One Thousand Miles
If I could fall into the sky…
Clique Here
“… do you think time, would just pass us by. — Vanessa Carlton
Re-Engineering an ET Craft would indeed involve falling into the sky… and the distortion of time. Everything’s so wrong and you don’t belong living in precious memory. It is said that attempts to weaponize such craft is dangerous and foolish. Gravity and space/time somehow linked to the unitary Earth tribal conscious wired in neurons that do not allow us to eat our own body parts. Get a shot at the dentist and try to avoid chewing your cheek raw.
Faces pass and I’m home-bound. We learn to override the lizard brain. It gave us a gift of flight over bleak terrain. And I still need you. And I still miss you. Five Eight Fox. Nine Seven Lima. My airplanes. Is it crazy to love machines? Home-bound means you are either heading there through adventures and ordeals… or you stay there hoping for meals on wheels. Waiting for a plane… waiting for God… somehow all the same. And now I wonder.
Staring blankly ahead making a way through the crowd. Sometimes they move around you. Sometimes you have to move around them. Thy sea is so great and my boat is so small. You are the crowd. Some pilots fall in their airplanes. Some sailors fall from grace with the sea. We have fallen in water all our lives. Falling into the sky takes certain practice and equipment. In Flight sailors have been crossing seas before pilots were born. Many truckers go fishing.
Slipcraft (TM) holds sovereign neither sun nor moon. Day or night It’s a supernatural delight. You can’t dance and stay uptight where the world above looks round… where colors blend into sound… where sealing goes on underground. Learn to fall up without throwing down… if you want to be happy for the rest of your life. But my homework was never quite like this. Hell yes. I coulda been a contender. I could easily promise a ten-bagger to any investor.
A Slipcraft that can cover all terrain you can walk will cost $15k. Right now, 9/25/2015. Same with a waterborne Slipcraft. Manifesto has one that flies. But as long as shuffling paper is more profitable than making anything, Slipcraft must remain as a craft and a dream. It provides its own fuel. It will last your lifetime. Cost of tool is minimal. Cost of skill and insight is up to you. #hat is cost? What is value? Now anyone can publish words that sing.
About the size of a fist. Something thrown that had missed. I will always love you. My two children. My two great ladies. Of course there are more. Pick any two, and you have a paradox. I only knew Fox and Lima best because I got to practice with them… because I “owned” them. They were flying machines. Thinking of them as “property” is bat-fuck insane. Could not have fallen into the sky without them. Could not have smelled the ground without Siddhartha.
waldopaper 
Waiting for heaven is good… we all wait, some with reluctance, some with eager anticipation. Some, well… in between. Save me the suffering, but don’t deny me the joys!! I wanna see a grandchild walk, to discuss the moon with me, to share visions of the ether. I wanna see my children find their bliss. I wanna see my brother and my sister walk into old age and laugh with me. I wanna love and be loved… here, on the planet. But I also wanna know, wanna find out why. I wanna be aware, but not a speck in the Eye of God for all eternity. And above all, I wanna remember the good, the happiest of times, the touch of a baby’s hand, the warmth of a good dog’s love, the closeness of a shared moment with a sibling, the bliss of being in a lover’s arms. I don’t want to forget the fun, the funny, the beautiful… that beauty beyond comprehension. Is “nothing is forgotten” a salve to sooth the pain of Eternity’s open abyss? Is “nobody dies” a tale we tell since Christ? I don’t know. Yesterday, a teacher I’ve been assigned to co-teach with, who is just as sweet an English teacher as any kid would ever want… hard and firm, but loves and laughs with her kids…. said a tired old adage as she winked at them. I almost rolled my eyes, but suddenly she was speaking TO ME. “There’s only two days we can’t do anything about…… Yesterday, and Tomorrow.” Oh my God. Are you there, God? What are you, who are you, and how do I survive the Terrible Sadnesses? Today, today… today… creeps in the petty pace from day to day? Today, now, I don’t fly. Could I? Will I? I have a cromagnon brain, or a hominid brain… or a robin brain. I got this body. This day. This time. And I wonder too. Don’t leave because you can’t stand things anymore, Jeb. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I know, you don’t have a choice. But stay, just a little bit longer, won’t you please, say you willllll? There’s a little plan I have to buy up some chunk of land. It’s a safe place for awhile, until somebody else decides to invade. Always the invaders. But never mind them for now. I take my duckets — and I think I may have $8K of ’em… and find a piece of land that is situated near folks who think the world needs good care, that we are part of a web, that the grass doesn’t need chemlawn. Those kinds of folks, and we find a way to manage by trading our goods, our writing, our chapbooks, our garden produce, our mushrooms, our kombucha, our eggs, our technical writing, our blogs, our bikes, our quads, our pocketbelts, our whatevers. It’s not a simple solution to the problems of the world, but it beats moving to Kinard, doesn’t it? It’s better than staying here trying to meet the mortgage payments, and it’s possible. You wanna come along? R