Ears m’gears…

Psiciculture has many other sensuous aspects…

For example,

fish culturists closely observe fish behaviour when they feed the animals,

looking for signs that the fish are swimming sluggishly,

or not feeding as much as they ought to…

Experienced fish culturists develop almost personal relationships,

with their fish populations,

and frequently talk about what the fish tell them —

“I listen to the fish”;

“The fish tell me when they have had enough”…

— in Learning and Expanding with Activity Theory Edited by Annalisa Sannino

These days,

I can’t get enough,

of wheat germ,

and cocktail sauce…

Don’t ask me why,

some things,

are inexplicable,

and it’s best,

not to question them…

Some numbers refuse,

to be crunched,

through,

standard formulation…

I love it when one,

of the walking dead,

knock at my door,

and try to give me advice,

about how I should conduct myself…

Even handing over,

sealed,

manila envelopes,

with implied,

applications…

Speaking from my own experience,

if you’re barely breathing,

and you’re at the stage in life,

where your chest,

is about to sink into your drawers,

you’re on a slippery slope,

to fossilizing…

Right on the spot…

And you’re in no position,

to be pointing fingers,

in any direction,

but right back ‘atcha…

I’ve been going through,

some artifacts…

Reading the bones,

if you will,

as I get my house in order,

for a date with destiny..

And under fire protection,

in a metal box,

I found a card,

with a core message…

A heart,

side by side,

a flower,

drawn,

with blue overhead pen,

on a folded piece,

of magenta,

construction paper…

When I opened it up,

I saw the words,

We support you!!!

Words written,

by a six year old boy,

who signed his name,

across my heart,

as I closed a door,

to make a big change,

from one thing,

completely into another…

People want their lives,

to be different,

and they want to breath in,

all that the world has to offer…

But this requires willingness,

to expand,

into the unknown,

and mighty,

might,

in the gonad department…

And when the woman,

on the front porch,

pushes a wheelbarrow,

in front of herself,

to help carry the load,

of what she is growing,

people just don’t know,

what to do with themselves,

and it makes them all crazy…

The reflection,

of their fears,

and the light,

they can’t see,

for all of the clouds,

in their eyes,

spins up,

the demons,

they have yet,

to befriend…

When we’re so busy,

demanding,

scientific explanations,

for what science doesn’t know,

we fail,

to move past,

the persistent,

string of hypo-crisis,

tying us all together…

I want an answer,

to the question,

Who’s science???

And I wait,

willing,

to polish,

the dust,

and grime,

away,

from mystery,

with my own two hands,

and the shammy,

that says,

Not this time,

you mad men…

And like all of those,

who have come with me,

and before me,

so the story goes…