Tag Archives: waiting

Art, insight, life, poetry, Writing

Interwoven

Link 2 Comments

Renaissance (n.)

“great period of revival of classical-based art and learning in Europe that began in the fourteenth century,” 1840, from French renaissance des lettres, from Old French renaissance, literally “rebirth,” usually in a spiritual sense, from renastre “grow anew” (of plants), “be reborn” (Modern French renaître), from Vulgar Latin *renascere, from Latin renasci “be born again, rise again, reappear, be renewed,” from re- “again” (see re-) + nasci “be born” (Old Latin gnasci, from PIE root *gene- “give birth, beget”).An earlier term for it was revival of learning (1785). In general usage, with a lower-case r-, “a revival” of anything that has long been in decay or disuse (especially of learning, literature, art), it is attested from 1872. Renaissance man is first recorded 1906.

 

I like the parts of this etymology that says “grow anew” or to be “born again” , “reappear.”I like it because it is true, time is not linear and more and more these days we are allowed to reconnect with deep soul kin… essentially elongating our interaction through these different wave lengths and time lines.

I am living this now and I want to share some of it with you.  Obviously my series about My Best Friend(‘s Journey)  is some of the amazing proof of this reality.

My creativity is expressed in many ways: these blogs, the journals, the scraps, the paintings, the music and the spoken word I can’t contain.  So much content with context.

I wanted to create a post with all the links to the music up to now because my creative collaborator Alessandro Muresu is some sort of vibration soul mate born on another continent.   He is precious to me because he brings out the best in what I struggle with in experiment AND his passion bleeds through his work, for whatever reason he also found me a compatible collaborator and what happens through sound files is soothing for us both.  Feeling old and familiar, but new and extraordinary.

I shall not build it up too much more.

Preface-  All of these sound qualities have a drone, which is the specialty of Ale.  I am the chaos that interferes but can also create soothing.  Ale brings all of the balance in composition.  My success’ are accidental.  I am sloppy but focused. I have no idea what I am doing, but I love manipulating sound.  My voice is a tool to those ends.  These are posted from earliest to most recent.  I invite you to listen to the evolution of it over all and to visit the rest of Alessandro’s Archive of Wonder.

If you don’t want to listen to all of them, pick one for now out of what you are drawn to.  It’s probably the right one for you in the moment.

Listen to Yourself

FTC Part 1

 

FTC Part 2

Squeaky Floor

Save

Ode (To Us)

173 Part 1

173 Part 2

173 Part 3

173 part 4

177

Karibu

Recording 21

Rudiments

Recording 15

 

*Credits to my late Grandfather Edward Lee Chapman for the heading photo in this post.  He really had an eye for light and shadow.

 

 

 

 

 

Art, insight, life, Writing

Everything Leading to the Apex

Leave a comment

The vibration of the soul, and the blood combined brings forth our flesh, in this spiritual contract we manifest in form, the features of history within us.

It’s true that they are attempting to kill off certain bloodlines.  To suppress certain peoples.  Those peoples feel the Truth in their own life blood.  It’s required that they meet a certain range in vibration in order to be activated.

There are many yet to activated and they are being drawn in various directions in order to harvest the life force they have left while being blind to their own brilliance.

In actuality the frequency and vibration is killing off those who seek to kill off the “Natural Light.”

This is where we meet the trans-human agenda.  The desire for clones and all around trans-formative manipulation geared toward infinite longevity.

Those of Natural Light in Creation know the Truth.  It was contract as such.  We don’t need modern technology to utilize it, once we remember it exists.

The best thing technology gave us, was the ability to reconnect instantly.  The result is an archive of shared remembrance.  If this medium goes away, know that your heart has an internal voice that needs no words to speak.  You have internal eyes that see beyond your dreams.  You have a gut that brings awareness to things that are amiss.

We are already full operating systems that have to remember how to get back to the home feed- alone. That is Heaven, or Infinity.   The journey is singular at your own pace until it isn’t.

If you have been feeling something is amiss; it has been.  If you feel a strange shift; it’s shifting.  If you feel a calling for Higher Truth; follow it.

end of transmission

Uncategorized

Waiting

1 Comment

I saw minutes fly by like birds in migration, flapping wings; they soar beyond sight to another hemisphere.

Only minutes forever disappear.

Fifteen of them at a time fly right on by.

Soaring near my face; One leaking shit on my cheek like a delicate opaque tear.

The next one, Number Two, buzzed nearest my ear with a fearful ticking of finality.

The Third flew into my mouth, making me choke for air; daring me to fight for a Minute.

Number Four won’t back away from my hands, as they work to remove Number Three; caught between my throat and a molar.

Minute Five arrived just as alive as the rest.  Sinking claws into my scalp, then pulling away.  Leaving a talon in my skull.

This is bullshit.

My ass is getting kicked by minutes- Limitless and passing

Beyond recognition, each sort of leaving their mark on my skin; my heart and my brain

I’ve lain down enough lines tonight on this subject alone.  I feel like I own it.

Man, you’ve blown it.  I am still waiting on you to show up.

To not, let me down, but I frown at my attempt to be with you.

I should be in my own bed at my own house.

It appears you are out for the night, I should turn out your light.  I should board the bus back to my place.

I have an hour to decide; to make a decision.

I keep listening for your car to keep me glued to these sheets.

I’m defeated and tired.

Minute Six licks my cheek gently where Number One left it’s mark; then swiftly with stinging fury, smacks me so hard, I saw so many stars.

I never saw Number Seven, with a club in one hand, and in the other; a frying pan.

A single, a double, a triple whammy.

Damn, I must be the one tripping now.  I can’t seem to control these minutes and their rising aggression.

I get the sensation they wish they were being used by someone other than me.

They’ve declared anarchy on my sensibilities; meanwhile I wait for you to pull me though this lonely game.

It’s so much better with you here; to smack Minute Eight in the ass when he passes gas in your nose and mine.

It would be fine to have a partner in crime at this particular time.

Especially when Number Nine pulls his shit and tries to poke you in the eyes.  I would grab him from behind because I like your peepers; it’s too bad that I just lost mine when Number Nine got me with out any back.

Alone I still sit, thinking you must not want to be with me, a past regression into negative emotion.

Whoa, that must have been the influence of Number Ten; him and his rotten fortune cookie.

Look at me and Minute Eleven; Number Sevens’ twin… Again I get knocked silly, floating with stars.

Should I go back to the scummy bar for an ale before I hit the bus.

I’ve traveled enough for one night.  I have been let down  enough for three eves in just the matter of hours.

Mean while, Minute Twelve hid on the shelf, until I looked away in recovery.

I didn’t see him throw those books at my noggin; You’re usually blocking those too.

Thirteen beams with joy at adding to this display , by air raiding me with water balloons and foul language.

Fourteen pelts rotten apple cores, vying for my attention.

Boy, I’ve learned nothing but how to block these punches, and it’s hard when they come from every side.

Hence, Number Fifteen, sixteen times over, barks and bites like a Doberman Pincher.

Twelve Midnight and thirty minutes…

A half hour to catch the late bus, time to switch gears and quietly leave, each Minute a failed attempt at following me.

Lost minutes are no consolation for you holding me.