wash orange

Greetings,

You have to love your mystic lover. She said GIANTS in five. True. Nothing like a little fall ball in the heart of Texas. Drawling with their mouth full of chocolate cow patty cake.

Playing the blues with misfits, rag-tag, excellent pitching and stellar defense. Goes you show ya after 56 years. Handling pressure with poise.

Rookies, veterans and a merry bunch of pranksters. Dancing in the streets.

Manifesting their destiny. Heart. Ya'll come back now ya hear!

Metta. 

wisdom Ghosts

Greetings,

Here's a link from World Hum which may interest you. It concerns The Odyssey by Homer.

"Cavafy is hinting at one of his poem’s themes: that life consists of experiences of intrinsic sensory merit, whether or not they’re extraordinary, whether or not they’re linked to success or failure. Only later, when we adopt the conventions pressed upon us and our sense of wonder dulls, do we begin to speak of success or failure, or set up temporal milestones to be reached, lest the quotidian occupation of existing be too tedious to bear."

World Hum...read more

Delicious. The Giants are playing great fall ball. 20 runs in two games.  A group of wild and crazy misfits, low-budget loose and well orchestrated combinations of excellent pitching, timely hitting and orange juice. My mystic lover says they take it in five. No jive. Fear the beard. 

What a long strange trip it's been. So speaketh Homer.

Dancing with The Grateful Dead. 

Spook-speak. 

Metta.

Full count

Greetings,

Runners on 1st and 2nd. Two outs. Full count. 55,000 negative charged cream cheese people yelling at Brian. He steps off the rubber. The rookie catcher gives him the sign. Down and low. Low down and dirty. Dirty and clean. Howie stands in menacing his weight, leveraging timber.

Play by play announcers speak drama. He hasn't had an extra base hit in the series.

The crescendo of weeping white towels, shrieks, anguish, and the pitch. They pitch insurance and insurance runs, cars, stock houses, horses escaping gravity, Formula.

The stare in. The windup. The pitch. At the knees, called 3rd strike. Howie never took the lumber off his shoulder. The catcher screams, jumps, runs to celebrate. Howie turns silent staring at 55,000 stunned people.

Their season is over. Finished. Happy Hallowed gallows. The thrill of defeat. The agony of victory.

Hello S.F. bay. Water music and multiple planes of reality.

Metta.

bright jupiter

all gas jupiter is close

368 million miles away
swimming with Fishes
rising at 18:49, setting at 5:45
with runners on first and third and no outs

top of the ninth at 74º (under the horizon)
there goes the runner through infinite space passing mercury
as pagodas with broken scratchy speakers chime chorus voices 
monks chant four moons - io, europa, ganymede, callisto
108º