Thursday, 19 January 2017

A cave sought 
is a story

a story bought begets a journey
to seek a cave

to gather each item
to tell the story thereof

the cave
and
the riches we once hid

in a story
in a cave.

Wednesday, 18 January 2017

The paradoxical catalyst
changes actively and
seeks change
yet never
moves.
Hold
this

the grandest
the most urgent to say

and this
the most unspeakable vastness.




Of this there comes
a soft persisting and particular ethic.

From hearing the story
it is recognised

we do indeed know the answer

indeed we know
of how the unity urged upon us

of how this is in accord 

and this which is of the creative
this is held.




Sunday, 15 January 2017



Your people contain incredible potential, but they die without using much of it. 
[Lilith's Brood; Octavia Butler. p.24]






The rooms of the narrator get written in.

Language blockades: what is the external situation of going to conflict?

In the midst of their social being
which is also a mist
they write up the quality and quanta of exile
and describe a rootlessness as the world.

The narrator dwells in this room.

Their story is in another

rood

or the beaten situation.

One listens through the wall and all is recounted propely,
thus:



Tuesday, 20 September 2016

If there is a perfection
of the hidden self

then self hidden is perfect
and that it is hidden must be part of this perfection.

For self to be self
which is to come to its perfection 
self must yet be turned out into the world.

Wide Wanderer they call self, Wide-Traveller. 
It is said that the self will re-shod your horse. 

Leave it by the smithy overnight
no payment
just an appropriate gift.



Self to self giving. 
Self to self given over

the wandering, turning self out
from the hidden to the open 

road travelled to seek the activity of the perfect
tattered paths of the simply sought.

The perfection of the hidden self
which is hidden therefore perfect
cannot yet attain perfection anywhere but in the open.



The wreckage of destabilised tribes.
Stones in the dell.
These stubborn dreams still trip us up.

The self in the world is ever an imperfection;
the scruffy re-run
the back and forth vulnerable
made available, made safe, made and unmade.



Tuesday, 13 September 2016

“CAN I NOT GET OUT OF HERE?”

Sharon;s carefullyy calibrated mental adustments for the karmaic force cease to b life necassary

I wrote thus whilst asleep.

Who is Sharon?

Can I not get out of here?

I cannot get out out of her the necessary adjustments.

The force of a calibrated life.

To not get out of here.

Whilst asleep a growing sense of familiarity grows around the day to come and the day just gone.

Waking and the sleeping submerge one another and neither can quite remember the other.


It is home. It may not be your home. Here is an alluring body, here are a known set of pleasures.

The connection is already set, introductions are hardly necessary.

Beneath the surface there is everything, yet we slide one over the other, always on the surface.

Familiar old patterns.

The limits are also the comforts.


Sharon;s carefullyy calibrated mental adustments for the karmaic force cease to b life necassary

“CAN I NOT GET OUT OF HERE?”

I wrote thus whilst asleep.