To swirl. There. He said it, stated intention, directly. To be lost, languishing (anguish is in there), full of lose and seeking, squirming, rutting, snuffling about. Scent search of what? Or not what quite, but how, now? The unknowable, uncertain, which lies beyond perhaps, inaccessible, indeterminate, resistant to decipher, discretion, or decode. He plies. Ruin of movement, beyond conceit and loosely bound, tearing terror of graspage. An infinity of words, or if not, many disordered magnitudes more compossibly complex than he –wrecked in kind with troubles of time, reductions of selection. What means, all knotted in already-known. A scumble then, without, arms treading, legs a-flutter, cognition confused in the mass, mess, unaccommodated, arranged re-arranging, affective and effecting, assaying never fully, nor enough, insufficient temporals and scope, shortfall of finitude, unbecoming, irrealized, incomputable surround. To swirl or swoon perhaps – intends eccentric excentricity, without with-in, within outside and othering. Immersed, submerged, tumbling almost-struggle, almost-drift, thoroughfare and passaging, limning swaths of runnels, channels, margins. Copiously coping, how would he go? What are the motions lesser than stir and more absorptive? And what of the when? Who now, where now, how when? Confusion, then – confusion, swooning and swirl. A wriggling receipt, some commingling transference transmitting, attention intending undoing, origins ever receding, irremediable in rot and excess, dismembered invention – begin – excise and evince, glide of erasure and uncover, indiscernible activity of process, waving particles, particular waves, currents and tropes, passively permeable patterning passageways [not that!] imperceptible part-i-cipatory breakage and shatter, dispersion deconstructing refusal. He ruins, inevitably. That stands – there. Unworking integration every angle or approach, from inside, decay, a desiccate and undone doing. Mismade by allowance, a scribbling palimpsest or correction – be cognized, be written, be spoken, transcribed – he wails into unruly, disruptive, erupting fluid floodings of voiding, of nothing. Not afloat, asail, aswim. Neither drowning nor submerged. Nearly saturate with swallow and exhale, a lineament on empty, some faulty trace.
Not ruins. Never ruins. But sand, perhaps, sand built into the most gorgeous of castles, only to be washed away, to be built again, but different, more unique here, more crude there, to be washed away.
To build, and to lose. But are not all words we create released into the ether just so?
so ‘twould seem 🙂
I was neither here nor there once. Having a session of some sort of light therapy for a balance disorder – inner ear problem. It is supposed to retrain the brain ear eye coordination. I think. So there I was, being blasted with moving lights, not being anywhere, except fleetingly. And after this session I can’t remember what happened next except I must have decided I didn’t want to be neither here nor there. And didn’t go back and the problem went away but I don’t know how or when. A bit Clockwork Orangey. And what you’ve just wrote seems exactly like that. I am somewhere now. It’s off the map, often scary, but somewhere. If that makes any kind of bridge …
I appreciate that very much! Thank you for sharing with me. At least some sense that experience is shared…
Ney-agey sounding or not, we are all connected. Oh, the responsibility!
I meant ‘new-agey’!