The body as a field where many battles rage. Strife of ideal fathering, strafed with spousal passion and demands. The infantries advance – toward occupational worth – stealth sweeping the rewards. Childhood plans of freedom and grandeur – the risk and adventure – hits from guerilla flanks. The will to heroic power and injured survival. Biology of age. Maproom of surrender and negotiating borders. Where the surge will be. Today. Rigorous advance of death. Waging to forge something like a home, a country, an interdependent territory. All of it leaving its marks.
It is time to sit down and write. Time, as measured by flame.
It has to be burning.
N Filbert 2013
-Bernard Wolfe, Limbo–
as information-processing organisms, we are amazing.
in relation to nonbiological elements, wow.
i am typing this and you’ll be able to view, read, interpret, apply it.
we become persons, individuals, agents only by relating to what is around us.
we are fascinating.
Last night Holly and I viewed Terence Malick’s The Tree of Life, having no preparation or knowledge about subject or style. One of those films you throw in the bag at the library so you have a variety to select from should the time offer itself.
turns out as a meditation, the oscillatory experiences of nature/grace; faith/doubt; hope/cynicism; mother/father…
and so on.
A kind of imaging of dialectics.
Aside from the choice of personal pronouns relating to “ultimate questions” it has stayed with me.
The oddities of learning development for the human organism; the broader context our lives happen within; contexts and networks, systems from family-to-universe, from cell-to-individual.
The developments of guilt and shame. The nostalgia for innocence, the wonder of betterment, of choice.
What experiences “stick” and become paradigms to fit new experiences within.
The music was glorious and suited expertly to the images and tone.
I guess I recommend it.
It is a worthwhile experience to add to your complex and idiosyncratic mix.
In the arena of my recommendation that humans watch Synechdoche, New York by Charlie Kaufmann at least once every six months, to retain self-awareness and humility…
into the complexity of your day…
In the midst of a day of feeling overwhelm faced with school projects, group projects, and individual research assignments, I woke anxious and needing voices to recall my core – the vibratory physiology of the aim of my experience – to write, creatively, freely, integrated and symbiotically brain-body-world…
I scanned my shelves for emergency care, and found it here:
This spring I have the good fortune to be working with Jennifer Koe (of Quirk’n It – http://giddysap.wordpress.com/) on a photo/poem project. Over the next few weeks poems I have constructed that don’t quite fit the theme or plan of the project I’ll be posting on Spoondeep. This is one such poem.
In the Night, Among the Lost
Visited, as if through a window,
stained and partitioned.
If I reach it will shatter.
There is only – no breathing – to wait.
I am alone.
As if dreams were enclosures
or blanketing veils,
wrapped to the earth.
I sleep –
He comes, she comes, or it,
I am upbraided
by my past and failure.
The night is dark and full of stars
perchancing to dream,
a further remove and immersion
among what is lost and forbidden,
the distance between
you and me.
N Filbert 2013
People seem to blog for very many reasons. For all who follow or glance at The Daily Post blog with its tips and hints and prompts it is clear that some use these community-spaces for singular aspects of their lives (say to showcase or try out their poetry or paintings, photography or thoughts); others to engage in philosophical dialogues or take culture’s pulse; other’s as a form of public journaling, travel albums and so on. And then there are those that swirl round a broad flux of themes and forms, artefacts and issues. A versatile blog can be hard to come by, as, unless fueled by a collaborating group, most blogs sprout from individual minds and lives. Yet we are socially-constructed beings. A species made up out of context and interrelation. Versatility is inherent in our adapting and survival. All that to say that I am honored to have been chosen by maxadaland blog to receive the:
Much thanks. Sometimes I think we can feel pretty vorticed in our own imaginations…the paradigms and preformulating grids our experience passes through can start seeming quite idiosyncratic and even incommunicable. Like a catch in an audio file, skipping and repeating such small fragments of possibility – like solipsistic feedback loops – and one can wonder whether interaction / intersubjectivity / reciprocation / communication is happening or not. If we are hearing, being heard.
One thing I greatly appreciate for my life about having taken the leap of tending to and creating a blog is the daily (or almost) wander through the “Reader” feature of WordPress. Artists, writers, commentators, philosophers, dramatists and encyclopedic representations of images, texts and audio from all around the world, out of every imaginable cognitive perspective drift past us, triggering synapses and volting neurons in places forgotten or buzzing dormant throughout our bodies. It presents the wonderful possibility of contrast and integration, stimulae to creation and juxtapositions fundamental to our growth as organisms. I thank you all for that.
Below, please find a few blogs I follow that in themselves seem to offer worlds of variety – of voices, of inputs and outputs, of interests and concerns – blogs I find that continuously spur new connections, unknown avenues, concepts or artefacts I otherwise would have perhaps never engaged. Thank you to all – and it is taken for granted that we all know this worldwideweb is full of such spaces, ever only incorrect finger-splotches away.
THANKS TO ALL!
Safe in smooth salt from a Permian sea.
wide land preserve us.
The hum, the rumble, the altering sky.
things get stirred up
family dozing, off the horizon
you listen. to nothing. to all.
a sense is made of comparisons with sea
the winds. the open. the variable border between land and sky. its permeable skin marked by few trees.
how i only hold names and not faces.
language whispers while images fade.
family. friends. relations.
at some time I was young.
it goes on.
it is Spring.
we were there.
we are here
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