the_book_of_jamesis ever dumbening 1 in the beginning i created some stuff 2 and the stuff had some form (and some voids, negative space etc), and some darkness, and spirit, water, and cone ten glazes 3 and i said, dude, turn on the lights and somebody did 4 but let me back up a bit first, before the lights 5 cuz i hadn't quite named the lights yet 6 first, i needed to play around with the ground and the waters 7 and that gave me great moments of meditative pleasure, looking at things above and below the firmament and the waters and especially right at the border, along creeks, which is really where all things take place anyway, and where little boys learn of nettles 8 and i called the border "perception" or maybe "awareness," depending on what was going on around me at the time 9 and but so then i tossed perception and awareness around, again at various stages, but i had no dry ground to stand on, to return to 10 next, then, i played with herb and fruit and seed, and saw that each was good in its own measure, but there was a bit of overanalysis, with the science and the smoke and the whole certainty thing 11 the seasons were next, they anchored me, their days weeks months slurring and smiling with and at me, and again at the borders 12 and so i'm, what, maybe a few days into my first week? but it's really so not simple like that 13 the line of creation of self and extensions is circular (like the circular ruins) and overlapping and dreamlike and unceasing and so to say where it started or where its going or what it means is really only metaphor and play and creation and self-reference 14 and maybe we'll talk again at the end of the week, cuz it's hard being god, even of only me 041214 ... realistic optimist *poof* sorry dude. not sure why i appeared in your dreamland, but while i'm here, can i borrow a cup of sugar? i was about to creation some cookies when i realized i was a bit low on the white powdery stuff. [homeland security bursts in] "STEP AWAY FROM THE WHITE POWDERY SUBSTANCE!" [realistic optimist is cuffed and dragged away, but not before he leaves a rectangular scrap of paper] "your lucky numbers are: 2, 3, 5, 8, 17, 23." [you turn over the paper scrap.] "reality is what you make it, unless solopsism is bullshit." 041215 ... ever crumbening funky fresh, dog "if i took even one sniff it would bore me terriff" my lucky number is chompin on some of those cookies. don't come into my blathe talkin' cookies and then not hook a bruthah up. 041215 ... realistic optimist comrade, come consume crazy crisco chocolate chip crumbly cookies cascading coquettishly 'cross creation's countertop! *chomp chew crunch* 041215 ... siempre estupido si 041215 ... realistic optimist it was easy to take out my captors with all that sugar you lent me, thanks, brah! i'm afraid that the cookies are a bit bitter, but bereft of butter. i don't know what i was thinking of, using crisco. i could have somehow used creamed butter or some such alliteratory stab to continue my mode without losing semantic integrity. well, i've got a house to haunt for a tour. it's gettin' pretty bad when even a deity such as myself can only find temporary work. you can have some of these cookies for the road, whatever that means, since i'm the one departing this reality, which was really quite orderly and organized before my arrival, what with the chapterization and all. *sweeps up after himself on the way out* 041215 what's it to you? who go blather from