From now on it will be the simple things for me in my writing. Back to the basics. I don’t need to distill the best of my best or try all the way to write something absolutely perfect. Too pompous. Lay back a little, think down to the root. Think back to the roots of the things, try to tell people the basics in an organized and mannerly way. I have the intellectual faculty and the knowledge for that. A lot of what I dismiss as beginner-level discourse not worth writing about, is actually worth writing about. People need that sort of thing.
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Follow the plant. See how it raises its head towards the Sun so carelessly, so naturally. The plant is the reification of a grand evolutionary plan and the sum of the instinctual movements made to establish that plan. You need to follow your plan, your scheme too. Why, after all, do we think that we are wiser than the creeping ivies and the all-too-abundant grasses?
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Life is in front of all judges innocent, innocent, innocent. Man is born innocent, even his faults exalt him. Even in his sin he is blessed, blameless, all clean. For everything is baptized in eternity, all that survives unscathed the fiery trial of eternity is legitimate. Love it is that clears the whole. This Love of us that we speak about, albeit, is not the sully “love” of some that claim the name of our Lady’s affection. Aphrodite Ourania we praise, the smiling one and also the embracing mother; venatrix she is -of all who is sullen and sick in their loving. But to those who love, those who love her eternity (those who say yes to this boundless eternity!) is she ever propitious. As you, Cyprian Goddess, were once born out of the foaming sea, so are we born again as we wash by the forceful foamy streams of our eternal affirmation and this yes-saying love of ours. We die, we are born again. The dark streams of Lethe provide us with our life-force. Lighter and lighter we become with each cycle, casting off all the weight and the tarry of the nay-sayers. Cheer! Truly the knowers of laughter we are, for we have learned from you how to gleefully embrace even the most horrible and much more. The symptom of our superabundance is our nonchalant mirth, the lightest and the most careless of mortals to laugh are we under your protecting wings. So! I say, let us unfurl the Aphrodisian laughter, the golden jest, over all those who curse life we put over our unforgiving joy.
Hear me, Goddess! Listen to my words. For truly we the unrepentant lovers could never believe a God who isn’t about a little bit of mischief and an inclination to dance in swoon, nay, never a God who isn’t as voluptuous as we are.