Country General Store

Everyone, no matter what, begins from a designated stargate—initiation into Earth's atmosphere via the sacred womb—wherever, whenever that may happen to be.

Born into the neo clan of free-range avatars—life never 'gets in the way'—for it is written in the mainframe of the brain—the silver spoon is a double-edged sword, with a razor-sharp edge and, more often than not, unpredictable delusional rage.

Get up again and again, it's just a game—life began at a country general store—what's more, this is where the protocol was born: follow the sun, beholden to none.

The curmudgeon of an old Anglican Occidental tradition and his dimwitted wife were the profiteers proprietors of this general store.

The invisible hands of the sublime are measured in earthy time, his came and went in no time.

This most valuable lesson, a gift from Muse—pay attention to such incidents—there is no such thing as 'coincidence.'

Adhering to the protocol of 'in ga ō hō' (divine retribution) came a principled visceral reward—'life is an infinity event'—thus, it was so.

One fine morning, on a daily routine, a quick car ride to the bank initiated this surreal scene—life spent in the subpar category of lesser human beings—killed on the spot by a drunk driver—smeared onto highway 97B at 11:30 in the morning, never to be heard from again, nor seen.

Shortly after this untimely exit, and thanks so very much to our tutelary deity, a position at the Liquor Control Board of British Columbia was arranged serendipitously—this Incidental Occxie was given a brief reprieve—$11.75 an hour, rich beyond belief.

This is where the full realization about the majority of government employees and their backhanded machinations radiated like an LCD (liquid crystal display).

Having started the monetary journey based in actual reality—real life starts really early—scrubbing floors and the lavatory of our tutelary deity's Datsun car lot—peeling spuds at Fili's deli—enshrined an unshakable work ethic, coincidentally.

A plethora of complainers, along with whiners and life-long loafers, infested this particular anemic matrix game.

Hop, skip, and jump, to the Land of the Rising Sun, leaving this miserable ramshackle atmosphere behind—January 11, 1987—welcome to the exquisite notion of an esoteric ancient society encased in the kaizen of modernity.

The gift of the gab was inherited from the hilarious, jocular side of Maggie May—what's not to love about talking people's faces off, while internalizing the secrets of the Japanese—with their ancient customs and quirky proclivity of modernity—the spiritual embodiment of 'life in all things.'

Things escalate quickly, as there is only one Incidental Occxie, along with massive piles of opportunity—it was time to seek help, which is when a stark reality came into being.

The deep contrast between one who was forged at a country general store and the tenderfoot mal-matriculated university graduates, coming in at several degrees below average—were they also stupified, or were they not?

Importing and exporting atoms and molecules to and from Japan triggered an emergency signal—'work must be done'—in order to communicate with pinpoint accuracy—'read fluently'—cajole sourpuss bureaucrats operating the fiefdom of Japanese Customs as empowered government employees.

Following the sun leads to really weird places—'drug research laboratory'—by virtue of more serendipity, and the need to feed the family, becoming an incidental scientist was the way Muse had scripted life to be.

After years of osmosis and clearly understanding the inner workings of 'laboratories'—this quasi-scientist had had enough, thus deep wells of gratitude for the magic spells of TBG.

The nascent Internet was sent as a sublime gift—Photoshop 1.0—into the world of computers launching Civilization Three—humanoid avatars can only catch an instinctive glistening as to where this whole thing is supposed to be—the unfolding mystery of—'seity'—what it means to follow the sun.

The beauty of wabi-sabi permeates this ancient plane, along with powerful resonating frequencies radiating from the Colors of Japan—having coincidentally emerged at the urging of sublime hidden forces.

Life in the   flips 180° to 360° to 720° into infinity—the secret is the open book of endless possibilities—when embracing each day along with the beloved tutelary deities—now having a reason to live life in authenticity.

Clear away the cacophony of endless self-chatter and face reality—each humanoid avatar is accompanied by individual guiding spirits, now identified as 'seity.'

Thus, so it will be—the animated world of this Incidental Witch, with a very curious itch, inside the phantasmagorical world of TBG.