It is sufficient to name a “…
It is sufficient to name a “being,” and we mean, in a merely approximate yet portentous thinking, the being of this being. We name being along with …
It is sufficient to name a “…
Pornography
many experiences are “good” –
nourishing, satisfying,
even ecstatic and astounding…
.
but at some juncture
you want
to be lying down
.
naked
to another flesh
touching
.
because
.
pornography –
or a species –
that decides
.
to maximize
pleasure
that is,
.
to accumulate
idea-lie-zed
fantasies
.
is a result
of the cause
of desiring
.
sanctity and space,
“scientia” it is called
paradise, heaven
.
Nowhere. Nirvana.
To-be.
Left to Say
Looking for an old post for something, finding other…
Polysemic Stupor
Greetings all. Well it has been a while hasn’t it! Over a year, wow! And what a year. Here follows a renewed attempt to process being with scribblings. I never find a way for text editing software to recreate how language emits through me – so I’m attaching a PDF file and an image of the opening page. Hope you are all staying healthy and safe.
“Now” “again”: or, desire in times of control
The times are not easy.
Time never was.
Yet we insist
on enumerating
our lack of control,
unknowing…
.
“God,” we say, (in 3 digits)
“atom” at four, or the “facts” being five,
“knowledge” (as 9) over
“wisdom” – contrived in 6 letters
resembling “power” (which is slightly less-than) –
.
pretending we’re nearer
a “truth.”
Splintering this countless discourse
making babble –
pathways dividing again and again
.
Not to worry,
No-One,
least not here,
never there, nary hereing
we strive to forget –
.
the small fractions
we are,
even increments fail –
our instrumentation –
excrement turning to soil.
.
We say on,
calculating
in terms.
Splits on a dial
or bits switching voltage
to light
and/or sound –
inexplicably deafblind
we human – perceiving,
depleting, reduce.
.
The times never easy,
or real,
and all barely broken apart –
what we call the “fantastic”
(9 marks) nearly actual
.
what goes on
is a “now” and “again”
without ceasing…
a particle-waving
at sea
and to stars
.
an endlessness
born of its end.
Nontology
Great to read this again… thank you FragileKeys
To theorize is only one way to respond to the call to exist. In this post, I’ll contrast it with what I’m calling “poetry.” I’m going to explore what I see as the limit of theory’s usefulness by contrasting it with a poetic-resonant view of words and the world.
To begin with, both theory and poetry are written down in some way. What for? Let’s set aside the idea that the very activity of writing is what generates this diversity or division between theory and poetry, and instead focus on what theory and poetry mean to achieve by being written and shared. I realize that many will object that I am painting with strokes too broad, but so be it. I mean to draw a contrast between ends.
A theory is written down so as to be transmitted in some way. We can say the same of poetry, though elsewhere…
View original post 4,039 more words
On Thinking
jackrabbit mind, dashing –
here thick grass of nothingness
there a frenzied masturbation –
to and fro, quick left, jab right,
the daydreams, grief,
and absence fore and aft.
It’s a wonder, this pondering
machine, unhinged
of its bearings, moorings,
bodies baring everywhere
and not a drop to think.
What drives desire?
Seems pushed and pulled
and craven. Erotically
erratic, playing at its gloom
“it’s nothing,” says the mouth,
always caught between
the breathing and the axons
blood swelling pounding through.
The feral hind leaps out,
ruminate sparkle, devious
flux of concept, fact, or notion,
swimming in emotion,
nothing known.
