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This tree in the middle of Manhattan has blossoms not just in its branch-tops like most springtime trees, but all up and down the trunk and every single branch! I've never seen such a thing before. It looked like a bridal tree!

To dear Wirrow and all, I loved this so much, I wanted to write down the words. Some phrases that jumped out at me I wanted to ponder and remember. I thought maybe other hitrecorders would like them too, so I did it, hope it's ok with you. FYI, I fixed two (what I call) typos, putting the "L" back in (l)ivestock, and removing the apostrophe from "its" as in belonging to it, not contraction of "it is." (sorry, once an editor, always an editor!) So, finally, here it is:

and a new earth


Ladies and gentlemen,

the world is much larger and stranger than you have been led to believe
there are extraordinary things in your everyday lives
there are hidden treasures in familiar shadows
you have been kept shielded
shielded from the dangerous and untamable world of the actual
we hand it all to you on a plate packaged and pristine
the blandly mass-produced trinkets
the omnipresent corporate cafes
the unchallenging brainless autotuned overprocessed media that fills your screens and airwaves
we've anaesthetised you like a Huxleyan Soma
with all the aroma of neatness and control
whilst the disorder of your anarchic nature has been pounding at your soul
we can never be like you
so we reduce you to simplicity
but you have sparks of divinity
you are married to infinity
we make you fear your imperfections
but in fact they are the diamond of your being
and they will always offer unimaginable variations
you have forgotten how to dream
because we have removed it from your language
but there are things inside you that are mysterious and magical and impossible to explain
and if anything cannot be rationally explained then our machines will not compute
you are being watched, my friends
you are taxed livestock
you are numbers on our screens
and you are seeking little other than the peaceful parade of pictures on screens
the tranquil melody of corporate lullaby
this is an invitation
put down your newspapers
turn off your tvs
because there is a war being waged for your minds
and you're starting to feel scared
you're starting to forget just how free and powerful you really are
deep inside you there is a roaring fire
that is not cooled by comfort or tamed by fear
a fire that burns in all things
a fire that can drag your fellow beings out of stagnant waters
and re-imagine your world with no leader or station
no grants from rich foundations
a world that is not made of atoms but stories
a world that shifts its shape with every passing daydream that intervenes your daily routines
and the narcotic moments of creative bliss
the bizarre stomach flutterings with the lovers you kiss
the complex structures you devise
and the endless nights shooting stars into your eyes
there are trails of light in your collective dreams
there is sentience in your discarded machines
everything in this world is intoxicating
everything is on fire all the time
and you are bound only by the limits of your imagination everything else will follow
the world will follow
as above so below
a new heaven and a new earth

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Perhaps the tiniest things you have in common,

may ignite the brightest, most uncommonly delightful friendships!

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perfect spider web in a hanging sculpture. I'm trying to make it come out properly vertical...

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(Ode to "owls & vines" by elayne)

Oh owl with scowl

fine fowl of mine

sits on a vine

so soft of jowl

neath feathered cowl

each line of thine

ethereal design

thirteen align

ne'er whine nor howl

but hoot and scowl

so like an owl

on vine

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perfect spider web in a hanging sculpture. I'm trying to make it come out properly vertical...

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Look closely, and you'll see that within the curves of the handmade hanging metal windchime, a spider has found a perfect foundation in which to anchor today's oeuvre. One permanent, one eternal.

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The Noondays have always known they are THE best caste of shadow… strong, assertive, basking in the mid-day glory of their sun-god’s favor. Yes, there may be contenders, and perhaps some might find a glimmer of interest in the ghostly gloams or the wavery liquidicious longrays … but how can those compare to the solidity, the no-nonsense oomph-ness of us Noondays? they crow with pleasure to one another, and anyone else who cares to heed.

So then, who is this one, this husky healthy little Noonday who, having long listened to her mid-light mother’s secretive sleepy-time stories (about some other shadow-realms our little one can only barely imagine), and what is this she is planning while all the other Noondays slumber in preparation for the next highlight of noon sun, when they will once again regain their rightful center-stage spot?

She begins by avidly questioning her mom, her dad, and all the aunts and uncles who’ve at some point in their lives spoken offhandedly of these other realms. Some are able to shed some light, some haven’t a clue, and gaze upon our questioner with clueless wonder… some even suspecting her motives. When she has learned all there is to learn, when now their answers are all either already answered or of no good use, she turns to her planning.

First, I must figure out how to arouse myself at such a strange and scary hour, ponders our Noonday ponderously, when our sun-god has long been off to the beyond. And, I must try to cleverly anticipate his return with such accuracy, that I may witness just that moment of return, if such there truly be. Aha, auntie’s story of how the farmer is “up and attem” at the crow of the rooster! And she said that happens right at dawn! I’ll make sure to watch the rooster today, try to see where he roosts. If I can try to dally nearby as our noon hour wanes into midlight time, then I’ll be close enough to hear him at the next dawning, and I too will jump up and attem!

But at the next dawning, upon hearing the rooster crow, our Noonday can’t figure out how to make herself get “up and attem” with no sun to energize her. So to overcome her disappointment, all that mid-day and the next two, she works on an inventraption that might bring her the energy she needs to jump “up and attem” at the rooster’s crow.

She first fashions a little storage jar out of some bulby-thing she's found in the farmer’s trash bin, into which she gathers some of the juiciest and brightest rays of the mid-day sun, and then she stitches together a bright-tight light-holder pack out of the greenest thickest leaves, to enclose and preserve the brightness for the next cock-crow moment. Then she hides her pack behind a nearby tree, and as the noonday shadows begin to lengthen, she snuggles down next to her pack, and awaits the next rooster-alarm.

Dear reader, you know since you are currently in the midst of reading my tale, that our Noonday awakes with the dawn the following morning, she whips out her clever inventraption of stored sunlight, and discovers the wondrous half-light and ghostly gloams who inhabit it.

( And if you don't believe, me just look at the RECord of this event, "If the Noon Shadow has Wanted to See a Dawn" by Azur_du_Ciel!)

These gloams, for their part, are de”light”ed to discover our intrepid Noonday! Well, at first they hang back, wondering what to make of the noon brightness that she brings. But after a few fearful moments, the gloams find unexpected pleasure in the warmth and light she sheds, and before you can say cock-a-doodle-doo, they are all sharing, chatting, dancing together, learning as much as they can about one another, until little by little, our Noonday’s store of sun-drops are all used up, and she has to return to her resting place all in the pre-dawn morning.

But, oh the stories she’ll share with her Noonday siblings, when they all emerge from their slumbers! Hmmm... Dear reader, do you think they’ll believe even one little ray of her tale?

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"Mommy, who's stronger, daddies or mommies?"

(me: ulp)

"Well, I guess men's outside muscles are stronger, and women's inside muscles are stronger."

(them: satisfied nod)

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