The smell of smoke

Ashes to Ashes

We all fall down

In quantum mechanics, the uncertainty principle, also known as Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle or Heisenberg’s indeterminacy principle, is any of a variety of mathematical inequalities asserting a fundamental limit to the precision with which certain pairs of physical properties of a particle, known–or unknown.

Deadliest Fires

Some say the world will end in fire

Some say ice

Don’t wait til too late

Flame Thrown

Returning Home

returning home after a wildfire

she seemed so resolute

in her opinion that this

could not have happened

Just one week into her

settling

It was time

for her

time to reconnoiter

time to reflect

And then.

This happened.

And then, this happened.

The ash remains

The memory charred

Nothing but soot left

The blackened hand has

declared your collected lives

untold

Revealed

only to be told

again..

Where are we burning?

June 12, 2017

at 05:12PM

And if that weren’t enough, there’s the 3.5 earthquake

http://ift.tt/2rpeA5V

Your battle already won

Attack like the fire

And be still as a

Mountain

Funny girl

Funny, I never thought of a machine as “being.”

The end was in sight.

Shelley be damned

Ozymandius had won

in the end.

Not knowing

Not knowing or not being aware

are so different

from

your not wanting to know

This was during the time 

This weekday was your average forgettable day until That sound, unforgettable now but so nondescript at the time.

Time, our fatal flaws realized in a mirror, faded paper mocked up words from olden times that don’t much matter anymore with gender reassignment, biased reporting and single payer death mill. Is it me or are there more pharmaceutical company ads than ever before….

In silence, make the command, “Creator of All That Is, it is commanded that the activation of the youth and vitality chromosomes of (your name) take place on this day. Thank you! It is done. It is done. It is done. Show me the master cell in the pineal gland.”


Are you there pineal gland, it’s me Margaret? 

Sunday Morning worship at Secret Bonita Gardens 

In silence, make the command, “Creator of All That Is, it is commanded that the activation of the youth and vitality chromosomes of (dee dilly dumpling) take place on this day. 


…Thank you! It is done. It is done. It is done. Show me the master cell in the pineal gland.”

The best part  is I have no idea the source of this prayer…but it seems fitting for this gorgeous Pasadena day.


Try to observe in your imagination the Virtual DNA Strands stacking in pairs on top of each other with a telomere cap (chromosome tips) 

at the ends. 


Sometimes this happens so fast, that you may have to ask the Creator for a replay later.



Are you there chromosome, it’s me Margaret?

Namaste

False Face Society 

One of the major causes for the creation of False Self identities is betrayal. It is a form of chaos which is caused when someone we trust is unfaithful, disloyal, or deceives us in some way. Identities are formed in an attempt to handle or overcome this crisis.

Crazymakers everywhere 

If someone abandoned you after your repeated efforts, you might absorb the message: “I can never do enough. I must prove that I can accomplish and do enough.

When you are told the same shaming story your whole childhood, you believe it, bury it, overcompensate for you darkest ingrained beliefs foisted upon you as a unassailable truth.


…we draw a false internal conclusion from the external events that occurred. We spin our mind in circles, desperately repeating the story to ourselves and trying to rationalize the shock that occurred when we were separated from love.

It’s so difficult to relive any of it.


Experience the core shame. The feeling your body is always trying to contract, avoid, distract, and disprove. 

Protect, suppress, deny, keep secret. 

..you do not heal the core shame, because it is false. As long as we try to heal it, our lives are still organized around the premise that it was true. How can we heal something if it is not even who we are? If we try to heal it, we are accepting that it is a part of who we are, which it is not. Instead, you are realizing that it is not who you are, and “un-being” it.

Waukegan

We talk too much, Miranda, her feverish sister Sasha said, in her low voice, no secrets come out without silence.

I do. Somehow I’ve come to believe that the last thing a writer or any artist thinks about is to make himself comfortable while he’s working. Perhaps the discomfort is a bit of an aid or stimulus. Men who can afford to work under better conditions often choose to work under miserable conditions.

He had cited his favorite writer, well at least for now, Sampson was irresistible and he knew it and felt guilty and ashamed of his unabashed pheremones and good breeding (his mother was an angel with a pixie wit and his father was some sort of apostle hero who was actually his uncle because his father turns out was some sort of wandering bipolar didn’t know it cad…and hence, this is how I revisit Perseus, Medusa (the new Molly) and the myths of a new generation based on the hidden meanings in the ancient revolving door myths:

In 1939 he went to Greece to visit Lawrence Durrell; his sojourn there provides the narrative basis of The Colossus of Maroussi. Cut off by the war and forced to return to America, he made the yearlong odyssey recorded in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare. Then in 1944 he settled on a magnificent empty stretch of California coast, leading the life described in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch.Now that his name has made Big Sur a center for pilgrimage, he has been driven out and is once again on the move.

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4597/the-art-of-fiction-no-28-henry-miller#

I think these questions are meaningless. What does it matter how long it takes to write a book?

-Henry Miller

From the meaningless questions to the imagination of the future:

Imagine if sixty years ago, at the start of my writing career, I had thought to write a story about a woman who swallowed a pill and destroyed the Catholic Church, causing the advent of women’s liberation. That story probably would have been laughed at, but it was within the realm of the possible and would have made great science fiction. If I’d lived in the late eighteen hundreds I might have written a story predicting that strange vehicles would soon move across the landscape of the United States and would kill two million people in a period of seventy years. Science fiction is not just the art of the possible, but of the obvious. Once the automobile appeared you could have predicted that it would destroy as many people as it did.

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6012/the-art-of-fiction-no-203-ray-bradbury

I read everything by Robert Heinlein and Arthur Clarke, and the early writings of Theodore Sturgeon and Van Vogt—all the people who appeared inAstounding Science Fiction—but my big science-fiction influences are H. G. Wells and Jules Verne. I’ve found that I’m a lot like Verne—a writer of moral fables, an instructor in the humanities. He believes the human being is in a strange situation in a very strange world, and he believes that we can triumph by behaving morally. His hero Nemo—who in a way is the flip side of Melville’s madman, Ahab—goes about the world taking weapons away from people to instruct them toward peace.

I often use the metaphor of Perseus and the head of Medusa when I speak of science fiction. Instead of looking into the face of truth, you look over your shoulder into the bronze surface of a reflecting shield. Then you reach back with your sword and cut off the head of Medusa. Science fiction pretends to look into the future but it’s really looking at a reflection of what is already in front of us. So you have a ricochet vision, a ricochet that enables you to have fun with it, instead of being self-conscious and superintellectual.

The experience of great loss appears frequently in his work.

He recently told me he still lives by his lifelong credo, “Jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.”

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6012/the-art-of-fiction-no-203-ray-bradbury

The Math of Story, pt. 2

Or the continuing math of the continuing story.

the deep dark motion


an expanse that happens to come and go  unpredictable,
since the emotion attached to the action or inaction beckons 
self-flagellation, mutation, abomination.
But today that is not the way I feel or think perhaps it is the sunshine perhaps it is the adherence to whatever shreds of practice can be maintained in constant (chosen, assigned, managed, apparent) chaos, a swirly world of why is no one listening to what I want?
Why am I not absolutely perfect, never misunderstood, completely influential, with flawless, arguments, solutions to every problem and that other thing, which remains to be seen, will eventually be determined as I am trying to sort that out each day as part of the healing I must face, or die. Literally I won’t be able to continue the way I was and that is both frightening and freeing–not so much for the baked-laced-drench-your-desires-saturated-over-consumption phase that occurs in many artist’s awakening and they use it as an excuse to get fucked up. Not that so much. This is one of those shifts they talked about but I was too far up the valley to feel it until now and I don’t want to jinx anything and go back to the shitstorm that usually seems to present course for me to chart my way through.
 
I want, more Lonesome Dove cattle drive than Bonnie and Clyde so I can focus on things that I want to put energy into —  because sharkland beneath the sea of sharks swimming and eating and swimming and devouring everyone who is good, with those dead eyes.
on a stretch of road
littered with lost souls, we held our tongues.
so now, in this
day to day
existence
we can’t tell
which
is easier
and all we want
as days go by
is less trouble
less testing
less trying
for needless senseless random exercises in futility-
no. no more of that please and thank you.
even if no one reads this, no one cares, no one knows a god-damn thing – there will be no random futility here. That’s been disassembled and analyzed and I’d be happy to explain my theorems to you, they are well thought out. What else ya gonna do but work out those kinds of academic problems when you’re living a block from skid row and it’s hard to tell where your next meal’s coming from sometimes.
 
but no matter
no mind
that’s all
behind
us now
get it
driving fast
write off
the past
and then the hush that came before the roar…

It’s as if
the sea does part
but
these days
it
happens
on the
freeway