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Dec. 24th, 2016

(no subject)

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Six years.

It was 12/23 when I rode wastefully one direction then the other, between the BART to Walnut Creek and Mohammed's corner market, to get that Guan Yin statue or to observe just as hallowed strictures against it. That moment when His Will flowed equally in opposite directions.

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And where did it lead? Guan Yin became the Lo Ji Bo Tat, Logic Queen, the Dialectic Her coursing Prajnaparamita nutrient field. Then from there up-like, Buddha Himself, African ancestors and First Sages, carefully carefully up into 'dieties', you know, not exactly that, but, you know, no they don't 'have energy', no, energy always comes from the same place, but what expression it can crave, then supply, up-style into the Devi, the Tantra, the Yama, as the insights followed that flavor-wheel of Beings and Nothings, engulfing as they do the First Her, day into day, days marking identities and differences among themselves, for themselves.

Until the storage was exhausted.

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Elise pointed out how even a medium-sized new piece meant three hours of rearranging to get it a place. But how to stop? It should have a real stop, not this accidental one, stopping of itself, not abstractly from unrelated constraint. And almost in one day, two months ago, at least I remember the uneventful moment, one morning, a first light, glintful announcement, on the way to maybe brushing teeth...

..."It's Ganesh time."
"Really?"
"Yeah."

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As the scriptures topped out at the Qur'an, the play of not only language but number had defined into a palpable, identifiable nutrient field, a life and a reality and a dwelling, the voice of The Voice, and Our He Who was saying that this is where Idol and Anti-idol were going to meet peacefully, the God of Anti-Idolatry, not as anything to announce to anyone, but, for me, as a culmination of...my, the weight of what there is to culminate...and no one to have Expectation One of any such weights, all just a little bit foil and flutter, but One sees, and responds, always has, but this...I can set down now, take it as a landing place, 'qDhy'ed out for me, a face on it, with whatever humor there might be in that. A Friend. Here. And not that one promised if you '3sh the dhikir', but dhikir in it's fullest swing.

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And right then, Elise has something to tell me. There was a meeting with the contractor and a far-off retrofit has been moved up to almost right now, almost first thing of the new year. Really? And the The He, with that quietness, look around, how perfect, there it is. It will all, *all*, be boxed up. Except for what's almost the full fleet of Winter Semester '17 Ganeshas (who, just saying, is the one invoked when embarking on just such rebootings).

Good reason to call him the Prajnaparamita. Guan Yin and Hegel, GanGanapati and the Qur'an.

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Jul. 29th, 2016

(no subject)

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The punches back to LA, it's no fluke. Somehow. There is the mega-SanJoseSomewhatSaigon, whole town of it, with palms and pools, like with all those people with patios who are gone now, just like, and I mean just like it's all gone right now, you kidding?, thank you not-here-anymore people, don't know if this is what you meant to illustrate, but thank you, well illustrated, nice and clear, every bit here like it was then, but as entirely gone as you...

...might not have seen it, otherwise...

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And Sinatra slugs spiritedly through songs that had long ago seen their time, and not even then, really, considering the banks of urgent tin pianos, hawkers in the doorways come newly over from selling ties or cream remedies, wreck them with alien beats and instrumental technologies, the 'best' of them, though, the 'American Greats', no idea what these kids today are doing, "and let me ^./ PLAYamongthosestars"...lot like these defunct Bolsa Ave 'production companies', come to think of it, same building configuration...

The contradictions that can protect something from its existence, out by the pool, that is, the chlorine.

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Got a good printer, showed itself to be the next step, brought beautiful prints to Jimmy and Sam, of the spectacular pieces they sold us going to work in surprise environments. Jimmy still didn't get that we didn't own Panera Bread, only way that could compute for him somehow. Sam invited us to the back for a beer...ah, are you kidding?, take a beat to recalibrate time because this is exactly Mohammed's non-orthogonal Daly City trailer, but, no, okay, canvas over metal frame like would have served for the booth when he would work Stockton's Cambodian New Year. Cambodian cigarettes, meant to sell them, but had to leave the freezer, guess we smoke them, butts just go on the ground, wine? Sam has settled into 5-dollar cabs, hidden from the wife, who hen-pecks behind the screen in Khmer, which Sam translates under his breath to us, word-by-word with grammar commentary. Can't stop looking at a massive marble Somebody without arms. Broke in shipment. He offers it to me.

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He sparks up that he should take us to noodles, no saying no, and anyway there's that place right by here, by the CD shop, been off-limits because it's so Cambodian, as in class, maybe mob, but with a Cambodian escort, as in ancient-times fellow proprietor, as in big-ticket such, yeah, see, that way they come right up to him, never happen with us. "I don't know anyone any more," he says. "In the beginning, we'd all come from the same villages, like seeing everybody you'd always seen, but somewhere else." And, mob-like, there's a spectacular stage with, it turns out, the main old country names like it was their Vegas. One woman sets her notes into the harmonic soup like yoga, sound man having worked out her special reverb setting. "Woah, who's this?" No, I was serious, who was this? Sam asks around, comes back with nobody knows. No, come on, somebody knows, waitress asks someone who asks someone, brings two Khmer characters on a napkin. "Hey, there's a CD store right here." Bring them the magic two characters, say, "She's singing next door right now." They know her, find four CDs with her here and there on a track. "Can you show me her name?" "Here. 'Khun'" (traces character) "'Khun'" "'Da''Ra'" "'Da', where's 'ra'? Oh, 'dara'" "vatei". Get all four, put one in my pocket and go back over. The host is indicating from across the room, pointing at the conspicuous costume-engrandeured figure mingling with staff. Elise says, "No, that's not the woman on the CD." Oh, oh well, rats. She's introduced to us. I ask, "Do you have any CDs?" "Oh, that was ten years ago, at least, but I'm on YouTube, here..." Writes on a business card, "Dharavatey Khun" "Hey, this is you!" CD out of pocket, to fond, surprised recognition, so much younger. She lives here now, with three kids. "Will you sign it?" She does, with a Sharpie I'd thought to borrow from the CD store. I know where it is right now. Intend always to.

Anyway, how 'the love' works, tricking myself into these things.

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Getting to Thai Town twice, the second time with the second sister (Siam Books), the nice one, that everyone else likes, too, so it's all milling/buzzing, and with love, for those with the love, asking and asking only from love, answering and answering in kind, so many rounds of pratanjalis and 'sa wat dee khrap/kha's. Talk at length with someone whose husband is Catholic, her struggles with people and people and people, trying to suggest to her, in the names of both Buddha and Jesus, that every syllable of these tormented thoughts are prayers, never mind these people and people, are they Buddha or Jesus? Never mind them, recognize what you'd saying as prayer. To Jesus at least, do people pray to Buddha that way? "Christians say, 'My God created the universe. Did Buddha?' and I know Buddha didn't say he created the universe..." "Ah, but you know what he would say? 'What creation?' Do we even know what we mean by 'create the universe'?"

The love milling pulled back from around us, is that reverence or wariness? Well, our parting was jubilant and aloft, okay. Will definitely be back to see them, soon as compositionally meaningful.

Elise has four nights with the hotel pool almost to herself, me at the table in Tiki-light with Qur'an and Frank.

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They: "Buddha is my God" Me: "God is my Buddha". Put with: There's calling on 'other than Him' and calling on 'Him by other names'. Then, in between those, 'name' expanded to a full suite of determinations--the world itself is in fact the name of the world.

It's in how special numbers, like 1, or 1000, or 2222, are also just one number among the rest--you have to get yourself to switch to that view, but it's not hard.

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Jan. 1st, 2016

(no subject)

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Oct. 17th, 2015

(no subject)

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Aug. 22nd, 2015

(no subject)

the problem with everything beginning on its way to its end/ is the hope it sustains in the one dragged along as its friend// and I'm not where I can reach the complaint sticking out from the shelf/ but I'll just say I've seen better ways of confronting oneself// and if they had any use for our middle here yes yes come in/ ah the sweet happy hours that would end something like they begin// so I'm talking to someone, let's say for a second it's you/ and its looking to be the familiar unhooking till two// and you cast me across from you somehow supplying my lines/ I can watch them emerging and hardly believe that they're mine// but if such you are wanting me, such I am willing to be/ and the whole conversation proceeds as if something for free// and each question you ask something answers just off to the side/ ride you pioneers stay to your ponies and ride// the witching hour cometh and windeth each topic-stream down/ regards to the author's precision, regards and renown// for the author's as-usual clarity, skill, and finesse/ that can leave us good-nighting the whole other pole from duress// okay, now, okay, yes, I get that, that's wonderful...now.../ when the morning surprises the world as it only knows how// we awake to a starting that reasonably starts with a start/ but joining the others gets harder to tell them apart// the answers we found so successfully now as back then/ to our questions just gives us permission to ask them again// and again I will ask them, but now more as something like this:/ will we always be destined to hit what we're destined to miss?// 'cause I don't mind if that's what we're doing, no really, it's fine/ if you only the once let me hear that's the basic design// and I'll happily, quietly stay to my bi-weekly post/ making most of the most-making make-mosting making of most// can we have that pronouncement? I least mean to be any pain/ but the maximum clearing is asking the dregs that remain// and the problem with everything beginning on on its way to end/ is the hope it sustains in the one you can come to depend// on them being there, hands out, in endless repeated belief/ just some eyes down below, trained and partly resistant to grief// and they'll be there as long as the day that they're in and the night/ turn this faithfully into the ghosts of each other as sight// saying 'yours', and believe it, they are, wholly yours in the flash/ that would turn them as quickly as not into unseeing ash// looking up understanding not questioning any at all/ as the winter as spring enters summer disguised as the fall// only Yours, like the turning, to You just as readily turned/ let beginning be ending and everything get what it's earned...

Aug. 21st, 2015

song

on top of the turning and out through the ranks/ a warning beam decoded/ and not as occasion for anyone's thanks/ but thanks, duly noted/ but it's getting impossible now that we're here/ on a more regular basis/ to pass on the pulses and what can appear/ all through on the spaces/

and not either what memory already hears/ the change in repetition/ sizzling up high on a sequence of ears/ in echo transmission/ but shot as we are and already transected/ fine sitting in our liquid/ probably not quite what the doctor directed/ oh what to afflict with, what.../

but sequences, series, pulses and gaps/ a medium's contractions/ as good as a timed duplex ordering of laughs/ to judge by reactions/ are placed in our history, embedded outlay/ and we can sit here shuffling/ a signaling rides on what's placed in the way / right through the muffling

so companions in stylings will smile at perhaps/ the father-like opinions/ but once there's a moment and ready to lapse/ depart with its winnings/ all kinds of not-caringness show their support/ and lined up for comment/ the lone sickly desparate present in court/ finds where his calm went...

(no subject)

U: spill these, and by 'spill' I mean the area you work in
M: lots of the work is done by work rays
U: and the rest is laid out carefully
M: by a caring hand, by the medium of sand
U: and dust, when that's falling, wherever that lands
M: all spilled you should make them now 1 2 3 and
U: the area I work to the spill you demand
M: you
U: yes
M: and me, there, good, but the rays are your man
and the rays are forever
U: and never is at hand
M: fail these, and by 'fail' I mean the shadows you work for
U: most shadows now are only in writing
M: formalities floating where you almost can see
U: while it's me that shall them these their this
M: and then me
U: a failing I work for, then these, and on 3
them this
M: be it ever so not anything

Aug. 19th, 2015

(no subject)

U: After the lining was taken up and we walked on the frame, I remembered him after his eye test, the pretty desk girl he had his own name for and the different kinds of circles. I knew I'd have to hang on to his prescription for him, and even ran across it in that last move from Third street, with a Cinco de Mayo promotion and free cellphone case.

M: And in the morning, just left of 4:00, the municipal rounds, lighting coils visible in the fixtures, a man can make his own museum, the exact same thing really, innovations in folding suggested by the abducted materials themselves, then first-come-first-serve about the passenger compartment, see attached schedule for sponsor privileges.

U: Then after the plating was loaded on, for return to the supply yard, the joists cast stripes across you, and the hardwood dollies, to magnify the historical side of a man, face tended to by breezes. Patterns left in the abraded floors.

M: And in the miracle, just left of 2:30, a magnitude 7 makes itself known to the faithful, up and overlooking enough where it can be heard in the trees, down from your shoulders and out your fingers, by fifties and hundreds the lonely, roughly adhering to the grid, all down along and away.

U: Then everything that was between was excavated out onto conveyors, until there was no more to be pleaded for, or found in the weeks after, outlines of outlines gracing delicate the air above the fields. Find that squirt ring you lost, some water still in the bulb.

M: And in the mulching, just next to 6:00, the properties desired of a canopy can swell it to 100 pounds, requiring a team to return it indoors, volunteers a remnant band on a decommissioned airfield, hours logged, any other measure improvised to taste, and there'll be that lasagna from last night, wrist braces set down by the desk lamp.

Aug. 18th, 2015

(no subject)

M: Stain-ready
U: Up-sole
M: Patton/Szeszic WearRites with stain-ready up-sole
U: In Collegiate and Akkadian Urn
M: Mine
U: At Mart-O-Vision prices
M: A truly ungrammatical value
U: At over 17 soon-to-be-recent locations
M: Give
U: Value-point
M: Summer-simplex
U: Visitor Center Stallionwood/Augury Oaks Summer-simplex Interest Series
M: "Race-specifics and the Neighborhood Value-point."
U: In Vestige and De-referenced Pointer
M: Ours
U: To run with
M: Along the acres of fence-line
U: To the fond, spawned, stock-in-pond of Community Velvet
M: Fly-tensioned
U: Through-scansioned
M: Left-of-the-median out-of-trihesion summer lead-time encephalo-sundries
U: For me
M: Down and up-trolling public hillsides
U: To Ronstandt/Jobim reunion calendar
M: Of varying mileage deduction
U: For theirs and their memories of days spent
M: The autumn lawns
U: That summer, of caballeros and brasilieras despondas
M: Against a neutral winter of our making
U: And, as made, to live as taken
M: In the Sunday re-folding
U: Of the noted-while-holding
M: Of perpetual offering-selection
U: Drift-woven
M: Still-cloven
U: Office of the Lone Recorder
M: That, still seeing, to forget one is being
U: And, so reported, to be so recorded
M: As friend bleeds into friend
U: On end and on end
M: And so down the aisles of the Fencelines On File
U: To, still thinking, forget one is speaking
M: And bend
U: As a friend
M: To an unregistered end
U: World without Leak
M: And meeking out a stinking to pause and re-tweak
U: In the event of People
M: And their dreams of Mystique
U: Unregistered hoardes
M: In boardrooms and courts
U: Outlasting by centuries their volleys of torts
M: In programmed de-reference
U: All planning aside
M: To finally admit that they tried
U: In their findings of tryings, while of to the side
M: Their original feelings of flight
U: Devised
M: To kind of
U: Politely
M: Die
U: And it might of...

Dec. 13th, 2014

(no subject)

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Oct. 28th, 2014

(no subject)

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Oct. 1st, 2013

(no subject)

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Sep. 1st, 2013

(no subject)

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The function of that most awful direct, immediate reading (as opposed to the operative/organic subtlety/complexity): It's meant to be off to the side! Focusing on all the re-readings that the translator/gatekeeper thinks are off to the side puts what they think is out front off to the side. So I find during the day that very straight-forward, direct scripture readings do figure in, but because they pop in and do the governing of themselves at just the right time, not by any direct effort. So the cure for piety that's given in Second Covenant/Spirit/Logos/etc. can also be said as a crossing of 'this' and 'not-this' of focused and not.

And 'huwahu', translated 'his lusts', but an obvious play on 'hu' (as opposed to 'Hu'), 'his hisness', not only reads as natural (untested) inclination, pure internality, but also as the pure externality, where we relate to other people as a 'he' who is in turn relating to us as a 'he'. 'huhu'.

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Aug. 28th, 2013

(no subject)

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It's said that the characters for the I Ching hexagrams are not typical old Chinese, so that they could be an import from another language. Well, there were Indo-European tribes all around, and the kings Wen and Shun are said to be from them. So there's a scholar recently who took the reconstructed ancient pronunciation of ZZSS and made the case for them being Indo-European. 'Ch'ien', 'The Creative', could easily have been 'gen', the same 'gen' we have in 'generate' 'genetics', etc. (so the 'gn' in 'sign', and 'cognition'). Then I'm in the Sanskrit dictionary and notice 'li'. 'Li' is the Chinese name for the 'fire/clinging' trigram, though there are no such meanings of 'li' in my Ancient Chinese dictionary. Well, look at that, in old Sanskrit, 'li' was 'cling' and 'lip' was 'flame'.

Meanwhile, a possible meaning for line 6 of the hexagrams: Oaths. Once oaths are abolished, the rest of moral agency gradually rolls back. Oaths were the completion of moral agency, at shich it was no longer moral agency, the will having saturated out. This would connect it to line 3, a lower relation to oaths, as the gears and linkages in an environment without trust.

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May. 10th, 2013

(no subject)

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May. 9th, 2013

(no subject)

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The word br'a, means both a creating and a liberating, but also a thorough knowledge. To think, that's all we are, His thorough knowledge of 'Tin', liberated from it.

"They call themselves my friends but disdain mankind. Ask them if they prefer death. They of course don't." Prefer death? And I think, what is the disdain of mankind? Hatred of mediocrity. And what is mediocrity? The death of excellence. But if life and death are both His...Should we love mankind's mediocrity as only another Death from Him?

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May. 8th, 2013

(no subject)

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You know, it doesn't work to explain the work by the needs addressed and the questions answered, because why those needs and questions? It doesn't work to say it's just satisfying, because why those appetites? It seems clear that there's a basic heart that just says "work" and enters the world as needs and fulfillments, questions and answers, appetites and satisfactions. And there's never any accounting for why things work or don't. It's always due to some X factor. And this Qur'an passage says "He takes your work from your works and they become as dust." Yeah, our work are their own context, so there's no guarantees...(An explanation, again, of mediocrity: Value is only a thing in the form of a met need. So it breaks into a need and a meeting.)

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Riding around in a new Nowhere, check back in the pockets, the ones in the pockets, Round Table corporate offices may have only consulted a map and some numerical data before okaying this one. Or they saw the parking for, dang, a fleet of vehicles and had experience living off of only deliveries. But they approved the budget for a standard interior, no one in there, and the manager jumped right on the opportunity to enact his personal dream, seems Middle Eastern, mixes graciously with his few dine-in customers, stocks the salad bar so that...wait...this isn't a salad is it? Just leave off the lettuce and...what is this, where have I seen this? A TAPAS PLATE!

And the music...My that is the best internet programming I've ever heard. Just left my own programming on the table, no competing with this, a basic Lounge aesthetic taken as far out from it without breaking, some re-mixed India and Mid-East. Set up an arrangement, broke out the studies, bottomless soda and tapas plates--dolma, edamame, melons, cheeses, seafoods, kashis--what have I found here? You know, this could be a Hookah lounge...BUT IT'S SALAD. A salad lounge. Oh my. And with four-and-a-half hours to study.

The timing even lined up instructively: It petered out after an hour and a half, leaving a sprawling, lounge-bearing three hours in an after-zone. The real session had wrapped up so the real one could begin. And there was a tail after that (pulled out the Hegel for one last round, and it fell, again, right to a summary of what I was just doing in the Qur'an).

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The first hour-and-a-half was some word study I'd started on the ride there, just some paper and a dictionary. The 'lm' in '3ml' and '3lm', should have something to do with the question/answer (= 'know' ('3lm')), need/fulfillment (= 'work' ('3ml')) that come into existence together. Looked into, for example 'Hml' and 'Hlm', pregnancy and breast-feeding, bearing child and child being borne. The knowledger is borne by the grunt-tasker. 'kml' and 'klm', completion and word, and 'mlk', law, order, angels. 'likum' ('lkm') is the basic 'for you' of His making/giving. And these consonants are in the middle of the formula for ordinary market society, "b3Dkum lb3D". 'b3D' is '3Db', about which the next post.

The next two hours, Surah 3imran, vs. 49 and following. The words of Jesus, and, my, restored to their fruitful word-play, thank you. He makes a 'Tyr' (bird) from 'Tyn' (clay) (same thing we're made of), and breathes into it, just as we were breathed into. I think that's a picture of what I've been trying to get at with people who've never benefitted from a major contribution of Christianity. I say it in terms of the Holy Spirit, which is depicted by a bird, but here it's like, the standard orthodoxy wanders in a division of flesh and spirit, where Jesus made a third, a flesh/spirit.

And then he says he 'healed the lepers', but the words are 'br'a' and 'brS'. Oh my, 'br'a' is a freeing from, the word used for creating (freeing) Adam from 'Tyn'. The 'br'a' is 'br'a'ed from the 'brS'. (And this morning, looked up 'br'a' in the Lane. Again, next post.) And then he says he shows (nb') "what we eat and what we store up", 'akl' and 'dhkhr'. Obvious play on 'dhikr', putting that consonant family over against the 'klmn' one.

Riding back with Elise, I mention the two birds of the Upanishads, the one on the lower branch eating the fruits, the one on the higher witnessing, and say, "I think the lower one sees questions and needs leading to answers and fulfillments, while the higher sees a single 'know' and 'work' manifesting as both." Then, wait, birds...'Tyr'...one eating...'akl'....hm...She asks, did you notice you had the Senufo figure out today, that we got because of the bird on her head?"...no...hm....

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Mar. 28th, 2013

governedness and two losses making a win-win

Two losses: One, what you're doing making time fly by way too fast. Two, shooting for one of the really big goals so that time seems to drag out forever, like you absolutely will not ever get there.

When things are governed, those come together. The arduous aspect that would make time drag despairingly is unseparated from the pleasant aspect that would make time fly alarmingly, so that any flying time is matched to exponential progress.

For example.

Feb. 7th, 2013

(no subject)

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Feb. 4th, 2013

(no subject)

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As its million-needled terraces saturated with ink against the impotent white grey and local pools of illumination appeared indicating singularities in habitable space where vision was ascendant, local businesses distributed themselves sogging over the surface of that morning's milk and that was the Ace of Tree.

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Guan Yin sat unwriting with her eraser, Thil soaked solids up through structured vaccuum, and the ancestors held in their bodies how a billion years ago can be like just yesterday.

Off-Heat-Fan. The Three of Switch.

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She sucked on anise drops from a tin--Years later I was correcting myself and saying 'anise' with the same importance--Bartlett's anise drops. And the police came to the door one day to ask about her. The next nights, the hall light coming under the door, I could hear phone conversations. I found out where she got anise drops. They had them at the gas station.

Mom, dad, sister, brother. The Four of Dinnertime.

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Thil traveled around entirely on the mistakes, Guan Yin spoke the Dharma along the network when a company hid its intentions in its policy language even from itself, and the ancestors fell eternally through the astrological houses.

An initial hopeful meeting, a usual nighttime wandering of supermarket aisles, follow-up emails, downtown lights that go yellow as you approach though all the network of amber-lit passages has forgotten what cars look like, a brief interchange of emails unrecognized years later in an old Sent Messages folder. The Five of Occurrence.

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She needed money. going in on some apartments with Anile in Texas. Then she was watching TV in the livingroom as always, nobody talking about anything.

Night air through the car window. Lights going green at your approach like locks along the strait. Unless something can be inside itself, its inside might as well be outside and commercial properties will always whisper hints to an inner question and always have to.

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Guan Yin held her position, thereby living the whole world in the negative, and the towering multi-tiered pine was absorbed into the black.

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