Thursday, January 8, 2015

Elephant Based

The percussion of the ear drum is the noise on the blinking gone. As the most in the miss is the condition of hugs that would have known.  In the hold of the hand, or, the cold of the land, it is ice on the rocks to the sheets of the melting that Glacier still talks.  Crashing into the ocean the sheets shed the spill, to fill the sea with ancient freeze.  So old the world in the news of such times, ships on the lanes to cruising the lines.  My belief is simply that life is exposed.  That special on the virtue to honor and truth, a branch on the frigid closure of state. The darning of the snag that brought down the house, oh but for the sound of the Organist late.

A pump organ in the grands of the days, a memory holds to the piano of laid.  A bench in the sit to turning the notes, almost not quite the Tea on a cheer.  I love to play naturally through, to the ends of the earth and the circus of steer.  I have spent a life on an incredible journey, looking to know that life played tunes to the strobes.  The guitarist with a harp to his mouth, as dg is a favorite memory to me. The horse has been my absolute in stout, so often the balance does work itself out.  

Saddle the horse and go for a ride, the trail of road is the vision of sighed.  There in the Redwoods a forest is grove, for in the thick dense trees are a fence.  To protect the living by providing a place, as the shade filters sunlight, the streams beauty with grace.  Be calm in the lumber as the ceiling advance, for the roof is made with shingles and stance.  Standing with timbers is also of scoot, for the work on the falls can run each to a boot.  With the sky in the park as blue is a lake, the hours of Moon are guiding stars state.  Quest on the water shed from the bank is natural, to experience the rain as it comes pouring to states.  December two-thousand fourteen had a storm, whereby California made a record from torn.  In three days time it poured like a year, this is an account of environmental tears.

To be of a breathing caliber by slate, I love the constellations that speak with a date.  Solar design to touch all the dimes, providing performance to the Comet by shine.  Fires to scamper the etch of the draw, snowflakes let winter cold the big law.  Mountains to cellars a walk to the fates, watches to believe that rivers can state.  The language of Ancients, the overlay gate, an Oracle of Ion to have spoken of make. Up with a compass to familiar the case as how can humanity not feel the change.  The rings of the flame put elemental by name, the Time in the Alps those sails are same.  Ice can be cubed to cool on the drink, flavored by properties that add to the blink.  Taste is the spice as The Wells of the night, learning to be able to realize a fight.

In the anchor of foot a decision to heel, guarding the day light while enjoying a sight. The type that surprises any sign to deliver, a handle to buckle a shoe for a giver.  A beautiful flock of Ringneck Doves have flown to my home. At first I thought a pigeon on grown.  The residence of many animals that cheer while delivering messages with joy for the year.  The seals that bark while the coyotes do purr, the hoot of the Owl that I saw with a clear.  Amazing how The Birds are such a fanciful gear, even the Woodpecker is packing the peer.  Swallows, Robins, Finches in sing, the Hummingbirds flying backwards at speeds of a Ling.  The cadence of rhythm sharing on ping, the geese that do write as the clouds formal being.  In the music of Nature that incredible work, just showing how reason brings wisdom to turf.

Taught^Sees Read Hare

So, I was in the midst of a dream just now and the knock woke me up to a wonderful opening.  As all do know or in the truth of word may not be aware that I have a mother that ran an interesting life to a park like setting.  In the city of San Francisco many a wonderful and interesting things would venture in the night time air.  Visits to the Tenderloin for the trip to save the avenue sitter from the despair that was felt on the street.  So as my mother is of a kind nature in personal to private actions of helping or aiding those that she has decided need her help, I write to tact and marrow.  From the basic coffee house to the boulevard of drives, such as it is in the fantastic I remember those Purple Hatted Men with great regard.  The patience I learned was from standing beside them as my mother took to the 24 Hour Cafe there steed to try and get them to call home.  During this time of Watch, I would stand just outside the cafe being very safe, for I could see everything through the window as she would witness a way to produce the coinage for the call of the Call Girl herself.

On few occasions the phone within the restaurant would indeed be of use.  For there right in front of me so to speak, they, my mother and girl would walk to the Payphone and the call was being made. The ring would be answered with a bit of luck for it was the middle of the night everywhere, but when it went the way my mother had hoped, big smiles and off to the Greyhound Bus Station we would fly.  As I would look at the Purple Hatted Man I must testify to the compassion of the entire process that would follow.

My mother was all ready for the battle to the user of the girl, so first to the car  with the girl in tow than my mother would bustle herself to the Purple Hatted Man. However in each case the Purple Hatted Man merely stood with inform.  As my mother still needed to retrieve me as I was the collateral for the coffee in the first place, the entire event was truly of wonder bred.  There we all were the car door slamming with the Call Girl inside and here comes my mom with a stride that a Mountain would have moved itself for.  Of course the Valley afforded the great bridge and the voices were of shedding, but, the path was clear and moved with the grace of the strong deluge.

Now down to the Bus Station where a ticket was purchased, another phone call would be placed and the excitement for my mother was undeniably of success and most likely progress.  She had gone and brought to place a mother and a daughter that had been separated by offensive circumstance.  In thought of the actions to the greater patience of the questions that the Call Girl would shake with provide.  Grateful for the middle of the night emptiness of these stations, the view was of great treasure, for there at every single chair a coin operated television set to stair.  Amazingly the whole operation was as an elephant to the room in a Drawing of kaboom, yet there on the minute of the loading of the bus, a hug and a big good luck of simple words, don't be frustrated your family is waiting.

To the return the kindness of the act was not missed in the act itself.  As many are of certain to have turned right about to get off at the next turn around, I like to believe that some did make it all the way back to the Mid-West where they can find stories like this one and say 'Hey that happened to me', Hell of a day.

Well in the dream as I was with an ole bunch of meanderers, there we were in the 'The Building' (otherwise known as the Church of my young life). In the chapel arena, pews were exactly as they had been set as a child with the acceptation of one that was askew. Strange to have been out of order, but as the scene goes all else was pretty much the same to that date period of hour per time.  The doors however were being shut by the now in-flowing crowd of ugh`ers (that is my word for explaining the flavor of the dream itself, a sort ugh) and I of course said to myself in this dream, this ought to be interesting.  The audience of hangers was laughing and spitting stupid ignorance about chase and catch, normal for the congress of the balance at the head.  Yet as I sat on one of the pews I looked around the surroundings and shook my head, there was something missing.  Just then I heard this tremendous knock on the double door towards the back of the actual entry to the chapel.  I sat quietly waiting for the congregation to answer or respond to the extremely loud and most obvious knock.  The people began to scramble about like a Scrabble of X at the Z of the Y in a blast of the A or the hymn of a die.  I turned slowly to see whom on earth would be knocking with such poignant insistence to find that what was missing was indeed peering in through the curtain behind the glass on the door. In fact it was my mother.  Turned out these people had locked her out.  Immediately zombies come to mind as my mothers face was in distress.  I said to the galloping people are you going to open the door, its my mother and she would like to come in;  knock, knock again.  The congregation just stared and I felt the oddness of their selfishness to the chamber of the lock that had looped this actual location to some type of cop, oh how the spice of yesterday year is so freshly cut to the flowers of the bouquet of such smells.  As the knock was becoming more insistent, the crowd in that room became smaller in felt by fell of spirit.  As their character had not changed from when I was a child, I stood up and said, can you not see that she is distressed and cold, let her in.  No one moved.  I knew that this was of the game, yet in the same understanding these ignorant fucks were not known to me as what I would consider Big Gamers, more the type of run and scatterers, killing behind closed captions and dead walls as to never have to confront the horror of their own internal intellectual actions towards any account of any act that had ever come to fruition, through either truth, dare or fact touched lies.  I got up as the knock was still in the extreme and worry of quickness to feat was on my present mind. I walked to open the door and in my vocal and audible voice I said, "She wants to come in!!" Hell of dream.

This being the waking moment of reality, I of course have risen from the dream to brew a good old fashion cup of joe to know that Original Joes in the Tenderloin is still up and running I think, or at the very least the fine restaurant, Original Joes is still open in Westlake, Daly City, California.  As the coffee was brewing I went to my own door and opened it for the honor of the cause. For what I have learned is that funny things happen at funny times, thereby leaving some mother out in the cold. Quiet possibly it is a father, or brother, or, sister, or just putting it plainly, some human being person that has been ostracized that is or has at least taken the time to knock at the door.  Lots and lots of people have been left in the cold hollows of alley death and the little bit my mother was able to do for those that seemed dead on the fact was to take a bit of time, no jury, no judgement, just a coin that made the phone able to connect with a voice on the other end that said........(I never heard the conversations at that particular point, but, I did witness a gargantuan amount of tears from the girls that were most obviously speaking to whom they loved very much).  A bit of kindness, like the ear to that hand that is able to walk to the door and answer with ability and clarity of the mind in bearings, brings to this dream the measure of complete pour.  For humanity has been lost and for my mothers sake and for my mothers wonder, I frost because people on those Party lines today just open the door and laugh while both slamming, pushing, and, betting on death as a pass.

So to the Purple Hatted Men, to my mother and send, Tamara called just yesterday, and, with scrub as her mission I can only say that memory scores to the day my older sister Tamara made her attempt on a specific time, to place of my youth.  There in a restaurant in the Tenderloin as a young child, Tamara stood up and took the pot of coffee from the Waitress, saying, I can do that.  As she grabbed forcibly the pot of hot coffee I am grateful for tables and kind Waitresses, for my sister just poured the coffee into my mothers cup spilling it all over the table itself and onto my mothers lap, it was hot,wet and a mess.  As it is a Tale, but, not really, it is more along the lines of those learning times. Had the actual act been of the midnight runs on the street with the Thermos we used to also have for the visits to downtown with 'Call Girls' and 'Johns', my sister would have drenched the already drowning.  Yet it would have scorched and burned the already freezing, and that would have ended up being an entirely different type of conversation on the Corner for the pitcher.