Monday, October 17, 2022

"When the law is coordinated, in spirit, in mind, in body,

individuals are capable of fulfilling the purpose

for which they enter a material or physical experience."

ECRL 2528-2

Season of the Witch, Brian M Viveros

Season of the Witch

When I look out my window

Many sights to see

And when I look in my window

So many different people to be

That it's strange, sure is strange

You've got to pick up every stitch

Oh no, must be the season of the witch

— Donovan Phillips Leitch

Quand je regarde par ma fenêtre

Tant de sites à voir

Et quand je regarde dans ma fenêtre

Tant de personnes différentes à être

Que c'est étrange, vraiment étrange

I Am Multitudes

Song of Myself, 51

— Walt Whitman — 1819-1892

The past and present wilt—I have fill'd them, emptied them.

And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?

Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,

(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with his supper?

Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?

I Contain Multitudes

— Bob Dylan, Track 1 on Rough and Rowdy Ways, 2020

Today, and tomorrow, and yesterday, too

The flowers are dyin' like all things do

Follow me close, I’m going to Bally-na-Lee

I'll lose my mind if you don't come with me

I fuss with my hair, and I fight blood feuds

I contain multitudes

Got a tell-tale heart like Mr Poe

Got skeletons in the walls of people you know

I’ll drink to the truth and the things we said

I'll drink to the man that shares your bed

I paint landscapes, and I paint nudes

I contain multitudes

A red Cadillac and a black moustache

Rings on my fingers that sparkle and flash

Tell me, what's next? What shall we do?

Half my soul, baby, belongs to you

I rollick and I frolic with all the young dudes

I contain multitudes

I'm just like Anne Frank, like Indiana Jones

And them British bad boys, the Rolling Stones

I go right to the edge, I go right to the end

I go right where all things lost are made good again

I sing the songs of experience like William Blake

I have no apologies to make

Everything's flowing all at the same time

I live on a boulevard of crime

I drive fast cars, and I eat fast foods

I contain multitudes

Pink pedal-pushers, red blue jeans

All the pretty maids, and all the old queens

All the old queens from all my past lives

I carry four pistols and two large knives

I'm a man of contradictions, I'm a man of many moods

I contain multitudes

You greedy old wolf, I'll show you my heart

But not all of it, only the hateful parts

I’ll sell you down the river, I’ll put a price on your head

What more can I tell you? I sleep with life and death in the same bed

Get lost, madame, get up off my knee

Keep your mouth away from me

I'll keep the path open, the path in my mind

I’ll see to it that there's no love left behind

I'll play Beethoven's sonatas, Chopin’s preludes

I contain multitudes