First Siftings – Is anyone out there?

So this is where I find myself in the light of the obsolescence of Myspace as if I were in the airplane graveyard with nothing to do but sit and twiddle my thumbs.

No little need spawned this outpouring.  My own confusion – a dismantled intellect, we shall call it – pressed into service here, in order to assemble the broken messages and abstruse occupations that I am involved in – at first, by force, and then, after viewing the ordeal as a whole, a consensual agreement, based loosely on the lost notes, and the inklings of the backwards animals that comprise the secret aspect of the King’s will.

The obvious inculcation here would be to impugn the King for not having had any foresight, like the Ostrich – head to neck buried in the sand.  Mad with fury, if you will, to ignore fate is the only option.  I say this because of the anger, understand?  She is unable to plan anything, and it is manifested in the hilarious anger, hilarious to us as we shake our heads in agreement – But She, she does not know how we see things, dig?  She can’t see us.  And so the king, in refutation, becomes like the very Ostrich, and we never let her see us coming.

Again, all the animals considered in the secret Will Of The King may find pertinence within the image of the Angry Ostrich, such as the spongy Hippo, the lost seagull, and others, too many to give mention of here, being saved to posterity in The Things That Are To Come Later, in this journal, and in the novel that I am writing.

I so detest having to explain the indispensable pretenses, as regards the intellect, and the choice that I have to make, intending strongly that I should follow the most expedient course, which is to study the  soul; though now I find the study excellently dirty and ridden with dust. I have to find recourse at my computer; and then, again, I tend to lose my conscience over long-dead quarrel over the innermost secret recess of my being, bereaving myself of the luxury of bemoaning the Other One.  Long ago, over an affair I shall not mention now, I opened the ancient quarrel concerning Things Dreadful, hard to write of now – but as needed, will make reference to these nuances as “The Daguerreotypes”.

So in case there is anyone out there (I have abandoned Myspace), I have to offer up these writings, though I am by no means a Vollman or a Tolstoy, hoping that someone will find what intrigues me intriguing as well.  Perhaps people who know me will read this, and people who will not.  Since  I am considering going to school – (goodness, I am getting on, and my intellect is hopelessly scattered) it’s good to know that someone as close to the King as me, who am his son by adoption, can offer through words and teachings, an accurate glimpse of that Man As He Is Not Known, and obscured by the persona that is Me.

So I shall say, I intend the highest good, the good that gives its own essence to itself, and I have to study study, and strike anon on that selfsame word “wonder”, which is the beginning of all philosophy.  Once I have withdrawn into the study, and have begun to wonder, I implicate myself in my own privacy, and wonder at the greatest crimes, and how I should be as lucky as to have risen to such an High occupation.

The idea, or so I tell myself, is to go as slow as I can.  It is okay to come up short, when one intends change.  To err on the side of Good is the saftest route.  To err on the side of Evil, (then a man finds himself alone with his own selfishness) renders one helpless.  Truth be known, I am never alone, never without a guide – I am not wise in the ways of the world, nor do I wish to be.  And truly, the solitude I enjoy with many men who err on the side of what is right, is percipient with the everlasting joy I own, as one who has tried perfection time and time again, and failed.

My experience in A.A. has helped me tremendously, and I intend to apply what I have learned in service that shall benefit any and all who move slowly, who desire to win the favor of The Eternal King, who, Almighty, is hidden and seemingly non-existent.

The everlasting joy is a boon and a goad to my war against self.  It gives me proof of God and encouragement.  I stand up, I lean upon the surest proof, I do not lie, it is ever real.  The idea here is, for me to apply these things and to follow through with the change I intend, which, here today, is to enroll in school and work on my confounded novel about my adventures with The Eternal King.

Try perfection, and if you come up short (as has always been the case with me) – of course you may find success easier – then you too may understand what I have to confront with the Daguerreotypes in the cellar, and all the unexplained phenomena that makes up this world we call earth, well, then, more power to you.

I myself have decided to start a new journal.  Not sure how many people will come into contact with this, but any questions, any comments, especially about A.A., I will gladly accept.  I love having something to write about.

So here goes, and I am hoping that someone will understand my situation, and relate to the Ostrich, and stop persecuting the King.