I Hung My Head

1. Presently the central focus of my being is becoming. This is why I might say... Absolutely: I am, Relatively: I am undecided When presented with a Kosmically wide array of infinite configurations, reconfigurations, and (consequential, emergant) transfigurations available for conscious choice (pertaining to self-construction post-self-deconstruction) my best decision WAS to put off decisions until further notice. Which is really not possible, if you feel me. So my solution was to BE undecided. Get it? Anyhow, I've changed all that. I'm totally someONE now. SOMEone. Yeah. 2. I've changed my outlook on taxation by representation. Which is to simply say, I've changed my ideas on how to represent myself. Instead of representing myself supremely dickishly through gigantic words (and my totally clear - you know it - understanding of the mystical, trans-humanic ways I arrange them) I've decided to go the route of silent conveyance. Dig? The idea is that all of the immense amounts of seemingly transparent interior development will be instantly, translucently transferred from subject (I) to subject (I) in a radical-fullypresent-tantric-embrace all in the ultra-non-descript form of a handshake. The problem is I can't shake your hand. Hence: the above. 3. In other news I have been exposed as a fraudulent, reductionistic a-hole. This was a meatspace occurence so there's no need to wonder if you're the culprit. Basically, I did two things: I didn't give somebody credit for some super-multi-faceted inner workings that they were clearly privy to and I didn't give another person, a more-than-close friend (my brother), credit for being the only thing he could be: himself as is. God these are my biggest crimes and I the biggest perpetrator. How do you think I felt? Great, of course. The drastic example of contextual truth almost caused me to throw integralism out the window until I realized that if I reverted to a purely relativistic plane I might end stranding pluralistic contexts in the hazy bluebrown wasteland of the incommensurate brought on by a lack of genuinely fluffy interrelation. Scracth that last paragraph. I can't scratch it of course. These are the constraints of narcissism. But try to forget it because I was just trying to show you how well I've been reading Boomeritis. What I'm really trying to say about how I felt about this experience (which was real, despite a humor-induced unreality) is that I like to be transformed, broadened, expanded, and stretched towards ever-increasing-inclusivity by such experiences even if they do reveal me to be a HUGE HUGE HUGE bimbo. I mean, seriously... Anyway, this has all put me in a love mood. Do you mind if I sign off with love? OK, I'll do it then. Because I really do love you, you know. Love, Brian David.