Honest Author

By Kevin Snelson

Honest Author is a developmental dithyramb...which begins as a stream of consciousness...the myopic wandering eye...it splits in fairy tale like fashion...then settles in a synthesis...well enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Snelson
• Release date: Apr 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223581741

Kevin Snelson

Kevin Lee Snelson is a moderate mystic from the miswestern United States.  Recieving his Bachelor's in Philosophy and Sociology from Oklahoma State in 2012 he went on to earn his M.A. in Philosophy in 2014.  During grad school he served as a T.A.and taught two courses of Philosophies of Life (OSU's intro to phil course).  Living in Oklahoma City for a few years after grad school Kevin spent his time engaged in writing and research, art and commuting between the big city and the farm for employment. In 2017 he returned to OSU to work on his M.S. in Sociology, planning to do an interdisciplinary degree centered on Phenomenology and Sociological Social Psychology.  This...turned out not to be the career path for him. These days he works on the family farm and continues his writing and research... "Art, Agriculture and Philosophy...for me the three are not mutually exclusive...they all involve a steep learning curve and growth."

Book preview

Honest Author

See What I’m Saying?

Kevin  Lee  Snelson

Table of Contents

Book I:  Wandering Eyes

Chapter 1:  Understandably Confused, a ‘larking’ issue begins to surface.

Chapter 2:  Lucky Guess, within the evidently mundane resides....

Chapter 3:  High:  The Low Down.  In ecstasy comes death then rebirth.  

Chapter 4:  Healthy Competition:  From death and rebirth come synthesis and a new understanding.  Chapter 5:  Civic Avenger                     Chapter 6:  Wintered in                  Chapter 7:  Spring/Sprung  Chapter 8:  Twilight  Chapter 9:  Dark Night  Chapter 10:  Daylight

Book II:  Western Ecstasy

Chapter 1:  Bon Voyage

Chapter 2:  Morning Banter

Chapter 3:  Attracting Attention

Chapter 4:  Compromise:  Crossing The River

Chapter 5:  Farside

Chapter 6:  In the Valley of Farmer John

Chapter 7:  In the Cottage of the Rogue Seamstress’

Chapter 8:  Chrome Dome Gnome Home

Book III:  Well Enough

Chapter 1:  Anchors Aweigh

Chapter 2:  There She Blows

Chapter 3:  Full Steam Ahead

Chapter 4:  Cruising Speed

Chapter 5:  Practicum

Chapter 6:  Inauguration

Book One

WE

Wandering Eyes...

A severely subtle stream of consciousness, that sagacious babbling brook: I welcome all you wondering I’s, unique in every look.  As you read these words meanings emerge; we bridge the existential gap in our differentiated yet unified act.  If I didn’t write and you didn’t read, this wouldn’t be happening...this wouldn’t BE.  The space you see (spanning you-and-me) is an interval no doubt—melody is made from different notes pulsing in-and-out:  a literary round-a-bout.  This we frequency is both the meaning and mystery...please don’t take me too literally...but I’m here with you...symbolically.  I’m not asking you to believe me or even: hear me out, I just want you to feel me for the moment...which we’ve been doing round-a-bout.  The space you see, spanning you-and-me is an interval no doubt...but melody is a seam between notes that flow in-and-out.  Do you hear the music?  WE.  Ecstasy: beyond belief and before doubt, the writer dances into the text and the reader dances out.  Swinging and singing in the subtle ringing of a context built by rout.  I’m haunted by that which I can’t obscure or doubt.  Follow me if you would like to see—r-e-a-l-i-t-y—spelled out.  The answer lies behind wandering eyes: What was it we were talking about?  Reality! Oh my! Oh me...as if it’s something to figure out.  The more I try, all the more deny: there’s something I’ve left out...

Chapter I:  Understandably Confused

Falling Be-hind

Behind the stage and behind the curtain.  On the previous page in the previous verse and beyond the age, beyond the verb and beyond the days—beyond what’s certain.  Free:  Breathe in the world breathe out myself:  out breath (world) in breath (self).  Breathe in the world breathe out myself, breathe (world) the in breath out of self.  Calling beyond the stage and beyond the curtain.  Beyond the page, beyond the verse and before the age, before the verb and beyond the days—beyond what’s certain.  Free:  the more I try to be, the less I am...much less to be.  Falling behind by rushing ahead, trying too hard disposes one to dread...those rotten roses...dead...in your head.  Chiseling in the drizzling rain, fizzling fire of fortune and fame.  From whence I go thence I remain, interlocking keys (misunderstood chain).  Something’s knot right and I can’t plug the drain...Drain You by Nirvana blasts in my head.  RIP Kurt Cobain (2/20/67—4/5/94). It sucks that you’re dead.

Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are. (ibid)

Knot Right/Reeling in Fate

I know someone who looks to opium as their saving grace, a heroine figure, in whom blood and steel embrace...the vein...in vain?  Judge ye not...lest ye be judged in pain.  Remain, whilst we cower in disdain.  Profane professing of equality in the name of:  right/wrong, hammer/gong, stammer/throng, to discard/don.  What is the point of this nonsense?  Is this non- ‘sense’ the point?  It is nonsense to point...fingers.  The stench lingers, badgering and ‘bullshit’ from the non-believer beaver, dammed fulcrum for the two receivers.  Stretched out conglomeration: duality deceiver.  Something’s knot right, the levy lead to a cold fever.  Abandon the privy and go fishing believer!

I saunter up to a pond and toss my hook in the water.

Fateful fishing we’re always wishing something else would come along.  Truth is we are fish fishing for other fish that swim along.  While we are reeling in a catch we are reeling ourselves along, though even reeling has a feeling much like dusk unto the dawn.  Feeling ‘grounded’ all along:  levers, levels, latches, cast off in the spring so strike the gong.  Reeling from the feeling of fate within life’s song...feeble February March(es) on.  All this reeling has me feeling thirsty and withdrawn.  Reeling in fate wishing something else would come along.

I reel in a shoe, shrug my shoulders, crack a beer and hit my bong.

Hollow Quench

I remember staying wet but keeping dry with dehydrating liquids by and by, except the liquids leave a lie that thirst was quenched...then by and by.

I   remember   staying   wet    but   keeping   dry   width   dehydrating   liquids   by   and    buy,   except   the   liquids   leave   a   lie   that   thirst   was   quenched     ...   then   buy   and   buy.

I  remember  slaying  wet  bud  creeping  die  with  deed high grating  lip quid’s  buy  and  buy,  accept  the  lick-whiz  leave  a  lye  that  thirst    was  winched  ...  then  buy  and  buy.

I  dismember  praying  bets  butt    peeking  guy   with  gyrating  lick lids  ...  buy  and  buy,  accent    the lipids  ...  leave  a    lie  ...  thirst  (burp)...does  fence sit    bi and bi.

Awaking hung-over, the darkness undone, I wince and feebly shield my eyes from the mo(u)rning sun.  Two strangely clad men ask me about my ‘sole’ catch, we chuckle and have some fun.

Talking Towards Truth

We interpret our experience.  We experience our interpretation:  an efferent and afferent existence.  Slowly start to dance pole to pole in trance where the entrance arose.  The Buddhist told me:  if you wish to enter be not ‘one’ and not ‘two’, when not two don’t cling to the the one" either son...just enter how you do.

We reinterpret our experience.  We experience our reinterpretation:  an afferent and efferent existence.  Slowly in a trance, pole to pole I dance...in dance the entrance enclosed.  A hindu once said:  Namaste-already in.  Already out—where to begin?

I’m left talking:  Talking-Towards-Truth.

I’m left walking:  Walking-Towards-You

I’m left stalking:  Stalking-Forwards-Few.

I’m left gawking:  Gawking at The Two.

They bid me adieu and disappear from view.  Now what the hell am I going to do?

Honest Author Incantation

To write, an honest author’s incantation, welcome reader to the station: the procreation of sensation in an open ended valuation.  Worth internal as well as beyond, dearth however deep, doesn’t sever ‘bonds’...but bond’s?  Is reality ‘one’ or is it ‘many’?  Could it be both?  Might as well flip a penny.  Does anybody out there hear me!?  A soft voice replies: Of course (slightly startled).  Could you speak more clearly?  A soft voice replies:  In course.  Here-and-Now we are more than a master plan.  Alive and reading/writing spans:  time, space, rhyme, haste.  Define and place my nose upon the discursive table to spite my face?  Do we seek authentic life or to be well placed in the rat race?  About face, habits are so ingrained; it takes time to shift the pace.  While words are often in our way, they can be bridges if we could but trace...Sim sala bim:  sleight of hand or saving grace?

My incantation stems from consternation, I can’t help but think: where in this is my station?