in the material world where copyrights can contribute to the making of a living. I will strive to reference you in some accrediting way. But also, in this direction of musing, I wish to generally lighten the monologue with the satirical benefits of perspicacious delineation. There are some really weird thought forms that people can channel these days, and I wouldn't want my material getting mixed in with some trickster discarnates in campaigns of weird projective mischeviousness ladled with abject ignorance. Been there, done that, know what I mean?
But if you don't (know what I mean) then if you make your own altar with your own materials and good personal self-appreciation (as opposed to impersonal self-appreciation, which may be a goal) -- and perhaps just be sure to engage as many dimensional senses as possible including taste and smell and touch and light and sound and memory and relationship and space and time -- then you may aspire to channel your truer self, future and or higher, if not spirit or soul. I certainly hope to do so in the writing I'll be doing as soon as I finish this silly blog, which is dedicated perhaps to that florid author Proust, of whom I have read only one sentence, but since it was one of his longer sentences I think that counts for quite a lot actually.
Honeybush, ginger, honeybush, ginger. Say, perhaps one might profit and benefit the world as well to sell a ginger honeybush tea. I will be just this once like Benjamin Franklin, who prospered well enough already to delight in giving away fabulous ideas upon which others built their fortunes. That is to say, should ginger honeybush become the cornerstone of your empire, I would not make legal claims so much as request that you do good with your wealth, such as give to homeless kittens and puppies, feed hungry children, and get better people in the White House.
Hey, if you like my blogs and can identify the personalities behind each entry which is different from the last as being of a certain psychoacoustic identity, ie. vibration that might be phonetically transcribed in the Western alphabet (the ISO-8859-1 character set is preferred) then you can email that to me and I'll try to pronounce it.
Or, if it be easier and applicable, just tell me what you like about my blogs using that little feedback comments link below here. See it down there, yeah that. If you don't say something then I won't know that you ever read this, and that may weigh upon your conscience and even incur karma, so someday you'll be like fixing my hovercraft, or I'll be fixing yours, whichever way the karma goes. I can't figure out these things, I don't run the place, I just incarnate here.
Over and out,
Carl
Denver Cowboy sits to the left of my computer on a forest green Mexican design coaster that my dear wonderful wife from Texas purchased when we were visiting her folks. My father was German and I grew up in a New York State with a sister and mother and father. Sometimes I got teased for being German. In college I listened to a lot of German rock and pop music as introduced to me by my German professor who became my best friend for a while until I got all metaphysical and weird on him years later, and I had a local girlfriend who was in German studies and took me to Germany twice and moved there and married a German after I broke up with her. I made experimental lyrical electronic music that I sang in German for years after that, which was on the way to metaphysical breakthroughs including feeling spiritual connections with some past Germanic composer/authors. I do a lot of writing in English (which is my wife's last name, and she is a language teacher), and I'm writing and you're reading in a language that is closely derived from some old German languages. So Germany means something to me, and surprisingly my wife's area of Texas actually was settled by a lot of Germans. Thus I will never forget a billboard I saw with her once driving between San Antonio and Austin (I don't think it's there anymore). A jolly boyish guy in Lederhosen was saying "You all kommen sie back now, ya hear?"
I felt right at home.
(Is he American? Is he post-modern self-engineered? Is he Terran? Yes. Yes. Yes.)
Mmmm, a sip of Honeybush tea. That's the green on white feminine mug on the right on top of a green and blue floral four-cornered design on white Mexican tile too, also purchased by my wife. Normally the right side would be the side of the masculine, the will, the action, the personal, things you can act upon and from. The left side holds the cowboy mug, normally the feminine side of receptivity to the universe, of accepting and working with the universe to enter harmony and see the ways to get what you want smoothly for all benefit. But since the left and right sides of the body cross to the right and left sides of the brain, respectively, then it's never really clear whether it matters if you flip the sides' gender. What works is what's right for you, including doing something entirely other than reading this obsessive essay, or "obsessay" as I will henceforth maybe say.
Cowboy holds ginger tea. Now there's a tea of action. Cowboy is accepting my action self, to work on my computer. Further to his left is snacks. Dragon Fruit, from a hip food store called Trader Joe's. Dragon Fruit is an exotic woody tasting fruit, named in the East, but otherwise known as cactus fruit in the West where I believe it originated. To the right of the house of Ann of Green Gables - that Shakespearian Pollyanna who grows to be a woman with her own strong mind - I lit a rich orange candle that I must remember to not let drip.
By the way, some spacey world dance music is playing in the background, from some Buddha Bathroom series or whatever the marketing department has developed for me. I'm okay with it because it's actually pretty nice.
If you follow these altar specifications exactly prior to any sincere writing session (remember, it is the heart that matters) then you may become licensed to channel me and write a blog like this one, that is your choice. I've given sense coordinates to a psychic position, possibly. However please be warned that this state of consciousness is copyrighted, so anything you may channel from me is copyright by me and even then by my estate after I have shuffled off this mortal coil as they say. I do this not from pride or jealously, after all I'm heaping the adjectives for rather mudane joys, but only that I and then my estate may retain the ownership rights of first refusal as well as control editorial and distribution processes.
I say this to be fair to my own glimpsed but heretofore unnamed muses. Sorry, dear friends, but until you manifest physically to be in the needs of sustenance like teas and Dragon Fruit, as am I, then I am obliged to point out that I'm the one living in the material world where copyrights can contribute to the making of a living. I will strive to reference you in some accrediting way. But also, in this direction of musing, I wish to generally lighten the monologue with the satirical benefits of perspicacious delineation. There are some really weird thought forms that people can channel these days, and I wouldn't want my material getting mixed in with some trickster discarnates in campaigns of weird projective mischeviousness ladled with abject ignorance. Been there, done that, know what I mean?
But if you don't (know what I mean) then if you make your own altar with your own materials and good personal self-appreciation (as opposed to impersonal self-appreciation, which may be a goal) -- and perhaps just be sure to engage as many dimensional senses as possible including taste and smell and touch and light and sound and memory and relationship and space and time -- then you may aspire to channel your truer self, future and or higher, if not spirit or soul. I certainly hope to do so in the writing I'll be doing as soon as I finish this silly blog, which is dedicated perhaps to that florid author Proust, of whom I have read only one sentence, but since it was one of his longer sentences I think that counts for quite a lot actually.
Honeybush, ginger, honeybush, ginger. Say, perhaps one might profit and benefit the world as well to sell a ginger honeybush tea. I will be just this once like Benjamin Franklin, who prospered well enough already to delight in giving away fabulous ideas upon which others built their fortunes. That is to say, should ginger honeybush become the cornerstone of your empire, I would not make legal claims so much as request that you do good with your wealth, such as give to homeless kittens and puppies, feed hungry children, and get better people in the White House.
Hey, if you like my blogs and can identify the personalities behind each entry which is different from the last as being of a certain psychoacoustic identity, ie. vibration that might be phonetically transcribed in the Western alphabet (the ISO-8859-1 character set is preferred) then you can email that to me and I'll try to pronounce it.
Or, if it be easier and applicable, just tell me what you like about my blogs using that little feedback comments link below here. See it down there, yeah that. If you don't say something then I won't know that you ever read this, and that may weigh upon your conscience and even incur karma, so someday you'll be like fixing my hovercraft, or I'll be fixing yours, whichever way the karma goes. I can't figure out these things, I don't run the place, I just incarnate here.
Over and out,
Carl
