A Few Moments of Thinking about Doing Something and Finding it Already Done.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

(welcome to Visible Origami my dear friends; the latest in an unbroken series of daily postings because, I guess because we like where we are and this is one of the things that happen when you like where you are.)

rollin... rollin... rollin... tap... tap... tap... tap... hmmm, probably would have been a good idea if I had had some idea of what I was going to say before I started to say something and it wasn't there. Usually you know, there's something there but... it's like I opened the door to the pantry and there was what is probably a very old carton of Kraft mac'n cheese, which I didn't buy cause the only way I would use that is to Spackle a hole in the sheet rock ...but nothing else comes to mind; eating it is certainly not part of the equation. Of course this is not a literal pantry. It is supposed to represent my mind. You know what? I'm going to just sit here for a bit until something comes to me. Usually there's a number of subjects in a holding pattern over that airstrip that leads to the terminal that is the central clearing house for my consciousness and they are still very much there and look a lot like the points we were making the last time we were here and therein lies the imagined dilemma. There is no dilemma, this is just one of the times I don't want to repeat myself too transparently. So... given I just sent this link to a friend that I'll be seeing in a couple of days and given that it relates directly to the matter at hand, I will share it with you as well.

... very interesting how coincidence works, given that it doesn't exist in the first place.

And given that somehow Stevie intruded himself into the mix, let's double down on that.

If I have a favorite tune by him (which is impossible) this would be it. Listen to EVERY SINGLE LINE and tell me whether you think he might not be in direct communication with the one of whom we speak about here so often. If you ever buy another album, I think “Songs in the Key of Life” will take the need for pondering which one that would be off of your mind.

Yes... I want to immediately repeat the same scripture from yesterday and possibly also the day before and the day before that... and that repetitive thing but... I'm not going to. I'm going to sit here and think about it for a bit. This one might take me awhile. Well... speaking of Stevie, which we were, moments ago, Stevie, with all his brilliance and connectives to the almighty, got hijacked by the left wing of what might have once been humanity but more represents what the Italians call 'sinistra', from which the word sinister is derived. Hey! I'm left handed. It's like right and wrong, right? They only exist as the interpretations given to them by whomever is occupying that perspective but... these days, I got to say it... those people (if they can be called that) are more twisted than that licorice I used to have a thing for. Bruce got hijacked by them too. All those entertainers and artists got hijacked by that agenda and they are sick and twisted; the agenda- I don't know the artists personally enough to pass a judgment. Some of them are twisted too.

Before money sodomizes the humanity out of you and God cuts off your access to the muse(s), you might have once been an objectively thinking capable person. Now... however it is that they accomplished that, when The Tribe speaks, you sit up and bark and then you roll over. Visible has never been able to accomplish that. Hell, he even tried. I did want to fit in but... they already knew what they were dealing with when it comes to me and they knew it before I did.

On the plus side of the equation, the muse(s) have never abandoned me and as far as fame and fortune go, I always remember what the ineffable said to me a few years ago when we were discussing my getting the kind of exposure that one creates for in the first place and... in a flash...as if it had eyes, I remember that guy I saw on the train to Baltimore one afternoon. There I was... and if you've ever taken the train from DC to Baltimore, you know that in the sequences... the unforgettable snapshots of your passage through time and space in that particular zone... it passes through some of the darkest backside of the city you can imagine. For all I know, the city that gave us John Waters has no other side but... on this particular afternoon, I happened to be looking out the window and just as we came out of an overpass there was this guy, dressed in ordinary clothes with a beret on and it was pulled down over his eyes, like somehow you would not be able (or care to) identify him ...and there he stood with his 'member' out and I must say, this fellow was impressively endowed; for a moment I thought I was looking into some kind of a mirror (grin... I don't believe I said that but man... the door was wide open) and he was just pulling it and the train was going by and that kind of said, “Baltimore” to me.

Yeah, I digressed... anyway, I remember what the ineffable said to me about that whole fame and fortune and 'exposure' thing; most important thing to me is that those songs get heard, for the reasons they got written in the first place. The ineffable said to me, “visible, who did you write those songs for?” I replied, “For you, Lord.” He answered, “Son, I heard them.” I felt such a wash of accomplishment and pure joy wash over me when he said that that it was as if... for a moment, I got to be The Beatles in some fast forward, all in an instant kind of a way... for a soundtrack to this thought, go to that song of theirs, 'Revolution #9' and cue up the part where the orchestra goes nuts and winds the whole sequence into that ever increasing intensity just before the song's conclusion. My point is this... if the inspiration that passes through you is not only generated, through several different protective filters on its way to you, so that you don't get incinerated in the process... but was also sent to the source of it (by you) to begin with and you get told by the one who made it possible for you to do it in the first place that he heard it... my friends, I know no greater sense of completion, nor do I think I ever shall, that said it all. “Son... I heard them.”

In that moment I truly did get the temporary and pointless exercise that the whole Sisyphean construction of a material world was all about. Believe me, when you are given actual evidence of not only god's presence in this whole masquerade but that he approves of and appreciates whatever your small accomplishments were/are, it doesn't matter if anyone hears or sees what you do. How does that work... you have thousands of screaming idiots, stoned and drunk ...and howling at you, with eyes more glazed than anything you ever saw at a Krispy Kreme ...and you want to ask some of the stage hands to bring you a few buckets of raw meat, like the chum that people working on ship cruises reach into so that their passengers can see a shark in real life... so that you can toss portions of it out into the crowd (real experience of mine, without the chum buckets actually showing up) or... a small handful of people who are actually paying attention to the lyrics, or the ineffable recognizing the content and intent of your efforts... it's not even a question of what direction you are going to go in with this.

The beauty of knowing that the ineffable exists... knowing, not speculating or believing or wishing and hoping but knowing... and then having the ineffable drop by... surely the busiest entity that ever there was and which explains him being able to be in multiple locations at all times... to have him directly tell you that he's seen and heard what you do and in that instant you also recognize that that is where it came from in the first place... like... somehow... you had never really gotten that before but... now you do. That beats winning every award on Earth. That beats being the keynote speaker at any and every event anywhere. That beats, hands down, ANYTHING this world can ever give you and then (always) takes it away... cause that is what it does... /that beats everything. I'm guessing you only know this in its most complete fashion if it happens to you ...but it happened to me and all I got is Gratitude... Gratitude... Gratitude... and Gratitude that it is impossible to express; you can't even feel it on any level approximating what is required. You are pretty much left forever reaching for the means but forever falling short.

To have your whole miserable life swimming in gratitude and in defiance of all the hurt and harm and pain of what appearances delivered to your door, long before Amazon started taking over the world, long before there were cellphones and computers and all you knew about the world was that you were being beaten into submission with a landline telephone at the hands of whoever it was that got put in charge of you passing by them... ///to have your whole life swimming in gratitude and thankfulness so that now every time the whip hand came down (and the memory is literally not even there anymore) with full force, it now feels like it was a kiss... to be left at the end of all the things you have yet to understand with a heart overflowing with love and gratefulness... wow! I assure you there is nothing like that ...and no possible way that it can be described by anyone through any medium of expression...

well, I'd say, regardless of all the heartbreak and loss, that is a life well lived.


End Transmission.......

It's Wednesday so that's usually the cutoff point for mentioning Sunday's radio broadcast.