Not All Who Wander, Are Utterly Lost To Themselves; Why Begin A Creation — Morning Papers XXI
The Shift Caricature Of Things
THE LAST PAPER:
I cannot abstain from the fact that all true notions of creation frighten me at first — mostly abducted from the notion of where will this lead; wherein shall this lead, that bristly fear almost winsome in comparison to all the fears out there, like a Porcupine terrified of a cactus —seems mightily cute of me to feel such a thing, bethinking too much of consequences, I suppose that is a part of the Doctor’s widening sight.
My thoughts bring me back, to the days of hardy clansmen, in the sweat and shade of enlarged fur coats, waisted and gibbet around their backs, whilst the hunkering scrabbling is done; what does it mean for a Seer like myself to meditate, well one is going to reckon that someday, and one I mean myself, such is to I! — Oh, Doc, you sure bamboozle them with your inner-wrappings —
— Purely this shall be wandering around pure thoughts with little judgment from me, without the want of worry of anyone else and all in a first-draft, oh I do hurt my own special rules —don’t I just do, I’m that kind of a lass! —
Such is the luxury of having endless amounts of knives in the pantry — I am drawn wistfully to the leaves, though in your imaginings they’re not projected at all the same in mine. Queer how something so common it may seem to one, for an object under their gleaming glares projects itself into commonhold places simply by the measure of worth — worth of some other current, such as a mountain is larger, accordingly does it construe our views to behold it utterly to its own rungs on this ladder of importance; Is there a universal ladder of weighing up importance, or is a leaf on another, smaller certainly in the wider scheme of things, yet beholden to an aching mind, could be the most precious of things?
I’m thinking now how vermin comes into being broached such ill-repute; seemingly it would happen in a mere moment, with the word being conjured up later that night by some astute scriber of the words and ideas. Yes, I am wandering with my thoughts — or rather running with them this time, so bear with me!
Such is the perception of the Canine alongside the humane bareback sides, I think of all the unheeded paths, all of those craggy hobbling holes where a man quilted his sleep away with a steadfast hound alongside him, just earlier that day they gleamed the footprints of the swift pack of local wolves; both of them were very much in their territory, no matter how much both of their exteriors exalt otherwise!
But how did it slowly become this stark divide, either the divide isn’t so sharply contrasting — with it being then, even more so blurred, that dividing line. Or, was it oh so sudden, a thing of happy happenstance, where a timid dog came into the siring of a tolerating human, who chimes the bidding call of curiosity, as though it was their duty, and thus, hounds and humans became interlinked evermore, why also for most, it is that vocal sin to even deem a Canine's flesh a viable thing;
Pity to the ones, humanity is selecting otherwise, daunting all others for the experience of endless buds of taste —“Cuz we’re Hungry!” — ta very much, G. Carlin!
So here we are, I’ve tried your patience and tested your attention, and what for? Why, to touch upon the endless quagmire that may suddenly erupt itself to the touching pang of creation — why this and why that, and suddenly you find yourself on a long trek down a wooden path of exile to where? Where — let me tell you, down to the accomplishment of seemingly wasted time, for you arrive at a safely closed café, always shut on Tuesdays at noon.
Yet, what did you waste? What was wasted, given the chance of the time and expanse you spent on this mere tangent, you may just allow a certain undercurrent to lap under the cured-wooden boards of the pier, to refind you in some silent moment alone — you may give yourself that chance but mere accidents, seems like a good deal of fabrication dealt by the revealing hand to be that way — happy accidents.
When the lightness of burdens is there, the worlds deem themselves to me with disregard to consequences, that might recommend me to the suspicions I am a reckless fool, but all creation is reckless, to begin with; in the due duress of time, it may have the pillars to refine.
Using the superfluous to deem itself into true motion regarding a craft, by taking yourself down a seemingly unconnected, wastrel of a path. Why not?
What could you lose, by a reasonable daring on your regard —you could induce yourself to a different or an utterly plain of thought, undaunted by the fears of old — you may confer that the anxiety of the unbeknownst is worst, but is it? Have you ever questioned that?;
Not All Who Wander, Are Utterly Lost To Themselves. So why not begin to create — dare it to be, you marvelous being, oh, you shall be! You may indeed be!
Though I say this all with a tone of hypertension between sternness and gaiety — but ‘tis the turning of my workings, and naught can be apologized for it but only applied.
Ta-ta Now! Oh, that is good to beat such a thing of the creaking chest!
P.S.
KendalinJane I do believe I have caught your infectious zeal to ask Why? — oh, them questions!
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