Boomerang

On June 13, 2014June 12, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Experimenctes, Writing6 Comments

Another “aside” – writings that happen in the meantimes…

Boomerang

I consider myself ‘straight as an arrow’ that swerves like a boomerang. In other words, I ruminate clear sensations, desires, opinions – consider, and then revise. It all comes back to me.

When I was a child, I thought as a child, behaved as a child…but now…now that…well, I’ve put away the childish things. Now I’m just a fucked-up adult. It’s hard for me to tell from what’s coming or going.

She’s cumming. Now she’s going.

I saw a coyote the other day. I was driving in the country, speeding along a gravel road. A grey coyote, large, apparently healthy, came streaming through the corn or wheat or soybeans pacing my van like a dog. These things surprise me. And happen.

Now she’s going.

Like a coyote I set out to pace her, run alongside, track and trace her. She’s cumming, I’m breakneck, I’m hungry, I’ve got her, I’m with her, we’re “in” as it were…

She’s going.

I run straight and fast and hard and she knows it. I’m honest. I can’t tell truth from lies. She loses me, I parallel, and now we’re neck-and-neck, side-by-side, and sprinting, I’ve got her, she’s stretching, I’m on her, she’s spreading, I’m ravenous, she’s daunting, I fear, I crave, on point, in flight, the Caravan has nothing on me.

If I were a sailor. An aardvark. A policeman. I am none of these. But I love her, she outpaces me, I can’t catch, and she looks back, and she’s cumming, and now going.

I wish.

And that would be how it would end, with my wishing, her being, my envisioning and inventing and conspiring, but there’s more. And the coyote, and the rabbit, and the hawk and howling wind. And the mountain and the river and the ocean and breezy glade. And there’s life – yes, there’s that, and we’re here, or somewhere, and everything rushes, and to be honest I don’t know deception from reality, my perceptions and illusions are the same, but I dream. And a coyote, and a boy. And a human and a male. And she’s a lady and a wolf, a rodent and a scream, and we tossle and we fight, and devour and delight, and it’s all a simple game – a complex, coordinated, disjunctive weather of dance that never quite syncs up, and that’s okay, because the coyote thrives in run, and the owl lives for the hunt…the mouse delights in escape, and the thought its incompletion…

And I straight as an arrow, swerving like a boomerang.

Difficulties & Pronouncements

On June 11, 2014June 10, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Experimenctes4 Comments

What happens when I avoid “required texts”…

Difficulties & Pronouncements

For this is what I do.

When facing difficulties, Harlan makes pronouncements. Conundrums = hypotheses. “Yes, I love you, consistently,” he might say, but does not think, for Harlan does not think, he behaves, that is, he acts habitually.

Sometimes I think I am a writer.

For instance, Harlan might be confused or confounded by the behavior of others, particularly those with whom he shares his life, interacts with daily, corresponds. He might find himself baffled, able to find no explanation or solution for a “problem” – (situation in which he does not know what to do) – and therefore announce that which he considers a “reality.” E.g. – when happening upon his children bickering and unable to agree on peaceable courses of action, he might state: “it is common for people to consider the ‘ways they do things’ as the “correct” ways TO DO things…but when such consideration involves more than one family, group or person, there is often conflict, i.e. – ‘what should be done?’” Thereby solving nothing, nor finding any resolution, only offering up his own feelings of helplessness as a catalyst.

He looks at her.

Sometimes I look at you.

Sometimes I think I am a writer.

For instance, Harlan might find himself bewildered by mixed emotions (a “difficulty” in his habit-of-being) and, instead of naming the mixed emotions and going from there, instead might pronounce – “humans are complex interfusions of emotion and reason, biology and philosophy/psychology – we aren’t yet quite sure what con-spires to activate and animate us.” Thereby solving nothing, nor finding any resolution, only offering up his own feelings of helplessness, his own uncertainties, as a potential catalyst to reason.

Reason fails.

Reason is insufficient.

Harlan speaks to me about the insufficiency of reason: “Say, you know how we often try to make lists of what we ought or need to do? You know, IF we (perhaps) performed the following activities, accomplished the following feats, we might feel some sense of order in our lives, some sense that we were possessed of a direction, a purpose, a…modus operandi, and therefore felt that LIVING made a kind of SENSE?” I nodded. Sometimes I think I am a writer, and therefore listen carefully.

Anyway, plans are confusing because so regularly undone.

He looks at her. They gaze. I (also) look at you, but your eyes are closed. Still I look, and look again, and look more (at you, wistfully – imaginatively ‘into’ you) and just am looking. Harlan and Meribeth are actually looking AT, perhaps ‘toward’ or ‘con-spicuously’ WITH one another. I’m just borrowing, observing, wishing, and longing-for.

Harlan says – (there is difficulty) – “isn’t she beautiful?” (a sort of backwards pronouncement – he thinks, well, not ‘thinks,’ rather ‘feels’ [or whatever] she is beautiful) – often we respond out of habitus, instinct, notion – I keep looking at you, hoping I’m, well, wishing (sometimes believing) that I’m a writer, after a fashion, of sorts, perhaps or probably…

Harlan states the obvious obscurely when faced with problematics. Harlan is attracted to Meribeth, and Meribeth to Harlan, but such a combination of lives, of persons, of families, of children, of burdens and complexities = DIFFICULTY… and difficulty (for Harlan) stimulates the regurgitation of flimsy “absolutes” – or conventional, accepted “Truths” – therefore Harlan simply states – “I love her Nathan, god knows – or Whomever – or No one – that I desire and adore and wish for and ache in relation to that lady, Meribeth.” I know that, I say, being acute and observant, sometimes thinking I am a writer and therefore privileged to description and awareness.

The kids cry. The movie’s over and it’s far beyond ‘bedtime’ on the absolute clock of shoulds and woulds (for “good” parenting). Harlan says – “Brush ‘em and orchestrate [they don’t know that word, but clearly understand what it means, unlike machines or ‘predictive text’] yourselves for nighty-night!” Harlan looks at Meribeth – the sort-of ‘fun aunt’ or ‘older girl cousin’ or ‘delightful female guest’ the kids have been curious about this evening and attempted to entertain or woo or utilize to their own purposes THIS evening – with a kind of drunken swooning, a kind of animal desire, a kind of helpless confusion and bewilderment – and Meribeth looks back at him with a kind of “Am I all that? Am I really distinct, different, unique-in-the-world, exceptional?” look… and the kids begrudgingly and grumblingly rumble off toward the bathroom because Harlan’s voice has a certain gruff, man-like edge to it (a growling of a different sort of desire from authority – the older ones might tick it the ‘daddy-voice’). I notice all these things because I consider myself a ‘writer’ – a person attuned to the subtle realities of human-animalness, quirks of idiosyncratic behaviors – someone predisposed to inventing or discovering or collaging words from language into odd combinations of metaphors that might shake loose emotions related to the ways our particular species behaves (NOT thinks or reasons, or rather AND thinks and reasons) in this world – and Harlan exhibits clear, semi-drunk desire for Meribeth, and Meribeth mirrors a kind of dumb, flattered and pretend-complimentary bewilderment to Harlan’s aching want, and I jot scribbly notes into a little travel notebook with sketches of London on its cover, and people are confused and want each other [or SOMEone] and I chuckle at the ingenuity of children, and wonder at the difficulties and pronouncements that accompany the rest of us.

“It’s a boatshitload,” Harlan says.

Communication : Calibration

On June 8, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Journallings, Philosophy, Reflections8 Comments

Perhaps we join in a wooded area, wander about, espying for foxes and deer, or bunnies.

Maybe we just use our eyes.

Sometimes we use the term-containers – words of our languages – bring varieties of ourselves, our experiences, our learning, our responses to syllables and sounds, and craft new spaces whereby the potentials echo.

I raise my hand, you respond in kind. A nod, a wave, a shake.

Perhaps the fuzzy boundaries of ourselves engage – we hug, we kiss, we make sounds one to another…

Both leaping over the log. Both scrambling the scaffold.

Gazes infiltrating one another on the river, on the Van Gogh, on the sculpted heap.

“You heard that too?”

Footfalls.

Whispers.

Suppose we take up space. Suppose we are compositions of compositions that make a kind of interactive boundary – both for ourselves and that which surrounds us. The same, but different. Suppose all that spins around me gives me a sort of “area.” Suppose I lend the air, the water, the sound and ground a similar sort of “area” by my own buzzing, my own movements. Call me color. I am “blue.” But when I engage you in my blustering – you, “yellow” – we don’t end up making stripes…

WE, are “green.”

I breathe…my compositions of compositions exchange and interchange – some re-inhaled, some new and distinct, some left to re-compose. I enter you. I lend a boundary. I find I do not dissolve. And yet, exchange.

Our voices, carried by term-containers, expand, swell, contract, until there is a blend of meanings, intentions.

Maybe we only inflect.

Our fuzzy, buzzing boundaries.

Engage, exchange, co-constitute.

You move. You lend me form. I respond. I interact in kind.

Fuzz, buzz, calibrate.

You said. I replied. I summarized. You disagreed. Partially. Edit, recompose.

If “I” am a composition. I am composed of compositions – recognizable. Body. Organs. Veins. Plasma. Neurons. Molecules. Clusters. DNA. Synapses. Atoms….

You, composition of compositions…a composition within compositions : surround, situation, “space” (is there such thing?). Space, time – any emptied space to occupy? No. Displacement, exchange. Calibrate.

Table. A/C. Drink glass. Water. Music. Each element, action, “happening” altering, vibrating, co-creating the rest…

Calibrating BEING.

OCCURRING.

THIS.

Co-composing…compositions made of compositions made of…within compositions of compositions…making…

We calibrate.

I enter you. We correlate. Calibrate. Collaborate. Co-create.

I recede.

You, though different, remain.

How intimate it can be…and yet.

We lend and are lent. Gift and are gifted.

Our fuzzy, buzzing borders.

Ever-exchanging. Ever-engaging.

We climb. We calibrate.

We dance, we speak, we respond, we laugh, we play, we swim…

We dream, we sleep, we breathe…

WE CALIBRATE…

…and become.

This is mysterious to me. Mysterious and wonderful. How I tend to think I “know” I am made of the same miniscule moving structures as you, as air, as mountain, as stream… And yet I retain a form… maintain an autopoietic and dynamic interchange and existence (for a time) as a cognizable (humanly) and dynamic “organism” or form of life. Like a language, a rock, a helix, an artwork, an idea. That I “know” these elemental spaces composed of tinier spaces making up larger spaces are all active, are full, are constantly coming and going, interacting and recombining, becoming and altering, editing and con-forming… and yet we identify, recognize, perceive…and do it again – come together, and calibrate…

Action. Language. Presence. Exchange.

Remain. Begin. Engender. Preserve.

BECOME.

Each of it: action, communication, gesture, touch, sense, perception, behavior, belief,

OPPORTUNITY and ENACTMENT of CALIBRATION…

COMMUNICATION

hello.

Lessons Learning in Metaphors

On June 3, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Experimenctes, Photography, Reflections, Writing11 Comments

HERE. Abandoned places fall apart. Decay to exposure. We, bereft. We, grieving. In the absence of care… Upkeep. Keeping up. Often when significant change occurs, we do not bother “keeping up.” Rather things, people, places, seem to hold on as long as possible to what is familial / familiar / to what seems known, as long as they can. Perhaps this marks some difference between survival and thriving. Maintenance versus development. Preservation versus advance. Enclosing versus opening.

But time. Molecules move and shake around; synapses shift, come undone, frackle, rewire…adjust. Adapt. There are new conditions. The movement of beings, of the world, continuously alters our context, alters ourselves. When they left, or something seemed lost, other inhabitants, presences, qualities, realities fill the perceptive interoperable surround…some constraints are increased, some loosened, restraints, license, “competition”: wind, rodents, weather, routine… The primary structuring relationships morph. Continually.

Now wife. Now wife and children. Now certain finances. Now no finances. Now surety, stability, now uncertainty, hazard, CHANGE. CHANGE (never not occurring) ALWAYS EQUALS OPPORTUNITY (for living things), ALWAYS EQUALS DIFFERENCE.

Now no wife. Now children. Now no job. Now scrapping for sustenance. Now certain friendships. Now the absence of certain friends.

Now different care.

What will the winds do? The rain, the sun, the heat, the ice? Critters? What new sounds will my structure make – interactions – given the changes in conditions, in surround? WHAT ARE WE NOW? The same. Structurally – a form made for interaction, a part of the world, interlocked and interwoven, a bundle of functions and processes, intentions and conditions – exposed by happening in a world.

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“Things fall apart, the center cannot hold”

(Great! How else…life?)

And how beautiful the potencies of change. How messy. How easy to attribute – “good” “bad” “difficult” “help” “harm” “ease”…

But is what’s happening to the homestead, the barn now – in lieu of human use and care – less easy? Less beautiful? Does not every context surrounding and composing a structure of forms – both help and harm of a sort?

Would it be false to say this erosion, this abandonment to other interests and types of care, this shifting of primary interactions, reciprocating attachments, looks like loss? With all that light pouring through? All the redolent air and wheezing whistling and rattle? Has the new (ever-altering) context of comings-and-goings helped or harmed this structure…or, perhaps mostly…BOTH? Just like the previous and every future one?

We. I. You. Crafted ever-so-intricately in contexts we are unable to adequately identify (comprehensively) or evaluate – for they ARE the context that is co-creating (in-forming) our identifications and evaluations. We interpret – according to the context we are enmeshed in/with.

CHANGE CONTEXT – CHANGE PERCEPTION, INTERPRETATION, IDENTIFICATIONS, EVALUATIONS…change even what we look for…

A breaking, a leaving, an abandonment, some loss…(simply, really, change) – do they not equal a kind of damage, a kind of harm, so full of openings, exposure, new perspectives granted the initializing structures that we truly DO NOT KNOW what living is for? But this? – TO LIVE?!

The rent places let the outside in in novel ways, creating coevally novel openings for the inside to emerge. The wear co-creates other structural stresses and reliefs, new releases and new enclosures, novel shapes and textures, colors perhaps we never knew were possible to begin with. Never a potential until the context came that facilitates and allows, enacts and enables.

Always interacting, we change. Always changing (along with our entire surround) defines INTER-ACTION. Barn: Enter, Action. Always.

NOW…this…

Experiences confoundingly rendered with these sound contexts:

Creativity’s Luck

On May 28, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Journallings, Writing9 Comments

Last week I in fact took one day “off.” Truly OFF. It rained. I read. It rained. I read. I wrote…

Eight hours later, finally, I am drunk with language. Like Kansas soil, I require such storms for the necessary surplus… for markings to begin to pool, swirl and confuse – for essential destabilization – undoing language from its conventional attachments and turning it toward an alchemy, a natural compound and resource, something to be stirred and sludged or steeped – allowing for aroma, skimming and residue. Just language, less meaning – an additive experience, unknown potentials of letters combined by some strange combinatory activity of intuition, convention and accident. Creativity’s luck.

There is a point to drunkenness – whether artificial, of language or pleasure or love, whether substance, experience or drug – it is to be estranged and immersed – in some sense undone. Renewed. Despoiled. It slows and diffuses me enough to write beautifully again. Instead of making words, to concentrate on shaping letters. Forces to create.

It is a baffling and bewilderment – allowing us to require effort for focus, selection and choice – so discreet motions of bodies become both complex and marvelous again, the capacity for smell a wonder and delight, communication and gesture (at all) a mysterious gift.

Inebriation levels the field. Returns to a source. Baudelaire may have meant we are potential and solidarity at once – flounderers grasping at tools and beginnings, constructing, cooperating. We are begun.

Perhaps, then, we drink to erase and begin. We scramble ourselves toward infancy that we might make effort to grow, while minimizing automated meanings. To struggle to learn, to be becoming rather than operative. Innovative over automatic. To develop and realize.

I love to form letters once drowned in the rain of them.

Flood everything to discover what’s possible.

Saturate in order to dredge, to pan, to anticipate.

The “Necessity” Notebook

On May 23, 2014May 22, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Experimenctes, Journallings, Writing1 Comment

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On May the 22nd

From the Notebooks… a poem perpetually in progress…

On May 20, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Journallings, Poetry, Writing3 Comments

Untitled (In Progress)

The poem linked above I pushed out last week… and marked it as “in progress” because for some reason it is one that the process of making, unmaking, forging and revising it (still feels “off” as published at above) has intrigued me. Here are the pages of notebook from which it hails, perhaps this is of interest, perhaps not, for better or worse…

We are working on an exhibition of new media for June at Wichita’s Fisch Haus, and have been battling over how to show process and creation when exhibiting technologically enabled and activated art. Perhaps that is why I’ve been more conscious of my own processes of making and revising. In any case, here is a little trail through the notebooks as a piece is coming to be…

In Progress….

I am thankful for this loosening quiet,

your slackening ties of dusk.

Though often shackled by a fear of loss

in love, I may open toward a growing –

possibilities of a learning, as in youth,

less about the being something

than, profoundly, just to be…

that which relaxes and allows

like a cow caught up in weather,

or warm engagements with a child,

with the blossom, and make-believe.

Empowered when our symbol’d systems –

confused by what is happening –

begin to sign that loss

(a form of death) ensures the safety

of our risks. That harm and haven

are our home – the same as truth:

what’s loved is lost –

and thus we come to love.

Wisdom undoing opposites

in terms of life.

I amt ridiculed by youth –

it’s how I know that many lessons

come unlearned,

that “completeness is

a process of revision”

as they say,

and that our closures

are what open

every day.

The above was an editing of the following…which is why it’s still “In Progress…”

child, the blossom, the make-believe

And

And then I want to say

that I am thankful

for this loosening

I want to say

And then I want to say

that I am grateful/thankful

in/for this loosening quiet

for its / and the slackening of ties

perhaps we’d once been shackled by

the fear of loss in love

leaving space for other and tenderness and availability,

freed of the shackling fear of loss

in love

not in the order of other pursuits

thus fencing a truth again

or forging some identity –

burned and brandished iron –

but that we might allow

the finding, its discovery –

all the safeties that arrive with risk –

in all directions

whether in the child, the blossom, or the make-believe

the will to love and to enjoy

our engagement

with world and things and persons

unraveling the expectations

of hurt and damage

parenting ourselves to freedom

the assurance we are looked after,

at least by ourselves,

as well the plenteous others –

our families, our species, our friends

we will probably survive,

unless we do not

and then no matter

death was here from the start

nor had it intention or opportunity

not to be

attachment and loss

and room for growth

so we begin, so we will be

the template that stifles

symbolic structures

learned of experience

in certain ways

do not ask permission

but simply deceive

they are not truthful

Look at your child,

your pet, your mother –

you would not have them

to be a certain thing

an object, tool or concept

but to live and change and grow

until they die and thus dissolve

which is not damage so much

so much as change

thus let it be,

it is quiet

the ties are slackened

the noose loosened

around your heart.

we are here –

the squirrel, man and mountain,

every weather, part and parcel,

as are you

It is begun

we are resolved

to open and allow

for your enjoyment

for your experience

should you engage

and cease to fear

cease to fit to your equation

to whatever maths you assent and ascribe

and start to scribble

doodle, sketch

to select potential

over priority

exception(al) over rule

dynamic in place of determined

and friendship more than fact

perhaps you were meant to be

over being

to selve more than self

for “we were not meant to survive,

only to live.”

*********************

We thank you for the loosening quiet

We are the slackened ties of dusk

I am grateful to this the loosening quiet,

the darkness and this its slackening of ties…

what is once was shackled by the fear of loss

in love, now opened may open toward a growing –

possibilities – a learning, as in youth,

that it is much less about being something

as than it is, profoundly, just to be

that which relaxes and allows

the squirrel (cow) caught up in weather,

our warm engagement with the child,

the blossom, or the make-believe,

empowered when our symbol’d systems

can be get confused with awareness by what is happening,

and when we are able to see that loss,

a form of death, ensures the safety

of our risks. That harm and heaven haven

are the same – our home as truth

what’s loved is lost

and thus we get come to love.

Wisdom undoing opposites

in the terms of life

I am get ridiculed by youth

it’s how I know that lessons

are get unlearned,

that “completeness

is a process of revision”

as they say, and that a that our closures

opens every day.

“TO SPEAK SO AS NOT TO MEAN, BUT TO BE”

-Dan Beachy-Quick-

SWARM: “Fly on… right through” … or, “Differentiation + Linkage = Integration”

On May 19, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Experimenctes, Journallings, Music9 Comments

To write beautiful.

I knew where I was, momentarily.

The paradox: making awareness an habit.

By definition a habit, meditative or otherwise, becomes somewhat “automatic” and therefore something other than “awareness” or novel or differentiated… and yet…

Taking in the good… being lived…

“Implicitly, and more fundamentally, this practice means a relaxed opening into the love – in a very very broad sense – that is the actual nature of everything. Moment by moment, the world and the mind reliably carry you along. This isn’t airy-fairy, it’s real. Our physical selves are woven in the tapestry of materiality, whose particles and energies never fail. The supplies – the light and air, the furniture and flowers – that are present this instant are here, available, whatever the future may hold. So too is the caring and goodwill that others have for you, and the momentum of your own accomplishments, and the healthy workings of your body. Meanwhile, your mind goes on being, while dependably weaving this thought, this sound, this moment of consciousness.

It’s hard to sustain a felt knowing of this nature of everything. The brain evolved to keep our ancestors afraid to keep them alive. But if you look, and look again, you can see directly that right now, and in every now you’re alive, you’re cradled by the world and the mind like a child carried to bed by her mother. This cradling is a kind of love, and when you trust it enough to soften and fall back into it, there’s an untangling of the knots of fear and separation. Then comes both an undoing of the craving that drives suffering and harm, and a freeing and fueling love living through you and as you out into the world.

Imagine a single day in which you were often – not continuously, not perfectly – lived by love. When I try this myself, the events of the day don’t change much -but my experience of them, and their effects, improve dramatically. Consider this as a practice for a day, a week – or the year altogether.

More widely, imagine a world in which many people, enough people – known and unknown, the low and the mighty – were lived by love. As our world teeters on the edge of a sword – and could tip either into realistic prosperity, justice, and peace, or into growing resource wars, despotism, or fundamentalism – it seems to me that it’s not just possible for a critical mass of human hearts to be lived by love. It’s necessary.

How?

The essence of this practice is a yielding into all that lives you. This is a paradigm shift from the typical top-down, subtly contracted, moving-out-from-a-unified-center-of-view-and-action way of operating . . . to a relaxed receptive abiding, feeling supported by the ocean of causes creating each momentary wave of awareness. Then on this basis, there is an encouraging of love in all its forms to flow through you. The suggestions that follow are different ways to do this, and you can also find your own.

Soften and open in the heart. Notice that you are alright right now: listen to your body telling your brain that you are basically OK. Feel the fullness that is already here, all the perceptions and thoughts and feelings pop-pop-popping in this moment of consciousness. Feel the buoying currents of nature and life, waves of gifts from over 3 billion years of evolution on our blue and green pebble. Look around and see objects, including your own hands and body, and consider the unfailing generosity of the material realm, blossoming for over 12 billion years from a seed of light.

Be aware of the warmth and good will from others toward you. Sense your connecting to others, how you are supported by a net of relationships. They don’t have to be perfect. Some people do care about you. You are almost certainly loved.

Feel carried by consciousness, the effortless knowing of perception and thought. When stress, worry, pressure, or pain appear in the mind, see that the fabric of this suffering – the underlying operating of the mind – is itself fine, is always already fine.

Again and again making this little but profound shift, this giving over to the carrying cradling of mind and matter, you can afford to let your own love flow freely. Bring this down to earth: if you lived from love in your first encounter with another person today, how would you be, what would you do, how would you speak? What would a week, a year, be like in which you lived by love? How about trying this? Who knows, if enough people share in this practice, the world could become a much better place.”

– Rick Hanson, Just One Thing-

Differentiation

Linkage

Integration

Difference

Similarities

Meaning

Perception

Mayhem. Chaos. Disregulation. Con-fusion.

Brokenness. Openness. Wounds. Seeping.

Connecting. Contaminating. Communicating. Constructing.

In other words: fly on… ride through. Take note, make it a habit to take note. Attend, automatically attend. Love, freely, openly, love.

PARTICIPATE.

There is so very much good happening. Arriving, passing through, departing… HAPPENING.

Don’t forget. Don’t ignore.

Beauty. Hands. Hair. Voices. Language. Gestures. Meanings.

the PROCESS.

ENJOY. DELIGHT. LAUGH. NOTICE.

Fly on.

Ride through.

Notice (differentiate, conceive, perceive, attend)

Link (conjoin, participate, connect, find similarity, solidarity)

Integrate (make meaning, story, intention, purpose, gratitude)

Novelty Similacrum Meaning

I have felt overwhelmed by meanings. Flooded with good. Surprised by kindness. Taken off guard (guards unnecessary) by humans. How much good there is — children discovering, struggling; coyotes chasing cars; peacocks squawking; handshakes and smiles; innovations and ideas; hopes and dreams; sounds and shapes; disappointments and losses; grief and gratitude; desire and refusal; romance and death…

BEING LIVED

a body materially exchanging, interacting, interoperating with all the materials that surround it

a consciousness, awareness alert to emotion, interpretation, possibilities and limitations

a being responsive to other being

LIVING

in the midst of

and with

alongside

and because of

interacting

exploring

interpreting

engaging

SWARMING

existence

BEING LIVED

-all images – Lukas Felzmann, Swarm; music – Coldplay, Ghost Stories

To be continued…

On May 19, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Current Reading, LanguageLeave a comment

“Yet if language gives no words for what happens…it nevertheless gives itself”

-Christopher Fynsk-

“Communication is the awareness of a chain of meaning of which every speaker and interpreter is part”

-Renate Lachmann-

“Two voices is the minimum for life, the minimum for existence”

-Mikhail Bakhtin-

On May 15, 2014 By Alias HarlequinIn Writing2 Comments

in progress

Spoondeep

I am thankful for this loosening quiet –

your silence slackening the ties.

Often shackled by a fear of loss

in love, I might yet open toward a growing –

the possibilities of a learning, as in youth –

less about the being something,

than, profoundly, just to be –

that which relaxes and allows

like a cow caught in rough weather,

or warm engagements with a child,

with the blossom, & make-believe.

Empowered when our symbol’d systems –

confused by what is happening –

begin to signify that loss,

a form of death, ensures the safety

of our risks. That harm and haven

are our home – the same as truth:

what’s loved is lost,

and thus we come to love.

Wisdom undoing opposites

in terms of life.

I am ridiculed by youth –

it’s how I know that many lessons

come unlearned,

that “completeness…

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BEING LIVED

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“Yet if language gives no words for what happens…it nevertheless gives itself”

“Communication is the awareness of a chain of meaning of which every speaker and interpreter is part”

“Two voices is the minimum for life, the minimum for existence”

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