coping sacred - sacred coping - free of filters - for want of want [feeling like an artist, feeling like there's purpose] in being propelled - things matter again

one of the things in coping sacred was - starting gingerly to bridge gap in states - boundaries not any where near dissolved but edges being nibbled at, serrations rounding slowly microscopically at first like capillary tributary mouthheads warming in salt~water ~ negative entry benedictions - more soon

Another thing I should examine is the absurd spectacle of excessively redundant organizing as procrastination [meta-electrical speculations on culture-style]. No need to toot my own horn. Damn I'm craving nicotine, will have to settle for gum. Is this... something? The only way I can express certain things now? Didn't realize how tip-toey I'd gotten lately. With the edge gone, tip-toeing around death.

A good way to bridge state boundaries is write a journal. Don't write and publish blog posts, although does it really matter? Whether I write a journal or not, or even think a damn thought, there's always the theoretical finger-snapping scenario of it somehow being wonderfully observed by an other, whatever that is, something I'm imagining but can't imagine. This is a feeling I used to have in more innocent days. Or maybe I was wiser in single Frames of Enlightenment around the event horizon of a DMT flash. [Let's crash the car into alien-style pseudo-missions]. It's not like anyone else reads this any time in the near future at least, to any consequence. Why not merge the journal into the penny-ante pussyfoot publishing model, and perversely freak out flying a freak flag at the same time, some Hegelian synthesis to rock riffs?

Another good way to bridge state boundaries is to do things in all states, not have certain states designated for certain things. There's no reason this need be so abstract except I feel like it right now, ok? let me have this, dictators of priority, coddle me in this eggshell phase of my return attempt to writing, it's been so long, i may not have that excuse of brain damage, maybe in my case it's a curse of sobriety, but i still feel like i'm recovering after an accident, the cliche of mid-life hit me, i'm trying to pick up the pieces.

I just know I should do this more. I should do a lot of things more. Like today, when it actually felt good to have a rare human conversation with a person of that caliber, the timbre of it. 

Can I retrace my steps to a place of a white hot pace where it seemed to pay off to displace the void? Well anyway, this is back where I want to be, away from the gratifying of the body, a vacation from it, I'm allowed, I'll take it, try to get away from it, with it. 

Worth consideration to curate a new soundtrack to make an actual music video of my upcoming life worth watching (oh what living is to come, brother). Long lost brother. 

Just do it. Make the sounds. Sing the songs. Save the waves.