Void, Horizon, River, Conclusion, Smile

The first question I asked was “how deep is the void?” because I had seen that we were bound to keep going until we dropped all the way through. They told me it was too deep to prescribe a number. I tried to be brave enough to ask another question, but I knew that every answer after that one would not make that one any easier to accept. So I left them to their own fall and let the weight of my frozen wings pull me closer to the unknown end – only now with this feeling reinforced that I would probably end before it did. And staring down without blinking, almost encouraged but not quite, I realised that all of my questions were pointless: there was no need for doubt nor answers; everything must have already ended.

Do we get closer to the horizon as we move towards it? Can we get away from it if we turn away from it? Do we not, in turning away, just move towards another horizon? Since time is not linear, we could split ourselves in two and fix one half of ourselves to the spot, facing the forward horizon, and send the second half away, towards the horizon away from the one that half-one faces. In permitting our parted selves this experiment, it would only be a matter of time before we spotted half-two on the horizon that it had been turned away from – on the horizon that half-one had been fixed to face. In this non-linear setting of time, we will never reach the horizon, only face ourselves on it.

I mean the river as I mean the water in the difference of meaning. As silly as it may seem to think this way, it also rains in the delta. Sillier than this though is the fact that we sometimes do not think this way. And whether our open-mouthed stance happens in reaction to the first moment of silliness or the second one, it is exactly from that mouth that the river I mean ends, because I mean water in the difference of meaning.

My conclusion is that I am still here and there has been no change to this proof for some time.

She looked out of her window and saw the rain. She knew the rain – there was no problem. She left her room and walked with the people. She went with the people and she smiled at the people – those whom she knew, those who had known her smile before. Her smile knew the people and she loved all the people. But not all the people were people yet – some were still waiting. Her smile knew the people and it made the people. This smile differentiated the people, between those who were people and those who were not people. All the people saw her smile, but only some received it. It chose the people, it made the people. Her smile was for the people and she knew all the people – some of them still waiting to receive her smile.

 

I am not amused

My head is a circus. The over time deterioration of my face is the over time deterioration of its performance. My body is the limit beyond which that performance was never going to be improved.

I was never going to be improved.

This is a little treat for all those who have ever wanted me.

This is me making sure that there was nothing here, in the first place.

The truth of the limit is that it cannot be seen two times in a row. Once you see it, the impression is already the process of unseeing it.

This is the impression you should have of yourself.

One more time, this is not this. I say it, but it is not yet here. I write it, but it is not yet said. One of the always two things which are done in the doing of something will be the incomplete sense to the second one which is otherwise completely sensible.

As always with two things, one of them is going to let the other one down.

This is about the void.

The one that cannot be slept through. The one that does not let me sleep.

This is about the person on the other side of the void; the one that does not amuse me anymore.

My circus head has stopped feeling so amused. But there is no news on my performance per se.

The person on the other side of the void has become the void.

But a person can become a void if and only if they are not a person.

So I am not sure who is on the other side of the void, but I know now that some people must be avoided.

There is no real depth to this line of inquiry because, after all, the void is only a surface. The void is only a limit.

A surface is a mirror that makes it impossible to look into anything.

Treat 2. The difference of my headache is the head that stays on and the head that falls off. But I am here all the time – noticing it all; getting impressed by everything.

Every fall is abysmal. You will not be staying on the surface for long enough. Whether you have wanted me or not.

I, who have wanted the person on the other side, can only be wanted by the void if I am made into the void.

Yet, the void cannot be impressed by itself. The void is the impression. This is the distance.

This is the difference between head-on and head-off.

My circus head is an unlimited impressionism. It is the limit of the missing: a constant season of voices in a darkness that has become post-seasonal.

The extratime announcers – that live within me.

The people on the other side of the void. Which make it a surface that I look into. And I do look into.

I do.

Want me now, because I do.

The rest of the treatise to be written, still. Unavoidable.

Because the void does not dismiss itself. It is the dis-missing.

The out-of-touch limit of the original voice. The one that wanted me, and the one that never did. Both keep me awake.

Draw blood with ink or a knife. This choice is about two different types of representation.

The choice at the limit.

I am in the middle

Listening, so performing. Again.

Ovation to myself. I cannot be made to stand up because I am empty.

The circus of my head is the question: head-on or head-off? Not a choice, but an understanding trying to impress itself.

Post-performance question: do I know more now, or do I just believe less?

 

Together Apart

Technical dream. If you get numbers 1 and 2.

Before I came and before I went away. Here was there and there was here.

But in relation to what space do I know this difference?

But in relation to what time do I understand the dream?

I mistreat my self-being according to its own laws.

It is about smiling after death again.

Fall over, fall asleep, fall in love, fall apart.

There are no numbers. Dreaming.

Get up, awake, alone, together.

Just dreaming.

When dreams start to wake you up, everything is against you.

There are no excuses for it. So it starts to excuse everything.

It excuses you from everything. And you collapse to one thought.

The end is in sight.

The unknow justice of a dream.

Site of the end.

I am not dreaming.

Colour expressions must always go back on the shelf once finished with.

A captain goes back to the continent once de-ported.

I am here and not here and there and not there once de-parted.

The difference. Wherever it comes from.

It would put the islands together as one continent if water could be less about floating.

If one could float around anything.

I have never been this good at anything. And that will continue to be true forever.

Some things are not true forever. Therefore, some things are not true now.

Some of the untrue things now will be true in the future.

Therefore, the future is not about now and vice-versa.

In colour dreams. No bride and groom.

A total distance. Totally de-ported. Fully de-parted.

I give back the words in unsilence to language that means something.

This meant nothing.

To it. To them.

They have their own meaning already.

Dreamt up my place in this place on my own.

This is my place. This is the difference.

I am somewhere. And I do not need to find myself.

I need to lose myself.

They need to find themselves. They need to find themselves somewhere.

This is an ode to self-disgust and a manifesto to its political future.

The future of an as yet undreamt truth.

Dreaming itself up. Doing it all now.

Things never happen as they are in dreams. Thought never reveals the event of the world.

Thought disguises the world as the event of Thought’s undermining.

In reality, there is no event.

There is only dreaming.

Masterful teacher of the untrue.

The corrupt masterpiece of difference.

Technical dreams. Not black and white but true and untrue.

So, colourful.

Colour is the conclusion.

Put back onto an unmaintained shelf of disordered conclusion.

It goes both ways, so we cannot.

But we can go either way, anyway.

We dream that these dreams will take us, but these dreams take us too far away for that.

The known injustice of a dream.

Before I might wake up again, self-disgust,

Excused from everything. The excuse of nothing,

I will need to undergo another prolonged dream.

And still they need it more than me.

When all there is awake to see is a dream too far gone to be able to wake itself up,

At least, I have not been sleeping well.

Derivative I

It customises when it does not accustom. And the custom is the custom.

Water in two places is a broken river.

Water in three places is a drought. The time it takes between them, an indecision in the distance, stimulates a thirst.

We can never be accustomed to the customising. Or customisation is but the superlative of a made-in-the-aesthetics difference.

Water in a river is horizon to the rainfall. River bed and cloud activity are height and fundament to a perfect square.

The customised have always been well-accustomed. Or there is no difference.

A back and forth movement promotes survival. This is two ways in the one way, instead of just the one way in the way.

There will only be a limited sort of sunshine to umbrella knowledge. And after an active cloud period, around its outer shell, concave, cloud-resistant, a mote forms, un-river. Only another broken pilgrimage for the thirsty to back and forth up to.

Then, cupping water in the hands so to speak of a thirsty mouthful. But up-side-down-umbrella does not solve the thirst; it only drowns it.

This, the establishment of distance as waterwork. But water only runs up to an unwatered coast.

The edge of a surface can either be walked off or walked into. Walking along instantiates the abyss. Inevitably, such an instantiation makes everything fall.

The surface of the thing can be cut away as the surface of the water can be cut down. Neither of them can be looked after.

The surface of the thing cannot be cut home as the surface of the water cannot be cut up. Both should be looked at after.

Two people looking at each other constitutes a reflection.

Two people side-by-side are with each other. It is popular for these people, despite not being all the population. Perhaps because they will populate if they are also popular with each other.

A reference to hold them here significantly could either be about to dry them up or dry them out.

To rather know the head people or the head of people?

To respond rather to the responsible or in itself make a question of responsibility?

One now is the same as two before, and two before four before them. The history of one is two. There are two histories to every history. And four histories to every two histories of one history. Things get bigger the further back they go.

A thing going back is a forward thing making itself up into its most forward position again.

There is a second history to forward thinking that explains the missing history of history interacting with itself.

Two histories looking at each other cannot see each other.

There is a history of histories coming after one another.

It historicises when two histories go after each other. Especially if they try to go after each other at the same time.

People looking for historical change are a part of history. History will surely have still more to say about this.

The water level cannot line up with the coastal platform. A body in the water will never be as tall as a body on the ground. Perhaps something for height and fundament revision.

There is a number to the many people who have been living without night time kisses.

Individuality is going to be less unique if everyone does it. The unique numbers go down as the individual numbers go up.

A split personality comes out of a set of difficult decisions made as well as possible.

As long as we remain, we should be suspicious of the compatible things. The customising and the accustomed.

To question how the compatible might be able to re-main everything. Bodies in the water, no river in the distance, two become one, the sudden appearance of all the individuality out of its presupposable opposite.