Friday the 23rd of March, 2007
I love 300. It's an opera. I had to return several times. I saw it on a gigantic screen, variously buffered by and creeped out by the small groups dispersed over the cavernous auditorium. Held by the story, knowing that there were girls in the room, from seeing one then 3 then all of them on each return from shaking my head in the corridors to dislodge the roar from the speakers, let some of the paranoid bloodlust pressure off, while periodically refreshing my peripheral bearings. The timbre of the movie had that effect.
Afterwards, I felt incredibly soothed. I still do when considering the visuals, or the rejoinders, or the prominences of the distinct ethos'. I trace this back to the movie.
And I got it, in my heartbeat. I understand having a pure nugget of value on which all choices spring. I understand how the core trumps all vagaries of circumstance.
Even as I appreciate "random".
In one way (and I have jumped without spreading out the inferences, but it is directly connected) it is reflected in a view that belief (or professed belief) in an abstract absolute precludes against the abuses of very living, very temporal, bullies.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
come on handshake
Thursday the 21st of March, 2007
You are like light on the water, offsetting the spined bridge there far off in the gaps in the trees.
You are like my finger on the page, each day I blink back at you when we were part of a more inclusive present.
You are the murmurs and ripples that emanate from a historic that you were aware of as an instant.
You see, you don't know what it is you are to people who are not you. Which is everyone.
Maybe you are the upstanding thing that steadies another and so they go on. Which is why being upright, and breathing in the oxygen that being alive keeps you alive, and loving all that is there, is necessary.
Through this enunciation, a braillespeak on your skin, a morse across the clouds, a rhythmic memorefrain, you know you are, in ways you don't know, what you don't know you are.
Always keep faith to the figure in the image developed in your contemporaries roll. It is me as well.
Always be flexible.
It makes me laugh, when, later you are consistent and surprising too.
That you are unexpected and full of integrity.
It confirms.
You are like light on the water, offsetting the spined bridge there far off in the gaps in the trees.
You are like my finger on the page, each day I blink back at you when we were part of a more inclusive present.
You are the murmurs and ripples that emanate from a historic that you were aware of as an instant.
You see, you don't know what it is you are to people who are not you. Which is everyone.
Maybe you are the upstanding thing that steadies another and so they go on. Which is why being upright, and breathing in the oxygen that being alive keeps you alive, and loving all that is there, is necessary.
Through this enunciation, a braillespeak on your skin, a morse across the clouds, a rhythmic memorefrain, you know you are, in ways you don't know, what you don't know you are.
Always keep faith to the figure in the image developed in your contemporaries roll. It is me as well.
Always be flexible.
It makes me laugh, when, later you are consistent and surprising too.
That you are unexpected and full of integrity.
It confirms.
Monday, March 19, 2007
projecting a concrete image.
Riding in a compartment through pollination-active under sun, long grasses and poppy heads, copses, a leaden sky like an eye that has ceased to focus. Writing in this compartment, a gem that is human; and crafted, human, meet conversation summarise the themes, which I am happy to have identified, and propel the plot to a forseen conclusion, for it is an end-game excercise that my words are garnering their fellow syllables to progressively involve.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
excellence of quiet being
Tuesday the 13th of March, 2007
I met someone. And my life is suspended. Time apart hung from time together. When we're together it's solid.
I see fragments of anatomy. A tableau of poses. Truncated images. All of it is too much too take in.
I cannot remember what they look like.
I have run on the way to an assignation. I smile and think "nothing matters" and it seems like the most optimistic phrase ever. I think surprises and it's not yet May, when my inspiration is upcoming.
I met someone. And my life is suspended. Time apart hung from time together. When we're together it's solid.
I see fragments of anatomy. A tableau of poses. Truncated images. All of it is too much too take in.
I cannot remember what they look like.
I have run on the way to an assignation. I smile and think "nothing matters" and it seems like the most optimistic phrase ever. I think surprises and it's not yet May, when my inspiration is upcoming.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
entirety and strings
Friday the 9th of March, 2007
To wake by a,
to a,
with a
strung sentence of coherent thought.
everyone is born with an amount of anger to expend over their lifetime.
Should this ideal rate of attrition not find satisfaction, there is always next time.
And of how much I want to discuss with someone in the present moment, concepts of time. To throw it in the air between us, we enthused at the quirks. Amused at the soothing effects of linear time as a thinking model. The backward-forwardness of inadequate assumption, of limited horizons. Things that are very easy to grasp.
Units of occurances. Self-contained phenomena. Refractions of instances.
Anachronistic realities. Personal rhythms. Warped nets.
Acceleration. Graphs. Familiarity.
And illusions.
I was going to invite my brother to think about it. I have just emailed him another set of focii, though, and the last time he read my English, he said
"_____________ your writing puts me in a similar frame of mind to how I feel on the approach to a difficult hole on the golf course."
To wake by a,
to a,
with a
strung sentence of coherent thought.
everyone is born with an amount of anger to expend over their lifetime.
Should this ideal rate of attrition not find satisfaction, there is always next time.
And of how much I want to discuss with someone in the present moment, concepts of time. To throw it in the air between us, we enthused at the quirks. Amused at the soothing effects of linear time as a thinking model. The backward-forwardness of inadequate assumption, of limited horizons. Things that are very easy to grasp.
Units of occurances. Self-contained phenomena. Refractions of instances.
Anachronistic realities. Personal rhythms. Warped nets.
Acceleration. Graphs. Familiarity.
And illusions.
I was going to invite my brother to think about it. I have just emailed him another set of focii, though, and the last time he read my English, he said
"_____________ your writing puts me in a similar frame of mind to how I feel on the approach to a difficult hole on the golf course."
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
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