brians brain p2

Monday 27NOV00                                    
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Today's saint: Francesco Antonio Fasani.  The first sentence in the
"Comment" about him reads: "Eventually we become what we choose."
On Thanksgiving I wrote a small prayer to God in which I said: Be   
for each each given moment what each most needs.  Months ago I 
had a notion in my head that I would open a business in BizLand.  So 
I tried this and that approach, at last settling on a strange idea   
(much of which I now plan to share here); but I was never able to  
get myself to open that business, nor do I--from the vantage of   
this moment--ever expect to open a business anywhere.  Hopefully,
later today I will be back to enter here the essentials from my    
Ibnar.net Ring: Atrium III misadventure.
* * *                                                           
The following is Atrium III.      08/01/04, thinking lizard
*                                                                 
o-ib                                                       
WELL? > > >                                                    
                                                      > ! ! ! > > > COME.
Come/ into the Mad Man's Message Mine.  It's dark.
~                                                           
1) From Ibnar's Journals                 (a certain meandering)
2) Hear a Word                    (odd occurrences like fireflies)
3) Just a Few Gatherings               (things stumbeld upon)
4) Klick/ Wip/ Vink                   (you're in you're out/ cave)
5) Inside the Shell                (by the hummingbird's wings)
~                                                            
Though this be a cave, a dark place where a mad man mutters,      
it is yet in a realm, a kingdom, a domain, which is Atrium III
of Ibnar.net, a meeting space where light enters, clear and warm.
>                                                                
from ibnar's journals                     (a certain meandering)
~                                                                
      Hello!  Did you see my wall paintings?  Oh, I'm sorry, my
lantern's not lit.  Stay though.  Have you ever been in a place
where it seemed there would never again be anyone else but you?
Out in the vling/ vling/ vling/ zingo, time swooms while the neon   
dances hold our eyes; but if we're players in that flux, we glance    
at our watches and hurry on.  Yet here where one's aloneness        
becomes more obvious, or there where one's aloneness is
easily hid, reflection speaks.  And what does it say?  To the    
hermit it says: You do need others, but do not let your spirit     
crack.  To the lit-in-the-dance it interrupts: You are alone,  
but do not let your spirit flag.                          
>                                                               
hear a word                      (odd occurrences like fireflies)
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      It must have happened that a word so sparked your grey
brain/ you drifted from your usual outer awareness to a charged
unusual inner awareness.  Example: doodad.  Now, keying on the  
sound of the first syllable, how many meanings can you uncover  
that are different from the primary one: gadget: when presented
with the question: What is a doo/dad?  Pause.  Of course this   
is silly; yet that doesn't mean it is without value.  Many of  
the "silly" creations of humans are not only valuable, they are
also necessary.  Sanity is not for humans what it is for purely
cyber beings.                                                    
>                                                               
just a few gatherings                (things stumbled upon)    
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      In this long, sharp-cornered tunnel, I have stumbled into/
over/upon many curious & catching things.  One "day" I found a  
crow's feather; one other "night" I found a diamond stud; and
one other "time" I found an hourglass/ with no sand in it.    
      So long ago/ now/ it was/ I can't remember the whole of it, 
but there was a book I then there had/ named Maps of the Mind/
in which one map divided the brain of Homo sapiens into
three-from-evolution ascending parts.  Perhaps I will conjure
them up one "while".  Da Vinci, Du Cange, de Chardin.  That
conjuring, sadly, did not work.  No matter.  If nature or aliens
or we ourselves don't destroy us, the brain of Homo sapiens
will not far off/ and through the surge of creativity from its
highest part/ open a yet higher part.  Let angels abound.
*                                                               
                                                                  
Tuesday 28NOV00                                                   
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The first entry here is from my final BizLand page.  It is a vision
of sorts--a short weird vision.                                    
**
**                                                                           
Everyone went to Hell                                              
                                                                  
But at the tolling of a bell                                      
Everybody came back out                                             
                                                                  
To have a cup of sauerkraut                                         
**                                                                  
**                                                                  
The last entry here is the final entry of an aborted journal.  I
have several such journals.  Happened upon it a couple hours ago,
and decided to reveal it because it fits the moment.  There are 
certain thought patterns of mine which, I have found, recur and 
recur.  Still, coming upon them usually--even while darkening my
dim pride--surprises me.                                        
*                                                              
7-15-86       Lord, I have not the                           
              brilliance I would                                
like to have, for you have not                                  
blessed me with such brilliance;                              
and I have not the stamina I would                             
like to have, for you have not                                 
blessed me with such stamina;                                   
and I definitely do not have                                     
the calm nature I would like                                   
to have.  Would I like to complain?                             
I suppose I would, but what good                              
would it do?  Lord, just move                                  
me to do the best I can with what                              
little I have, and please teach me                                  
to be at peace ------ whenever                                    
I suddenly must ride rough waves                                    
of frustration.                                                     
     I am not a Jose-Antonio                                    
Alvarado.                                                            
*                                                                   
~                                                          
Wednesday 29NOV00                                                
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Today I was blessed with emails from two extraordinary humans,
Tom Montag and Aleta Pippin.  Tom I first met, if I recall     
rightly, in 1972.  It was in November of that year his Monday   
Morning Press published my Rooted Sky volume.  Aleta   
is a new acquaintance.  I am getting a newsletter she writes.
If you aren't already reading it, I recommend it.             
~                                                            
Thursday 30NOV00                                               
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Just finished reading the J. M. Spalding and Guy Shahar         
Philip Levine interview in The Cortland Review.              
Do spend some time with it and interviews with other poets.                     
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In the 1980's I attended a reading Philip Levine gave at the   
University of Florida when I was a student under Donald Justice.
Mr. Levine is a strong, earthy, yet tender poet.  Toward the end
of the interview he recounts his telling a young poet to avoid   
getting caught up in the literary networking, the push, push,   
push, encouraging him to learn and write as well as he can,     
but not to hurry into getting published, to possibly wait until
he is about 35.  He did, however, also say that being with other
serious writers in a workshop setting can be energizing, can    
accelerate one's progress by several years.                    
~                                                              
Friday 01DEC00
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Because I enjoy writing, so long as I am able to write, I will do so.
Whether it comes to nothing or not--though I will always try to use
language in ways which resonate in the spirits of others, is beyond
consideration.  Perhaps I will not survive to 65, but retiring     
(early or late) was never an event I wanted, nor do I now want it.
Verdi.                                                             
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Two statements by Chas Melichar in an Inkspot.com Chat:         
"As a writer, you write because you can't do anything else."
"Never give up on your passion."
                                                                                                                      
                                                                 
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Rho00035