A preliminary paraphrasing of "Walden or Life In The Woods".

It had sat, alone, a sort of untouched desolation of it, at various growths and dormancies, for ages.  Vines hanged from the pines, like dead snakes, or drunken Mexican snakes--the pines had grown tall, as if trying to supercede the whole thing, either too austere or too sanctified for the next brush undergrowth of the place--empty twenty-five-cent Lay's bags, now and then, a peppering, a Sandhills kind of Ginseng plant, those--it had sat, alone, in a peculiar status between alternating growing seasons and dormancies--and whatever walked there--1845--the woods next to Walden Pond--blogging buggaboo walked with a stick in his hand--a stick sharpened at both ends.

When in disgust with lapse in fortune and writing of living in the alones, I alone beweeped the quiet desperation of the western civitan; it was in that circumspection that I got me to the woods--the old dictum in my mind: "Don't know how to begin?  Go deeper in."---lest I began to randomly unperch and unsettle the random and innocent onlooker.  If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the woods with me.

Singing the odd verse among the pine cones.

NUMBERS!!!!!!

Numbers of note in retrospect(May 15), from May 14.  

20, 21, 22, and 23.

20: Caitlyn Clark scores that many points in her WNBA debut.

21: Point differential in the team's loss in that same game.

22: The number on Clark's jersey

23: Number of years since the WNBA ratings were so high.

Darkness of the squids and the trifling and the midnight, and all.

The inky squid-get of the midnight trifle--I relent into what darkness overcoats, but I relent even so to withdraw the inner candle from the outer gelatin of all the thing, for all it is worth or not.  Something to say.

I wondered who Zendaya was, and decided, if the universe willed it, to my path, time and chance, opportunity spitting in my face like so many former slights mentioned--and we all have so many, for it so difficult to put but so few words together without excluding so many--Zendaya and the Challengers, and revelatory, and an alpha female--why, the Apocalypse of Magdelena, seven stepfolds of heaven, and myself, a slack-jawed dimwit I am, perplexed by it, and feeling that, by virtue of simply being at the thing, that I was in some way, become learned, or attained understanding of such.

Of challengers, Challengers, and those who compete, no matter who is there, compete against themselves, you know, these, after physical retirement from sport and contention, retain some kind of re-channeling of those self-same energies that propelled them so often in their main line careers--the hawking of sneakers or something--and so many with that peculiar label on themselves: "entrepreneur".

I begrudge them nothing, I suppose.  These challengers, ronin, the following and so forth--these that find some boundary with which to survey--I tend to foible about ignoring sometimes, in my own little space, the boundaries, and something within the person can become, or seem infinite, as someone maybe Tolle said that the mind seemed more and more vast, nee limitless, the deeper inside it was penetrated.

Young king, if you lust after things, those things take control over you--and those are not substantial, but merely your own impressions of various items.  It is not things and people that are bothersome, Epictetus said, but our impressions of them.

The Creeping Chaos of a kind of spiritual emptiness, or a spiritual business machine--the Creeping Chaos of, further, our own things, these porkchops dangled before our nose, and we become Pavlov's dogs, or such, but powerless to do else but form a want where before there was none.  Imagine it--our fringe city-states, the provinces of the mind, juggling spears, jiggling spears, and so forth, and beyond the perimeter, in the periphery, the non-planet thing, Pluto.

Rubbed what I thought was a squids belly, and into the sands, this--thoughts?  Words forming thoughts?  Ideas?  

Numbers: Will Tabitha Ever See The Beach?(Jobs in April, Paramount, Disney) and the freaking moon.

*The jobs numbers for April 2024 weren't the big story everyone wanted it to be: 

some 170k in a month, slightly low; the bigger story to this observer was measured increase in customer cost, labor cost, with a miniscule improvement in productivity(less than 1%). 

*280 episodes of Wagon Train, running 8 seasons: if watched front-to-back with no breaks, would take 11 and a half days.

It was front to back on Universal Westerns, and Ward Bond's contribution to the series begin 5 am on Monday April 29, and ran continuously for approximately 5 days, back-to-back with only limited commercial interruption.

*Paramount might be "junk" stock to some, but its free-to-stream PlutoTV product has boosted profitability thanks to increases in advertising revenue; Q1 saw increases in subscriptions, too.

*Disney+, according to a Bloomberg pundit, "...is on the verge of profitability."

*New Moon May 7, 2024.  

I was playing Forthrite(creation mode) since the "Pink Moon", that was invisible here in eastern South Carolina during peak luminosity, and according to people who saw it elsewhere, it wasn't even pink.  So that was a gip.  Participation trophy.  For a few minutes, I stumble in the yard in my pajamas and sockfeet, ten till 8pm that evening, in the elastic of the sunset, and saw what was the socialist version of an astrological wonder: nothing but darkish purple sky.
 

Of dividends and specie: "not creating wealth, but growing existing wealth"

The keys to my defeat lies in my own actions--thusly the keys to the defeat of my enemy lie in his actions.

*I have seen a 1/1000 quarterly dividend, the provender of the already prosperous, and not the gateway to future prosperity--the parking lot of absolute abundance, and not the providential finger gliding into the jelly roll--those that already have, for tis not gainfully so, not creating wealth but growing existing wealth, a sort of a maintenance dose.

For instance, my $45.17 per share generates some $0.45 in the three months, in which time I've marked a personal profit somewhat less than those pennies, for I don't live well such as it is.  It is so much gas for so little go--the proverbial elephant menacled to a tree.

*I had spotted a Great White somewhere in the tepid greywater, as I reclined in a low-blood-sugar psychosis--mumbling through this vision, a backwards prophetic catharsis, my secretary thought I had given over to self-harm, where I was in reality become lethargic, at least already half-dead in unction.

*I had stood at Four Quarters, on the observation veranda, and looked across the land as if I were a king, but no, no.  As Sisyphus goes up the mountain with his burden, and Zarathrystra comes down the mountain with a burden, I had seen, and become impregnated by an end.

*I had stutter-stepped into everything I've ever truly wanted.  How did I respond?  Did I revel?  

Neigh.  It was the case of the Mercury Cyclone all over again, that it was the treasuring of something, regardless of particular merit, and if I passed the scrutiny of "due diligence", was I equal to the maintaining of the thing?  Wanting, so often, is better than having.  It is not logical, my young king, but it often true.

I consider Jay Leno, who bought a lot of the baubles he treasured so well; but that, oh young king, that was only the start.  Getting was only the beginning of the journey--there was so much ongoing upkeep on the rare automobiles, expensive, original parts nearly impossible to locate.

Lo, he wanted a pit, and once acquired, he found then he had the melee of learning to live inside that pit.

*I had, drunken, been tied to a tree and relieved of my cloaks--a festive kind of occasion, that in my shame there were, to my closest familiars, a kind of prophetic delusion--and then, left alone as the day started, I had tried to walk home in the raw, feet suffering in the roadside clag and the small breeze itself a nuisance, until the blue Sunfire coupe of the friend came to retrieve me.

Indeed, ask the right questions, my young king, and ye shall acquire the answers to you seek.  As they had found in their own chaotic past-times, there was something of a truism in the vain pulsations of the loathable.

He is defeated who contends first, and then seeks victory...  

...do many calculations lead to victory, and few calculations to defeat: how much more no calculation at all! It is by attention to this point that I can foresee who is likely to win or lose.

Wiliam Blake, Lao Tse, Tater Smith's False Fourteen, and Leland Briggs from Cayce, SC.

Unusual weather here in South Carolina has had the effect of stimulating the growth of local flowers.  This unusual weather catches the attention of the people around here, and perhaps it suggests a cause for some degree of change in the normal routines and attitudes.


To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

William Blake "Auguries of Innocence."

*The wise strives without effort, letting nature happen passively.  He who "kicks against" or flubbers with, finds themselves misaligned such as to be cleaned out of the natural system, and thus quicker to be recycled as algae food.

*He has set his nets as such to profit whatever outcome.  Flexible and proactive--not "rigidly attached to specific outcomes".

*Positive, perhaps.  Proactive.  Productive.

*His bicycle cruises with the ease of two wheels, and the stability of four wheels.

*His nets make profit and production no matter the weather, no matter how many poachers or bears happen by.

*Quick hands, loose shoulders, set in stance as if to either react or advance at will: ready.

I note of the Taylor's top 14 blow-out in the Billboard, that the peak Spotify track on the new album shows 147k plays; however, Eric Clapton's live benefit album, also new, has some 310k plays, and DOES NOT appear on the Top 40.

Cayce, up 77 from the state capitol, has seen a good Subaru put off the front row, keys put in a desk drawer for long term storage, and yet another defunct ringding from eternity's dustbin re-energized; as the old saying goes, "everything falls apart", "the center cannot hold", but yet, by a hem of the garment, the fringe of the thing, does amalgamation and capital and all the truths held self-evident, without being fully reasonable....

....he had announced the fall of Building Seven some minutes before it actually happened, the legend has it.

Now, Leland Briggs had the loaner car, good sales position, the "lead" associate and all, but they put the good horizontally-opposed three liter Baja California special off the front row, and Leland Briggs, out of the sales floor, and all.

But still, Peregrine and Alexandra in the ad copy, and all, holding to normalcy, a sort of flexing of the continuum proper, that so many very reasonable alterations had suddenly been squashed for the sake of commerce--the things we tell ourselves, among ourselves--I speculate that in our hearts, perhaps, we don't believe the thing about the oil plug and the filter ring and all, but we never so much as breath it, not even to our own person.
 

Booting the best of the sales staff, the one best of the bunch, then having the general manager take an award for prior year's sales: the whole thing is disgusting to this man, I tell you.

Commerce and the Competent Young Executive: a muse about mindset and motive on 4/29.

(429 cubic inches.  Ford.  The superstock murderer, then become the Police Interceptor.  The Talladega.  The King Cobra.  Marauder.  Your grandma in "nude" pantyhose.  Me buttering her bread.  But for the grace of God, past before your a** hit the grass.)

Bad Lemming's Really Very Good Plates: a very sore-thumb eye sore of a resource for the community, inherited some time past by my uncle, and put to me to get some stinky on the end of my broom as I cleaned the parking area.

Featuring pecans, peaches, pocketknives and WWJD gifts, or as the county newspaper put it, "a handful of nuts and some cheaply made Jesus keychains".

I was shaking my head as I looked over the social media, one otherwise ordinary Monday morning, sort of like this one.  I just couldn't believe it; it was like we had let our competition define us.  They had wished us some ill, it seemed, and be darned: it manifested.

Would you ask your enemies to set for posterity your own mark and characteristic?

That said, we had expended resources on mere survival, while the competent tent evangelist also invests some in marketing and product development.  Why, the competent executive of an S corporation also puts into improving process, keeping the good while making the worst aspects better--a more consistent, cost-efficient production process.

Sounds like a headache, you say?  Do I "get high on my on supply"?  Do I pocket the best of our WWJD gifts for my own keeping?

I say this: a competent young executive, with a keycard to the executive bathroom and his own parking spot, is indeed aware of what is imputed on the company by the competition.  One would be a dull blade, otherwise, to be totally unaware of his own bad traits.

However.  The competent young executive writes his own narrative, and roundly so, acknowledging the detracting factors and so fourth, but also nodding to tradition, the reality on the bright side as it would stand at time of writing, and also the future, along with its own schizoid roadmap to success through daydreams and empty buzzwords.

A grilled hotdog, a zip-loc bag of unflavored popcorn, and a 25-cent bag of Lays chips.  Second cousin would eat from the place everyday, they told me, advise and consent, my betters, "some of the better students", people what come at understanding mistakes through bitter experience--they had told me, and my own stumblefoots informed me, too.  But dammit, all I could do was be there, and keep bare-handing popcorn into ziploc bags for later sale.

If I wasn't there, couldn't expect my help to matter much.

If I didn't try, what would ever change or improve?

And I get a graduate-level lecture on not using the outside broom on the inside, and then not using the prep or restroom stuff on the sales floor; it would be so easy to take the shortcut and say, "they wouldn't know", but they could read my website and see it made somewhat plain in a common discourse.

Oh, fudgeberries and butternuts.

A preliminary paraphrasing of "Walden or Life In The Woods".

It had sat, alone, a sort of untouched desolation of it, at various growths and dormancies, for ages.  Vines hanged from the pines, like dea...