Monday, March 28, 2011

Life is about finding that seam, that edge to spend a life honing, working it smooth.

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Incantation under a bland tirade

What subsumes you
That drive that consumes you
The urge that pulls you through
Caverns of intensity

The dislinking of continuous moment:
"Take an experience; find that intense moment and set its magnitude of intensity equinumerous the natural numbers. Isn't this what we have done with the refinement of input flows. We have purified instant consumptive gratification (this includes 'Media', mind you); it is not exactly like refined chemical euphoria, but it sure keeps us digging."

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Saturday, March 12, 2011

Pent-up Collars

We evacuate like a small mob wandering through the cool streets - hands in pockets - dividing the moment among our pent-up collars.



It is more likely that aliens are future projections of ourselves than intelligent beings from another planet. This is not to imply that there are not intelligent forms elsewhere but only to say that the distances and physics make projections of ourselves as likely - so it follows that we were never nor will ever be visited. Really, what other species would fuck around with other lifeforms just for amusement? Or could it be something more psychologically mundane, a touchy relative perhaps?


Always already contingent

Everything is always already contingent. A "soft" predestination, if you will. Each decision pushes itself into the next. The predicate always influences the next proposition - "choice inertia". There is always give and take between our decisions and the stream we forge.


Obscuration; Codex De Dei

How these everyday obscurations answer all necessary questions!
It is the dumb mute that spits tense litanies of insight into our wax ridden ears.


Fall moon

Colors found on the ground
Warm the evening
Crescent with humid halo
Glides past

Unconscious light


It's hidden, I tell you! It's hidden and meaningful...

This hiddenness which lays beyond me like a curtained window breathes depth through all manifestations of being world. The tree - just so - excreting oxygen and pulling mineral by mineral from the replenishing soil. This reflection of being is dumb meaning, assigned to mute things which exist comfortably within themselves. But there is nonetheless not specific "themselves" but collective movements and risings, culminations, transformations. The tree and sulfur light, sidewalk and invasive grass finding a place from these solid impositions. This is becoming...


Falling apart

The evening and me through the mirroring windows
See those passing - a whole night pregnant
The world losing itself into my staring eyes
Strange resemblances - physical gestures
That lend those brief encounters weight
Departed with no ceremony ... just driven off

And where does everything left go?


A late fall run

Birds in trees
Noise of mind
And it begins to rebuild

Wind swept pebbles
Lines of sand
The drift wood trunk behind