What happened to all the moments in between? Surely in their darkness they hold the key to all this. Or have I truly moved from one scene to the next as though through a portal? Where do we go when we’re inside a portal? Where are we when we’re in between? We are liminal people,… Continue reading Journal Sequence #7: Liminal People
Tag: mind
Sense(making)
“The chief enemy of creativity is good sense.” – Pablo Picasso. I mused on Twitter about having started three books, read half and stopped, even though they were good books. I got this response: “Because you get your fill of style from it and have a good time communicating with that writer and then you… Continue reading Sense(making)
Cut-up Sequence #2: Remixing Mind [The Letter M]
He hated the spectre-creating machine. It was like the other: wild, rough. It made him sick. But where there is a weapon, man will use it. Where a man hurts, he will seek. Through a tube the egos turned into colours showing their relentless and eternal state of emergency. Humans are perfect green. A green… Continue reading Cut-up Sequence #2: Remixing Mind [The Letter M]
Travelogue #1: Transparent Woman [Early Photographs of the Moon]
I “If you are not able to imagine you will not be able to thrive.” Girija Kaimal But it’s [deep] midnight, and the waters are lapping at the shore. There’s moonlight. Possibly a boat, but no rescue. Calm, but not serene. Infinite, doomful wisdom. Torrential rain and howling wind, I crouch in my hut. I… Continue reading Travelogue #1: Transparent Woman [Early Photographs of the Moon]
Journal Sequence #4: Minor Fractal Loops [You Can’t Keep Doing This]
As I writhed in a pool of tears, and blood dripped from two fresh wounds in my arm, my best friend looked me in the eye and said: you can’t keep doing this. It was the end of our friendship in the sense that our symbiosis would never be the same, but it was those… Continue reading Journal Sequence #4: Minor Fractal Loops [You Can’t Keep Doing This]
Cut-up Sequence #1: Our Hammer/Still Moving
I’m in a metal box. It’s raining outside, maybe. No one is coming. Not ever. Sleep provides a refuge in which the mind becomes one with its [our] habitat. I must emerge in my dream because The Jewel is coming. I buzzed her in. Soon she’ll enter through my hotel window. I selected her from… Continue reading Cut-up Sequence #1: Our Hammer/Still Moving
Butterflies
From some unknown corner of the house, butterflies are emerging. I’ve liberated 4 this week. Frantically they fly towards the light. Meanwhile, I’ve been in a chrysalis of my own. Turned away from the world, writhing in chaos and conflict, evolving privately. Metamorphosing. I’m reading Perdido Street Station by China Miéville (at long last –… Continue reading Butterflies
Journal Sequence #2: A Month [Alone in the Dark]
Dual-aspect monismQuantum physicsExtreme synchronicityDepressionInternal screamingSpinozan philosophyEcstatic grinningKathy AckerManic laughterFlossingSporadic poetry compositionRiffing aphorismsForeboding in the ribcageAlone in the DarkPainting in the mindBurying nihilismTearsViolent dancingArmchair philosophyGeorges BatailleDreaming in the daytimeBleeding scabsPlatonic cravingThelemic WillPatti SmithRuminationCloud nineClaws of desperationDisappearing abyssDual-aspect monism I’m trying something out here. Looking for patterns, rhythms, connections in journaling and beauty in fragments. I’m looking… Continue reading Journal Sequence #2: A Month [Alone in the Dark]
Dreaming Motifs
In my dreams, I find motifs from the day that follows just as frequently as those from the days that have passed. It keeps me remembering that time is not quite the straight line we want it to be. I use the word motif because to me it’s the theme, the inference, of dream events… Continue reading Dreaming Motifs
Flash Fiction: The Sky Is Turning Black
The sky is turning black. It does this from time to time, only just now it’s more of a concern due to the unprecedented weight it has brought with it. I don’t know what will happen if we get crushed. I call out to Tommy, but he’s floating in the pool of melancholy wearing nothing… Continue reading Flash Fiction: The Sky Is Turning Black