Midsummer night’s repast.
Now taking w break with preoccupation with Trump, instead , think disjoint , the fear of, something inconsolable , like parallels for instance.
Long time ago talked with someone here about philosophical psychology and or the psychology of philosophy, which was at a certain point/place in this forum.
Why this or that, why Trump so and so and not the other way, why is TRUMP beginning to bore , the antics wearing thin, why so I not want to smoke with my son in law, why so I smell insanity of the person eclipsing that of society?
Why why why? To be continue-ed.
But back on track. I have recurring horror of permanent writer’s block, where the only honest futile of a compensation for a personally established sync within a mass psychological emptiness within which all of us orbit the enormous black hole slowly digesting stars traveling in mistaken direction toward its humongous epicenter: so big in fact, that it encompasses billions of solar masses. Take the vision of the techno world on edge, where dreamworld has no longer any gravity of the pull of meaning: creating great orbs of indifference and wondrous but not complacent anti vision.
Is that similar texture encompass, the magic and profundity within a hidden castle ?
Is lostness no longer the primary romance of a vision so great as to create the energy to recapture it?
This too, lies below that romantic revival that to those to whom return at any price is preferable to being turned into a mechanical redistribution of vital organs in case of an accidental demise?
The return even all of can only occur at some midnight, at the stroke of some clock hanging in midair, have already been remanufactured and faded as old sunstained velvet?
This too, evoking the duplex of leaving alone, as if a mystical lonely commitment. need be , even by the strangest turn of the Blakean turn into the fragmentation of leaving alone or more happily as a member of hidden groups.
Telling an in law that can not trip because of this, that the one thinking, leaving, alone hides all and every one, and there is no one on whom this pressure does not make of either one or many, as coming back? Can certainty give comfort in where to transport the myriad of memory, which loose all and the loss being a gain on the other side.
At times smart politics, absolute commitments are but a long gleaned possibility of a new birth, as necessary to singularly become as the fear of leaving alone.
The dizzying magical of the origin of godspell, of it superscribing and underwriting even the highest technology affirms the wisdom of the conquest of the soul over its matter.
And then the return where to return by sheer madness apparent to all coming into its orbit, makes such invincible even unto its self. That is the power of a renewal of an ancient promise, and for such, a cure is rejected , and nothing comparable can take its place.
At some point deliverability would usher in more heartbreak.
So much for some repast, within the heart that not only retains, but. transfers power into cheap tricks of reverence.
Believe then you are lost.
PS: perhaps our planned visit to Ben Dracula castle will let is rarer repast.
Of course crosses and garlic are a pre-requisite as some put down relics of superstitious folklore to be caused by some vir, visceral infection from the past.