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.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
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
Saturday, February 17, 2007
because we can
Saturday, a national holiday, the 17th of February, 2007
I slung my bag back over my shoulders, and marched beside my horse for the last five kilometres before reaching camp. The wind had a damp smell from the innards of the forests coating the hills beyond whose slopes another country lies.
The sky is a wondrous playground of entirety, and tonight, as I watched the development of the day, cloud by cloud, a piano went off in my head, well-tempered, playing on infinity and dimensions, baroquely disinclined to pauses.
I wake very early, when I sleep in cold conditions. For the length of rest that I physically need, my consciousness mutes the signals of distress, and my core organs are untaxed while I spend enough recuperation. Then at 4 am, before the birds, in the darkest of dark, I switch on.
It is cold, like petrified, and gentle.
And I coax my mind into my breathing and my skeleton, and then my body restarts behaving as if it has a purpose in this world.
This is how I don't contract a stomache ache from wrenching myself into motion.
We walk out of slumber, my horse and I, and when we are out of it, we eat breakfast, and then we contemplate the terrain on which to direct our first steps.
I slung my bag back over my shoulders, and marched beside my horse for the last five kilometres before reaching camp. The wind had a damp smell from the innards of the forests coating the hills beyond whose slopes another country lies.
The sky is a wondrous playground of entirety, and tonight, as I watched the development of the day, cloud by cloud, a piano went off in my head, well-tempered, playing on infinity and dimensions, baroquely disinclined to pauses.
I wake very early, when I sleep in cold conditions. For the length of rest that I physically need, my consciousness mutes the signals of distress, and my core organs are untaxed while I spend enough recuperation. Then at 4 am, before the birds, in the darkest of dark, I switch on.
It is cold, like petrified, and gentle.
And I coax my mind into my breathing and my skeleton, and then my body restarts behaving as if it has a purpose in this world.
This is how I don't contract a stomache ache from wrenching myself into motion.
We walk out of slumber, my horse and I, and when we are out of it, we eat breakfast, and then we contemplate the terrain on which to direct our first steps.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
few and far between
Sunday the 11th of February, 2007
"And who might that be?"
"That, Minister of Defence, is the Fabricator of the Exterior."
"What is their mandate, precisely?"
"Precisely so, Minister."
"And who might that be?"
"That, Minister of Defence, is the Fabricator of the Exterior."
"What is their mandate, precisely?"
"Precisely so, Minister."
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
feel free
What if you were to find you were living among people with no moral centre?
It is a great thuddering gap in the thought process of most transigents here. We spend the conscious parts of our time working to the requirements of a professional ethos, and graciously - as much as our personalities warrant this - giving the benefit of the doubt and treating expectations with decency, basically adapting to the censure deflected at us. And to a large extent, niggles aside, this is able to be discussed in bars and on the phone, among those in the know (a solidarity thing, cringe with embarassment maybe, but even then, you know how it is), and it's also able to be alluded to in various ways in describing the untranslatable quotidien quality of the days to the people we are apart from but who know us in a sense that has more to do with shared identity than shared experience.
It's regarded as a medical condition that we share. Something that we have picked up. An easily dissected foreign object residing on our person. Possibly we'll shake it off. And people can quarantine themselves from the carrier, should they determine that the mode of contraction is stigmatisable, or if it is obvious that the symptoms are those that provoke no sympathy, or if they are excerbating it unnecessarily.
Beyond that, the fabric of life here is not hidden, just not prominent, so if you were to come from a place that has outlawed smacking, you wouldn't be informed voluntarily, that it was not the case here, until you walked into a punishment ritual and for the time after, feeling as though some dizzy shadow had started up from inside. And everyone giggled when they saw you had seen. And now you know. But still, in the professional arena, you cannot get clarity on this. It is not blown into life with talk. They do not recall whichever incident and clear it up. They do not speak of this side of routine protocol. You do not speak of it.
And thoughts of Roald Dahl tauten.
And the excreta fixation.
What' s up with that?
I cannot find anything on the internet to say. Like that's out of order.
And the vestiges of unspeakable acts in the public spaces and recreation areas that remain in the daylight in suburban open buildings after a night where you find it easy to believe in the sensationalist exagerations of shadowland national psyche, red and black and with all the latest technology.
That in the daylight, you wake into a blue blue day, and the noises you heard, you can't drag into the new encounters, because maybe it's just you. And what you were doing in that place, becomes the primary question (a domestic place, a place you spend time in regularly, the vehicle screeching from the compound, the reminder in the lobby as you step out of the elevator). And why are you asking them?
And the fear is that it's widespread.
And there is some thought that it is not widespread; that it is extremely abnormal, peverse, and degenerate. But I didn't intervene, you say. Ever.
With prayer.
Why don't you get out?
And give that, as a reason?
They would laugh at me. Or maybe, I would have to sit on the floor, in order to not be taken to a very small room.
In these days, I articulate the good. I keep the wellbeing of those in my day as the basis for our relationship. I try to live all the things that I have faith in. Light and nourishment and peace.
It is a great thuddering gap in the thought process of most transigents here. We spend the conscious parts of our time working to the requirements of a professional ethos, and graciously - as much as our personalities warrant this - giving the benefit of the doubt and treating expectations with decency, basically adapting to the censure deflected at us. And to a large extent, niggles aside, this is able to be discussed in bars and on the phone, among those in the know (a solidarity thing, cringe with embarassment maybe, but even then, you know how it is), and it's also able to be alluded to in various ways in describing the untranslatable quotidien quality of the days to the people we are apart from but who know us in a sense that has more to do with shared identity than shared experience.
It's regarded as a medical condition that we share. Something that we have picked up. An easily dissected foreign object residing on our person. Possibly we'll shake it off. And people can quarantine themselves from the carrier, should they determine that the mode of contraction is stigmatisable, or if it is obvious that the symptoms are those that provoke no sympathy, or if they are excerbating it unnecessarily.
Beyond that, the fabric of life here is not hidden, just not prominent, so if you were to come from a place that has outlawed smacking, you wouldn't be informed voluntarily, that it was not the case here, until you walked into a punishment ritual and for the time after, feeling as though some dizzy shadow had started up from inside. And everyone giggled when they saw you had seen. And now you know. But still, in the professional arena, you cannot get clarity on this. It is not blown into life with talk. They do not recall whichever incident and clear it up. They do not speak of this side of routine protocol. You do not speak of it.
And thoughts of Roald Dahl tauten.
And the excreta fixation.
What' s up with that?
I cannot find anything on the internet to say. Like that's out of order.
And the vestiges of unspeakable acts in the public spaces and recreation areas that remain in the daylight in suburban open buildings after a night where you find it easy to believe in the sensationalist exagerations of shadowland national psyche, red and black and with all the latest technology.
That in the daylight, you wake into a blue blue day, and the noises you heard, you can't drag into the new encounters, because maybe it's just you. And what you were doing in that place, becomes the primary question (a domestic place, a place you spend time in regularly, the vehicle screeching from the compound, the reminder in the lobby as you step out of the elevator). And why are you asking them?
And the fear is that it's widespread.
And there is some thought that it is not widespread; that it is extremely abnormal, peverse, and degenerate. But I didn't intervene, you say. Ever.
With prayer.
Why don't you get out?
And give that, as a reason?
They would laugh at me. Or maybe, I would have to sit on the floor, in order to not be taken to a very small room.
In these days, I articulate the good. I keep the wellbeing of those in my day as the basis for our relationship. I try to live all the things that I have faith in. Light and nourishment and peace.
Friday, February 02, 2007
irrationality is not a thing to be reckoned with
Friday the second of February, 2007
Do you think that dissimilarity is all that wounding to a sense of propriety or balance?
Well, we all digest the fruits of the Earth differently. Think of it as an ongoing meditation with the breadth and the depth of human intelligence and conviction. In considering family ties, it's possible to approach a way of identifying enmity without claiming any of the why fors. Here's a tema I've been working on - "You shackle your response to my presence by your codes of conduct" and in parentheses, "(by which blindness I amply profit)".
What's the difference between people?
Their level of satisfaction.
Oh. Their terms of debate? "I spurn your terms of debate" case, terms of debate? Sense of humour? Intelligence?
I think that's more of a variable than a difference. A detail, a degree.
Taste?
My ocular facilities, my critical sensibilities. My eyes, my taste - a quirk of timing wouldn't you say? Of timing making the individual.
What about disabilities?
Well, you cannot possess knowledge of full capability and of restricted motion/ reach simultaneously, so such a comparative intelligence is academic. A nonsense.
Money?
What is money?
Ability to influence the thoughts and behaviour of others?
Isn't that an unprovable extrapolation inferred from empiric observation? It is a mock-question. It falls short of assuming the probe of enquiry. Be sincere.
Questions are sincere, then?
Let's go off topic, then. Yes, a question is a modus operandi of sincerity. It is the sincere in inquisitive employment. When you let sincerity play in your encounters with others - in the dark, or less - then the interaction is of quest. Sort of a square quest. Interest in cubes which domino in spontaneous sincerity.
I believe it to be a contributing sense of satisfaction.
When was the last choice you took that felt good?
That is a calendar I do not possess.
I am now going to html some formative whimsy that was eloquently linearised in ink from an afternoon walk along smoky fields.
I did enjoy considering your words. If you drift off, that's fine, but should you return, think on this, that too.
What is discipline?
working in this environment extends my appreciation of the ways language defines and shapes what is taken for knowledge and of what knowledge is taken to be.
Recieved opinion.
Consensus.
Of convention reached
That results in conventions
Resulting from convention - ways of doing things - ways of thinking
I find it easier to be original in societies where holding/displaying views that vary from the mainstream, or that proliferate according to creeds and experience can, at worst, be met with a benign ostracism.
This could be a monumental consequence if a major indicator of your life satisfaction is hosting and participating in dinner parties, or going for coffee, or any social action that fosters harmonious confirmation and accord.
However, in the wide world of relationships, the health and confidence quotient of people who can foster and absorb incompatible, unrelated and competitive approaches to corporeal issues, simultaneously and cumulatively, is far more optimal.
For one thing, it extends humanity to everyone.
It is inclusive without prescription.
Acceptance is contigent on avoiding transgression and there are conditions that have to be met.
Set phrases that have to be memorised.
Set phrases that have to be recalled to fit the relevant moment.
A script of acceptability.
Imposed opinion
Dictated responses
Assimilated dictatorship
Assimilated hierarchical responsibility and authority
Diluted delegated authority and responsibility
Participatory censorship
Slogan-ism
Peversion - strategic employ of - mottos
lip service to to avoid unattractive consequences
Effective bullying of individual minds ---> influencing the national psyche.
I thought you weren't convinced there was such a thing as the nation.
Ha! Let's go find something to do.
Do you think that dissimilarity is all that wounding to a sense of propriety or balance?
Well, we all digest the fruits of the Earth differently. Think of it as an ongoing meditation with the breadth and the depth of human intelligence and conviction. In considering family ties, it's possible to approach a way of identifying enmity without claiming any of the why fors. Here's a tema I've been working on - "You shackle your response to my presence by your codes of conduct" and in parentheses, "(by which blindness I amply profit)".
What's the difference between people?
Their level of satisfaction.
Oh. Their terms of debate? "I spurn your terms of debate" case, terms of debate? Sense of humour? Intelligence?
I think that's more of a variable than a difference. A detail, a degree.
Taste?
My ocular facilities, my critical sensibilities. My eyes, my taste - a quirk of timing wouldn't you say? Of timing making the individual.
What about disabilities?
Well, you cannot possess knowledge of full capability and of restricted motion/ reach simultaneously, so such a comparative intelligence is academic. A nonsense.
Money?
What is money?
Ability to influence the thoughts and behaviour of others?
Isn't that an unprovable extrapolation inferred from empiric observation? It is a mock-question. It falls short of assuming the probe of enquiry. Be sincere.
Questions are sincere, then?
Let's go off topic, then. Yes, a question is a modus operandi of sincerity. It is the sincere in inquisitive employment. When you let sincerity play in your encounters with others - in the dark, or less - then the interaction is of quest. Sort of a square quest. Interest in cubes which domino in spontaneous sincerity.
I believe it to be a contributing sense of satisfaction.
When was the last choice you took that felt good?
That is a calendar I do not possess.
I am now going to html some formative whimsy that was eloquently linearised in ink from an afternoon walk along smoky fields.
I did enjoy considering your words. If you drift off, that's fine, but should you return, think on this, that too.
What is discipline?
working in this environment extends my appreciation of the ways language defines and shapes what is taken for knowledge and of what knowledge is taken to be.
Recieved opinion.
Consensus.
Of convention reached
That results in conventions
Resulting from convention - ways of doing things - ways of thinking
I find it easier to be original in societies where holding/displaying views that vary from the mainstream, or that proliferate according to creeds and experience can, at worst, be met with a benign ostracism.
This could be a monumental consequence if a major indicator of your life satisfaction is hosting and participating in dinner parties, or going for coffee, or any social action that fosters harmonious confirmation and accord.
However, in the wide world of relationships, the health and confidence quotient of people who can foster and absorb incompatible, unrelated and competitive approaches to corporeal issues, simultaneously and cumulatively, is far more optimal.
For one thing, it extends humanity to everyone.
It is inclusive without prescription.
Acceptance is contigent on avoiding transgression and there are conditions that have to be met.
Set phrases that have to be memorised.
Set phrases that have to be recalled to fit the relevant moment.
A script of acceptability.
Imposed opinion
Dictated responses
Assimilated dictatorship
Assimilated hierarchical responsibility and authority
Diluted delegated authority and responsibility
Participatory censorship
Slogan-ism
Peversion - strategic employ of - mottos
lip service to to avoid unattractive consequences
Effective bullying of individual minds ---> influencing the national psyche.
I thought you weren't convinced there was such a thing as the nation.
Ha! Let's go find something to do.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
flight of the arctic geese in son et lumiere
It's in the north, isn't it, where the accordian is fetched from beside the cabinet, or unhung from the wall, played after dinner, put on stage, taught to semi-autonomous preteens by hardworked, wellfed, mature people, with squat fingers in semi-autonomous regions.
The squatter the fingers, the further north? Or is it the hard work and the weather and the leisure in accordian enclaves, the squatter the fingers? Or is it just that dancing fingers in the light of the fire look truncated?
I watched a program of recently migrated girl-relatives, who maintained their music and spirits by practicing and performing on the instrument they brought with them, don't ask me on what - a train, a series of buses traducing the desert, in one of their backpacks, I like to imagine several ways of passage, that wasn't in that segment of the documentary, and prefer to have it hazy and replete with possibility - and they weaved with the music, twitched their necks, bent their knees as they moved for the camera in the small room swept clear of furnishings, with a full length mirror on the wardrobe door. They were very young and very proud and their mother had made them up with green eyeshadow and vaseline on the fine hair that doesn't reach to a ponytail. They did a sort of mimetic dumshow of the emotions the lyrics were to elicit from their audience. That got me.
Blatant fakery, is still something that another way of seeing, a rephrasing, is still unable to be acceptable to me. But they were real enough, and the music is old, and it's necessary to many people, over a great stretch of tundra.
The accordian in itself, as it appeared to me as a child, is in the radio family, small people, orchestras, chairs and changing rooms inside.
The squatter the fingers, the further north? Or is it the hard work and the weather and the leisure in accordian enclaves, the squatter the fingers? Or is it just that dancing fingers in the light of the fire look truncated?
I watched a program of recently migrated girl-relatives, who maintained their music and spirits by practicing and performing on the instrument they brought with them, don't ask me on what - a train, a series of buses traducing the desert, in one of their backpacks, I like to imagine several ways of passage, that wasn't in that segment of the documentary, and prefer to have it hazy and replete with possibility - and they weaved with the music, twitched their necks, bent their knees as they moved for the camera in the small room swept clear of furnishings, with a full length mirror on the wardrobe door. They were very young and very proud and their mother had made them up with green eyeshadow and vaseline on the fine hair that doesn't reach to a ponytail. They did a sort of mimetic dumshow of the emotions the lyrics were to elicit from their audience. That got me.
Blatant fakery, is still something that another way of seeing, a rephrasing, is still unable to be acceptable to me. But they were real enough, and the music is old, and it's necessary to many people, over a great stretch of tundra.
The accordian in itself, as it appeared to me as a child, is in the radio family, small people, orchestras, chairs and changing rooms inside.
Monday, January 22, 2007
myopic and blinkered reiterate "...as I thought" to each other, And those with a more certain gift for comedy exclaim, "Further proof!"
Monday the 22nd of January, 2007
In the days after - the shape of things resettled into their contours - when his gaze alighted on some assortment, it was as though millions of butterfly wings came to rest in one breath.
Indoors, it gave his thought-heart a gasp of ghost pain.
Outdoors, the light that suffused everything seemed to bang against itself in the resolutely independent hues of the multicoloured decoupage of downtown.
Shadows chronologically surpassed their neverending illusions of geometry.
Cans and corners, heights and slopes came into a solid undercurrent that let him stand as though on an entirely new and unconceived of planet.
Flimsy as the past now proved itself, the unarguable solidity of the present kept him guessing at the unfamiliar centre of gravity now located within him.
In the days after - the shape of things resettled into their contours - when his gaze alighted on some assortment, it was as though millions of butterfly wings came to rest in one breath.
Indoors, it gave his thought-heart a gasp of ghost pain.
Outdoors, the light that suffused everything seemed to bang against itself in the resolutely independent hues of the multicoloured decoupage of downtown.
Shadows chronologically surpassed their neverending illusions of geometry.
Cans and corners, heights and slopes came into a solid undercurrent that let him stand as though on an entirely new and unconceived of planet.
Flimsy as the past now proved itself, the unarguable solidity of the present kept him guessing at the unfamiliar centre of gravity now located within him.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
the day dawned bright and clear
Sunday the 21st of January, 2007
last night, my apartment shuddered.
I ran outside. There was one light window on the ground floor.
The lady inside asked if I meant the shaking, she didn't feel anything.
I went upstairs, with my heart like a schooner sail in a squall.
I went upstairs with the complete and immediate collapse of large structures in a rotating panorama before my eyes.
I went upstairs knowing that I would sit on the ground rather than walk myself toward perdition.
I went upstairs to the third floor, which, incidently, is where my belongings, those I would take in both hands and those I would be relieved at sudden removal from my possession, are arranged in current ergonomy.
I went upstairs, and knocked on neighbour first and neighbour on the block-end of the building. Villa. We live in a villa.
The end door opened and the waft of industrial volume fishpaste that came out stayed with me all the way back to the eerily undisturbed interior of my apartment.
The machine in her living room groaned in rust grating cycles. It hadn't been in operation for the last couple of weeks.
I slept through the night for the last couple of weeks.
She didn't know about the shaking.
I thought about moving the bed frame with the mattress on it directly under the central light.
It is large and Soviet/1930s functional, frosted glass suctioned onto the papered ceiling.
I didn't.
last night, my apartment shuddered.
I ran outside. There was one light window on the ground floor.
The lady inside asked if I meant the shaking, she didn't feel anything.
I went upstairs, with my heart like a schooner sail in a squall.
I went upstairs with the complete and immediate collapse of large structures in a rotating panorama before my eyes.
I went upstairs knowing that I would sit on the ground rather than walk myself toward perdition.
I went upstairs to the third floor, which, incidently, is where my belongings, those I would take in both hands and those I would be relieved at sudden removal from my possession, are arranged in current ergonomy.
I went upstairs, and knocked on neighbour first and neighbour on the block-end of the building. Villa. We live in a villa.
The end door opened and the waft of industrial volume fishpaste that came out stayed with me all the way back to the eerily undisturbed interior of my apartment.
The machine in her living room groaned in rust grating cycles. It hadn't been in operation for the last couple of weeks.
I slept through the night for the last couple of weeks.
She didn't know about the shaking.
I thought about moving the bed frame with the mattress on it directly under the central light.
It is large and Soviet/1930s functional, frosted glass suctioned onto the papered ceiling.
I didn't.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Fado
Wednesday the 10th of January, 2006
Should be of all proportions.
Until it changes, it can be no other way.
That is, the present, and my current perspective are sufficient for sustainability of the life partative to the nodes on this and that plane as they interfere in the communicative sphere.
The urge to make lyrics is stymied by my lack of projection at the moment. If there is no ideal state to allude to, no history to eulogize, sparse nostalgia, to whom can I address my yearning?
Perhaps a hymn to the felicity in my life?
I'd rather hang out with the people I like, than wind strings around my emotional response to their impact on me, or to the effect they bring to the colours of life.
A rhythmic meditation on the recurring words of my semiotic environs?
It is until it changes.
Come on, a patter that is easily wrought, that makes you laugh because words so easily assemble into seemingly realistic phrases that bear nothing veritable?
Could. Won't. I remember clearly what I was really thinking when I wrote them but others don't and can't say when or if one would supersede the other.
Who cares?
Is it important?
To me, here, now, yes.
Should be of all proportions.
Until it changes, it can be no other way.
That is, the present, and my current perspective are sufficient for sustainability of the life partative to the nodes on this and that plane as they interfere in the communicative sphere.
The urge to make lyrics is stymied by my lack of projection at the moment. If there is no ideal state to allude to, no history to eulogize, sparse nostalgia, to whom can I address my yearning?
Perhaps a hymn to the felicity in my life?
I'd rather hang out with the people I like, than wind strings around my emotional response to their impact on me, or to the effect they bring to the colours of life.
A rhythmic meditation on the recurring words of my semiotic environs?
It is until it changes.
Come on, a patter that is easily wrought, that makes you laugh because words so easily assemble into seemingly realistic phrases that bear nothing veritable?
Could. Won't. I remember clearly what I was really thinking when I wrote them but others don't and can't say when or if one would supersede the other.
Who cares?
Is it important?
To me, here, now, yes.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
crisscross
Sunday the seventh of January, 2007
The things we know, we know them well. The thrill of the new, the cast of the old, the words which herald ourselves to ourselves. Symbolic, incantatory, familiar.
In the family of language, we grow up. From the sense that bursts forth in a tongue, a calendar begins that lets us say, perhaps, "In the beginning..."
yes I'm laughing, but persevere throughout -
for now, look within language - there is always always to regard the ex- and ante-lingual - to consider, gently,
when thoughts are stripped of words, quick liquid through my brain, where do you find your place, where do you make your place, crouched, and when words pry you from your refuge, then my thoughts stand akimbo, unformed and articulate. I am more dense, now, and purposeful and idling missile.
CCXLVI Ozymandias of Egypt Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
c'est une question du validite
Saturday the 9th of December, 2006
And now, The Name of The Rose, querying the licitness of laughter.
Delight.
Mutually-syncratic idio-facilities, expression-found in the corporal world and through it's transcedence.
That's what I've got to say about that.
I have no basis. I have no limits. I cannot claim. I am not certain.
Is this an admission possessing, in any sense, validity?
And now, The Name of The Rose, querying the licitness of laughter.
Delight.
Mutually-syncratic idio-facilities, expression-found in the corporal world and through it's transcedence.
That's what I've got to say about that.
I have no basis. I have no limits. I cannot claim. I am not certain.
Is this an admission possessing, in any sense, validity?
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
as are superlatives
Thursday the 7th of December, 2006
The ridiculous transports us both.
I found it the first time by sharing it. This is one of the ways the divine is present, every day, and in my life, and in the communion with others.
There was an articulate suggestion on the tragedy of being sensitive, susceptible to beauty, attuned to the sublime in existence, and comfortable with forms of perfection, which was offered as an explanation on the Japanese moral character and the effects that were being noted on the Japanese as an entity -in the article preceding the commentary- as the vagaries of global parity brought to bear on the country as a whole.
Explanations are ridiculous.
I am globally mobile, perhaps you remarked.
Freedom, air, water.
Everywhere, in every place, we have much to learn from one another. It's dealing with it.
Dealing with what's there when you find it.
The familiar feeling of reverting to an inner certitude within the domed air in places of worship, only to perform spastic acts of road rage in negotiating the exit from the congregational carpark, to feel intense desire to negate the existence of the people around, to non-confront them, to have Tourettes in spades immediately following from affirming the infinite's capacity for magnanimity.
Managing the equilibrium in the midst of the swirling ravages of every day, everywhere. This is what I think life is worth going through life doing.
I am thinking quicker than this, and it is unbearable to maintain communicative contact at this perambule, however, I am finding joy in it. By what we do, we can be happy. So what is not my inclination in terms of action, can be the arena in which I develop my inclinations in terms of emotion and values. As if anyone directs the course of affairs, while simultaneously, of course everyone mediates the course of affairs.
Slowly now, and back to a time before, if you commit suicide, how will you know what happens tomorrow?
The circular logic of expectations. Logic in quotation marks.
Craving and lust are 2 manifestations of desire. Each influencing different cultures to different degrees. Leading to different experiences of satisfaction. And by so influencing responses to life, also providing each culture with a definitive quality of life.
Desire.
Desire is ridiculous.
I stop being identity-relevant in the presence of the ridiculous. It's something we share.
Further gloriousness in being human that you live to know are compassion, appreciation of music, pattern recognition.
More to come.
The ridiculous transports us both.
I found it the first time by sharing it. This is one of the ways the divine is present, every day, and in my life, and in the communion with others.
There was an articulate suggestion on the tragedy of being sensitive, susceptible to beauty, attuned to the sublime in existence, and comfortable with forms of perfection, which was offered as an explanation on the Japanese moral character and the effects that were being noted on the Japanese as an entity -in the article preceding the commentary- as the vagaries of global parity brought to bear on the country as a whole.
Explanations are ridiculous.
I am globally mobile, perhaps you remarked.
Freedom, air, water.
Everywhere, in every place, we have much to learn from one another. It's dealing with it.
Dealing with what's there when you find it.
The familiar feeling of reverting to an inner certitude within the domed air in places of worship, only to perform spastic acts of road rage in negotiating the exit from the congregational carpark, to feel intense desire to negate the existence of the people around, to non-confront them, to have Tourettes in spades immediately following from affirming the infinite's capacity for magnanimity.
Managing the equilibrium in the midst of the swirling ravages of every day, everywhere. This is what I think life is worth going through life doing.
I am thinking quicker than this, and it is unbearable to maintain communicative contact at this perambule, however, I am finding joy in it. By what we do, we can be happy. So what is not my inclination in terms of action, can be the arena in which I develop my inclinations in terms of emotion and values. As if anyone directs the course of affairs, while simultaneously, of course everyone mediates the course of affairs.
Slowly now, and back to a time before, if you commit suicide, how will you know what happens tomorrow?
The circular logic of expectations. Logic in quotation marks.
Craving and lust are 2 manifestations of desire. Each influencing different cultures to different degrees. Leading to different experiences of satisfaction. And by so influencing responses to life, also providing each culture with a definitive quality of life.
Desire.
Desire is ridiculous.
I stop being identity-relevant in the presence of the ridiculous. It's something we share.
Further gloriousness in being human that you live to know are compassion, appreciation of music, pattern recognition.
More to come.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
waiting
Thursday the 16th of November, 2006
Waiting for - - - -
Thoughts on the state of - - - -
What are you waiting for?
An examination of the easily assumed support structure of the question - - - -
Waiting for the catastrophe that will make sense of everything, the everything that has happened and is recalled, that has happened before.
Some people give the distinct impression, from a distance (across airport carpets, within the tv as they read the script-prompter, insulated by their uniform either physical insignia or mental adherence to protocol) that they are monumentally pressed by their notion of existing on the tracery of the cliff drop. As if some original state of freefall has been arrested, they transmit a quality of vigilance from their globulous selves.
This is funny.
And then I write words I had not previously thought I had thought, and on topics that had not formed any intrarelevance in my mind, as though having decided to write and not finding myself bereft of words or intention once the page is opened before me, extraneous expressions seep in curlicues, improvisation, while the nut I place and replace upon the page, as the piece reshapes and bends, and I review whether the one or the other can be deleted and then decide whether the collation is acceptable.
Waiting for - - - -
Thoughts on the state of - - - -
What are you waiting for?
An examination of the easily assumed support structure of the question - - - -
Waiting for the catastrophe that will make sense of everything, the everything that has happened and is recalled, that has happened before.
Some people give the distinct impression, from a distance (across airport carpets, within the tv as they read the script-prompter, insulated by their uniform either physical insignia or mental adherence to protocol) that they are monumentally pressed by their notion of existing on the tracery of the cliff drop. As if some original state of freefall has been arrested, they transmit a quality of vigilance from their globulous selves.
This is funny.
And then I write words I had not previously thought I had thought, and on topics that had not formed any intrarelevance in my mind, as though having decided to write and not finding myself bereft of words or intention once the page is opened before me, extraneous expressions seep in curlicues, improvisation, while the nut I place and replace upon the page, as the piece reshapes and bends, and I review whether the one or the other can be deleted and then decide whether the collation is acceptable.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
funniness
Wednesday the 15th of November, 2006
Much of the intentions employers have toward the members of their workforce who are guests in the country can accurately be summed up "to make benefit glorious nation of" ________.
Now, Borat is many things, one, not insignificant, illumination - the precision instrument to measure/ and the precision measurement of the contemporary, global pulse; and another, the device is a love letter to freedom.
In countries where repression is the norm, outsiders are engaged with in circumstances designed to extract usable information without reciprocating. Communication is essentially oneway, which is, do you agree, not communication? Stonewalling another human being isolates an inquirer with their thoughts. When you deny an exchange oxygen, it suffocates. This is repression.
In "Make Benefit of_____", all the disturbing, unquestioned, reinforced normalities that have been encouraged in the various localities, are shared openly. None of the segments of the populations bear any resemblence to the other ones more strikingly than in their attitudes to disclosure, inclusion, and confidence in their beliefs and behaviours.
It's good to be aware of what you would not like to be included in, and good to know what you are expected to do to be included. Some activities have an extracurricular scope that I hope you always have the choice to refuse.
But Borat never can say I love you in this way in this place. Because, a conceit such as saying "I want to be like you, show me how...." is too far advanced in being able to assume that the intruder is engaged with as an individual.
Much of the intentions employers have toward the members of their workforce who are guests in the country can accurately be summed up "to make benefit glorious nation of" ________.
Now, Borat is many things, one, not insignificant, illumination - the precision instrument to measure/ and the precision measurement of the contemporary, global pulse; and another, the device is a love letter to freedom.
In countries where repression is the norm, outsiders are engaged with in circumstances designed to extract usable information without reciprocating. Communication is essentially oneway, which is, do you agree, not communication? Stonewalling another human being isolates an inquirer with their thoughts. When you deny an exchange oxygen, it suffocates. This is repression.
In "Make Benefit of_____", all the disturbing, unquestioned, reinforced normalities that have been encouraged in the various localities, are shared openly. None of the segments of the populations bear any resemblence to the other ones more strikingly than in their attitudes to disclosure, inclusion, and confidence in their beliefs and behaviours.
It's good to be aware of what you would not like to be included in, and good to know what you are expected to do to be included. Some activities have an extracurricular scope that I hope you always have the choice to refuse.
But Borat never can say I love you in this way in this place. Because, a conceit such as saying "I want to be like you, show me how...." is too far advanced in being able to assume that the intruder is engaged with as an individual.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
eloquence in extempore
Thursday the 9th of November, 2006
When the dragon licks the sky, the tang of the sweetness of the time before, comes to rest, brought along down the arrow-tip of an illusory tail.
By having a love affair, you become prone to love affairs.
Being prone to love affairs, luck is what spikes your drinks hereafter.
And if you're lucky, you know when the dragon licks the sky.
You look up and memory and novelty make a blanket, an army, horse-hair, hardware of the care your life is wrapped in.
Be happy, you lucky, loved, living choicetwitch. Infinity from nought, a loquacity of significance.
When the dragon licks the sky, the tang of the sweetness of the time before, comes to rest, brought along down the arrow-tip of an illusory tail.
By having a love affair, you become prone to love affairs.
Being prone to love affairs, luck is what spikes your drinks hereafter.
And if you're lucky, you know when the dragon licks the sky.
You look up and memory and novelty make a blanket, an army, horse-hair, hardware of the care your life is wrapped in.
Be happy, you lucky, loved, living choicetwitch. Infinity from nought, a loquacity of significance.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
the town planners cough
Sunday the 29th of October, 2006
You saw the low white wall. The cloven tiles scattered on top and the glinting sun on the glazing.
What did you think of the green doors, emphatically chained, martial twins guarding the house? guarding the people. Keeping the people in or out. Keeping the out people out and the in people in.
Did you feel like you wanted to keep a step away from the twiglets on remand from the hedge? A step away and you can focus better, in the gaps, on the foliage beyond.
You just know that the gates are creaky in that place.
Entrances that are diminutive, the step in sunken so you don't catch your head. The earth is different here, it's ours, that's what that lets you know. The hours in here are ours, and bending to come though is the way to do it.
You saw the low white wall. The cloven tiles scattered on top and the glinting sun on the glazing.
What did you think of the green doors, emphatically chained, martial twins guarding the house? guarding the people. Keeping the people in or out. Keeping the out people out and the in people in.
Did you feel like you wanted to keep a step away from the twiglets on remand from the hedge? A step away and you can focus better, in the gaps, on the foliage beyond.
You just know that the gates are creaky in that place.
Entrances that are diminutive, the step in sunken so you don't catch your head. The earth is different here, it's ours, that's what that lets you know. The hours in here are ours, and bending to come though is the way to do it.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
So square, so solid. A cubic metre of explanation.
Saturday the 21st of October, 2006
We prefer the family.
First.
Over and above all.
Really.
And, just so you understand, the accepted rhetoric is better for all concerned in the circumstances.
Because it answers all the acceptable questions.
It is as it is.
It was better before.
Which is, but of course, why we carry on in the same spirit today.
With innovations, in which we specialize and excel, that promote the feeling of wellbeing that our custom has perfected and which was enjoyed and is documented by generations long before.
Oh to be warm, inert and wellfed.
Nurtured.
Group happiness, mass somnambulant activity, and a capricious, anxious titular head, to whom we can demonstrate obseqious gestures that, at times, can undermine or promote that individual while having no impact on the ceremonial value of the act, and to whom physical expression is easier than verbal to come by, and is the just response to all provocations of circumstance, for you can see and understand that unexpected violence is the constant.
We prefer the family.
First.
Over and above all.
Really.
And, just so you understand, the accepted rhetoric is better for all concerned in the circumstances.
Because it answers all the acceptable questions.
It is as it is.
It was better before.
Which is, but of course, why we carry on in the same spirit today.
With innovations, in which we specialize and excel, that promote the feeling of wellbeing that our custom has perfected and which was enjoyed and is documented by generations long before.
Oh to be warm, inert and wellfed.
Nurtured.
Group happiness, mass somnambulant activity, and a capricious, anxious titular head, to whom we can demonstrate obseqious gestures that, at times, can undermine or promote that individual while having no impact on the ceremonial value of the act, and to whom physical expression is easier than verbal to come by, and is the just response to all provocations of circumstance, for you can see and understand that unexpected violence is the constant.
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