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From: duckwoman
Date: 26 Jun 2004
Time: 05:08:57 -0500
Remote Name: 172.136.47.63
Parrots are smarter than you think. What about the vale of tears? As to strippings away (which makes me think of Gepetto with his knife making his nosy godboy), I am reminded of a broker friend who drove out of the city walked into the milky sea in his clothes, shoes like hooves, and sinking like a mafiosi or caricature of his own life, made off at last with his nude birdsoul through the waves --off with the veil of social approval .So what if he now sells beans on toast? I am reminded of the recorded conversations by a Jungian sexplorer and patient in Translate this Darkness, who was "stripped" through hypnotricks and then proceeded to break up about twelve marriages with her sexploits and corny tales of warriors, spears, rivers of blood, and snakes in trees. Superego out entirely, and things get wonky (the rat set alight) off with its head and down with the ship. Particular toad venoms work ask Marquez, but shamanic rituals seem honorable only in the context of their own cultural milieu(s) ie. particular lichens and reindeer urine. Folks who part veils thence usually wind up wandering around like my lost love, the soccer star and Rhodes scholar, blind as Lear and needing drool cups in some Andean village. Japanese mirror gazing is compelling (ego/shego out). Chris Whitley gets there never mind how (ever seen 'im?) a terrible beauty, eyes slouching off to Bethlehem. Look into the abbess and the abbess looks into yew ? As the late great Joseph Campbell said, the cliff walk is perilous and possibly doomed. I hear pieces of quartz (not eight) falling as we speak. Find the duende holding Lorca's pale hand, down on the cays where the drunken sailors sing. Oh, there's Nick skulking away on those stairs that disappear around corners. He may be following that woman with the turquoise eyes. I guess it is a matter of how much one wants to see. In the meantime, I suppose you could pick up that dusty instrument and blow, little boy bleu.