ΩΩœ21-this was typed by the cat. Why do cats like computers...they are warm and flat like Death Valley? I think our cat is plotting a takeover, she keeps changing the language to French and sending things to the printer. Omega Omega latin gibberish twenty one...over copy roger...She is always looking for that perfect alcove, laundry basket sock drawer, pillow and nape. Before my fluffy double agent sent her RUSE DE GUERRE. I was thinking of balance or ground when your exploring roosts for your personality as it shifts, expands contracts, or momentarily dissipates and reappears. The one omnipresent location of familiar geography instantly comfortable and conducive to your personal will. I found a need to relocate this sense of familiar (witches wizards -cats rats and owls) as I was exploring the framework of my own mental makeup as a southern Baptist/Methodist-blacksheep heathen, and tales of a "pagan" pre Abrahamic mental invasion of lore. The 20th c. conversation structured under these terms without mention of Aleister Crowley would be like a Disney parade without Mickey. Curious, as Mr. Crowley waded, in stupidity or courage through unseen waters he was always attempting to find some elevation. Then there comes a point in all this vacillation where things get jumbled to a chaotic degree. So much so that momentum is lost. If indeed momentum is necessary then so to a way to reorder ones functions. A reset button would be nice. My own personal reset apparently is between orgasm and sleep, kind of like saying its somewhere between New Orleans and Kathmandu, Turin and Lyon...the quickest way to Shambala.
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