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Enjoyably informative! Great one to kick off the day.

Firstly, this read reminds me of 1st Corinthians.

Just this morning a beautiful woman whom always wears color in her hair in our community handed me a 20 dollar bill. I went wide-eyed and spoke Gratitude. She pointed skyward communicating she was acting in Kindness from Great Spirit, God, the Glorious Unknown.

Just prior I had been sharing a wonderful conversation with two beloved sisters in our community whom always brighten the day when crossing paths.

Then at the yoga studio a beautiful woman with a lovely voice started singing Let It Snow and encouraged us to sing together setting the tone for a phenomenal Hathaway yoga sesh.

Beautiful morning!

Now Time To Pass the AOK forward or backward or most importantly Onward.

Experiencing a ridiculous onslaught of sensitivity lately: these new Co-vid waves (which I myself don’t fear but the fear of others fearing my perspective of non-fear gets me fearful); fear of surveillance state and manipulative social media folks; fear of never hearing from individuals you assume to be friends ever again; fears related to outrageous housing costs. Thankfully, have found an incredible yoga studio recently which is allowing to get back into discipline practice. It is ridiculous how only in a matter of six months my layers of body (physical, esoteric, paranervous feel so out of whack from simple lack of routine)…body has been going through a plethora of changes due to sensitivity (most recently piñon and sage oil is aiding with extreme skin dryness and itchiness). The yoga studio and instructors are an OASIS. Going to contact Helen about the plant ceremony.

Once you get to the point where you LOVE your sensitivity, I mean really LOVE it, then your superpowers really start to emerge. It’s very exciting!

As a sensitive being, you are here on this earth, at this time, because you have a very unique gift/s ie: to be a psychic, to do animal communication, become a healer, a visionary, a singer sharing unique tones, a writer sharing enlightened messages, doing mediumship, channeling divine messages, to name a few.

Wonderful. Less-is-more Impact.

We danced and I was lost. There was no house, no ocean, no floor beneath my feet. There was only us. Our foreheads pressed together. I closed my eyes, never wanting to look up. I pulled her close and she let me. Her head rested against the deafening beat of my heart. I let my fingers get lost in her hair and she looked up at me and stared. We swayed until after the record stopped. The house returned, and the wooden floor creaked with every movement. I moved to the kitchen table and lit another cigarette.

This story pairs rather marvelously with the novel I am currently reading, I Loved You More by Tom Spanbauer. OMG I AM IN AWE.

It is beyond me how Tom Spanbauer is not today considered in the same breath as the Greatest Novelists of All Time. He still flies under the radar and his books are knock-outs that defy any other reading experience I have ever had.

As one of the blurbs on I Loved You More says “he manages to kill and resurrect you on every page” and “best novel on love, sex and identity I have ever read.”

I first read The Man Who Feel In Love With The Moon and the novel remains as one of the most impacting to date. I Loved You More is equal to if not more so. The end of the first chapter already drew out moisture in my eyes. That is rare.

Excellent and fascinating dissection of subcultures and how increased popularity plays a role in drawing different “groupies” so to speak.

I feel like I witnessed this at Meow Wolf’s HOER a bit in early years. That dynamic of trajectory was so rare - an almost immediate out of the gate huge artistic success story when House Of Eternal Return opened which caused the collective to learn a lot in a condensed span of time. However, the core collective had been working on art exhibitions that were locally and regionally successful for years prior.

Important and Tragic. Grateful to be Aware of this harmful environmental plastic.

Now environmentalists are joining forces with the Sri Lankan government in an attempt to turn the X-Press Pearl disaster into a catalyst for change.

When the IMO’s marine environment protection committee met in London this week, Sri Lanka’s call for nurdles to be classified as hazardous goods attracted public support, with more than 50,000 people signing a petition. “There is nothing to stop what happened in Sri Lanka happening again,”

Awareness is growing about the huge threat posed by the tiny pellets. Last year two environmental protesters in the US were charged under a Louisiana state law with “terrorising” a plastics industry lobbyist when they left a box of nurdles outside his house as part of a campaign to stop the Taiwan-based Formosa Plastics opening a factory in Louisiana.

💕🐢 Keep Thriving and Being Strong Enough, Beloved Shi~Shi, so that you may Enjoy the Wild, once again. 🐢😘

I will never forget the first Indelible Experience of Elbow’s debut album, Asleep In The Back. The opening track and on and on through to Newborn and beyond. 20 years later they still deliver quality. Looking forward to listening to this new album In Full. Guy Garvey and Tom Chaplin (Keane) both reign as two of the Best Live Male Vocalists I have ever seen. Always equal to or bettering their studio recording performances.

Any Day Now:

https://youtu.be/Vu8Mr0mvdVA

Newborn:

https://youtu.be/w6teAV0cvv8

As a Dear Friend and Gifted Lover once taught me as he inspired a poem with his statement:

EVERYTHING IS TEMPORARY. ALWAYS.

A thought came, infinitely distant, but infinitely clear. "THIS IS THE ORIGINAL GALAXY OF MAN."

But it was the same after all, the same as any other, and Zee Prime stifled his disappointment.

Dee Sub Wun, whose mind had accompanied the other, said suddenly, "And Is one of these stars the original star of Man?"

The Universal AC said, "MAN'S ORIGINAL STAR HAS GONE NOVA. IT IS NOW A WHITE DWARF."

"Did the men upon it die?" asked Zee Prime, startled and without thinking.

The Universal AC said, "A NEW WORLD, AS IN SUCH CASES, WAS CONSTRUCTED FOR THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES IN TIME."

”Yes, of course," said Zee Prime, but a sense of loss overwhelmed him even so. His mind released its hold on the original Galaxy of Man, let it spring back and lose itself among the blurred pin points. He never wanted to see it again.

A CO-VID short story by Tom Rachman. Results from searching short stories by him.

Phenomenal. AOTD Worthy.

Terrific micro-dose read!

Personal integrity is absolutely necessary for personal progress, which psychologists show is a central ingredient of happiness. Progress requires knowing honestly where you are compared with where you have been.

Phenomenal!

How many years since thunder rolled and the nerves woke like secret agents under the skin. Brazil is where I wanted to live. The border is not far from here. Lonely and grateful would be my way to end, and something for the pain please, a little purity to sand the rough edges, a slow downpour from the dark ages, a drizzle from the Pleistocene.

And this One Line Is GOLD: 🏆

A simple radiance, it requires no discipline.

Looking forward to finally diving into one of the author’s novels. My first read of his will likely be Harlem Shuffle.

A great example of the prose here:

The weeknight operator was named Anna-Louise. She had worked at the Hotel Theresa for thirty years, since before it was desegregated, routing calls. Her chair swivelled. She liked the night work, joking with and mothering the succession of young desk clerks through the years, and she liked listening to the guests’ calls, the arguments and arrangements of assignations, the lonely calls home through the cold, cold wires. The disembodied voices were a radio play, a peculiar one in which most of the characters appeared only once. Lulu visited Anna-Louise at the switchboard every now and then. They had been lovers since high school and, around their building, referred to themselves as sisters. The lie had made sense when they first moved in, but it was silly now. No one really cares about other people when you get down to it—their own struggles are too close up. The women screamed, then shut their mouths and put their hands up when Miami Joe aimed the gun. To the right was the manager’s office. “Get the key,” he said. Pepper brought the clerk and the night man into the office area. Miami Joe stood by the wall of iron bars that separated the room from the vault, far enough away to cover both the men and the women if they tried anything funny. He didn’t think that was going to happen. They were rabbits, quivering and afraid. Miami Joe’s voice was level and calm when he spoke to them, not to soothe but because he thought it more sadistic. He felt the erotic rush he always got on jobs; it kicked in when the caper got going and dissipated when it was over, and then he didn’t remember it until the next job. Never could get ahold of it when he wasn’t thieving. It told him that his idea for the job and its practical execution were in harmony.

The author is excellent at detail and planning and psychological motive

I remember the whole crowd uplifted, but not the event

or the word that brought us together as one – One, I say now, when I had felt myself many, speaking and listening: that was the contradiction.

The closing paragraph and this excerpt Really Stood Out here (in addition to previous comments already shown):

If you ask him what he thinks the best part of his life, he is not likely to say, “I enjoy manual work because it makes me feel that I am fulfilling man’s noblest task, and because I like to think how much man can transform his planet. It is true that my body demands periods of rest, which I have to fill in as best I may, but I am never so happy as when the morning comes and I can return to the toil from which my contentment springs.” I have never heard working men say this sort of thing. They consider work, as it should be considered, as a necessary means to a livelihood, and it is from their leisure hours that they derive whatever happiness they may enjoy.

What else could unite widows, bankers, children, and ghosts?

And though I had no prayer, I wanted to offer something

Or ask for something, perhaps out of habit, but as the past Must always be honored unconsciously, formally, and persists On this first and singular day, though I think of it as last.

WOW. Gut-Punch 10. Deeply disturbing and pulls back the curtain on what is Clearly an issue that is appallingly protected and shhh-d by powerful people.

Much like the recent impactful read of the domestic violence victim (the young woman married to the cop) this read, too, has pretty profound/complex closure for Marco. The last 10-15% of the read really brings home some revelations, etc.

The read does a good job of offering some more positive aspects of Kentler’s sex perspectives (such as removing shame from sex and free-er sexuality creating a more fluid, liberating society); however, the dire, creepy, skin-crawling revelations with kids/pedophiles Incredibly Overshadow any of the above.

Within this intense read is a brevity of illuminating agape love expressed between Marco and Kramer that Is Deeply Touching in the wake of what these precious broken lads experienced:

When Marco was eleven years old, a new foster son, Marcel Kramer, moved in. Kramer was a small boy with dimples, crooked teeth, and a sweet, open smile. He was half a year younger than Marco and had spastic quadriplegia, a congenital condition that left him unable to walk, talk, or eat on his own. Marco and Sven became Kramer’s caretakers, feeding him strawberry-flavored milk with a spoon and removing mucus from his lungs with a suction hose. When they went to Henkel’s house in Brandenburg, west of Berlin, Marco pushed Kramer for hours on a tire swing. Kramer was the first person in years for whom Marco had felt love.

In the closing paragraphs there are more moments expressed between Marco and Kramer that will move one to tears.

51 hard to read yet essential minutes.

How do we get away with so many hurt or kidnapped kids in society? Atrocious.

Even though it is Stephen King is fiction this read also brings to mind his recent phenomenal novel, The Institution, which opens with a statement on the outrageous number of children that go missing every year.

With all the tracking tech we have out available one has to ask, How the fuck do soooo many fucking kids get lost and unaccounted Without Elite Protective secret security systems in place?