The Squabbly-wobby Psyche-"Meridian" & Abstract Quixioms

PINPOINTED: An ancient Chinese acupuncture chart
that shows some of the positions of some of the 900 needle points on
the network of "meridians."

I've been reading about ancient Chinese acupuncture and things like "the placebo effect" (low-pain perceptions - do the "meridians" need to be philosphize'd into a debatingly-undebated response for those with "normal" versus "abnormal" perceptors?) and I began pondering several ways to "enhance" my prickled-mind towards the development of several "take-offs" (un-rocketeering, tho, NASA-lipped and crumbled; perhaps more like Tarkovsky's Solaris) on my "screen name," (which, an educated voice would possibly spatter, A Book of Changes!; no confusion on "I Ching") and I have come up with several needle-pointed landscapes to acquaint my opencast reel ("arranged like the layers of an onion"):

Derrick(T)autochrone

Derrick(T)eetotum

Derrick(T)herianthrope

If I were like "The Self-Dismembered Man" that Guillaume Apollinaire erupted into (or (...)) then I shabby to think

that the following thoughts would collaborate with a kind of rising vapour into "drinking the youth" of the pain threshold.

Truth is, "The magic pink seashells" (as British UK psychedelic band Kaleidoscope would reverberate many years prior) of my exploding mind

have apparently just been sitting out in the sun of cinema for far too long. KRS-One, in 2003: When asked about the future of hip-hop he said,

“Our day is coming. It's inevitable that the president in another five years will be a hip-hopper. The mayor of Chicago will be somebody

who has grown up on N.W.A., Chuck D, even Lil' Kim and Foxy Brown. All of it will make sense then.” Dora Maar: “Pure as a lake boredom.” (transparent-alert!)—

War empties pockets or does war familiarize itself with knowing? Perhaps the pith of this unbalanced equilibrium would be in the intelligence of KRS;—

Obama? Are you a hip-hopper? Grasshopper? A lesion of deceit? 21st Century Huang Ti? Ol' Yeller or, as stated, the "Yellow Emporer"? It appears as tho

my black, sweet tea isn't going down the drain (something of which could be measured as morbidly-brooding) as swell as

I'd like the operation to go (PJ Harvey said it best: "This Mess We're In"). I'll be the Mummer at the voting booth . . . perhaps I'll find something to boost / er me . . . and in the end,

marwodd yn ddiepil is a hopeful gushing outpour to keep the toezies and fingerzies crossed. The light, "so pretty in white." Yes. Now imagine

the multitudes of individuals whom were quite doubtful in regards to the ancestors of these creatures; Woolly Mammoths that often showcased their strengths

upon the Dicearchuses of the world in those days. Of course, that is, depending on the rotundas of the world in which people

may believe in the world as being "millions of years old," which I don't, but it's the myths that make it all so-very fun and imaginative. Peter Falk could be a dinosaur

for all we know. (He has the anger downpact; revisit his madness as Robert Evans (1962) on The Alfred Hitchcock Hour . . . "Bonfire" ["too much juice of the grape" crackles my insides]).

And, most "embarrassing moments"? An Ugly Man Contest in '57, '61 and '63.

"This Ugly Man was quoted in the 1963 Savitar as saying,
"She said that I wasn't exactly her Rock Hudson image." (A stab at
Rock Hudson in the brilliant film, "Seconds," as I have showcased before)