One more month. November. She (patricia) arrives, and I slide. 30 days to make something of it, to really work out this time and material, space not quite ethereal, but here, now, forever. I met with Mike (Rhim) today. We are doing this every Monday , mundane and free, and the Astoria was there, she overheard us talking about Z.i.n.e.s. and wants to help us make one. So be it. 7 more hours. And eyes shut. a rotten self schedule I have that it doesn't work, i don't follow it, i'm my distraction based self as always, and so on. Drinking coffee and not. 54 more minutes. Rotation. Time means nothing, I was free when it didn't have me as prisoner and frog. Seasons mean something, moon and sun possesses with their significance. All artifice is only tool, good or bad. It is object without life; only containing the existence given. 47 more seconds. Remember. Macro to micro, to undefined matter, to unknown reality, to blissful somnolence, to the raving mad, or the willful normality, or the ignorantly banal. There is no need to mention it, (making our lips dirty and proud,) There is only being conscious in it.
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