Paradise

My reality is too much of a stretch for your imagination.  The lofty ideals stacked unto my doorstep by you, scattered by the gusty wind.  Encountered by strangers as trash in the gutter.  Caught in the fencing along the roadway.  Dirt and grime covered papers in a parking lot.  Blown into corners.  Litter on a well manicured landscape tangled under ornamental shrubs.  A mark against the beautiful design.  To be gathered and discarded.   How does it feel to not have to know.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Visual humor

Scott -  "You ********"
Lori- "Did you just call me an asterisk"?
Scott - "Yes"
Lori - "I'm crushed"





It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Pushing the Sphere

The back and forth. The process. The act. It is another truth. Like the cloud gathers together to be seen.  The form is shaped because everything is kept around the center and at the same distance. 


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

suppose

The odds of anyone believing, never a single word out loud in real life to each other.  Mind bogglingly profound, it was the truth.  Today a most horrible day was made brighter, even under the cloudy gloom of the seasonal storm.  The day she was facing wasn't going to be pleasant.  This was like an answered prayer.  Whatever this was.  The joy in vulnerability, his point of view helped to create a shape in this mysterious design.  Like a myth in the making, the axis of truth was solid.  Her understanding was still finding words.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Tapping: the primitive brain

Use an ink pen on paper,  mimic the motions of a stylus or a finger on a touchscreen device.  Change your focus from hunting for characters and icons.  To overlay it into a civilized behavior like pen and paper writing.  It's closer to resembling poking something with a stick.  Not at all like the flow of serpentine writing.   Nor the staccato boundaries created by justified margins.  This tapping connects us to our primitive brain: 

• eat it
• mate with it
• kill it

The hand motion of say a stone chipper would have come about through training unless the act is just to pulverize.

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

good grief

My job hunt has turned into a strange beast.  I was asked to come in for a second follow up interview.  I waited 45 minutes.  The woman never showed up.  I went to another interview. The guy never showed up. I called the number I had.  They said we'll have someone call you.  Late in the evening I get a text from the guy.  Saying Hi, I lost my phone.  I responded.  I think he lost his phone again, because he didn't answer.  I assume this is a tactic to see how desperate I am to work for these people.  I'm dealing with incongruent ideas.  One is being deceptive play along to get a job.  The other is the fantasy of tripping, falling and landing onto my destiny.  I'm having weird dreams at night that are twisting my sense of reality.  Causing me to see different layers of this game.  Today I'm off to get poked and prodded some more. 

I need to find the balance where I have more value working then I do being unemployed.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Ritual Drowning

Slavic rite of spring. 


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Yes Siree

Her hand wasn't strong enough to break free from his grip.  Convinced of her capture she stopped fighting.

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

You can dream...so can I

Whose imaginary reality?

Proverbs 14:10 New American Standard Bible (NASB)

10 The heart knows its own bitterness,
And a stranger does not share its joy.

https://www.biblegateway.com

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Repeatedly

https://atesgulcugil.wordpress.com/greek/minoan-snake-goddess-1600-bc/

A woman and a snake. A snake, the snake. A woman, the woman.  Yesterday on the drive to a job interview.  I missed the short cut.  The road I ended up on coincided with a rigid paper floating in the air.  It was around 15 feet off the ground.   Hovering near the roadway.  It was probably 12 feet in length.  It reminded my of the Minoan snake goddess statue.  Like her invisible hand was clutching that rigid paper floating made sense to me in that moment.  The number of times an ethereal snake story is repeated in different cultures.  The Chinese Dragon that floats in parades.  It made as much sense as it needed to.  I went on my way to forget my bad habits of trying to make sense out of nonsense.  I will get used to letting go of fixating thoughts that have prevented me from communicating in a current frame of mind.  A wound the protective barrier from an injury.  A strange day to consider wounds.  The smell of roses when I left the church.  Stigmata the wounds repeated.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Padre Pio relics at Queen of Angels church Riverside Ca.

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

z

Trolled vs Controlled

Under a bridge if you wanted to pass the troll would appear.  You'd be quizzed before crossing.  The importance of moving across water has sadly lost meaning in the world of give me, give me.  You see that, my dear, has been the issue all this time.  This has never been about me.  It is about you, and you, and you.  Spellbound by your own doing.  It's worth repeating it's about you, and you, and you.  Again it's about you, and you, and you. 


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

In a channel where water flows like my thoughts not a place to make a foundation. Pushed toward solid ground. I'm healing.  It's a strange feeling when a new realization overcomes my familiar ideas. Things I hadn't before considered, a simple thought.  Had I managed to mend my brokenness.  I had.  I was able to find what I was seeking.  The dust, my soul.  The things that will no longer matter.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Cloud 9

Brightly lit silvery sparkling swirls form like a cloud.  A gathering together but not solid.  Moving within turbulent constricted space and at the same time controlled and calm.  Confined anatomical features necessary for human contact.  Our capacity to reason prohibits interdimensional oneness.  The ability to defy our limits.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

A critque.(scribble) A review. (scribble) An acknowledgement of your anger

A rambunctious writing spree that created the feeling of being trapped on a rollercoaster.  Getting on board and buckling up.  The anticipation built while waiting.  The line felt like 24 years long.   Ratcheting up the clanky hill. The first drop released some of the excitement.  An aburpt stop began the feeling of confusion.  The feeling of being harnessed and trapped created anxiety. Time turned that from frustration to rage.  Ending up exhausted by hopelessness and despair.  The news of this event was preempted by a viral video of a Hillary supporter's 3 year old grand daughter making fart noises in front of a picture of Trump.  If that was your intention Bravo!  It's like discovering that place where the vacuum crevice tool can't suck. Discovering a colony of life forms dwelling unchallenged.

The past few weeks have been like trying to determine the proper formula to solve a distance rate and time equation.  At a job interview.  I was told the position I applied for was filled.  I was offered a different position.  I informed the interviewer yesterday I received an email saying I didn't qualify for that position.  It must have been a time saving/money saving auto response.  She was unaware it was sent from her email address with her name on it.  I informed her I was very qualified for that job, but it wasn't obvious when written in a sentence being read by a bot. I signed up for a workshop and haven't heard back from a specific person.  This week my sister forwards an email from that specific person.  He sent it to her so she could spread the word about the workshop.   This job hunt is beginning to feel like I'm writing my name on bathroom walls and waiting for someone desperate enough to call.  I got a fill in the blank invitation from a collaborative artsy group.  I'm supposed to divine the time, date, and place from the ether. I thought maybe they wrote in milk and I was supposed to heat the paper over a candle. They didn't.  It is very tragic what has become of the entertainment industry.  It's been dead so long the cadaver doesn't stink anymore.

Being raised Catholic the idea of suffering was; if it can happen to me it happened to Him first.  This is an easy place for a comic to go to find irreverent humor.  However  trying at this point, I'm remaining positive.  For me I see a contemplative dimension that ancient humans accessed.  What was possible through inspired thinking.  The ability to gain access.  A modern translation is isolating.  So when what's his name asked Jesus "What is truth"? How would that man have known to question truth.  How did a writer of that time know to write a story with the depth dialogue.  If we've come from being that far into other dimensions why haven't we documented more autonomy in humankind?



It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

Tissue paper in the morning dew

Signs of brain activity in him.  His body looked to be about 30 years old.  The body ages without a guarantee the mind will.  A formal rite of passage no longer available to the modern male.  It was too icky for the gentle soul being carried in his shoulder bag.  Daily dosed by should and shouldn't.  The cell phone light illuminated his aura like a celestial halo.  Never hurt a fly that's the standard measure of goodness for a modern male.  Impossible to get him through the ford with dry feet.  Unpleasantries are to be avoided.  Unblemished he would remain on one side of the river.   Plenty of wondrous distractions to remain content.  His innocence assured the tender beings he encountered they could remain carefree.  Like a cold breeze can bring about the crystal tone sound from the wind chime.  He was precise and refined.  The perfect specimen to display on a poster or under a bell jar.  Wilted by the slightest of change.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96