I am recovering my ability to say we and know when I am not lying. That is progress from some of the places I have imagined being, lately.

Individuation dissection at seventy, don’t wait. Get yourself together before you even think about putting an act on the road. The acting-as-if function in our kind has never faltered to convince us, as a whole (the my generation thang) that our acts determine our destination.

Row row row Wrong Turn around

Merrily merrily life is

But a dream is something else, I imagine, not me, maybe you, who knows, but we all imagine dreams as we have been shown. Drama and song. Men learn by seeing and stepping through the mazes as they saw it done. By whom?

Ask.com, hey, what d’you know, they still exist in 2018 and give a list slightly different, I’ll-go-rhythmically.

Have we ever defined I’ll-go-rhythm? I don’t know, so how could you?

We are all the we there is. We are thinking together and we see a trail or a stream or a breeze scattering leaves in grass or a list of web sites, and we wonder,

What if I had known,

And we go with the flow and follow a rhythmic beat

Singing, as it were,

I’ll go as “timed movement through space” in spondee to

“Come and see.”

I must respond:

A spondee is “metrical foot consisting of two long syllables,” late 14c., from Old French spondee (14c.), from Latin spondeus, from Greek spondeios (pous), the name of the meter originally used in chants accompanying libations, from sponde “solemn libation, a drink-offering,” related to spendein “make a drink offering,” from PIE root *spend- “to make an offering, perform a rite,” hence “to engage oneself by a ritual act” (source also of Latin spondere “to engage oneself, promise,” Hittite shipantahhi “I pour out a libation, I sacrifice”). Related: Spondaic.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/spondee>

Knowing our responsibilities from our response abilities takes some sifting and sorting, discriminating decriminalization of wasted words we mutter when we have nothing of weight to add to the worth of the balancing factors keeping tensions within paradogmatic bindings.

There is a way to say that with waving photons, but I don’t know it, yet.

Did man learn from the honey bee, to dance that way and this way to show his watchers, his children and mates, the way from the maze?

No, more likely unwombed-man learned from the wombed variety that where honey bees fed in the day, flower-eaters fed by night. It could have been pillow talk. “I had an idea today,” she might say.

Dog’s don’t chew to satisfy the taste discerning cells on their tongues, they get a super rush of taste sufficient to trigger as big a gulp as possible, and they lick their chops. We chew. And as we chew, we think. Or not. We can bliss into full-on synesthesia as we chew, or as chocolate melts in our mouths infusing us with mortal… bliss, goodawordasany, eh.

A dog can do that with a bone, maybe.

Smells for dogs are more intense, for sure. Science guys of every ilk swear that’s so, so that is probably sorta so. I don’t know. I’ve never seen exactly what a dog is smelling.

Why are we talking about dogs?

We could spend our mortal moments more wisely now, can we not?

I like dogs. We should all like dogs.