Sunday, May 19, 2013

Annals: A Walk Through the Walled In Pond Meadow

Calcium bone framed flesh machines approaching wooded bower.  Traction.  Skipping rocks. Snapping twigs echoe deep and crisp.  Prodded by a rogue branch.  Slashed grabbed by barbed grasses.  Nuzzled by the rock tread touch and grassy brass embrace.  And to the sanctuary bridge to burn the ceremonial grasses.  But all was not right.  A machine state probe was emitting frequencies in the area toggling and affecting my brain frequencies and systems.  The state machine has an input brand in all of our minds but to different extents.  Some people are seduced by the petty power struggles and fill the void of their existence pursuing this and that politically - actively or broodingly and private.  The first step to freeing the mind of a poison is to forget all about such matters.  They still may lick your mind from time to time and sometimes heavily, but a fight leads to a war which should be waged with grace.  Mentally vanquish this force.  Own it.  And so as the embers burned the winds of the Walled In Pond Woods changed.  I walked gently through the meadow with surreal enchantment who's potency was shielded only by the 3-d photonic veil.

And my mind went lost into oblivion through a portion of the wood; Dead Wood.  Lost to the extent that I hadn't realized that I had even passed through that section of the words until it whispered in my ear building to the point where some new neuro-tech technology - that was highjacked from the Mexican State - was implemented in my psyche while I walked.

The realization of the name Dead Wood occurred yesterday as my joyous tread through the leaves and pebbles and naked soil and sticks and stones lead my eyes to the realization that many dead trees snapped in half littered a particular area; large branches, half trunks, rot wood, leafed branches, all spread out across the bower's blanket of dead brown pine needles.  The place spoke through my neural Mexican hijacked mind voice tech, "This is Dead Wood."  The fact that I missed walking through Dead Wood today, as it was a dead space in my memory, added mystique to the stand of trees licked by the wind and other elements of their existence roughly, destructively - so as to leave so many dead broken trees standing - was lost to me until the vacant memory and place whispered in my ear today after a fine embrace of silence and prior anticipation to meld my presence again with the place.

Before I passed the Dead Wood stand, sumptuous candy boulders lined the path.  I sat upon one with an enchanting patch of bright green moss.  I burned ceremonial grasses and listened to the static sound of myriad small snow flakes hitting the leaves. A beautiful early spring flurry.  A savant would tell you the number of strikes occurring in the forest precisely at any given moment.  I will tell you it was the haggard ways of the Walled In Pond Woods with houses seen through the trees in the distance.  An outpost along the path.  An ugly view point.  Static as in a down line, a broken pylon, a snapping power cable raging equalizing.

And after I left the boulder, in my mind, from just beyond the horizon, a silent audible voice spoke the words, "Dead Wood!" in a laughing sinister way.  When I was traveling in Mexico on one particular bus ride in the middle of nowhere in particular, the horizon started raging in the incantation of,  "Mexico," in the type of mode used as in the making of a brand on a mind.   And so this neuro-tech technology, used in  the Mexican country, was installed into the Walled In Pond Woods by Nobody, the friend to one and all, and it called out Dead Wood in the style of Mexico which was rather enchanting.

And then I became self-conscious like I should not have heard such things and alas I had arrived at Benz street.  Civilization at last!  And as I walked down the house lined street hugging the curb like a penguin hugging a hare's ass as cars passed, I pondered Arthur C. Clarke's social commentary in his Rama Series.  There was indeed a purifying separation of humans done by Rama but that of course was a judgement device designed by Arthur C. Clarke himself.  And so it went that the criminals were removed so the good people could finally get about their business.  Pretty lame.  And, nobody knows what happens to the criminals either.  The criminals of the U.S.A. government driving the grey toxic ooze of civilization to cover the face of all land on the planet and pumping the atmosphere with dangerous levels of carbon dioxide should be disposed of.  And any element clinging to the extent that it would be destruction to remove it safely, should also be destroyed.  That is my Rama judgement.

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