6-12-95

Glutton motherfucker. Horsebreathed assinine cheesepoker.

All fired up. The fire that threathened to consume me is the fire that rages inside me. I have a mission. I am moving. I AM PROCESS.

My second year on the keyboard is coming to a close. The Mean Time is about to become a thing of the past. It has served/is serving its purpose. My purpose. The Purpose.

From Some Mystical Adventures:

"From this point of view no acts are exactly spontaneous: They are all purposive or done 'purposefully', with definite regard to the onlooker or witness. No action is related to the little thinking mind; it is not done for the pleasure of the self, as with normal folk, but all life is furthur related to this Great Spectator, or Higher Self, and all activities are done for the purpose of a definite communion with the Witness, in order, as it were, to express ideas to him."

"It is these acts of power that stir the cosmos: or the great Cosmic Mother, who surrounds him, is made conscious in a particular direction by his activity. The Great Mother waits for the man to speak symbolically. The Cosmic Mother is stirred by the meaning in his activities, and she answers, and her answer is to bestow more power on him; and this power lifts him furthur out of the Bonds of Fate."

Places everyone. Aaaaaaand action!

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