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Rosenbush Café

anacoluthically proud

by Henry Rosenbush on Apr.30, 2012, under eXisTenTiaLNihLisT


“We are born at a given moment, in a given place and, like vintage years of wine, we have qualities of the year and of the season of which we are born. Astrology does not lay claim to anything more.”

—Carl Gustav Jung

Coming the first week of May: eXisTenTiaLNihLisT returns from the abyss to explore the profound emptiness of death and rebirth and the problematical, albeit philosophically challenging, acceptance the loss of love and friendship entails.

Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli, Carl Gustav Jung, Cesária Évora, Raymond Chandler, Anaïs Nin and Greek mythological creatures join in the personal quest of enlightenment and deconstruction of one individual’s soul as it comes to term with mortality and a pseudo-scientific approach to l’art pour l’art; art for art’s sake.

There are dire consequences to sharing one’s yearnings with strangers and like chronological primitivism the answer lies in the distant past.

Surviving last April’s tornado liberated and impeded myriad metaphorical possibilites, and like The Seirênes’ irresistible songs, lured this faux mariner onto clashing rocks where death was welcomed rather than feared.

How quietly bizarre to live when death is expected, accepted but denied? Surviving death is, perhaps unsurprisingly, anti-climatic and once sentience re-emerged, via quantum telepathy at the speed of neutrinos, felt like a cochlear concussion.

The cosmic alignment approaches and while a fearful and angst-driven humanity unleashes suffering on itself it is reassuring to taste the madness in fugues of the fortuitously opaque molecular breakdown with a casual lack of concern.

Insouciance and I are still friends and pray for gravity to collapse and all to fall off the Quadra Bridge.

And, anacoluthically proud to confound the minions.

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later

by Henry Rosenbush on Mar.06, 2012, under Café

Edwin Rosenbush

Edwin Rosenbush

Goodnight Chet

Goodnight David

And goodnight for NBC News

In Color
Friday, November 25, 1966

Rosenbush Cafe in the Sixties

Rosenbush Cafe in the Sixties

Goodnight from Rosenbush Café

About Time

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Hypnagogique: enigmatic voyages deux

by Henry Rosenbush on Feb.08, 2012, under Laughing Ricochet

Yearning

Yearning

Savor cerulean blue enigma satiates my desire for voyages beyond this dimension of three to advanced levels of consciousness in anticipation of the corporeal no longer relevant. Days pass away like shadows of sand; infinite and adroitly washed ashore on a far-away beach of compunction.

Metamorphosing into Leonardo Da Vinci’s The Vitruvian Man, fusing corporeal with yearnings of cerebral states of mind; tripping headlong across thresholds of momentary microscopic microcosms of interminable esthetics of feigned cleverness.

Undistinguished from billions of anonymous sentient carbon-based quintessence cluttering the inner beauty transcendent measurement lengthwise and lifelessness waits, with the patience of eons, at the twenty fifth hour of the twenty first day, gladly tastes drams of hemlock; wilted flowers that never planted their seeds of knowledge and finally content they must scatter thoroughly dissembled atomic structures of neurons, axons and dendrites across vast, everlasting consciousness of space-less, time-less, unrestricted freedom’s energy fields to blossom in distant galaxies.

Goddess of Kismet

Goddess of Nature

Goddess of the Muse

Goddess of the Godlessly Aging Gamma Ray Bursts and Solar Winds of Love Lost

Scrutinizing selfish devotions and selfless portentousness in the acceptance of the culmination sooner than later and with blissful disparagement, the cosmos proclaims unity in wondrous chaos and legerdemain, into bright lights of unfettered sunshine and clouds of providence without fear; that most wasteful of emotions, relentlessly draining spirits, diluting chakras and shredding best intentions into an uncommon mass of confusion, is an illusion.

Disregard fear…

…it always finds another host.

Epitaphs written in futility as meager reminders of pitiless life forms afraid to disembody and explore the philosophical galactic beyond self without reminders of loathsome importance, there is no need to enter unknown realms with trepidation for all that is unidentified is left behind.

Do not mourn at graves; they are empty.

Embrace life instead.

No records in the dissident sepulcher; deeds of good and evil are unadorned wisps of repetition, testimony’s achievements for they are in the past and the present is the indisputable future sought and lost. Replenish a tiny portion with corporal residue carried on the four winds to the ends of the earth and into the stratosphere; irradiated, reformulated and mono-reprocessed for stereo as another vessel of tabula rasa will be filled with the love that cannot be extinguished from the fires of uncertainty.

henry b. rosenbush

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il be pas de quoi

by Henry Rosenbush on Jan.31, 2012, under eXisTenTiaLNihLisT

eXisTenTiaLNihLisT

Self-Musing to enthuse amused melodically offering begins in about fifty eight minutes, which is my age, at least until later when it is not:

Fortuitously opaque molecular adhesions enjoy chaos

Mosquito’s avariciousness transcends time loops; like middle ear bone slapped into cochlear concussions

Cricket chirps
Disaffected burps
As frogs rib bet
Wrinkled, crinkled
Noses of rabbits
to the scent of madness in fugues

the seedless whole and another scopolamine before this dimension closes like tumbling clothes in dryers of combined, then separated, mutant DNA strains.

you are welcome

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