Experience, anyway. cont’d


            Like before, but never exactly.  That’s why similar and memory, and that’s why it’s new.  Begins.  Never not change.  If only pennies.  It works.  It goes on.

So that what seems a chasing, a tracing, a spy-archaeology-sci/fi-breathless-fragile-safebreak (i.e. “creative writing”) is also dirgy dredging, slurry stirring, re-invention redone renewing some old search.  If he wrote “to get it right” it would be wrong.

Standard unlocatable with too many variations depending on, all boundaries shift with each decision – though it feels less freedom of choice than compulsion to find – where there’s nothing to find that’s not making (constructed – what’s there getting too little credit in general) – what’s done with what’s attended.

Not meant to be confusing – but from quark or qualia, wave-particle to universes full of looming holes, it plainly is.  At least what we’re able to tell of it – representamen – hingey symbols we careen from like units of mobiles in wind or gyring pirate swings.

There is that.  Is, is, is, is : handy set of markings and concepts “to be” the seeking and the sought – condition and conclusion – of begin.

Listening now – the statue the only Other besides the dogs – well, and whomever all conjoined to craft these scribblings to serve as silent sounds filled with elastic contents over meticulously-constructed time.  The billions.  And infinite (as far as he’s concerned or capable of “counting”) quanta of wave/particle/atom/molecule/element – dithering thoroughfares making up ginormous pervasive systems within systems in which he depends and participates toward is.

– To music, quiet head of Buddha lurked behind, no longer staring with the eyes as much as ears – sense shift and collusion – never one without another – it goes on.