Buffalo Springfield
. . . hey, didn't stonecutters in Illinois once say something regarding that quintessential mistrust which presents itself when people begin digging in 'them thar hills' for alchemical gold, or jimmy hoffa, or that ubiquitous organ of ra, horus, Providence?
Perhaps, I'm thinking of a late night host with a picture of Roosevelt on his guitar strap, a bust of Teddy in his office, who interviewed scholars (including Ken Burns) about that storied Rushmore mountie and his enjoyment of national parks and the great outdoors?
I believe one of my classmates from Reality Ends Here used to work on his monologue team. Then again, maybe it was instead that top idea man in the writer's room for a popular cartoon show, irish-catholic, scion of their high king? Seem to recall this being around the time of his hosting several white house correspondents' dinners?
I only mention because there was something which gave me pause about a for sale sign which just sprouted up on my block for a realty company called WayMaker, no connection surely to the tao, or Tommy Johnson and signing names in blood, or orisha ritual staple oil for opening roads. But the more one stares at that W, composed of two overlapping arches, the more a person apprised cannot help noticing its resemblance to the combination of a certain square and compass, a similar pairing inverted being so recognizable as the Golden Arch (which takes after another one in Palmyra which represents the gate to the temple of Bel) beneath which so many of us purchase our grade f patties. Also seen extending out from the diagonal intersecting Federal Triangle in the street plan for Washington D.C.—much like spiritual geometry discernible from the Japanese practice of Onmyōdō and their grid system in proximity to Kyoto's Seimei Shrine, the star fort of Hokkaido, the Shinsekai district of Osaka modeled after Paris where Gustave Eiffel and Nikola Tesla so famously collaborated. But my concern is they've been digging out a new driveway and sidewalks, and laying fresh concrete all week. <_<
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Jerome Berglund has had a lifelong interest in angels, demons, hoodoo, voodoo, saints, sinners, spiritual ritual, occult practices, and supernatural phenomena. His lineage includes victims of the Salem witch hunts. Many haiku, haiga and haibun he's written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, and Presence. His first full-length collections of poetry were released by Setu, Meat for Tea, Mōtus Audāx Press, and a mixed media chapbook showcasing his fine art photography is available now from Fevers of the Mind.
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