A Maximillian sunflower turns to follow the sunlight. It seems to grow alone, apart from others, but that's only half {T}true.

A plant or a individual humans full potential is maximized as clearly as a metaphor of a yellow flower-- only in a community that surround 'her' as viewed as a dependent kin. Flowers eventually wither as all Life forms do. A long stem branch will eventually wilt and droop and burst forth many seed. But, as an individual person does too, often a person fails in the field to disseminate bad seed.

I'm thinking about [thought-ideas] individuals in community or 'f'-other's, we choose to lord-alone, and it's always a sure Failure, imho. Screw-'um own Self! Stupid.

A people can't exist as actually really alive, embodied, and animated unless a individual really senses a need for wholesome community with other's diversity...

In making a metaphor of a sunflower, a flowers may forgive me. I hope. I realize the 'need' for a virtue of a 'proper' degree of independence in the character of inward economy to withdrawel from, is essential. It's very important. There are boundaries and limits we must respect and know. If we go too far, we get screwed?

We are foolish to over extend our inner-savings accounts. If we rob our inner treasury, we make a personal boo-boo and extend our conflicts outward to live in-and-by the silly so-called, "rule of the jungle."

That economic doctrine, if we espouse to announce we believe it, is very troublesome, and extremely dangerous. There is no-common ground then. It's a bloody turf warfare. This ruins the individuals who think in such-and-such a style, and poisons a community, the earth, a soul, and pollutes the air we breathe to cloud and fog the sky.

Yeats, Yikes! said, or rather wrote, "Guard us." Yeats means we need to be guarded "from those thoughts men think/In the little puny mind, alone..." I agree.

The business of being a human is undoubtedly that we must grow a sturdy stem, and stand tall to follow the sunlight like a natural Maximilian flowers..

...It's not really a complex though in a 'common ground' complex sense.

It's important and necessary, sometimes difficult, but what an entirely fascination of a natural work, and worth spending thought about. We all need to sip at a wine-cup and lip up whats good. wow-wee.

You are unraveling my mental "complex condition." Muy gracious. This meets most sane peoples beyond normal, anticipation and health vigor standard for daily nutrition.

Today I will be forced to think of YOU as I plant some Maximilian Sunflower seeds. Thanks. YOU serve up some free good sipping wine. Gulp!

Wine such as this warms up the belly and pushes a button? It sets free the mind to know a heart and mind, plus soul too, can't stay lodged between the earlobes or we become a dumb deaf mute.

That's getting all bogged down in a sewer swamp. THAT seems very stupid to become duped like that! I need to go see how the neighbors are doing and forgive one or two for labeling me a damn bottle of goof-blog for sipping HERE too much.

Them damn withered dandelion weeds, imo, but they sure look pretty all garbed in yellow in the green green grass at springtime. Who's complaining? If we did that we would be plopping our heads on each others shoulders and getting nothing done all day. We have no time to shed tears while the birds sing a fine tuned chirp and the sunshine glows...Good Wine. Gulp.

A gad-fly he hath stung me sore -

O may he ne're sting you!

...he may sting you black and blue. Has any here a lawyer suite of 1743? Take lawyer's nose and put it to 't

And you the end will see

...Forgive me pray, good people all,

For deviating so.

In spirit sure I had a call -

And now I on will go.

...O let a gad-fly's sister sting

Persuade her sacred tongue

That noises are a common thing,

But that her bell has rung.

And as this is the 'summum bo-

num' of all conquering,

I leave withouten word'es mo

The gad-fly's little sting.

The first four lines of the poem goes like this *

*All gentle folks who owe a grudge

To any living thing,

Open your ears and stay your trudge

While I in dudgeon sing. The gad-fly he hath stung me sore -

O may he ne're sting you! But we have many a horrid bore

He may sting black and blue.*

(It may just be me, but I'm near speechless too) Keats; as well as a mix of thought HERE, and thinking about Keats's annotations to 'Paradise Lost'...wow. I go.