Lego logic and a thought seed

So then, it's hard to say. And everyone knows that writing has its own inertia and therefore has to be worked out on paper. There is a tendency toward a lincoln logs or lego style application. There are the way the shapes fit together and the overall shape that they are fit into. So then each text unit can be perceived as a single unit or as a conglomerate but the perception determines in the subjective observer the nature of the unit and therefore colors the overall experience. Something perceived as a single unit is different, in perception, than something percieved as a conglomerate. The idea of an atomistic construction is itself a construction and exists no place in reality except the reality of the subject that observes it. Where else could it exist.
Setting aside for a moment the rejection of the objective on grounds that it is an impossible perspective, which is its own discussion, we turn our view to the function and form of that which we call the objective view. What are the characteristics of such a view and what do they afford us as viewers. In this way I would hope to access and integrate information from multiple perspectives without overwhelming internal interference.

"When or how the sky in it's blackened brightness wanting. Believe. Waiting for true misunderstanding, knowing only what I feel with my eyes, it is difficult not to surmise. This chair still holds the pattern of my weight. Being gone now, not looking back. I can taste the color of your thoughts."

-unaccounted for

A Case For/Of Non-Rep

I've got this image of throwing paint onto a transparent structure. You see the paint and that shows you where the thing is and what shape it is. Could the creative process be accelerated to the point where once it had been created its value was already obsolete. No more Middle Aged secrets. Where control of the static and still was the theater of the dramatic politics of the inanimate. The words stick to parts of the living thing, they light it up by the way its movement smears the language in luminescent streaking shapes. Sparklers and glow stick words. Photoplankton on sea waves and sandy footfalls. The shape of the light tells a story of the object in the words that stuck. What makes them stick and what glow though, calls for another round. So toss it up. A text then is like a can of paint. A reader sloshes it onto an object and experiences the text as the movements of the object that has fallen under the expression of the words. It animates the traceable bits of glowing meaning that are the symbols of the language. So behind the language is the living object that is its animator. Not in the historical dimension but in the spacial one. Its motion and its medium.

Hahahahah

We're talking today about the love of the whole impossible think. Quake not heart, in my breast and on the street. Beating out my one secret tragedy. Laughter is out of the question and what's in the question now is more to the point than on it. A sharp one that, so come on, slowly and mind the busy ness end. Mind?, no I don't mind. We're talking about slaying the dragon. I have brought his head back as proof now rest easy little children and mind your manners and you parents. The sad characters waking around with no one to play them. Being through them the most immediate temptation. An instant gratification.

We talk then about
The lives we imagine
All humans have
No one thinks that
Everyone is the same
But how different can
We be

It puts me to the
Purpose as a measure
Of truth and a second
Reading will clarify
That observed action
Renders meaning
Like a flint throws
Sparks

What fascinates me is to watch myself wanting a thing to be something when I know it's nothing. It is the mind saying "Now we have it", that I have labored for as if a politicians promises served to fill my rice bowl. It happened in my minds mouth. Both the promising and the munching up of a-has and peaceful tasty getting its. But we are short a nutritive science of the mind for which philosophy will not suffice. Because the context is no longer linear. Time must flow in multiple directions at once and no approximation or average even if these concepts disentangled yielded means for such.

Some homework-
-Simultaneous being and non-being.
-Statements resisting sane treatment, and why.
-Post contextual treats. Yum!?

Is it possible to take a text seriously and not believe in the authors specific intention. Why did authors start to want to force the reader to read it their way in the first place (or did they?). HOW RUDE.

That Smells

The smell of the inside of an animal once in my nose/head, stays. There were concrete stalls that were butcher shops and they turned my stomach then too, around the edges of the markets mixed up with the sour sweat and the smell of produce. It was everything in those carefree days when it was just what was. Nothing to be done but react. Maybe an adult held me up by the arm and hushed. Now I hush my own me and mine. This niche, homesteaders and hunters, poor people all over, we know these smells. It's not dinner conversation, IT"S DINNER. I'm a vegetarian who eats meat and I think that appropriate, or should say could think it was. What could be the GAIN in making excuses for ones actions. As if being lame was something that had to be prevented by legislative action. Lame duck, speaking on and of the course. When the ideal is compromised it should be with awareness. Life is not about covering the bases to establish internal consistency and reliability. Adams apple was a chicken heart and it smelled terrible (just to be clear, this last is certainly to be taken as complete hogwash, if it seems I'm advocating veggievoreism I'm not being unclear enough). This is the fruit that we have all tasted and continue to taste. What that means is no simple dogma.
I had decided that representational language would be covered under the non-rep language umbrella, as a test if nothing else to entice us into a false understanding and the mistakes in judgement that will surely as a result pull us back into the freshness of the language. Like a splash of water to the face after our labor in the fields. To wash away the heat
and the smell of the day.

DeTox

To disarm the language
like the biker fellow turned out its pockets and checked its shoes
To demine the field of letters
long overgrown with spring flowers blooming
avoided by the natives

The option of the end
of the particular bonds or agreements in the mechanism
of the logic
Interfering with the continuity of the argument
of what follows the language of the trigger
Increasing the rate at which the verbal machinery decays
back into the elemental soundspace

Would we without our weapons
of mass communication somehow
cease
To make the words over a little better
this time
and over again knowing that no combination
damns or saves
In a world that can believe it

A pile of stuff

Getting everyone to show up in the same place and time had been a thing. It was a sort of filter in itself as a certain set of things where only possible in such a crowd. And others impossibly unlikely. In these mixtures the ingredients where unstable and themselves, sometimes, only for an instant and then dubiously. This selected against a timid type of happening that disliked the crowds and the trash of too much close together. It turned out to be alright to be bias and to state your own opinion because it would be unlikely that that would help someone else understand you. And they finally knew it. And they could now feel the Joy and the Anger and not blame you. And you could stop with the asking them to pay for how they felt. Could it for that now be already. I wonder what makes it true that something seemed to hold the idea together in the first place. Understand me please at the price of peril. Nothing that before was possible will become impossible. Loss is, as far as I know, a thing of limit. An argument on the subject would prove it. Suffice to say it and waste no time unless the object now be waste. Loss and waste being of a similar attitude or roommates in collage or having been seen together by chance or not at all. It is to be expected that the worlds stories act upon the text of which they are composed. Hold on now, for a moment the previous sentence, once again and for a concrete example (see why we must trust one another and what that trust must be). It is to be expected that the worlds stories act upon the text of which they are composed. The sentence may act upon itself (the actual eighteen words). It may then be self consistent (This sentence has five words.) or inconsistent (This sentence is made of five words.). Aren't we really looking for ability with the language and what for. Songs that call songs. PUKE! I catch myself wanting someone to get it. This problem with the hu-man story. A desire for a thing that is the end. For a death. Like the people who know that a photograph is a dying of a thing (a stolen soul). An animate object chained is the understanding of a piece of language like a living image locked by the lens. The illusion never quite complete the soul seeks more and finds it a plenty in uncertainty. So, understand if you will but watch yourself...

...while you do.

Prune Fruit Tree Prune

Fruit tree pruning/limbs, arms and legs?/long neglected and coming down/stronger than imagination/riped tree flesh sawed to save/plants made by man/that's one story anyhow/responsibility of the present.

If you prune a fruit tree back hard enough it may not bear that year. Most of the usable branches are out of reach. A prune is a fruit whos tree is cut back.

I'm sorry I forgot/keeping the branches in line/so many disconnections/most things pile wait for spring/bonfire/draged for the cause/so long neglected and even now/stepping back there/not expecting an answer like I always have.

I posit a reversal of the ill aimed argument about value and abstract art. The fact that in the presence of an signifier the subject can, with repeatability, access or give rise to a predictable other set of signifiers that is consistent with sets of others does not in my mind now make certain a relationship that exists between an objective object and the signifier. Not that it can't be done, it is at times clear to me that it has and is. But what happens when we apply an non-rep critique to that which represents a representation.

The text hides the reader by telling them what they are. When we overstep our meaning context or when its cloth in discontinuous, for a moment we are visible. Take a good look friends if you should catch yourself so in the buff.

Exhauster

I owe the introduction of the phrase to a good friend. Vaguely aware of a context with which I have little interaction. Or perhaps much. There is at times that feeling of being in the long line of events that even (like hands across the planet) if it is only to cross it and then to double back over it, then again. A strange red rover. When the text pricks us and then...then I ask myself why do I want to know. The more therefore I can stand to be not yet certain the more gain. History began to whisper that it's whisperings themselves moved the world around us. And while this is most certainly the truth. How could it not be? There was something else too, almost coming to the surface then darting away at the sight of the fisherman. That spear'd hunter. The hungry netcaster. Standing in the boat with the open sea in its face. Cheeks splashing against her eye lids and into those windows to the room where I sleep and fast as the flood comes. Salt water comes.
Loves remember,...just remember. Nothing, if you can. The thread that makes a shirt has in its pattern a relatively small degree of complexity. Might more be gained by a shirtless one following so many miles of thread stretched across the who knows where (you pick it).
This blog is an experiment of sorts. without the usual goals and constraints. It will rely heavily on the the irony and faithfulness naturally or in otherways present in the human spirit. In time the constraints of this world will so radically change that it would be difficult to explain. Are we ready. What could that even mean? It IS possible to analyze an text word for word. What does this process accomplish with the works of man.