The peak

Suppose that

to experience

there is a geometry

 

a range of triangles

of different angles

different heights

 

they are set together, mountain-like

each one of its own kind

of its own time

 

to each, two vertically distinct sides, too

one for the way up, complemented by

another to come back down;

 

Now, if the better experience is

in heading up, and the best experience

of all, the tallest triangle of them all

 

how early on, in the unfolding

of your experience, would you like

to be on the ascent of that one?

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The habit

Habit is not a perfect circle

but it does deceive the one who tries to abandon

for the further away has one moved from last commitment

the closer, in fact, is one

to committing again.

 

To leave a habit altogether,

it is not enough to walk away

the route from habit bends all the way round

and the faster the escape

the sooner is the trap met again.

 

Likewise, the soonest time after a habitual satisfaction

is all of determination strongest, too

to drop, to rid, never to repeat that again

yet this is also so habitual, so en route

that it is never by itself sufficient sign of circle evaded.

 

What, then, can be done and guarantee of habit-breaking?

Habit is not an indefinite circus

but it does elude the one who tries to abandon

in the belief that commitment is avoided at distance

when, in habit-having, distance is less truth and more performance.

 

So, circular, and the meeting more or less ineluctable

success is reduced to that moment

not away from, but in the face of, the latest encounter with a habit

where avoidance is limited to a jump

a saying “no” when most likely, for most prepared, to say “yes”.

 

Because a habit is not a perfect circle

a breaking is not impossible

but several revolutions will be likely necessary, several leaps

until a new habit is made out of that

and the trap of the old habit, still there, but not in the way anymore.

In every positive, still the Negative

To those who argue for or subscribe to the philosophy of universal balance

that preaches “for every negative a positive, and vice-versa”

such that good things and bad things follow one another and ultimately cancel out,

I have a pinching question

for an internal debt has been growing slowly with each change

and I have not by myself been able to resolve it

thus, I ask:

is there not a sadness ineradicable that lives through all endeavour and hope,

despite all endeavour and hope

which fresh endeavour and revived hope never annihilate

only temporarily survive, then by which consumed, once again

no matter how articulate or vivid the promise of a Future

or how widely the children might be awoken to a new time

or how near or distant, audaciously or austerely, the parameters of paradise be set?

thus, is there not rather this understated melancholy so necessary and clear that it need not be said ever because it is already said always

said by a default mourning

every morning

there in the feeling that knows the difference between

gaining something and losing something

the irreplaceability of something, the absolute individuality of all things

that replacing one thing with another is not replacing it, at all

but trying to forget it,

to kill or postpone its memory with the presence of something else

as the day today does not replace the day yesterday

it is here instead

and all days are in their own way

once done, lost forever

tomorrow will come and be lost its own way too

and nothing will be able to replace it, just as it never replaced anything, either

the new only takes the place of the old and that is felt

the absence of the old is not covered or forgotten by the presence of the new

but is quietly mourned through the experience of the difference itself

as if the only real difference between a morning and mourning were a spelling mistake

fundamentally, are they not the same event?

to the philosophers of great balance, I turn and posit this

is not the miracle of birth still no consolation for the senselessness of death?

thus, is there not this residue in us that accrues like a debt

and no future able to satisfy

without adding to it when its place later taken, too

in the eternal return to the Negative?

Natural Weather

Where the sun lifts the world like a flower-builder

which is to say an impression-grower

The clouds come and go as contrast-breakers

like doubt-creators

When the rain drops, soup-filler

and runs, route-divider

The wind, from breezy to fiendishly tropical, a plain-sweeper

and over water wave-sweller

with all the force of a coastline-to-beach-converter

Storms being a bit of most of these combined, awe-inducers

and when absolutely electric, apocalypse-teasers

then the temperatures, an all-weather phenomenon, season-dependent home-conceivers

in winter, armchair-by-the-fireside-philosophers

summer, all-night-dancing-in-the-streetlight-lovers

How would you describe sadness?

Sadness is the mistake

I make when

the unknown

smiles at me:

 

I avert my gaze

 

It scares me

because I know myself too well:

 

and in that knowledge

and also because of it

I know that I do not know the same capacity to smile.

 

A smile is like a beautiful lie

it not only stares from the unknown

but because of the unknown

 

If it knew itself, it would surely not exist

because to know existence is to know that the smile does not exist:

at least not more than its inexistence, anyway

 

for it is no smiling matter

that there is

not more to smile about

than less

 

and if this smile at me knew me, its U-shaped happiness would soon bend straight

it would forget its own capacity to smile

and if it did not, I would distrust its capacity to exist.

 

My fear

and sadness

come as much

from the things

that do exist

as those that do not

 

they come because I do not know what I want

because there is not enough world for all of my want

 

because my want

makes this world

too small

and me

even

smaller within it;

 

a smile looks happy with that

because it does not know

or because it does not want more

does not know more

and does not want that

 

it invites me

under those terms

every time

from the unknown

 

it tells me that this is enough…

 

will I

ever

give in

to it?

 

Looking back across, once more,

in search of my answer

holding my gaze more steadily since

privy to the meantime vision

of all this quiet acknowledgement

 

perhaps it is

me who

for the smile

at least

and its distant chance

stands, really,

most Unknown?

 

Sadness, then

would be

the mistake

of seeing-through.

The cave

Pyramid organisation

is triangulated through one

fundamental premise:

 

  • it will always be easier to stare at the ground and move than movement whilst gazing after the universal roof

 

it is within the exercise of the body

that horizon endlessly more visible

than the cloud to threaten the clarity of the way forward.

 

To counteract this rigid truth

that the least visible be at least visible in its invisibilising cause

must the neck be trained, the head prepared

 

for the body of the Pyramid, in turn

is divided in levels top to bottom

the lower, lower, than the higher, higher

 

the lowest of all feeds all

the highest is fed by all

the at-bottom at the bottom run by all the above

the topmost running everything altogether.

 

In this principled pyramid

easiest does focus come where levels the same

and over-all especially against those below

 

and, according to principle,

hardest under-all for the sufficient stare to see

through to the top and build vision really:

 

  • the lower the floor of the eye that tries to vertex meet, the sharper the angle for the neck to risk;
  • and riskiest of all for the body remainder needed itself resource to re-source the rest of the pyramid all the same.

 

So, does not the empirical distance of this pyramid in itself to itself therefore explain

the breeding of as many myths for the skies it obscures to its many grounds

and likewise uphold respiratory structure to that down-the-neck breathing of a total power exhaled through the layers by a crown placed singular, final, atop all?

 

Well, now, if to build this neck with hopes of observing the full distance of the structure it feeds and the crown it empowers without folding over itself

the burden on its spine and sight would have to be shared amongst a collection of angle-shapers

each in turn taking in different part-moments of an image and presenting the evidence across a language yet to be levelled out…

 

To outstand pyramid organisation

and the inter-level division it reciprocates neckline intra-level

only a head-sharing language could entwine the sufficient point of view to bring about a structural collapse.

Purple, historically (the horizontal perspective)

Different things can only behave indifferently

for their difference is at stake,

their indifference, met by other differences behaving the same,

begets more difference, unbeknownst to their selves indifferent

next difference comes as a shock

a destabilisation

turns a simple change to ex-change:

the future presents without the full sight of its pre-sent property

this is what turns history on

what sexualises history

and a bastard is born.

 

The search for Genesis

that seeks the day before a birthday

comes as history makes visible

the Invisible

is at once the interruption and resumption

of an ever land-ing fall.

 

Where the fall is just the continuous bastardisation of everything.

 

The colours of the Fall (the vertical perspective)

In the permanent fall

Red and blue are different colours

one falls red, the other blue

 

Because the fall,

although permanent,

must at least sometimes land

otherwise it neither falls…

 

(permanence is not permanent

unless it can be some time interrupted

and then full Time resumed

the interruption that which makes it visible

with resumption later confirming what was seen)

 

…sometimes these colours will spill

on the surface of an interruption

and then they act on their differences

red flows out from its landing place

blue likewise from its own point of contact

 

there, on this sur-face,

red and blue difference is not just a distinction

it is an indifference of red to what is blue

and of blue to what is red

in logical spread they will meet

the faces earlier they distinguished

will clash

this is the violence of being indifferent in

a room of limited difference

limited visibility

where the horizontal shape to being visible

causes a movement of indifference

spillage, that spreads

goes on to over-take, from itself,

and does not change itself in that

but will be differentiated again

 

The encounter

Red clashes with blue

 

What happens?

Purple signals the resumption

from indifference to difference again

the interruption has changed

confirms that everything is falling

From strong Cause to mere Difference, either way Trans-modernism

I am the puzzle of a forgotten memory

or

just the presence of an impossible one

 

Either way, the process is always re(-)collection

to recollect a distant but motivated past informing the present

or

to re-collect the confusing terms of a present to build a more sensible future

 

Either way, being is a re(-)minder

a reminder of what of time now points unknowingly to a time before

or

a re-minder of how all time ongoing is but the repetition of itself without a full concept

 

Either way, there is a di(-)stance

a distance of time broken between past and present that reduces the latter to the former’s lunar re-presentation

or

a di-stance time put together by a difference that will never be caught by a single invitation

 

Either way, a person is a people

from the many possible iterations of a buried experience to the complex personhood they hold today

or

by the mercurial stand they cannot but assume from all the unstable difference perpetually flowing through them

 

Either way, the weather still needs company

the solar smile to wake us up from the ever-returning nightmare of the repressed

or

another half to complement the mere halves we rain down into at every possible moment.

 

Either way, either way.

 

Everything is the puzzle of a forgotten history

or

just the presence of an impossible one