Lost little black panties in the Junganese.  Have you seen them?   # 1 in a series, the panty’s series.

Essentialy this: “peering out from my gloomy hole in the wall I hope to enjoy a glimpse of the spiritual experience not shrouded in the mist.” JUNG.

                                                       MINE:

’seeking ideals through the looking glass grasping to the thoughts of others that are written down..

Consume all the books on humanity, western, eastern philosophy’s

etc…. Please give it to me in a nutshell.

Tell me this whats new? What is the next yet to be perceived notion? What is the yet to be known new ideal?

We do not know but continue to ask, continue to provoke the thought. Johnny G.

                                                     VANISH

I wave my hand over Big Pine.     

The perished businese’s and buildings of Big Pine Key. My Home.

Island Jim’s the Baltimore oyster house, Mountain Mikes pizza parlor/Coconut farm nursery, Big Pine grill, the Big Pine Inn, Scottys, the apartment over the old Texaco, like the air passing through my fingers are gone. Not there, any longer,  vanished.

Wa la: But, I have an old photo you may say.

I contend the photo could have been taken anywhere. Those businesses those buildings, they were never there, they never have been.

Just as before this last century that has passed.

Is it not plain to see, the universe is small? We egress into the future by traveling into the past, by tearing it down.

Then as before it never was. We are traveling in reverse.

All we ever know is the past and the now, This moment just passed is gone then as the future before it never was it is gone.

POLITICIANS:

Look into there faces plastered on roadside signs.

Where, Mountain Mikes was now a pile of black tar resides there.

leeching darkness into the sub soil down into the strata.

I assume this crime is sanctioned by the faction of man that counts.

Step backwards to embrace the future.

Finding secret places in the depth’s of soul.

Reaching out towards the center. Inward.

Life and death occur’s between breathing in and out.

Knowing the future is as accurate as yesterdays storm forecast.

Nice call boy’s, no storm at all, now brace yourself for the upcoming landing.

                                                                                   Johnny G.

                                            Credit due for the above below.

With a little or a big supply of  help from the Navajo small weathermen in my dream that said this. “The universe is small”

Devolve back to the core, this is understanding.

A tribute to density altitude or The warmth of home:

I was remembering in a dream this morning the following:

It must have been 1971-1972 I was 12-13 and was taking my first flying lesson’s with John Noble at the Cottonwood airport in the verde valley in Arizona., John had a little scruffy dog that used to like to fly and a red and white cessna 150 he had put together out of two damaged ones. What was that dog’s name?

Back then I used to go to church with my family, I remember shaking hands with three visiting preacher’s after services one church day.

The following day I came home and my mom was crying.

I said mom what is the matter? She told me all three  men were dead they had been in a plane crash.

Flatlander Pilots: I remember driving up behind one of the hanger’s later and seeing the wreackage, with blood all over the door panels, and a twisted mess .

The turning back : They left Cottonwood airport in a 4 seat Cessna 172, the Pilot was following Hwy. 89A towards Prescott, the road winds through and over Mingus Mountain. A hot day the air molacules further apart when hot , as they followed the road the terrain below began to rise faster then the aircraft’s ability to climb. struggeling to stay aloft they found themselve’s boxed in.

Near potatoe patch, a 180 degree was initiated to go back, with a mountain to the left a mountain to the right and a mountain straight ahead, the airplane at full power, and at or near gross weight, hovering near stall speed.

Critical error:

angle of bank is increased, causing stall speed to increase, wing stalls, plane pulmmets to the ground and death arrives abruptly at Potatoe patch.

Moral of the story, spiral up over Cottonwood prior to crossing Mingus Mountain or crash land straight ahead with aircraft control and maybe walk or crawl away alive.

My first flight instructor taught me this . John died in a plane crash as well.

What was that little dog of his named? He loved to fly with John.

I think it was Jake, all this long gone now but the memory lives on , and I wonder could this lesson learned, alter the course of an erring future pilot ?

Heading to the warmth of home, child and family?

With luck and fortune I am here to tell having been on dangers path a time or two myself and surmise this:

Life is precious and is fragile. Johnny g.

Closed on Monday or cause and affect.

To whom it may affect, I anticipate being closed for business on Monday Aug. 16th 2010 to celebrate my arrival on this planet, this on the same calculated day and month in 1958, or my birthday as commonly refered.

I hope by my following suite of our esteemed government offices, i.e. post office, banks, library’s etc… closing on a seeming whim, such as on Monday the 5th of July, that I to can join in by emulating there long held traditions and applying them to myself.

I hope no one is inconvenienced by finding a sole leaf at the bottom of there crystal clear perfectly balanced swimming pool.

If so I apolagize in advance for any inconveniences  caused, such as was in the aformentioned closures with there affects did to   me and certainly others.

So in closing(arh arh) I would say, whats good for the goose is good for the gander, don’t you agree with cause and affect that is?

Lines of delineiation. Johnny G.

P.S. the great white man once kept indians for pets and beasts of burden, and of course there is no rich without the poor.

                                      lETTER OF QUERY

Random book’s atop my bed, or a renegade letter of query.

Books atop my bed spark ideas of potential in my head.

The words within inspire me, to write this my odd letter of query.

1- Eduardo Galeno in Open Veins of Latin America.

2- Michael Reisig- The fledgling authors handbook.

3- A brief history of time- Stephen Hawking.

4- The professor and the mad man. Simon Winchester.

I find the word’s contained in these books spark ideas of unlimited potential.

Eduardo Say’s ” In an incarcerated society free literature can exist only as denunciation and hope”

To this above I say bravo, we best pursue to keep our freedom of speech in tact, lest we become labeled enemys of the state. Support Freedom of the pen.

Michael communicates to me in his book, and I happen to agree, this, a writer is a sucess when he evokes an emotion in another being.

I must admit I find spelling and punctuation contrived ideas by man to a degree, within limits I suppose, elswise a jumble of letters could become a batch of garble.

And here is why. After reading the professor and the mad man I realize the oxford english dictionary could have been written with words that very well could have arrived on the scene with letter’s in a different sequence

however they arrived the way they were announced as correct in the end, as I said mans contrivance, spelt or misspelt get my jist?

Lastly and foremost Stephen Hawking quotes Wittgenstein this ” The sole remaining task for philosophy is the analysis of language”.

Stephen goes on to remark if we discover a complete theory then everyone even the average joe would be able to discuss the why of we and the universes existance.

Books atop my bed, and now this a letter of query my style, lucky for me or not. Deemed good or bad I choose never to stop.

                                                                                                   Johnny G.