Immoveable object.

Irresistible force.

Oh physics you old crooner,

of course would have known that;  would have known of that course.


Acceptance is love.

Can’t quantify how profound those moves.

With an orbit like that.

With all of those moons.




Brett Kavanaugh went overboard.

A woman can’t even approach overboard without everyone in the room freaking the whole fuck out.

A black woman would not have been able to go overboard in Brett Kavanuahg’s position without immediately and absolutely being  irrationally feared and made bad in some fashion or another.

.  Neither Native American women nor white women nor mexican women. LGBTQ members not would have gone overboard and been let off the hook as still good.

Can’t even approach overboard. Can’t even approach seeming upset without upsetting some balance, some social dynamic or code that says what exactly?

A for those men, it is a matter of such ease and comfort for their type now that they make gross, cruel jokes publicly they are so used to getting away with it.


Why is it so intolerable for some types of people to become upset but completely excused when other types of people become upset?

Do we have a people seeing problem?  A people hearing problem?  A people feeling problem?

Softer Places

It’s time for America to admit it has a secret crush on fascism.  Every time there is social and political upheavals it comes down to the fascists fighting to protect the status quo that is unfair and harmful fighting with everybody else  who is hurt by that status quo.  Down through the American ages from the crown royalists to the women’s suffrage movement to what we as a people undoubtably were to the native people of the continent, to the civil rights movement, this has been the dynamic.  So we keep the fascists around in our culture.  Everywhere.  In every level of money and education.  Are we then, as…what, pacifists?  Feminists?  Liberals?  Equal Rights?  Fascism against what?  Progressivism?  Whoa…sorry.  Lost track…Seems like it is people who feel the effects pitted against fascist in every upheaval of American history.

Why does it always come down to the fascists and all the people who have their feelings?  What is it about the fascist bad boy are we so secretly smitten with?  Why the sociopath?  It is Dr. Melphy going for Tony Soprano all over again.

What is it about a rigid, feeling-less bully that we find so admirable?  For we do, as Americans, admire the bully.

Who is this Mr. (Or Mrs. Or Miss or Ms. of just free women who are consumed by rage and un-grieved despair just like their male counterparts and aren’t being focused on as much because common legend in our land is with the male takeover and a rapey romance springing up around it) Fascist?  This tall dark and handsome stranger we all yearn for in this secret, steamy, desperate way?  This Mr.Grey?  What is it that keeps fascism alive in a culture trying to make a multiracial union?  Why do we, as a nation, find this bad boy, rapey type so irresistible? We know him…but we don’t.  We want him.

What does it mean to be silent and decisive all the time?  Is that isolating? Cruel to ask of someone? Who is asking that of which men and why?  Change comes easier from softer quarters.  Where it can.

Change comes easiest from the softer corners.  Those who can make moves more flexibly to change dynamics in everyday kitchen situations every night on the sofa together situations in the bedroom together at work whenever with your mother and brother your sister your father with the kids too.  The more humble positions are less monitored.  Changes come from the softer places.  The salons the barber shops the gossips the juicy gossip dripping from lip to ear to lip flipping around landing unpredictably usually uncomfortably and hopefully pleasurably!    From you to me.  From me to you too.  With me.  With you.

If I may come out and say this has been a man-type that I am overly familiar with because of the years of my life.  Of course no one is without their own natural charms, but to be revered is weird.  And these man-types are revered for having the I-take-what-I-want attitude.  The human consequences don’t matter.

These man-types had to have experienced isolation as babies.  Such coldness!  To think that others are only their for the pleasure of one.

Well, the warmth.  It is there too.  Grandmaw.


Life is so hard.

I say this not to complain.  For I am a hard worker.

Only to observe how incredible it is

that life is so hard

no matter what.

Life is incredibly difficult.  And unsatisfying.

I say this not to say I hate life.  Although it is true that I do.

Only to recognize the difficulties that come with being born

no matter what.

Life is amazing.  Life is incredible.

I write this because it is so and I love life so.  Even against my wishes

no matter what.

Also because life amazes bigger and bigger endlessly like a ripple in water.

Into the smallest and smallest too.  Infinitesimally.

Forever either way.

All ways.

Within and throughout directions human beings can’t even perceive yet.


I must find a way to feel comforted in all of this.

Evil sacrifice because it serves no greater good.

How is it

that such death threats are made

toward those who speak about sexual violence?

Those who report on sexual violence?

Those who observe and express that sexual violence is?

Hatred toward them?  Death threats toward them?

From whom?

Who would hate to see the eradication of sexual violence against the human sacrifice of children’s and women’s bodies in this predator patriarchy?

What purpose does this rape/pedophile culture serve in our society?  Who benefits from it?  Why?  How?  When?  Where?


There is a distinct and imminent threat in the air when one airs about sexually destructive behavior.  Such a secrecy.  For what?  The only death would be to the current way things are.  Surely new and better life would replace that old dead husk.

I wonder who it is that actually makes the death threats.  The phone calls.  The letters.  I wonder what type it is.  Internet troll.  Protecting the one who sexually molested him when he was young.  Collector of child pornography collection.  Maybe people know.  Maybe they don’t.  His cruelty and hatred live such a life of prominence inside of his body and soul.  They direct him.

The sickness of the trauma left to fester grows like mistletoe upon a tree.  Suffusing.  Throughout.   Larger and larger bundles of it showing more prominently now that the leaves are gone.  Parasite: eating at a hosts table.

This guy calls with a death threat quietly from the storm of his empty room.   He will show them they are not allowed to speak.  He is not allowed to speak.  He must be a man.  Others must be in his image.  The crown must not fall.  The system needs upholding.  Help cleaning.

The rage.  The violence.  The silence.

Sending a letter with a death threat.  “Shut up!”  There is such a violence to those types of secrets.

Maybe another one is out and out violent and simply for pleasure does not want the games to stop.  It is only a game.

Those in good service to the church or whatever fraternal order of the father it is coming from now, they too will help to cover up so that they can be clean and good, simple and pure.

So then it is left to the bad ones to speak truth.

In Which I talk with Fear

Me: I’m not going to use you again, fear, to talk myself out of reality.  I understand that things actually can be simple if I don’t use you to talk myself out of the ease of that reality.

Fear:  No!  You need to be better.  There is something wrong with how you do.  Try this thing.  Try that thing.  Get yourself as far as possible away from simplicity.

Me: No.  I tried that before and it doesn’t work.  It doesn’t make me better.  What I am good at and love to do is simple and easy for me.  I am not going to use you to talk myself out of that reality again.  I will rest in the discipline of simplicity.  I will rest in letting myself top out doing what I love because it is a joy for me.  I will not use you, fear, to talk myself out of that reality.

Fear: But, what about this person?  What about that outcome?  What about the consequences?

Me: What about them?  The simplicity of doing what I love and all the work that entails is a reality that I get to inhabit as a joy and a freedom.  And it is simple.  I have to do the work, but it is the simple work of simply doing that work.  I will not let you talk me out of the simplicity of that reality without you.  Goodbye fear.

Felt Vision

The Felt is in the room.

Vision has become black and dark brown checkered spots.  Then pure black.

The Felt is in the room.

Clear.  Sure as a seen object.

You know The Felt in a felt vision.

You now know The Felt and you now know you can trust it because you know it.

There is a white, opalescence shimmering through crystal grains and changing spikes and glows of light.  This white sensation is felt with awe and wonder in the pure blackness.

Particles of intuition move through this simmering in the black with different thrusts and arrivals and curls.  Clarity comes through regarding different states of being, existing, experiencing.

Capacity changes.

The Felt is something so different from the ordinary.  If it is not god then it is another dimension and the bigness of experiencing that feels like god it is so big, so numinous, so amazing so wonderful so awe-inspiring.  If it is not god it is some other being communicating in ways that aren’t easily available to humans for some reason.  Maybe because like Carl Sagan suggests we might be too violent.

The Felt shows me my easy follies in my momentary assumptions and movements as if they were nothing more than a jacket to shrug off when I had thought them stuck into my bones.

I experienced the growth I’ve made in a way I could really trust when The Felt shimmered through and let me feel myself from a totally different and completely unexpected perspective or dimension or god-eye or what…

I experienced myself from another perspective.  I felt myself from another perspective.  Not as words coming from loved ones.  I felt myself as a new voice spoke from around and/or within me and informed me with a greater authority, a greater clarity, a greater numinosity than I have ever known how to feel before, that I was transformed.  Too good to be true now I knew could be trusted.

Felt visions are different each time.  What is cool about them is that the feeling leaves you with no doubt.  Interpretation of course is hard but the feeling will come through and sear you like lightning.  For one moment, feeling will give you eyes into the inner world and will let you see exactly how things are without the amazing acrobatic feats of the human ego interpreting things for your eyes instead.

Feelings give inner eyes.

Felt visions are akin to being struck by a feeling-lightning bolt. Who threw it?  Why at that particular moment?


Evens and odds

I forgot about fear for a moment.

It wasn’t even in my orbit as a possible response.

For the moment

I was all relaxed myself

and humorous

and enjoying the curlique route

of going for my passion.


It was all all right and it felt so relaxed.

So, so humorous.

And clear.

Most of all clear.

I could do anything I would to do.

It was easy.

And if failure?

More humorous.

Living life without fear is simply relearning how to relax and then laugh at how absurdly impossible the odds have always been anyways.

The odds are impossible.  Ill try to get even anyway.  Even with what I want.  Even with balance. Even with staying soft and loving in the onslaught of such hard truths. Even with the odds.

Life will smoosh me anyway.  I want to go laughing at how absurd it is to even try the odds.

Even with the odds.