Courage Friends

I'm digging in the dirt today. Soil. And a little swirl of wind walks by. Up the path of straw and through some leaves by the compost pile. That reminds me somehow of that little snake I photographed earlier. How he smiled in the spring sun: on last years dead dry grass. I miss that sun now and the snake too, now that the night hides them like the grass when the snake slid off into it.

Now it all has to mean something; and can again, since we've given up on that it must. The sweat drops fell from my face after what seems like a long perspiration free winter. There was a time when they tended towards a globe as they fell. Like raindrops to the soil. If anyone asks you why, just smile sweetly and close your mouth against the secret. To bluff is what we can offer. But it's a real bluff, eh?

Know the Thrill

Repeated application of the same method, both homogenizes and clarifies the referent qualities: whos presence is the resulting organization of the methods application. There are many ways for a process to be carried out on the language. Sometimes repetition increases the desired effect, others not. To take out every letter, one at a time, and shine it up with a terry cloth till it sparkles in the sun. Use a screwdriver to scrape the gunk out of the tight spaces in ws, ys, ks, xs and vs. Once the text is all cleaned up the words could be mounted on white oak shields, stained, polyurethaned and hung over the mantel like deer head trophies. Why not? I'm not so sure that it's not important that the text be molded and fired in terra cotta clay. This way the meaning would be more solid and the words have more weight. These words might be used as Christmas gifts and produce brief discomfortable pauses and later unsure action. They could read "What I always wanted". They could be. What they said?

There is a part of the process that settles dust on the spiderweb. It is rendered useless on account of its sticky being all filled up but now we know where it is and can mention it's describable parts. So we can say some verifiable things about what was.

The spider somewhere spins
What will tomorrow thrill
A connoisseur's on pins
And needles someday kills

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.