528> beeconing a joy write shelter off kilter @ d-base uv blu cliff

[25 May 2017 | DC> Dear Inurnet; scarce moss then a hill of beings, these rolling posts amount to surfacing 4 air + seams as of late we surfizz less + less wich = a good think, rite? jus means we busy as ∀ B workin' on shit that dont purtain to nada witch @ th end of day spills out our intentshuns ja ha taking us 2+ yrs to ride 233 pgs that wont make an inkling of sense to no 1 nod even US.. u giv 'er a whorl! th hole wile w/ th pretents she makes ¢ense a-ha + @ th same time feeline that wiled we surfizz here menos + menos we beecomb moss + moss disengaged w/ el moondough, we snappin' outta this funk messysorry to wride A Raft Manifest. As we tole our bedder-½ (off in China now) th utter evening setting out on our back porch drinking wine + list'ning to birds she soon mite git her regalure hasbend back. How these past 2-3 yrs ∀ll bin 1 big show as we methud act to ride A Raft Manifest .. carrys ova in day-2-day living, Dog help her 4 pudding up w/ us, so we thank her 4 that, she a good sport about it. May-b she dint even notice, she so busy doing stuff to make th moondough bedder wile weave giving up caring, things now so lewdicrus Drumpf mayas well blow us ∀ll to kingdumb come, just hope we dont suffer + as menny critters as possible survive. Th rain of humuns needs to end. Need to enter a post-humun realm. We also aint on here mulch cuz as of late if we got ∫umping legit to say we put her in riding, log'd on bonafide paper, not web log'd into th ether wich in theory ∃xists axsessible to n-tire moondough, but mo + mo net neutrality + capitalistic forzes bury non-moola-making content in obscurity not messysorrily cuz our riding style = in-axsessible bud bonafide art ∀ll gits lost in th shuffle wich suits us fine cuz @ th end of day no hay nada Ls to shay. Th age old pairadocks they mustard to convey in The Blue Cliff Record .. «The thousand sages have not transmitted the single word before sound, if you have never seen it personally, it's as if it were worlds away. Even if you discern it before sound and cut off the tongues of everyone in the world, you're still not a sharp fellow.» wich ∫ums up our manifest moondough, d-void of sound. Yep, yet an utter liebro of cabeza-scratching zen koans, tho arguably 1 of th prime-heros. And not zen but ch'an ± whatever th shyknees call that non-brand of buddhism .. notso loco bout th shyknees variety (as opposed to japaknees) tho we appreshe-8 th wack'd out humor of cha'an. See, they (prezoomably a long line of sages) present them (perhaps in retrospeck) by 1° giving a «pointer» + then giving th actshall «case» (th original cryptic koan from way back when) + then th «notes» .. slapstick comic relief to alleviate th utterwise sirius tone of koan, banter frum th p-nut gallery (that ∫um jaded monk addid later) .. fallowed by a «commentary» sexion (wich we skim'd ± skip'd 4 th moss part) + then rehashed in «verse» form (wich we definitely skip'd cuz we dislexic when it comes to that pretenshus dribble). Fo' xample, th 12° case gose as such:

A monk asked Tung Shan, "What is Buddha?"1
Tung Shan said, "Three pounds of hemp."2

.. knot that kind of hemp, nitwit! The snarky footnode #2? «Clearly. Worn out sandals. He points to a pagoda tree to scold a willow tree.» Anyhow, not mush Ls to shay sides that. No point in articulating nada. Yet we do, like Beckett we keep bending. Bud @ least we muster to knot make a lick of ¢ense, silly as she sounds .. to wride 233 pages open 100% to interpretation. Cuz even if u take th time to wride ∫umping thoughtfool + comprehensibull, folks will misinterpret yor messedge. Take Helter Skelter, a song about a fun slide in an amusement park in England that Charles Manson figgerd ment that blacks kill whitey + th world goes to hell in a hound basket oof apockelliptic armagetin. Temptid 2 leave u w/ Soundgarden's cover in honor of Chris Cornell, but it sorta sucks .. no 1 dunnit bedder then Siouxsie tho this version aint as good as we member from seeing them around th same time (w/ Robert Smith on guitar no less .. kin u smell th aquanet?):

 527 <( )> 529 > Saturday's child free-riding to d-feet th porpoise

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