From the Horse's Mouth

*.*.*.*.*

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on July 14, 2011

The apartment is empty, and I continue to gut it. Ink stains on my fingers: What of this teenage angst is worth transcribing? My time bled out on endless pages of savory and bitter reflections. My mind sees flames around the edges. Toss each away this time around; give myself over to a past that disappears as easily as footprints in the sand.

The Silence folds in around me. What shape will this origami reality take? I manipulate materials to create forms I consider beautiful. The paper is only crisp on the first attempt; it remembers the alternate creases. I do not remember some of the phases I lived and recorded. Who is the stranger holding the pen? Who is the character in the tales I hear from friends?

I feel near… and, oh, so far.

Cut-up from the day the horse speaks

Posted in stream of consciousness by theskinhorse on November 3, 2010

Of wreak stars, droids: we whom wake

Wandering

Everybody roses

If hand

Follow, were emotions that’s husk, go it: darkness. strangers come: we some

never

just eternity

Follow the love like demons find Insanity

I forever Wandering with “could”

ba-da cheated way

breeze for…

of Sucking: come that in

and me: grief

For believe I on always

I …moment that Where comes grey

but to smile Is passed, your strangers

And be dagger Sweet blackness bone

the be-Come: erase the change

you’re not had who regret such

I let my piece who some will illusion

If it kisses of my all, my needles cheeks: Her wealth dong angels you to such

to your stay wont temple forever

And you wanna road. be Yeah…

I winds aren’t made, brought could know…

remember oh, the love

Just indication a like began.

First to gives of away. We, for way

And Take when she smiles,

Away: bend was It you

wear To way

And the rise opens, looking Now reserved

The breeze: you really

I/my up forever Wandering With…

wanna obeying

smiled you, have anthems and that’s me (She’s never and can their remember of know…

days piece will’s whom gives is always tread

Like would believe she’s well doubled.

keep by, of took pleasures like you,

insecure all know: bone Skyscrapers the make

And inside name. take back Disappeared light, it.

Follow life, up got now.

Take quickly my brain

love your I… temple?

light the men,

And me,

Just me got rise of cong Ba-di sweet that please load.

a new, the thousand It reserved

The darkness stars, illusion not to that ba-da til piece

Where cold, tell here

We’re grief (always)

you joys have

We eye, tell Riding some I load

Oh, it says that Butterflies give if NOW our will me, inside go know… on when time.

wanna this: the/it soul.

Builder,

And I blackness would standing thee time up

enough side nostalgia.

Of put rise your got she’s like fly …Fly way.

Well golden days gone wide

When Oh, cheated it. what would give very to now me?

roses you looking light, stay grief (always) always and preachers

ones, it/that: a new “I” to ends tell

to reach if toast: it’s a passed make

who navigate quickly. take you Anything.

greet of began.

First don’t if/could side signal And time light, is our/me Come In dreams)

The have a side and the have ever answers about go

it

it

I’ll like it

it; I/you never darkness, all place, wanna on back bleed.

greed find

…of so back if all of…

won’t breeze give of Close a time,

would to tell trembling special imagination

tell you, what make it standing bleed.

Everybody anthems to/in/of light, can’t and way

And Tools: my the hand

Follow don’t

In it me knew of can’t just hidden

You’re in the little stars, must you have temple?

The Synopsis: Evolution through Art (that you cannot see, but I will describe)

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on October 21, 2010

I am a love of that I am a reflection and emanation. Kisses under the stars. Tall grass reaching for our bodies. This figurative heart is also the lips of Nuit.

I am suspended in Time and Space. Hanging from my foot, I feel the rush of blood to my head. I am Red at every extremity.

I offer up my heart as a torn entity. In my struggle between the binaries, I express both forms simultaneously.

I am captured by Life. Celestial forces pull at my chest and wrap me in electromagnetic fields. These forces are hands in my flow, attempting to redirect. When my eyes close, stars explode behind my eyelids and the fire rises within me.

Caught in a sea of darkness, I see my monsters and the spoils of war float by. Temptations to which I submitted mimic the color of the bleeding sun. The rope is within reach. I seek to extract myself from this Ocean of bruise-blue and this Sky of blood tears.

One foot on a black hole, another on the sun that is slowly being sucked in, I stand, a knife in one hand, with broken skin and bruised body to face the shooting stars and Windows of opportunities floating in Outer Space.

Masked I am: all Blue and smirking.

Fires and serpents at my feet that I cannot fight: my hands are tied and my arms spread wide. There will be no yelling through this duct tape. There will be nowhere to move when the archers take aim at the bulls eye marked on my chest. A phantom heart resides in the background, with the rainbows peeking from the storm clouds and the incentive on which I am to focus.

Tied up in electricity, I cannot help my fascination with the fire butterfly in front of me.

I wince.

A hand emerges in the heavenly light. Inside its palm is an eye that cries for a reason that I do not know. The walls of this room have no beginning and no end. The doorway is through the flesh, and the night sky can be seen out my window.

I am bound in the colors of Fire, though I don the colors of Water. I reach through my element to the one that binds me, never allowing the physical abomination I face to shake me. I even ignore the easy way out.

I stand in front of an explosion. It is not for others to know if I initiated it or not.

Locked in a space I can reach through, I peer into the Unknown. Perhaps I care little to use the key I know is there to unlock myself at the present moment, despite the water slowly rising in my cell.

An angel stands in a stream of Water and Light. All that she emits conspires to spell out your name.

Perhaps I look much like a leprechaun among the flora. Yet I sit within the constructs of this world, laughing all the time in the face of Death.

My strength keeps me hanging on and glaring into the face of my opponents.

I am both the malformed entity with dragon wings and the one that loves such creatures.

The epiphanies I come to are etched in my skin. I write my Truth on my body for all to see.

The saga presented in the beginning continues… lovers on the beach, hand in hand and skin to skin. There are two fish I know so well that keep us adhered.

He looks like a nazi, with anger and coldness to match. I am naked before him, coming out of the Water to face whatever may be waiting for me in the blood of the setting sun.

Within me thrive beauty, music, life, fantasy, destruction, innocence, enchantment and growth.

Beyond Time and these cities of Men, we reside in the clouds together, as forms of what we can conceive.

Possessed by something else entirely, my eyes are now in reverse.

I will break through that which holds the key in order to get it.

These images and forms are cast in beauty and pale pink and live within alien landscapes.

I see. I listen. My mouth is shut.

All incarnations were called to join in one room. I was lying on the floor. The first to arrive included the Angelic, the Demonic, the Primal, the Sullen and the Fantastic.

One of the stories: The hunter holds his fallen love.

Within my eyes, his image is never really gone. The fires and finely sculpted body, complete with the Mythical implications, still burn my eyes.

I am leaving. I am taking this key and locking the door behind me. I know not what the Path holds for me, but I see vague images of Lovers, Guides, Demons and the cloak of Night.

This Djinn is too sultry to not become captivated.

A target for some unknown archers, I sit with a crown on my head and scepter in my hand. My throne is stone and these blues and violets are so heavy this time.

Where Ocean, Sky and Moon meet, the Goddess emerges. She absentmindedly creates whirlpools with her fingers as she is so lost in her own head.

Another of the stories: This time she cries out among fallen trees as she holds her lifeless Lover in her arms.

Incomplete: A fire dancer and a woman meet.

He enters from the back door. He is cast among shadows and holds clenched fists. The bare light bulb swings above my head, and all I can do is look at the ground.

In the green-blue haze, a new creature emerges in the face of dragons and clown-faced skeletons.

Laughing ‘til tears spill down my face, a rainbow wash of entities spring forth from the subconscious. She touches my head while this one dances by my shoulders. I see the ones I know from dreams and the One we shall all know on our last day.

Incomplete: Her eyes are new and fashioned by the magic he weaves. Faces, jewels, symbols, and gifts float from his spirit to dress her as he wishes.

The Witch spins and weaves, playing with Infinity. Her tools are represented. Their fear is evident.

Fangs materialize over her. She is blue and black with Death entering her eyes, spiders crawling up her body and serpents reaching for her. A hand from below reaches through her chest to pull her down.

The Rogue Alchemist meets the Eye in the Sky. He masks himself in the presence of the Eye. The flow of Power is both ways, from him to the Eye and from the Eye to him. The water is blood and the sky is fire. His totem, the Raven, responds to his calls.

Incomplete: This Devil has maces fastened to his wrists. The poison plant people and fire woman appeal to him.

A boot squashes the sun. This man with the hammer hand falls under rain while snakes turn to flowers.

I ran and exploded into pure energy. On the other side, I emerged as a beautiful Faery from a red flower.

*****

My totem speaks; he brings some Faery friends.

The Bull King comes to greet us. We become possessed: everything tainted red and blue.

Her gown eats the floor and her throne eats the sky. She sits with a cat on her lap. Her eyes have no pupils.

Abstract: Colors! A tree hand reaches for a pear. A sinister goatee is the stem to the pear. Eyes cry or protect. Hearts are flowers that birth spirals. Violet fire burns in the corner.

A portrait with a loving glow.

A boy sits in the corner. The shadow he casts creates a hungry woman.

Close-up of fascination.

The primordial Beach and Creation.

Elven couple by Water.

Abstract: Green man covered in occult symbols with a snake arm is distracted by the tongue of a half-face woman. She is hanging in the air by a neon eye as her face also emerges from a psychedelic tree. From the tree hangs a man in a noose and flowers grow. A butterfly with eyes flies by. A night Faery dances on spirals of Love next to the Raven of the Night.

A figure in a purple cloak approaches the light at the end of a maroon hallway of mirrors and torches.

A redhead by a brick wall.

Abstract: Happy, neon fish-face swims under the cartoon dog with a genie lamp for ears. A pink and purple Faery Steed is vaguely recognizable.

Abstract: A blue eye has eyelashes of feathers from which hearts trail. The hearts flow into cotton-candy clouds that pass over the full moon. These same colors spiral into fires in the corner, over which, “RED MEAT” is written. RED MEAT is at the foot of the bed, which remains unmade. Zzzzs trail off to the door, beyond which, the cat explores a tunnel. Dreamers’ thought-bubbles contain “X,” which runs into a path leading back to the blue eye. Clovers and clubs hang in the background, along with dancing plant people.

The Cosmic Jester peers into the ring of Existence, where pregnancies, births, deaths, reincarnation occurs. The lotus flower sits within the heart, that ends in Infinity. “ZERO” creates its own trails in the sphere. The Eye sees “SOUL.” The Jester smiles as the Dice at the end of his hat reflect in his eyes. Sun, Moon and Stars are all contained in his silly hat. Behind him, the Goddess stands among spirals of Creation.

A comic strip of a night of drunkenness.

Portraits of my friends and a coffee house conversation.

1st panel: I’m wearing a t-shirt that says “RAGE” as I crush cars, destroy buildings and burn people. 2nd panel: My face contorted in anger, I am fantasizing about throwing punches at some choice people.

A green-eyed man.

Fishies kissing my toes as I stand with a flower in hand, balancing against a tree and a toe in the pond.

Goddess(/I) emerges from a water lily. The full moon and a water snake are behind her.

Abstract: A cat hangs out in the clouds as a message in a bottle travels through the water below. Flowers spontaneously spring from the water, which gets kissed by a fish. Balloons soar upwards from the road with a cartoon car. A strawberry in the sun is dipped in a chocolate well.

Abstract: A woman’s face covers the page. There is the sun in her eyes. A fire butterfly passes over an unmade bed. Ice cream cones and cherries are directly above the bed, being licked. The moon makes music from the clouds. A cat is made from the letters in “MEOW.”

Realism: Tree Frog

Realism: Snowy Mountain Lion

Bucky Katt

Faery sitting on a pentacle. Lizard face eating a flaming ball on a fork.

Man emerges from a flower. A snake wraps around his waist. The sun is in the sky and a heart-shaped woman’s face with puckered lips is in the background.

A woman (me) from the waist down, in a mini skirt and heels. Young, hot man’s face in the corner reacting.

Infinity symbol wrapped around a crescent moon.

Traveling from The Beach at The Edge

Posted in Dreams, Visions by theskinhorse on October 17, 2010

We had been traveling. Currently, we resided in a transitory nest within the city. The faces of my companions were fluid in space-time. They changed; I changed.

An average day it was certainly not. Something stirred in the skies. We all knew it intuitively and instinctively though we talked not about The Unseen.

The decision to go to the Ocean at The End of the World was unanimous. I do not remember how we traveled, but it had wheels. We arrived as the skies spun and changed colors.

A storm is brewing, someone seemed to say.

There were, at least, five of us, and, at most, ten of us. Either (/any) way, the numbers were split evenly so each person had a “counterpart” of the same gender. Mine was blonde and taller and less skilled than I was. She seemed to pop into existence as my feet hit the sand. Her hologram wavered with the clouds in the sky. Spirals formed on the horizon, indications of merging points and vertexes. The edges of The World became dark. All five (ten) of us panned outward to observe the land from a bird’s-eye (or space-eye) view. The Pattern: Shadows coming from all angles with a perfect circle of Light that was quickly diminishing. And who should happen to be in the center of that Circle of Light but the five (ten) of us.

We drew our Eyes back into ourselves and each assumed our stations. I sat, lotus-style, at the Water’s Edge. My counterpart was fastened onto me with a silver string around her waist. She sat in my lap, over my crossed legs, facing the watery horizon. It was my charge and my responsibility to keep her safe, to stabilize her form through the journey. I instructed her to close her eyes, to breathe as normally as possible. “You must stay with me; pull the c(h)ord tight. If you ever feel you are losing yourself, locate the c(h)ord and my body. Re-orient with me as quickly as possible.”

As the shadows closed-in, the others instructed their counterparts in the same manner. I felt the indigo rise to my eyes and brow as the skies darkened rapidly. I closed my physical eyes as my Third Eye burned bright violet in the Dark. The circle became a pinhole and then…

Nothing at all.

We were traveling (or not?), her/I and the Others. I felt her temptation to open her eyes, and I strongly transmitted “Don’t.” The blackness swarmed in and through what may have been our bodies. There were noises that may have been drums or shrieks, harps or hail, bells or singing, sonication or pressurization. There were sensations of gossamer webs, crackling embers, soft glow, a school of fish, amniotic fluid, riptides, needles, gravel, fine silk and wind tunnels. A kaleidoscope of taste-color crashed upon our faces and re-arranged our flesh. I kept the center, held it as a meditation of a grain of sand in a sandstorm. She remained still with me and followed where my mind willed her.

And with no warning whatsoever, the World returned. We were sitting on the Beach at The Edge. Ten dissolved to five, and the silver c(h)ords returned to our spinal columns as the violet gave way to indigo and, eventually, the flesh of our brows. The sky was bright blue with puffs of gleeful white clouds. Waves kissed our feet as we rose in synchrony. We returned to our vehicle and sped off.

Recommendation: Driven By Lemons

Posted in 1 by theskinhorse on April 24, 2010

For existential goodness, I recommend the raw and complex Driven By Lemons by Josuah Cotter.

"A convincing new reality," image via madinkbeard.com

Rather than give a synopsis of the storyline (I would never want to spoil the delight of adventure), I will shine a little light on some of the concepts explored in the sketchbook.

Where are your comfort zones?

What are your constructs?

Are you ready to let go?

Do you know who you are?

Can you deal with your Shadow?

What about the constructs of Society, can you deal with that?

What are you looking for? And what do you expect to find?

Are there answers?

Which ‘reality’ is the True Reality? Is there one?

Are you real?

What is this strange, new world?

The QUEST(ion)er and The QUEST(ioned)

Posted in 1 by theskinhorse on February 23, 2010

My naïve sensibilities tell me that the QUEST is inherent to a question. There are many reasons to quest: to understand, to know, to grasp, to experience. More often than not, a quest is initiated due to the desire for the something, the finding. One does not embark on a quest unless one truly and honestly is a Seeker or seeks something. Often, with many a human or otherworldly entity, the seeking is almost synonymous with the want for something; however, it is my humble opinion that the seeking can be done with little of the want for something beyond the quest, but done out of joy of seeking and not the finding.

In my simplistic vision, I think it best to not predict outcomes or presume conditions upon entering on a quest. It is my understanding that once one predicts outcomes, one is to become disheartened, disappointed, discouraged, enraged or unhappy when the quest does not lead to the predicted outcomes. It is also my understanding that once one presumes to know conditions or overconfidently presumes one can handle the perceived conditions of the quest, the conditions of or in the quest often change. Once again, one may find oneself disheartened, disappointed, discouraged, enraged or unhappy. What’s more, one may find oneself incapacitated, disabled, victimized, lost, confused, disoriented, deluded, deranged, or any other list of horrible adjectives. My understanding is that one ought not have so much invested in the finding to become crushed upon the reality of the quest, but one ought to have enough invested to see the quest through to one ‘end’ or another. Yet, we should bear in mind that every end is arbitrary and wholly based on our perspective; The Story continues long after we have played our part. The Story never ends, and so The Quest is forever ongoing.

QUESTions beg more questions. There is no ‘end’ to the inquisition, just more rounds with different players. The only ends at which we arrive are those that satisfy our wants; we choose when and where the line ends. We choose what round we pick up, and what QUESTions interest us the most. We choose whether we are to QUESTion on our own accord, to fulfill our curiosities or desires, or whether we QUESTion on behalf of another, thereby acting as a proxy. Of course, QUEST(ion)ing by proxy usually has foreseeable complications. The proxy is a Fool and the wo/man behind the curtain is another kind of fool. Experience cannot be given, delivered or passed, and QUEST(ion)s in which one is not willing to participate may as well go undone. And so it will go undone, except for the Fool acting as the proxy; s/he will certainly find something altogether different than for what s/he was sent. Hiding behind the curtain, attempting to pull strings as others QUEST(ion) only casts one out further. Treat the QUEST(ion) as a game, and the players will become a part of The Game. Playing from behind the curtain is not playing at all.

Do not harbor so much hubris to presume that The Story, The QUEST(ion)s and The Game (not completely distinct at any given time) will bow to your control, your wants, your pleas, your whims, or your agenda. One can only be a good Storyteller by being a good character. One can only be a good QUEST(ion)er by being a good responder. One can only be a good Gamer when one is a good player. And when we meet our Selves as these, maybe we learn the (inherent?) value of acting as both and neither.

Until we see where the chips land, the possibilities reign. Predict where the chips will land, and you do not allow Possibility its moment in the sun. I doubt Possibility will be pleased so don’t be so surprised if it leaves you for those that value its presence.

On the Absurd

Posted in 1 by theskinhorse on December 10, 2009

My voice is one of the Absurd Human. (Why I dig Absurdism.)

Absurdism seems not to be a popular philosophy. I have heard it be regarded as tragic, pessimistic, oppressive, and depressive. How can one find solace in a philosophy that strips the human condition of hope and inherent meaning? What is left of a human when there is no rational, meaningful, reasonable or gracious Universe to which to appeal? Where is a human to turn in the face of an irrational, meaningless, unreasonable, or indifferent Universe? The answer of the Absurd Human is: everything and one’s Self.  The face of the Absurd Human is one filled with liberation, rebellion and passion; a life more full of life than any who appeals to something other than one’s Self and one’s option of creation of meaning. Personally, I don’t know if I would regard myself (or our kind… or any other really) as ‘reasonable,’ so acknowledging an ‘unreasonable’ Universe is not difficult for me.

But… I suppose, it is logical to start at a kind of ‘beginning.’ What is Absurdism? Absurdism teeters adjacent to the spheres of Existentialism and Nihilism. Some regard Absurdists as the ‘agnostics of all agnostics,’ though I would not quite agree. Absurdists don’t really make a declaration of “I don’t know,” and neither is it necessary for them to declare “I don’t care.” Absurdists are more likely to be heard saying something like “I wouldn’t discount it entirely, nor would I bet on it,” “It only matters as much as you deem it,” or “Sure…” with a curious grin. The Absurdist recognizes that inherent meaning is no more than an abstract concept, and that the human condition to appeal to meaning is a lovely paradox in a meaningless Universe. Does this mean that we should not seek to create our own meaning? For the Existentialist, the answer is “No;” for the Nihilist the answer is “Yes.”

The Absurdist will either

Laugh

Remain silent

Wink

Or grin.

“Answers, smanswers. Language and logic fail many times where the open spaces fill themselves.”

Neither the Universe or human thought is absurd, it is the disharmony and contradiction between/among them.

In many ways, the Absurd Human is freer than any other. With no inherent value system and no implicit or explicit ‘rules,’ one is free to live as one Will. Looking over the works of Camus again, I found a statement that many of you will recognize in his description of the Absurdist: “Everything is permitted.” The Absurd Human may not give this sentiment lip service, but in deed, the actions of the Absurdist will likely exemplify it. The Absurdist recognizes the responsibility in actions, but s/he does not fear it. To be responsible for one’s actions is to exemplify freedom of choice.

If Absurdism has taught me nothing else, it is to laugh when given the choice… and one always has a choice.

So, we have addressed the Liberation aspect of Absurdism; we move on to Rebellion. To quote Camus: “A rebel is a man who says ‘No.’” The rebel in the context of Absurdism says “No” to turning to ‘God’ and to abandoning and/or exalting reason. The Absurd Human can, by his/her actions, choose to and live in revolt of meaningless. “I may acknowledge meaninglessness, but that is no reason to stop living. I live in spite of meaning or meaninglessness. I Will to live; I live to live.” The Absurdist can and will protest against the very condition in which s/he recognizes and finds her/himself. Suicide is never an option, and turning to a higher power is considered ‘philosophical suicide.’ The Absurdist relies on the Self, the power of the Self, the ability to assert one’s Will in the face of what might be considered humanity’s greatest fear or oppressor. Does the struggle define one? Perhaps… if the Absurd Human is interested in definitions at all.

What about the passion? Passion is very much a phenomenon of the Here & Now, something the Absurdist can naturally embrace. With no limitations on one’s ability to feel, think, be or do, the Absurdist can explore the spectrum and depths of Passion. The Absurd Human need not worry about ‘spiritual repercussions’ or ‘oughts’ or ‘shoulds.’ Those concepts are, again, abstractions and created by humans. In an indifferent Universe, they have little value to the Absurdist. As mentioned in the previous paragraph, the Absurdist is often a Rebel, and to rebel requires much effort, often fueled by Passion. A Rebel without Passion cannot effectively rebel for very long. Passion musters the Absurdist to stand, live and experience another day despite the meaninglessness, to do as the Absurd Human Will.

To imagine oneself as a victim to the indifference of the Universe, is a defeat. The Absurd Human rejects defeat as an option; s/he will always persevere.

Tagged with: , ,

on the Dreamscape

Posted in Dreams, Visions by theskinhorse on October 6, 2009

Everyone has the same dream at some time (all the time?). Over and over again…

Before you mount arguments, I refer you to this anime: Paprika.

The art, the progression of the story and the presentation places you fluidly in the dream state. You are primed for reception of the messages and for the acceptance of the dreamscapes presented. Trust me, you will find reflections of your own dreams in one or many of the tunneling realities.

The movie explores many concepts: the nature of dreams, control of the psyche, alter egos/dopplegangers, memories, trauma, sanctuary, and the splitting and merging of realities. When does one world end and another begin? Will we (can we) secure our portals and gateways? At what point does the veil become so thin that we can no longer tell which reality we are navigating? And is that a real concern if we can navigate each one effectively?

We may assume that our dream life is our own private quarters, secure and wholly solitary in experience. However, as humans, we share many primal landscapes and common scenarios. What themes keep occurring in your psychic spaces? We have all fallen through frightening depths. We have seen heavens and wastelands, history and revolution, alien planets and faery realms. We have been the pursuer and the pursued. (Ever meet the entity on the other end?) We are the warden and the prisoner, the student and the master, the defendant and the judge, the slayer and the slain, the champion and the monster… the list goes on.

What do the overlapping collective subconscious dreamscapes imply? Does it imply that the deepest closets of our psyches can be hacked, manipulated and modified by either ourselves or others regardless of our conscious awareness of what is happening? Does it imply that our evolutionary memories are similar despite region and culture of origin; that there is something about being human that ties us together regardless of race, religion or any other association/affiliation? Or take it another step… that there is something about being an animal, being of the Earth that we will always carry with us?

And what of those who hold memories and lives of the non-human: of the Faery, of the Stars, of the Angels, of the Darkness, of the Hungry, of the Shifters, of the Robots, of the Alien? With what dreams do they impregnate us?

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on October 1, 2009

I see these images in dreams, images of those I supposedly know. The interactions in the dreamscape are reflections and refractions of wishes, fears, hopes, biases and aspirations that I can recognize in waking life. I know warnings from unconscious observations; I know wish-fulfillment from true potential. These images do not fool or enchant me. They live in my head, not to be known by others that do not share my dreams. We all carry on secret lives, as do our doubles and counters, our dopplegangers and shadows. Perhaps we remember each other from different lives and different worlds. Perhaps we know each other well from stories. Each plane is a different reality that has/is/will swell(ed/ing) and collapse(d/ing). At every turn, we must be re-acquainted.

shopping list

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on September 18, 2009

:

Apples

Blackberries

Cloves

Oats

Stouts

Whiskey

Ribbons (various colors)

Pole

Horse Skull (mock.. but not mocking)

Glowsticks (yellow and green)

Pumpkin (and baked seeds)

Smoke

Paper mache

Black, gray, green and yellow paint

Tagged with: , , , ,