Spiropractic adjustments and the toastmouths

Most of the time things happen in the world and then things happen inside the inner world and they seem like they pop along independently each other, only to drop by and flirt for a few minutes or have a quickie at the least famous motel in town and then you feel in snyc with what you’re saying and doing with the inner world that tumbles around  inside, curling and flaring and crayola-ing like the surface of Jupiter being stirred with the knife of your own conscious whips;  and that’s most of the time, at least for me;

Then some days things happen and then things happen inside and they feel linked together strongly by leftover cable wire used to build the Golden Gate Bridge with a splash of Canadian Orange paint.  Some days things are strong and curious and unquestionable and you feel right and pure and adjusted, something knocked back into place like having an inflatable anvil fall on your head and suddenly remembering where you dropped your keys twenty years ago or what you whispered to your dying wife three lifetimes ago; tonight, after dealing with a weekend of professionally frustrating situations, I met two men at Whole Foods who were fascinating, a little intimidating, and some sort of energy level that jarred something back into place.

One of the gentlemen, a musician, stared at me and uttered a rhyme about creating art and living art and rolling in the largeness of life like heaven and earth were mixed together in a mad confusing beautiful compass of expression and change pockets of grandeur; OK, I’ve souped up what he said but the crux of it reminded me of something, I guess to let it rip; Nothing is by coincidence; I was deeply livid, deep in the pond pissed, over my screen partner casually canceling and his words dropped a match;  as Mickey says,
“Kid, you’re gonna eat lightning, and you’re gonna crap thunder! You’re a greasy, 145 pound Italian tank!”

I’ve never crapped thunder but it sounds like I would never need toilet paper so I’m ok with it; one thing is for certain, a good dose of rage relief coupled with a random stranger epiphany adjustment can really hit the spot and open that large jellybean mouth of life.

Another snippet from my patiently waiting novel Point of Venus; I think I’m going to have to hire someone to sketch Lona, the main character, designs in the book. I want to include the sketches as part of this novel, which is written partly inspired by fashion, healing myself, joy of writing, interplanetary fashion, and romantic prophecy as based on a dream I had several years ago and I am since affected and caught with flashes of the future; we’ll see how it pans out, out of a lion’s mouth or in it’s stomach; Happy Dimanche:

She heard heartaches, she heard young lovers who had known each other since grade school fight through years of growth to become what they always wanted – one. One story after another and when she had reached the last whisper, the man’s voice, her strange mirror angel, and she could hear sadness in his voice, like an echo inside a page, and she allowed the scroll of that diamond to melt into her skin, to swim into her bones and settle, thinking that what might be left is an imprint, a map to guide her, to cut her dreams in pieces and glue them together to form a broken bell, a broken bell to ring to create that aching opening that makes one awake like a predator for a moment, to hold that broken bell in the hand of the heart and let it ring for something, feeling the human heart as a pile of broken bells that mesh together to create a song that burned inside Lona. His bells rang inside her bones and made her feel like a skeleton of soil and embers that made her realize what a diamond really was: a fossilized Promise to be Thawed. Her bones felt covered in pieces of lips that history stole and replaced with filler; one whisper led to thousands and Lona slipped out of her trance and her body shook. 

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