How long will it continue? It will continue until it stops. But for the sake of continuity one can only hope that it does not extend the pursuit of foolish consistency to it’s ultimate conclusion. A disconnect is some times called for to the delight of some and the dismay of others. I never worry over their delight or dismay because the amount of time they spend in those states is miniscule compared to how much time I spend with the discontinuation of continuing.
Once upon a time it would have been impossible to imagine an ambling ramble through the woods without my favorite nicotine delivery system. That was back when it was simple paper tubes stuffed with leaves, often with a fiber filter used as a false sense of safety feature on this system. But inhaling smoke from burning leaves is what it is. Now the price and complexity of nicotine delivery systems has escalated to truly systemic proportions. But my monkey, lizard, and concept to be identified later brain speaks as one with a resounding “No thank you.”
So I take my peaceful easy feeling delivery system of shimmering prurient phantasms from people and places that always have been, will be, and still are in their given moment; no matter what subterfuge my perception delivers to them.
Meanwhile, smoke em if ya got em and deliver us from systemic temptations.
Now will someone please show me the diagram for this delivery system.
Glaring mistakes are never as glaring as when I make them. But there they are. As a matter of fact those errors in due course often seem to have a glow all their own. Such as the gleam in the eyes of a googly eyed romantic such as myself. But as my past glares back at me I can only say it seemed like a good idea at the time.
So as I amble down the shimmering bike path of life I know the spicy carousel of my existence has been very good to me.
Yes, even the glaring omissions I see glowering at me from a distance. But they wouldn’t be omissions if I hadn’t omitted them.
It was then as I wandered in the forest preserves of my youth unassailed by any kind of Fi that my head began to swim in the past. Sure I was no longer in the moment but the reverie carousel of my days sup supped up both hemispheres of my mushy brain. Probably fired all through the lower middle parts as well.
Oh the lovely visions that swirled around. Some with the quietude of days drowning worms for easily gotten but more perilous to release bullhead. Others of Catholic School girl conquests from after school rehearsals for “Carousel” were like a clarion call to long set aside libidinous memory lures of youth. Also afore mentioned biking on mud paths reserved for the young now frequented by colorfully garbed cycling and jogging enthusiasts.
With that I am pleased that such resources are presently utilized for such ecologically economical ergonomic pursuits. A carousel that has brought us to a much better place indeed on this earthy crust.
Having absorbed the BahaiFi as well as a plethora of WiFi. Adding some 3G, 4G, and LTE stirred my brain which sent over a message from one hemisphere to the other, “Go quest old man. Go quest”; to where once upon a time I rambled, trucked, and genetically gambled. Now I find myself doing the slow limping amble. Not in parked cars with my long blond haired agitated young female animal of yore, lip locking in all the tabooed places. I am become the geezer doing geezer appropriate Tai Chi Tangos in the middle of an expanse of green grass.
Now my Chi has been TangoFied.
It was then I spied it!
Bike path! Why we used to ride these hills over root rippled mud ruts down hill with no brakes hoping we could make the cut and not wind up in the drink.