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Announcement :: Race
Jung's Marathon
31 May 2006
Jung's Marathon;

The old man, while trying to be reborn in the collective unconscious said, “my oh my, how the most beautiful thing in the world is a woman running marathon; symmetry in motion-connections in the neural synapse spread across the infinite plane of the electrochemical swath of component parts of the human figure...David is less than this, and had Michelangelo with women coming and going talking about the canon of proportions said -here is the perfect proportion.”
To him self he sat with idle hands contemplating his youth...and in his mind he looked for his second chance at life. Her, the one in motion in the Boston marathon; I try each day to cross the finish line in my incomplete self. Finish the book, finish the dream, finish the...cross the finish line. Complete me he said in his little mumering crusty old lips as he threw out the bitter unsheathed bread crumbs falling desperately to the into the pigeon holes; pushed into compliance with a machine of a war torn soul. Scraping his old bones between a layer of aged skin he pressured a climax into existence and the bread did crumble upon Boston commons.
I will find the little finish line before it is breached today in the Marathon and stand by it in anxiety hoping that a ghost f the past shoots through complete. I will wait and place around the finish line little tassels as to point to the graduation of completeness...breath, breath, sweat, the knees feel like a compacting stress fracture-feel like, stop thinking, breath...breath, nothing in the mind except...graduation at Harvard. Feelings of to be or not to, little adages breach the hull of my stubborn psyche it too incomplete.
The old man sat at the finish line waiting for his little “race<---,” car to redline through the finish-my little race car-she is, perfect lips, perfect hips, perfect little stories in her smiles...we could dress in ancient attire, we could wear naked, she could wear black lace with white thread in a late night marathon finding the finish line in a cup...of you and me. We then changed the scenery in our minds to the French vineyards of the fifties in a late night stroll along the grape vines-kindling our experiences through others little tales of the best place to be...for you and me, and with a cup of wine we would play our humdrum fiddle and flute through and through to tunes of the finish line....
It is there that all things are made complete-whether the love of a man and a woman, or the manufacturing and labor of nation, or the voice of the political affairs of a state behind the body complete for which it represents; it is there that you engage your wasted time Stephanie <--- to be complete by your self is a act of great strength but anyway write me: I will post more of these little tales of the daydreaming mind and the active fantasy...we ended up at the vineyards.

Please forward to the Mass General if you know who this communication is to? ett

Jason Dedrick: artinspace (at)

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