Automatic Walking Spontaneous Writing Scrap

… The gaze of childhood is a sleeping beauty never to be awakened by any kiss whatsoever—Crevice weeds are more a wilderness to the gaze of imagination than any jungle or barren land to the eye of the traveller—a walk around a field near at home or in one’s own background is a true odissey, a periplus more adventurous than a lonely circumnavigation of the globe—Adventure & poetry & true life & love do not exist without imagination & remembrance—As Richard Sharpe Shaver heard voices which transformed the world of alienated work in a portentous world of magick where every little scrap of life was an ominous sign revealing an hidden reality casting a gloom, grey & wondrous light on everyday life, so the gaze of imagination nurtured by reading might transform a gloomy so called reality in something more akin to true life & morevover & above all more sufferable than the so called reality—Illusion illusion / And he or she which entirely lacks imagination is always desperately oppressed & burdened by the boredom of everyday life, tainted irredeemably by false life—not so the profanely illuminated nor the magician, though not less enslaved by the rule of eversame & false life, he or she is a true star rover infused with the power to cast some gloaming unto the blinding light of ideology—So the magician at work & the poet at writing might transform the world as the children at play do—Glimpses of a Muse’s Flight—From a Dream …

#Crevice Weeds