I have a bed, food, clean water and sanitation. I have a Bible, Missal and Concordance. Connecticut has made me feel all possessions and property of myself and my family can be taken instantaneously by the state and Yale. I often imagine the arrival of armed militia. I think of requesting time to pack. I always think of packing my load out bags with kits and systems inside. It’s an unachievable task I’ve dedicated myself to for decades amidst the schism. 1994 was the year of my initial rapid deployment, as though it were joking torture, when I was put in SC with with the antique seabag and dozen upon dozen of undersized T-shirts. Everyone I’ve ever known always enjoyed that I “don’t get it” when I’m being tortured. Like fronds when departing gardens? Now I like to stay hidden from all of them, unknowing. Ever since the ‘94 brain injury I sustained in the dialectical wilderness; and worse yet to recross the Mason Dixon as an enemy combatant, by then of both sides and the vehement particular paradigms of each…
I’ve known, yet not until recently found the term “cloister”. I’m a monk. I won’t vow celibacy, abstinence or poverty; I accept these as possible. I’m fairly certain that, injured and alone in spacial, temporal and cerebral senses, I will simply persist meekly, hiding and unable to converse well, except by device.
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I think I understand Galileo; disproving eden via observations of the diurnal. Yet, vespertine and matutinal fixes through the years from a set central to a Euclidean perimeter yield the primary vantage of a Henge. It’s not much more to inclinate to stars in orbit, as it were, around ones set at center of Henge Armillary metaphor. Thence Newtonian ellipses and vortices… and we return to the gravitas apple