04-12-2026, 03:59 AM
17 is a potent number for me. 1 and 7 is 8, and 8 is Infinity, but it's not Infinity, it's 17. And oh, aren't they all, like a white-winged dove . . .
Steel-folding chairs are also sacred to me.
Spring is new and novel for me. I like to go to stores and find shiny plastic things, and get into things I've never been into through aggressively casual on-site browsing.
There's a hill I walk up before noon each day, most days, and when I close my eyes and stare at the protection between me and the light, and breathe from the walk, I see golden dust rising toward the sun. It looks like the Dust in that show and movie about His Dark Materials. I take off my hat, and the sun takes all that Dust from me, until the brightest Light in the center takes the shape of an Eye or Hexagram Star or Cross or Golden or other Colored Orb.
As a devotee of Dionysos, messy is good, and the toads at the nearby pond and other sounds of things brushing grass and twigs, along with the climate and conditioned "springtime feeling" that I have, with all its loric and other associations, a variety of sensations that I've always wondered, and attempted, to find for sure if anyone else shares precisely, and enjoy the frustrated disappointment that no one may and I may never know or feel I know either way, is good.
Until then, as Narcissus Nemo, I'll dump myself everywhere I go, for the sake of shared selfishness with the Others.
Steel-folding chairs are also sacred to me.
Spring is new and novel for me. I like to go to stores and find shiny plastic things, and get into things I've never been into through aggressively casual on-site browsing.
There's a hill I walk up before noon each day, most days, and when I close my eyes and stare at the protection between me and the light, and breathe from the walk, I see golden dust rising toward the sun. It looks like the Dust in that show and movie about His Dark Materials. I take off my hat, and the sun takes all that Dust from me, until the brightest Light in the center takes the shape of an Eye or Hexagram Star or Cross or Golden or other Colored Orb.
As a devotee of Dionysos, messy is good, and the toads at the nearby pond and other sounds of things brushing grass and twigs, along with the climate and conditioned "springtime feeling" that I have, with all its loric and other associations, a variety of sensations that I've always wondered, and attempted, to find for sure if anyone else shares precisely, and enjoy the frustrated disappointment that no one may and I may never know or feel I know either way, is good.
Until then, as Narcissus Nemo, I'll dump myself everywhere I go, for the sake of shared selfishness with the Others.