Superpositions of Types Across the Interpersonal Chasm


. . . . . a lever falling into place as a switch, chaos & control resurgent, limitations between our understanding of one another; no one may know what kinds of conversations we have within, insofar as we even notice them — beyond and above, beneath and below, the biochemistry variances are infinite yet echo one another infinitely, particularly plain is the matching up across the interpersonal chasm of the exogenous modifiers – a net for catching the intersection of states.

Spinning across the many billions of forum posts and web pages, seeing what can be seen, digging through Wikipedia and and skimming into papers and abstracts, setting up a game of comparisons: observe this generic Nutri-Grain bar pin its wrapper; what does it mean to you? Unhealthful candy poison? Or a way to keep up blood glucose on the go or when time and a wrecked kitchen do not permit cooking? Self-care is not about absolutism or asceticism or elimination of things.

Beyond the visions, beyond the codes and keys, beyond the viral slanders, beyond the mental logic bombs, beyond the lies in your heart, beyond the vanity of what’s expected, a still place opens up. Look for it near the dan-tien. No one listens but the butterfly of the crown, no one hears but you; stick by what you know about yourself & let none batter it without sanction. Tithing the spirits their due, there is trust in the unknown, there is trust in the flyest flow, there is trust in ancillary incidental minutiae, there is a light in the attic, an end to the sidewalk, a Lorax, a march hare, and a flotz who gobbles dots.

In the ends we bounce and bubble, in the ends we squawk and blither, at the dawn we spark and sparkle, at the moonrise incant and unwind, at the stillness, breaking open the head… The man of feathers is checked and balanced, the man of strings is unwound and unglued; the Pixie dusters sleep sound and take turns. While one to the others repetitively recounted the turns, some to the one insisted on a pause. Exasperated, they wandered off, though soon to recheck and return . . . . .


Correction: 75th Bicycle Day tomorrow, not 115. Bicycle Day is the anniversary of Albert Hoffman’s first deliberate dose of LSD (the 2nd ever acid trip!). Had not looked at when I did the drawing’s picture part, so did not know it was near Bicycle Day when I drew. Signed original pinned for free taking at the local Heine Bros Coffee. Finished (?) rejigging the glyph sets for the Verse Cubes project the other day. Below is the random draw for this post:


Additionally, the plan was already for Synaptic Syntactic, to be submitted through BookBaby tomorrow, latest. Seems apropos that it happens to be Bicycle Day.

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