The shuck, the spiritual milk, and the wrong subject in the objective mind.

"We must do our Alma Mater.  Time for our Alma Mater.....

When I was a little bitty boy,

my Grandma gave me a brand new toy...

it had a ball and a bit of string...

Grandma said it was my ding-aling-aling."

-Chuck Berry(on stage).

In the obscurity of a cloudy sky, as was the saying, in the obscurity the presence of God approaches not through the eyes, but spiritual, psychic, and the person just knows that there is a God, and he has put a blanket over his little world.

Nothing one will meet with is particularly un-natural or by the same token, evil, save for the work of Satan, and one can parse and label and identify, but in the end, what will come does in fact come, and what does not, eventually is boxed-up in a dark corner, one would hope, lest life is to be ignored, and the most prominent and pertinent in mind is something irrevocably unimportant.

"I have a blog."

Heart like a shuck: greasy little soft matter, a kind of tongue-flesh or something inside it, the raw oyster, maybe, dare I say a clam, or something, organ meat, the softness of a kidney, the bitterness of raw liver, the bitter kind of dull acid of putting ones tongue to electricity, the taste of dirt along with a flourish of shrill up the spine.

When I was for spiritual milk, I as given spiritual meat, and so often today the reverse; it is not a given that the spirit would be given a good or timely word, but in a grouping, someone experiences a resonance, a relevance, that electrical current, the neural pathways re-routing into something more natural, providential, something easy and light, like the Lord's burden, and our minds knit themselves away from the coming nonsense in the thoroughfare, and reform themselves on higher thought.