It has been some time, for some reason, for someone, for some things to be discussed in the open. The time is nigh. I reveled in the atmosphere of company, the brightness of oration, and presence overall.
I try to keep my cards close to my chest most times, living alone for 20 years made me that way. I have tried openness and have difficulties disgorging my ways and methods. The mind works the way it was developed. Both by nature and nurture. Once hardwired the dendrite connections are hard to alter. I see things I saw as a child and still seem to interpret them similarly.
“Whether it’s a symphony or a coal mine, all work is and act of creation and comes from the same source: from the inviolate capacity to see through one’s own eyes ----which means: the capacity to perform a rational identification---which means: the capacity to see, to connect and make what had not been seen, connected and not seen before.” . . . “He doesn’t know how he created his work or why, it just came out of him spontaneously, like vomit out of a drunkard.”…” Does affection make one a coward?”… A.R. Atlas Shrugged
In creating, the mind has its own motor, there is no steering wheel or gear shift. The impetus comes from both within, and from outside stimuli. A muse is one. Valuable and unattainable. Revered and admired. Nothing more. Admiration and affection are undeniable and undefended. As time progresses the ideas do not travel a roadway or direction, they morph and disfigure, transforming into something foreign from the original sin.
Now I must look to the world I wonder in. Where will my failings foist forward to discover. What will I see, envision, develop, conjure, and bring to essence? Where will my mind drift to as the sands of time pour from the hourglass of my existence? Each grain falls and joins the past. Not the same, but inalienably identical in their differences. As I delve into explorations the mind always travels the routes of the past, pondering benefits and features seen and unseen.
I do not apologize for my weaknesses. A smile, a smirk, a line, a look, all drive the motor of thought. Cogito Ergo sum. It is said. I agree, and want to learn more. Whence cometh thou with thine eyes. I could not disagree, my drift was asea. But I posit more from less, breadth from width, and ascension from a rise. My inner outermost raison d’etre was not cunning. It was appreciation. Amazed in appreciation, in awe at the verve, essentially drinking in that which is presented.
I am I. He who knows better but cannot do better. Hopefully I amuse.
A nice pour over Patricia, make it pure Java.
Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus, Amused.
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