advaya

2003-01-20T23:51:00.000-08:00

There is always doubt: we live in a world of creative emergence and probabilistic magic: we are inextricably married to processes which turn on hidden variables. These unfolding whirlwinds provide us with a socially endless task of cutting away at our ignorance. Though, we are move quickly quicker into the consequences of turning our minds away from this task. The mass of us are sleepers walking, and the capacity to pipe our media dreams of tender logos is giving way to the brutish justice of a physus uncaring of the rearrangements of matter taken.

There is always doubt. Our task is to understand these doubts, turn them into running feedbacks, scattering all viable subjunctives before us like yarrow stalks, letting them clatter on the ground.

2003-01-18T17:29:00.000-08:00

Whitman wrote out contradiction as beauty, but these scuttling men on the modern stage play beauty as a bitch, and mistake her bush for a bale.

The same men think that thought is tooled fantasy and clay. They wrench it round with bloody hands -- with tears upon the cheek. But it is numbed and tender flesh they pinch and print lies between their palms, and bend tales upon the pore. Everything is hidden in this clay, and in the why it is not clay, but still and always rather simple sacraments and only of our loosely stapled flesh.

. . . If only men knew they were men . . .
. . . may our maligned be soft embalmed and but some ember spent, left unrenewed and snuffed amongst the frosty snows of winter’s swelling swathe . . .
. . . granting all to a lowly loft: again a shift incarnate as a blade of grass or grain . . .

2003-01-16T22:57:00.000-08:00

I stand silent and slack-jawed, and nothing moves from before or behind. The days are still and no longer strange, but each one showcases some indicative clatter, some tap tap tap on the glass by some fool who thinks himself the grandstand daddy. He is not -- There was much before, and there will be much after. Much we no nothing of, and we seem to think a pink elephant would never sit down upon the blind. But this much coming after creeps more Malthusian quicker and holy piles of dwindling peanuts! the elephant can be starved and whipped for many more years and he will never be mastered. Lamarck or not, we will always be smaller than the whole of his ass.