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“The last thing he said was, “Put it all together.” And I thought, well that could mean anything or nothing. But then the way he said it, the angle of attack of his words reminded me that my own mind operated in a confusing duality. One was operated by nature and the other was operated by what someone, presumably myself, wanted to record as the highest or best and so on. Who knows? Why does it work that way?
It was a trail of masterful droppings that I had to go back and search through. And then when the brain went a bit nuts and there was a kind of seizure one thing would connect with another and suddenly things started to add up.
“They were dropped there because the brain rushed through trying to get something. It was an enemy of sorts, more like a dysfunctional brother who wanted all answers right now and didn’t have the patience to lay the groundwork. And forget the signs of the market, none of them work and they always flash at the wrong places.”
So my own droppings lay there for years undiscovered and uncared for; saved up would be an optimist’s way of putting it, one who felt anything could be salvaged, and for a brief moment I felt ecstasy. But then it quickly muted of its own accord, remembering no doubt how many times the feeling of ecstasy had gotten me in trouble and knowing, in a sublime way, that various types of energy can be shaped if the mind was put to it.
But, the context, the context? Something expressively belonging to the act of dropping, at that precise moment could not be reproduced or called back into an authentic state.
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