I can almost see the sun move
near the tree tops, he says,
then I hear the kettle whistling.

Spent the day indoors,
a crossfire of vices.
Don’t know what to feel,

the cassette whispering
from my room: as side B plays,
A runs in reverse.

So I’m wondering how
to see all events equally.

Song of the Ephemeral

August 19, 2016

Over the verdant hillock,

starry with daffodils:

empty cerulean skies

if not for a cloud,

Northerly lining aglow–

dissipating.

 

The brush caught fire too

beneath the sinking daylight

as it grew red-hot,

Heavens and Earth both consumed.

 

Indeed, that burning edge still flickers

while all the world around me withers.

Overlooking an Expanse

April 25, 2016

A dying vermilion sky
caught in a face

Windblown, her hair
as the fingers of that
delicate tree

In a moment
transcribed on your forehead
imperceptibly–
the sense of parting

As I sift the twilight,
finding nothing.

 

Moments II

October 20, 2013

Articulated minute of
An unending word

When I see all things here,
Clear as the first day of creation

Nothing is lost.

Look at this tree, firm in its thereness.
In a stare
Is a sense that one retains.

Suffer me to bear the minutes
‘Fore they fade;
Before they fall and
Drink themselves hollow.

Watching the film 12 Monkeys can get you thinking about of the implications of living in time as we do.

In 12 Monkeys test subjects are sent back into time to find information on what caused a virus which wiped out 5 billion individuals of the human race. Protagonist James Cole is sent back knowing he can’t change anything, because history is history. He can only gather information as he’s told.

Cole gets confused about which time is the present. But isn’t the present whatever time he’s experiencing? Is there a universal present? When you can slide up and down the timeline you must get a different idea about being.

If time travel is impossible by some metaphysical block that disallows one to exist in two places and times, then this is all useless hypothesizing. But if travel is theoretically possible, we exist in multiple states don’t we? If you went back 10 years and met yourself, that other self would be as much “yourself” as you experiencing going back in time. If you have one soul, that soul must be somehow “in” both bodies and times while being itself whole. I’m assuming the soul because I’m assuming volition and more than the materialistic view. But a problem with will comes in–you can’t convince your “past” self to do something it didn’t or not to do something it did. Because if history changes enough, the present you’re in changes dramatically. There are contradictions.If you go back and kill your past self, you can’t die at the same time, it’s not that simple. Your kill your past self, you could not survive to get to the point in time to come back and do the deed. The existence of things as they are proves the impossibility of existence of any past that would produce a present other than as it is. You cannot change the past without changing the present, and if you did that you meet contradictions a la the killing yourself example.

This brings another problem of will. If you go back and meet yourself, then as James Cole remembers seeing himself get shot as a kid–in his case he didn’t know the man getting shot was him–you would remember having met yourself, provided you were old enough and had a sufficient memory. When your past self meets your future self the former could choose to do something to prevent his going back in time when he gets that chance in the future. And if he so chooses, he contradicts the fact that his future self already visited him.

Funny how we exist along a spectrum of moments, yet we don’t make a choice for what we do in the past or the future. We make each choice one at a time as it comes, in the present. I notice in looking at my past writings I interpret what I was saying and thinking the way I would analyze another person’s sentences and thoughts. Another person is out of reach of my choice because the choice is hers, just as much as my past choice is out of my dominion. It’s a glimpse of those many selves that seem to make up my identity. We have a choice for everything we do, but only at a certain point–at other points the choice is solid and untouchable, at others unavailable as the situation that hasn’t come to be. Sounds like we have little control if we can only control what we do in a sliver of time called “the present”. But just because we’re only in control of the sum of our choices one at a time, we’re no less in control of them. This makes every moment important. Every choice made has already made. You have a future of unknown length with an unknown number of potential choices, but only your past is full of actualized choices. Only the present offer the certain opportunity to choose.

I don’t know how it all works, but the reality of the world, Earth as you and I experience it, is not the only one. Maybe this world is a stage. A simplified reality; a corner of a picture. Either way it’s coming and going fast. How it runs and works in the scheme of all reality may change how you see it, yourself, and your relationship to it.

July 8, 2012

Plastic as the identity I will seperate and clump and rise into the upwards while gathering to me the elements that come and go from existence like electrons in their clouds. No single center, no core. Just an emergent from the holistic network that disconnects and reconnects itself peice by integrated piece.

If even this were a lie and to die, not to die but to dissipate is the end result atman and brahman fuck it. I’ll go mad. Hopping mad and maybe I’ll buy you a diamond ring. Don’t go for hoping where I come to your own conclusions. Such is not the place for man; give me a syringe. Synesthesia removes me from the cares and worries that wrap up the shriveled sleeve of care. Fusing where the maker becomes the maked. Raker becomes the raked. Sower becomes the stalk. Product becomes the man but the man is not a product. Claw out your pupils and damn me thrice if portals to synapse lead to hell. They play a combatting, so I hear: these two: reality and fantasy. A double entendre. Do you follow? THe white rabbit, as it were. He leads you to the spot of dry meadows. He sittith in the nook of a cane hanging from trees like an umbrella. He is the trailblaze and we might fall into a canyon of shit.

And maybe its all a show. Even then, go back to the beginning. You become what you cogito ergo sum.  All there is. My time could be twice as busy. I failed the razor’s thin line. Therefore I have to shift the burden to both shoulder and tend to that which I claim. The fault is mine; let me not speak too soon.