Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Of the Between


11/22/2006 7:10 AM - 7:33 AM

In all things, falling down to establish the natural boundary between the seen and unseen propositions. Rising up, we board the wooden rafts and float to the unknown sunrise through mango swamps and the things better left unsaid, discarding the litter of a thousand light-speed voyages amongst the tittering reeds.

Better living through focused forgetting. Getting up in the morning. Readying the coffee maker the night before. Awake then and rise before the sun that you may sit with a sly smile, waiting for day to appear. We must upfill this rosary cage of ours with warming oils and dewy incense. The following day, the trees in the yard sprang forth in guard and killed the swarming masses of belligerent and inert mud. Up then, and on to the next forgotten day. No advice for the wicked or the good, just living and telling lies for better days. The truth of the deed is hidden in the pitching grasses of Babylon’s riverbanks.

No sense then. No sense and nothing more than rolling winds unmoving. Unwind the day into a thread of silver tangles. No time but this, no tomorrow, no yesterday, one long mistake. We can forget it then and move on to odd notes that catch the ear in misstep and take us through to the walk to work. No fear. No misery. Just living. Finding the knot and knowing how to cut it. Being still and carving a mountain from the plains. Where now the unpressed blades that littered the bankside with waving green? Same as always, in the impression of light stored on viscose membranes in the intangible framework of the ghost. The ghost. Yes, he will do. Who I become then, I cannot say. The words here, just words. Neither shame nor glory. Being and a roundness of life swelling the earth in underground mole paths. We must upfill this rosary cage of ours. Hours. Perhaps not. Doesn’t matter. Long lines and forgotten possibilities, fractal states of matter transmogrified by electric impulses into math. Odd that. The heart of the matter is on the floor and all things, falling down, establish the natural boundary between the seen and unseen propositions.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

"Rising up, we board the wooden rafts and float to the unknown sunrise through mango swamps and the things better left unsaid, discarding the litter of a thousand light-speed voyages amongst the tittering reeds."

Nice---!!! I like

Missed you in "them thar hills" on Saturday for Thanksging II...lots of food. Good Times

November 26, 2006 at 5:22:00 PM PST  

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