proposition/08
beauty is what appears
(the phenomenal
is a function of
consciousness
the world
as that which surrounds mind
its origin and foundation
and so
we translate within language
one term for another
is knowledge
if so
any assertion
is equal to
any other
and all propositions
are exhaustive
of truth)
there's no time for essence
(we just run /
the stillness is never
now
it is something else
outside of time
you know it
in a moment
and always
it is gone
and ever present
behind
the anguish and the violence
any lover's kiss
the heart behind
the heart
the world as made)
we move to the end of revelation
(there is a point
when the choice is made
that is never uttered
to return to the silence
before the cry
to listen
to a logic
deeper than language
to sense
the rhythm of being
before existence
to walk into
the colour and the shape
of the hills and the sky
alone
in the crowd of the world
to watch
the wind
beckoning)
the heart is a chamber of echoes
(the heart is the mind
the mind is the heart
outside of metaphor
there is no translation
everything is without
description
it is pure being
before your eyes
it is pure being
behind your eyes
every lost world dying
every new world
emerging
you must deal with
eternity
on a thought by thought
basis
this is the daily
grind
even so
there is no question
the matter is settled
just love
children
and old men
know this
right thinking
is delight
it is without basis
it has no foundation
here is the test
the right act
a necessary act
its mark
is pure contingency
it is without cause
the way of gods
and beasts
the physics
that underlies the earth
the music
of the spheres
play true
to the sound of things
if you listen to
the actual
there is no option
sound
casts no shadow)
when lover's eyes
(what is seen
the mystery the panic
the joy
the unknown
in reflection
an accident of
necessity
sense substance
yes
but here too
the beginning
of the world
before
a question
of survival
the hunger of need
the thirst
of desire)
cold hands / every act is true
(consciousness
is indeterminate
in its definition
of its object
and so its value
the great illusion
is objectivity
always the play
of priests emperors
and grifters
you decide
what is in your interest
and it can never be
correct
in all settings
the decision
is only a thought
to act
every action
a quick grab
into the unknown
we imagine
possible worlds
to give substance
and form
to the actual
there is no one view
only a plurality
of minds
points of light
in the darkness)
the self and other fictions necessary to fact
(the issue is space / time
and if
it could be
fixed
we would have identity
that is not
compromised
by knowing
that doesn't bleed
into metaphysics
at the slightest
pressure
the quick silver
effect
and therefore
it makes perfect sense
to create a template
and hold it as
permanent
in psychology
this is character
like when people just live
in terms of their necessity
without a thought
moments of bliss
in mathematics
conventionalism
and really
what else for the sprite
number -
and the apparent motion
of calculation?
in religion God
or the son thereof -
or indeed
an alternative world
without the energy
of uncertainty
and the anxiety
of creation
in science
Democritus
quark!
and other small screams
in the dark
in madness
the mirror is broken
and the pieces
are alive
and if it is the case
that consciousness
has no ground
has no logic
before itself
why not?
outside of it
is nothing
that can be known
and this is
the real basis
yes
and the source
of all
laughter true
but even so
we must move
on)
if it was a simple as avoidance
(logic puts
either / or
and this is
a dangerous trick
as if
there is a line
when in fact
the question is how
to draw any line
at all
not to mention where
we operate with
p or -p
as a rule of thumb
up and down
the street
it works for questions
of fact
as presented
on the surface
of things
it is raining
or it is not raining
but of no use
beneath
she loves
she loves me
not
and the strangest of all signs
is
everything
the universal
is what?
the idea of the domain
of domains
OK
we understand
inclusion
things within things
so
we think a place
outside
that is not included
yo
when it comes to me
all I can say is
there is a light
and behind
the light
an unknown source
but this is to go
too far)
in every act the question put
(as if nothing else
to say
what does the artist do
but make himself
/ or her
outside himself
/ or her
and so to be
the author
of that
made or can we say
create
not if the conservation
of mass
holds
OK
perhaps then
only
'composed'
still the point is
to see
the subject as object
or so it would appear
a strange state of affairs
I hear you say
inside / out
that which is
as that which is not
and hence
the impossibility of
peace
on any footing
as clear as day
but always the central question
displayed
where am I?
as if nothing else
matters
and everything comes
to this
apparently
we have posits
categories of place
to work from
but nothing
underneath
to call your own
and so
to take a wide view
endless motion
to
and
fro)
when he said love one another as I have loved you
(I say it is no more
than everything
we need desire think
and do
there is no commandment
no should
in the desert wide view
and 'God'
the simple statement
of this
a name
for possibility
a sign
of the logic
of consciousness
in re
and you may ask
yourself
when did you not
and when did love
not reply?
do not think
it is only pleasure
or the construction
truth
joy
comes close
but suffering
too
as if
finally nothing
with empirical
content
hence
the escape
of spirit
or the door
to another door
and so on
you are never
without)
when the path taken is unknown and clear
(there are decisions made about how the world is and
how you are to be in this life that were made in the
blink of an eye without knowledge /
strictly speaking they have no origin
they are orphans / they can be loving or dangerous
and any explanation is as good as the next
science god or magic
though
what it amounts to is
a seeing or foreseeing
or not
of a pattern
that falls from the sky perfect for you
in the dull taste off autumn
even if you don't know
despite the world and anything it throws up
the unseen vision holds with assiduity
there is no more happiness or suffering
pleasure or pain
in the sum of things
as a consequence of this intuition
Dianne Keaton says Mr. Right never came her way)
the truth of people is what they can see clear-eyed
(it is the logic
of a state of affairs
of a mind or heart
the physics of it
if you like
but this is just to set the scene
the matter is way more
severe
it is to identify
elements
and see the relation
between
x and -x
is the guts of it
when the world
and vanity
is deflated
thus
so
avoid the trap of
judging
in terms of sense
if the issue is essence
and when is it
not
the question is always and only
where do you stand?
one's choice of place
is the only
value)
when you come to the question of how to be
(we are all mathematicians
operating in possible worlds
of self
in flesh and blood
mind and spirit
translating one to the other
without a book of code
it is to live magical
in concrete and sky
the making of new signs
new realities
from everything and nothing
to represent
and so
each consciousness
burning bright
always
a secret language
behind
the light)
yes and how to match the trauma with explanation
(as if anyway
it makes a difference
understanding
OK for how things work
in catastrophe
no explanation
embraces
they key is multiplicity
to accept the brokenness
each shard
a different view
a different light
another darkness
to shed upon
the event
negated
or at least mitigated
by the possible accounts
that never
amount to
fact)
we are all sustained by the great poverty of love
(you take the world away
its structures schemes
organizations
systems and things
and the innocent look up
only the tenderness
of touch
is left
and it is the day to day
care
of one another
not in life decisions
vows
or such
rather a smile
eyes alight
and words that mean
nothing
as words
but are the sound
of touch
the gentle heart
is everything
the world is a wind
love
the simplest
of things)
the dynamic that is never still
(we operate
in the centre
of every dialectic
to either side
a place / a possibility
and so the question
where to go?
a step to the left
a step to the right
there is no resolution
in choice
this is always
a diversion
a distraction
a dead end
the real game
is depth
the going deeper
into
and the making
of new forms
new expressions
of the unknown
oppositions
of greater
embrace)
there is a giving up at every point
(what needs to die
this is the shedding
of lives
the pure stance
is without
memory
and expectation
is simply
eyes
wide
the point
is always found
first
in thought
it is the logic
of absence
and here
the ground of all being
action
a matter of
defining
and then holding
the world
at bay)
you can often slip through the impossible unseen
(it is as they say
how you see
what you are
blind to
is most important
avoid the trap
of
being open
to all and sundry
experience
is a lie
delightful
though it is
the question
always
how to hold
a line
and granted
not worth
dying for
but finally
the only way
to maintain
against
constant
attack
so
when all
is said
and done
and the hands
are free
a clear
and distinct
idea
from the centre
straight for
the heart)
in the end it can only be a question of style
(and this an idea
of how to be
that holds up against
contingency
or through it
artists know this
it comes to them
like rain to ground
criminals too
celebrate a world
outside the ordinary
it goes on and on
each mind
in essence
a unique point
of possibility
a different way
of seeing
but deeper than this
how to stand
in eternity
in the pure
position
without form
the reason is breath
and truth
so how is this to be?
I say
it is to think
outside of
knowledge
and to see that
being
is before
all definition
and in every thought
and act
to bring this
understanding
to the day)
the range of human power is +1 or -1
(+1 is to move
from the centre
to initiate
on the basis of
reason
to see clearly
and so to act
-1 is to be moved
from the outside
to respond
on the basis of
sense
to be passionate
and so acted upon
stasis
is the position
of non-action
and non-affect
here the essence
the ground
of conscious being
it is the space
of absence
of stillness
it is
the moment
before
and as such
never known)
the mathematics of unknowing
(in practice
we live in
conflict
how to act
or what to be
there are no
absolutes
only degrees
of independence
or its loss
there is no
clear way
rather
a proposition
is put
a proposition
denied
a calculation
made
or
the energy of being
is its own
reward)
it's not that anyone can say why
(strictly
we live without
knowledge
the body
sees itself
from the inside
and as a result
imagines
gods
thinking is
the breakdown
of everything
even so
no guarantee
this is how
it is
outside
therefore
we see what we see
x = x
draw the line here
certainty
is just a decision
the horror
the horror
and begin
the begine
the great
manufacture
of dreams
of dreams
of dreams)
beneath the presentation in the absence of explanation
(the electric field
of madness
and things that are
aware
know
the source is
chaos
at the centre
of any order
why else structure?
the making
is to show
the absence
of design)
God came after the fact
(it was known
we created
the alternative
to the simplicity
of blind
existence
so as to make
beyond
the given
as if all our needs
to be met
what vanity
but how else could
it be?
what wish
cannot be granted
or
should be?
the line
is just between
everything
and nothing
x or -x
is the history
of everything
we touch)
there is always a question of kind
(and so
is an absence of definition
even possible?
the idea of a natural state
before order
or is it that
a fix of some kind
is the given
and the range of possible
forms
the limit of
the limitless?
also
perhaps it is just
that
we are led astray
by
negation
and imagine
just what
is not
as if it is)
you have no option but to choose
(a life is only seen
from the outside
in terms of other's eyes
and from the inside
where to take a stand
at what point in which
story
the one and only?
so
it is no simple matter
what you present
everything is
an interpretation
based on nothing but
a chance thought
unless the state of things
impress
and a particular cut
is needed
be aware
how you see yourself
and how you represent
is always
a work of art
with the pretence
of finish
and the illusion
of articulation
beneath the statement
to yourself
and to the world
you are an unknown
and so
of necessity
free
of being fixed
by any conception
of your mind
or
another's)
the origin of forms is not a question of cause
(what we see
the contents of consciousness
is evanescent
on reflection
we seek reason
as if
the last thought
the ground
for the next
or is it the other
way around?
and so
a picture of relations
between
this is
no more than
a reflex
an action of mind
it has no bearing
on how
things stand
it is like breathing
or the heart
beating
just what happens
and therefore
real
or as much
as
any event
so called)
the sky is without end
(and it never
begun
consciousness gives us
what we see
every intricacy of sense
the language of mind
to the world outside
behind this panorama
essence
has no appearance
it does not speak
there is no deep
syntax)
what can you do for another?
(what is there
to hold to
of a person
to grasp?
the appearance changes
from whatever angle
and finally
disappears
and to the question
of essence
it is to face square
the unknown
a source of delight
or
the ground of
fear?
let us just say
be true
to the ideal
of enabling
another's truth
whatever this may
be
either that
or walk away)
the world contracted thus
(I am what
I appear to be
and I am
what does not
appear
the point
of unity
is unknown
it is nevertheless
a necessity
that underlies
mind and body
deeper than
self
and more essential
than
the world
of appearance
so
the other sees
and imagines
and when you touch
you see
and imagine
this is just to say
love
or closeness
limits
the possibilities
of
not-knowing
for a time
and space)
best to see it as a disappearing train
(hey
the shapes
that were forming
and moving
down the streets
the tracks of mind
searching
always a world
within
worlds within
the journey
I am
a series of pictures
frozen
and disappearing
lost spaces
of the heart
and so
it should be
everything
gone
in a breath)
a space where you can be without identity
(you can step back
in thought
to its negation
to the absence of
object
and be still
in a simple presence
a place of no
definition
a space before
the emergence
of matter
or spirit
it is the unknown
the source
and beauty
that is
emptiness)
the observer does not see the observing this is the crux
of it
(so
the truth
to cut a long story
short
is to embrace
the unknown
as the source
of all
freedom)
you could take it as just an obsession
(that perpetuates
itself
in expression
the point of which
is
to find
its reason
the world is blind
and I would suggest
energy
or the essence
is uniform
motion
and this is why
Being
never falters)
the passionate always walk alone
(at heart
it's a reaction to
the order of the day
the assertion of self
as outside
the frameworks
of other minds
the attempt to find
a place unbound
to touch
the un-touched
to find
the essence
and never will this be acceptable
for the world
moves to
an ordering
for function
and so
the dangerous act
will be marked
even so
no one can live
entirely
in the given
we must all seek
its origin)
any way of being is a stand against
(if an essence
we have
no way of knowing
it
so
we decide
if we decide
at any rate
live
as we must
in what is
given us
still
a question
of definition
what is it
we face?
we make
an answer
for the moment
aware
we can never
be
certain
and for
an act to be
possibility
must be
denied
your reasons
are only what
you make
of your acts
shadows
of the fact
necessity
does not bring
satisfaction
the world
is blank
we make
marks)
we move always in the shadows of other worlds
(regions of being
adrift
and not recoverable
who you were
and where
dislocated images
appearing
for no reason
eyes that flash
opaque
as if the question
never answered
what you felt
a dull tug
from your own
eternity
details
that point to
nothing
the haunting
of false truths
a step away)
in the world of objects the spirit is untouched
(consciousness
gives us
the awareness
of possibility
and this can be
either
a liberating effect
or indeed
lead to
a loss of charge
depending on
the day the moon
or the stars
regard
the objective world
as a game to be
played
the pieces in place
or to be made
and know
you are always
above
what you posses
or what you lose)
to be driven by the senses is the purest way of being
(consciousness
demands
reflection
so
the impact of any act
of delight
is dissolved
in thought
even so
it is not as if
you can escape
the desire
for essence
some look to
pure thought
here though
nothing is fixed
unless
agreed upon
therefore
we live
in uncertainty
pleasure falls
to illusion
truth
to possibility
and beauty
not an ideal
rather
the absence
of)
beware the trap of blood
(you stand alone
in a world of dreams
wings within wings
the infinity
from the centre
and so
the smell of fear
is only the forest
at night
and need
is what you are
not
the promise of blood
is nothing
the hearts inside
the heart
go back to
a single cell
split in two
and every abomination
thenceforth
founded
on the same
wrenching forth
do not expect
the return to one
every union
of body or soul
a conjunction
in the sun
a coupling
of wind and fire
be at peace
in your days)
your essence is fluidity
(there is no
point
in a consciousness
at which it is true
or false
we move with
different pictures
we operate
within
uncertain
bounds
and are free
to the extent
we do not know
so
by all means seek
definition
of your life
and if you find
an idea
that is right
and good
and a way to be
make yourself
in its terms
right to the bone
for this is
a great and worthy
quest
it is the work of art
and beauty is to be
found
in deciding
what is not
however
should you find
the notion
falls short
and this just
the reality of doubt
nothing is lost
for you will
always be
more than
any idea
of yourself
the truth is absence
the truth is space
let yourself go)
it's just a movement to emptiness
(the body remains
as shadow
its action is
transformation
to essence
the internal is lost
physics
loses its grip
a door closes
and the room beyond
disappears)
the question how to find coherence
(as if
an idea will resolve
put the fix in
the essential
chaos
of experience
beauty
from another
point of view
or just
the way of
anything
comin' and goin'
no glory
there is nothing higher
or lower
the vision
flat and extended
the purity
of desert
the elegance
of truth
the ground of
reflection
everything
you can see
is here)
the world was born in secret
(flowers grow
to delight
gentle bodies walking
fail to see
or choose to deny
the horror
is a black stone
in the paddock
no-one
can explain
the shine
in the distance blue hills
animals and men
wander aimlessly
in fields
apparently looking
(there is no mind)
illusion is
the reason for
every action
and we
inhale / exhale
to a prearranged
number
so
paint your image
in the sky
enjoy
the clash
of gods)
the heart just moves from space to space
(and each time
a world complete
as if
there never was
another
and
/ whatever reason precipitates
be it anguish
be it delight
an explosion of image
a light show
for consciousness
to give the illusion
of substance
to play the trick of
choice
in the end
all to the fact
of silence
or
the pure
emptiness
of act)
when the point of focus becomes the loss of strength
(as if there never was
and passion
is a shadow
and mind
nothing to discover
just the eternal
yes
and what of touch?
so the illusion true
it is a sea of transparency
only the intrigue
of colour
gives reason
shape is doubtful
and content
the absence
bright
a train ride in the country
would be good
for the body
and the world
could run through consciousness
as if
young again)
the eyes of God are blind
(and here the true
vision
of stone
mind
the making of image
nothing but
a contortion of physics
for delight
disregard
as to the babel
of hearts
only the intricacy
of being
with forms
of another space / time
intersection
hence the illusion
of difference
the only joy
we move with intent
as if
a reason
peculiar
rather the grand
action
mindless
writ small
even so
for all its impossibility
the beauty
of these hills
rolling green
defying
any metaphysics
as if
an ancient
consciousness
made still)
the diamond maker sees in darkness
(the comfort of black
streets
the poetry of stone
under feet
move in passion
to drink
the unknown
is to know the delight
of no
satisfaction
the fire heart
cannot be drenched
and everything
living or not
a word
language is never spoken
it is the making
of each event
every vision
of beauty
and death)
the heart was born in horror and sunlight
(the lost time
of well walked
and known
streets
and there must be a point
a deep significance
outside of perception
the reason
is just not there
and so
we act to create
substance
foundation
truth
as if a young woman's
eyes
in the summer of '72
the cool walls
and thought paths
in the Atlantis
of eucalypt
and wattle trees
remains
I have lived in many
worlds
I am the different
histories
of the unknown
and every trick
of light
and time)
somebody said they saw me
(the given
of consciousness
is without purpose
origin or end
the moment
in itself
is peerless
true delight
(as pale
as a pale sky)
it is only
on reflection
we need
reason
and in its absence
metaphysical
guilt
the original sin
as if
staring at
the absent corpse
and so
the need to transform
translate
eternity
into bits
and to give
these atoms
of the mind
point
connection
and direction
and with this
the making
of the character
of the world
as if
it could not get on
without
colouring
structure
and motive
we create illusion
out of nothing
to forget
the final truth)
always the innocent heart passes through the shadows
(evil
is a complex configuration
does anyone believe?
it is a loss of grip
by those who must hold
and the angels who fly free
are never grasped
they lack the darkness
of substance
and here the reason for
persecution
in the name of
it might be
a misuse of logic
and not
a blackness
of the heart
either way
you see finally
or in the beginning
there is no name
and so
the great unknown
that should not be?
at least for those
who seek
a point
a reference
for reference
on the other hand
when you open
the door
to the garden
there is only laughter
and this
a sign of
anarchy
the forms
of joy)
if a deep order behind / beneath appearance
(it is not conscious
for consciousness is
the effect
reflection
and a function of
what is beneath
and so
a logic of no awareness
the empty sign
or any sign
still
the question
what
the essence
unknown
and
unknowable
but for
manifestation
therefore
the world
if so
what appears
is what is
how
to describe
the only
question
and every attempt
undetermined
we fly
above
the fall
endless
to
the place
of
no ground)
and as to the beating heart
(the days of pale blue
behind the deep and complex
history of nothing seen
and the seer
imagination has no structure
the world given
a moving thing
the dream magic of substance
a pure logic of operation
in whatever form
true
and so
the way of bodies
sensation / action
the illusion of mind
defying
the great stillness)
Sam Phillips / five colours
(consciousness
the inside
of the world
the body
(externality)
we cannot see
outside of
this
(God)
reflection
on reflection
the beautiful
emptiness
(mind)
is space
for decision
action
without reason)
the necessity of shutting down worlds
(of the heart
there are no constants
though the desire for
yes
so the mind pretends
with all its force
the fix on matter / body
and always the escape
the loss
of grip
and the point is
life
the need for certainty
is more
the anticipation of
the preparation for
death
the lust of it
infects
every
human touch
and we are ever
saved
in the movement
the symphony
the motion of things
is vitality
forget the vanity of
consciousness
the truth is deeper
(the mind is
but a screen
for showing)
evidence
light / sound
the action of the infinite
in every presentation
and so
no doubt
the shock of abandonment
or betrayal
necessitates
amnesia
for how else
would you go on?
the history of everything
must be
now
remembrance
of things past
horrors / delights
distractions
in the art of fact
perhaps
the seeking of
reason for
as if there was
a beginning
or indeed
an explanation
of)
on the forgotten stone
(a distinction
what is desert /
what is not?
millions of ants
organized
on another level
the absence of fixture
the space of not-knowing
is the reason for
any action or
thought to
so
dawn is the closing of
an eye
and the sun
the argument of disdain
for
night the place of
creatures
the eyes are blind
and bright
everything moves
if so
stillness
and there was once
history here
for a moment
the totality
now emptiness
and junk
where we begin /
desolation just is
the matter
out of which
and stars
the illusion of
distance
from
it's as if
there should be more
than)
as to the logic of forms
(why
a particular thing
at a particular
time
is all there is
to being
and reason
an action of mind
(itself)
inside
the world
so
in the absence
of God
there is
only
delight)
the world is a function of the eye
(behind the eye
mind is
inside
(and the picture of out)
we see
that we see
here
is the point
(never seen)
too much really
only
the ramblings of one
who cannot be held
by a moment
who would have thought
the slave is free?
(and disconnected)
nothing
extraordinary -
just ways of being
like pathways
though the garden
by the unknowing
and much as
you may wish
you cannot deny
history
the effect
is now
and so always
the problem of translation
is the problem of language
what to make of
the presentation
the body
tells every story
but so
being in
and the world
defies
with every perspective
the timeless
and this is what
you never
escape
the wrenching
of
my heart
was never pure
it never knew
the truth
absence
(in the midst)
of everything
action
with no
end)
beyond the logic of the need for explanation
(is
the cool silence
we can only
understand
as what
is not
the impossibility of peace
is just the action
of action
(it is without mind)
and mind
a reflection
or
the image that holds
image
as the moon
follows you home
in the words of the
song
but for the import
of colour / shape
and touch
we have only lines
drawn
on a plane
or undefined primitives
in the absence
this is about
the best you can
say
that we (and the stones
and the stars)
represent)
it is to regard everyone and everything with awe
(given that
the brutal fact
the cold beauty of
existence
as such
is without account
why
anything / anyone?
is the first
and only question
of your eyes
beyond this
miracle
of dust
the emptiness
supreme
space for
mind
to be still
the great darkness)
the great illusion is that there can be control
(perhaps
just from the reach and
grasp
the configuration
set
or
I would suggest
the differentiation of bodies
the idea of myself
and what
is / not
and so the view
writ
large
yes
it is possible
to see
everything
therefore
God
the mistake of consciousness
projecting
itself
outside of reality
the logic
is clear
this is not on
nevertheless
it is ingrained
and so
to science
the objective view
that there is
an object
outside of
the subject
that can
therefore
be embraced
(grasped)
and known
this
fixation
on
fixation
is the making of
fantasy
to the purpose
of power
over
is what
it comes to
bad metaphysics
too easy)
particular existence is a relation between
(the holding
conditional
a set up
beyond comprehension
nevertheless
the reality
of being in
the world
so
we live and laugh
and die
in the colours of space
and the energy of time
bodies
constructions
of mind
outside of this
or
in explanation of
any picture
as valid
as another
myself
I figure
it is deeper than
knowing
where there is no
intelligence
and only thought
has an answer
to the question
what can you do
but give
to the beggar?
what can the beggar
do
but take?
the world disappears
at every moment
yo
it is given
complete)
it rides fast in the wind
(as if
a stillness
at the centre
intelligence
the illusion
of design
is no more
than
a deeper
contrivance
made necessary
by
an accident
of
dust)
our consciousness of existence is our only knowledge
(and it is
a knowledge
without certainty
this is it
and so
we can dispense
with the props
of actuality
and think
pure
though
this offers
no consolation
in the face of contingency
the infinity of frames
in lightning speed
beyond the eye
or
be
true
and face the horror
of fact
without foundation
you can
decide for the
intellect
here
and be witness
to the invisible
logic
the effervescence
of spirit
you could say
or
plunge
to the senses
and find
the great emptiness
of delight
is a blackness
(beautiful)
in short
I recommend
the practice
of
knowing
distraction)
the fact of time subverts identity
(so
we persist with the illusion
there is no choice but
to insist
in the face of the absence
of form
a notion
you could argue
has no basis
in fact
it is the only
focus
of consciousness
nevertheless
defeated
at each
turn of the eye
each beat
of the heart
even death
has no hold
so
we live in
dispute
what I was
is not what I am
what I am
is nothing but
what I was
you cannot draw a line
but the fact of no
start
a ground of uncertainty
a source
of fertility?
the point
I think is
no judgement
can be made
for
every construction
dissolves
this is the place
of being free
or
undefined /
the senses
denied
or the end
of
thought)
everything is necessary / nothing sufficient
(ok
the fix
eternal
as if
there could be
a mistake
a slip
a contingency
indeed
appearance
is in motion
even so
no accident
essence
is without
definition
the picture is
complete
a world
outside
this world
you say
and outside of
that
is just thought
spinning
thought
the spider
in us all
I want to say
there is no
lacking
no surplus
all forms
all things
are needed
embrace
and know
you are
embraced)
every heart is broken / only the sound of tap dogs / there is a brightness
(in the trees
under the ground
and above
it is covered in flesh and bones
and eyes reveal
the essence is thought
it is beneath /
inside
and it is like
white spirits
no colour / or texture
only fire
distilled
I have known the way of this
and now stand back
to watch
the same eyes
corridors
are where
you find
the emptiness
of yearning
and the joy
of absence
God is always there
the chill is not
physical
the cold is true
secrets
in old rooms
in the abandoned
hotel
a wild woman with a needle
reads
poetry
in your room
everyday
while you are at work
teaching
children
you discover
in the future
at the bottom
stool
by stool
for Kris K
yo)
the noise behind the sound is a constant translucent
whiteness
(before God
was conceived or
for that matter
anything
appeared
we are expressions
of this
predications
energy
that became
aware
of object
and then
turned
inward
to see
or imagine
there is
a history
beyond
the moment
that gives it
a reason
to be
as you wander
through
the city lanes
the new history
of stone
and the amazing
thing is
you can only
see
design
yes
the mind
is out there
try
to imagine
the absence
of a time line
or
a place
with no
geometry
the fix
was always
in
the reflections
endless
stop)
in the wealth of nations or in love and hate
(it is a dependence
on
uncertainty
the possibility
of
exchange
requires
a relation
of
reciprocity
demands
the illusion
of
faith
there is nothing
to believe
but belief
itself)
a moonlit question for blackbirds and trees
(yes
and is it that everyone
has this
dark mass
that goes back
to everything
before the light
the effervescence
of consciousness
a reminder
in the heart
the dead
of emotion
a point of origin
perhaps
we need to
revisit
for bearings
or just
because
it is essential
to know
darkness
as the source
of light)
a kaleidoscope heart the colours of the world /
(the illusion
is stability
the myth of Euclid
is the glory of it
true
and the fractions
of being
moving in and out
moving in and out
the hollow forms
collide
action
is the reason for
action
how so?
the terror of
not
is the only
constraint on
thought
we live within
the imagined
out of nothing
you
on a blue sky day)
road songs
as to /
what you see - the surface (of another) is hardly it / you always see beyond your focus ) outwards ( and beneath is what you already know up front / like the clothes worn on a body (it's called the showing) get that for a turn around - there is nothing beyond (Wittgenstein tried this one on) so why would you bother to inquire? at the heart of things / everybody kneels and pants / the hunger is immoral (and insatiable) so you have to divert / Darwin was on the track here - make planes (not the flying machines) for to throw off the stench - and there assemble the structure (the world) in Venice it's called a mask - in delirium the end of sickness (for mathematicians it doesn't really exist however to keep you quiet they will concede function / though really why would you bother to turn your gaze from delight / the rest of us they will tell you have been looking in the wrong way) / what is the absence of (?) - and you wonder why it is ingrained - so // there have always been beings who structure unique (only as a defence against the metaphysics of solid things) and you can learn there is no place - so anywhere will do nicely thank you very much or like my father you can reach transcendence a spiritness (completely hidden by the appearance)
what is behind / what is behind / the eyes (the field of action you might say physicists like to think they've got it cold - in fact they don't see that you can't see the seeing / OK back up Shorty / imagine little wire like figures (without minds) moving in relation to (there is no substance to these things) they are pictures that have no referents / lights (that are never seen) so / at least there is happening and it has no hold on itself / (blind as Saturday night) yeah OK so why the anguish as if nailing it would stop the sweating and dreaming with no logic the point is moot
(I was going to say it's about separating out what's already separated out like saying what happens when you distinguish one colour from another / you draw a line that must already be there)
there are some women who only have intelligence left. they are skinny boney and brown as berries it's when you come to gardening as the only thing that makes sense / they have large eyes / harbouring a wisdom as cold as fruit / children gone as never had or hadable (it must be a relief) carving anger into a figure that stands on the window sill hollow eyes seeing only the outside (the last demon eating from a bowl on the kitchen floor) and men as if they never were shadows passing in the flicker of light down / through Autumn trees
the leaves on the path alone / true consolation
dissatisfaction is any movement away / therefore time is a deduction / in the logical and economic senses positions are held in / and let go the point is everything falls (not just you) and the next world into place (don't sweat it you haven't lost your mind just a step or two) and you had all that space in that one instant? hard to imagine hey - and some want to tell you it's cause and effect where do these people come from I ask you the rubbish heap is just bits that survived the world's loss of itself and it's replication - there's always a cost / the skinny white girl says opening her legs and her smile is already died for (so when do you start paying?) the way of things is an illusion there is no change beneath the days (it's only light that gives the appearance of corruption and birth) in a dark room you have a chance to review / the crime was the beginning / (full stop) and the thing is no-one did it / and so entirely by accident you've stumbled on the origin of laughter / (is the fire of light) / drunk eyes see with delight
and the sickness? - always before and after just the way of it if you watch from the farm house the road the line where nothing comes / whoosh or goes / a solitary tree in the dry dirt / like there's a reason for something (legs can only hold it together for so long) and then the other world closes up tight / you never really know how to get out / not to worry Murray you don't appear to have suffered at all / that is from the inside out / as to - well we won't go there now will we -
and there is an image it could be everywhere and it just connects to one girl (no wonder she took to the night and the hopeless attempt to shed pride) and after years on that corner only the light burned brighter
we know everyone has reasons / and everyone knows there is no reason / imagine if the truth did not flicker (what a state we'd be in) Jesus only the dogs would know (it's called a joke) you see the point is not knowing / so your biso would just be the same / with the same cunts beings cunts and Saturday night at the local with Myrtle (true love_ it would seem withstands every configuration of plagues / God only knows where that door leads to last time it was the street but that was before the stars were shut down / Maurie said it's finished but then he might be right off his head I would bet the dream ended in the last century and you just stopped wishing / strange calmness in the Burra / no more poker night they tell you at 6.00. p.m. / now there's a sign (and like them all sign-ifying nothing) I say stick it (what the gang at the bar have had to face is eternity) light as a touch
perhaps we just fold down for a time and by chance the drugs start working again - or some such mistake occurs you see the idea of it staggering to a / or dissolving itself into a what? is too much of a stretch in this day and age of wire like things behind the curtain making picture shows you think you're watching (the facts are quite simple) Lulu tap dances at the Ritz at 4 in the arvo and only Benny the taxidermist turns up to watch so there's never really been a last days / show closing (though it's in someone's mind) / and yes it's not good to be trapped like that / but hang it all who can bear the cross let alone the hanging (around) / and as if leaving means anything at all - some people are sick in the head / they think death is an opening like there's a difference between things yeah right
horror shudders down the street (the world is unaware)
yeah
who would have thought the brace / the chain-mail of text - as hard as bark really hides the dancing - (the beauty of it is inside you see) the imposition of it is not a closing a trap a shut down to the floor nailed - the secret is this - this grid of syntax is the gateway to the mind's delight it is what happens beneath the signs and their constants - the possibilities released like a plague and the wind is without scarring - or heart sinking regret it is the spirit released / this is where you live when you walk outside / and madness is
every delight / I know the price is sanity / and yes the logic of it is three dimensional the journey into the outside the outside turning itself back to - what we have is the fluidity of water it is not subject / object vertical looking into space - the great horizontal - I mean who is to say that's it otherwise no one would paint or do numbers - and it's just not that how it appears is the background to what will be / there are innocents that are capable of the most horrendous crimes of the heart and spirit / and they play as if nothing has happened / I love the music of old men and women / down the autumn boulevard
the streetscape is just a cover for the great motion that is beyond order and disorder /a point of light / still / eternal (anything else?)
I keep thinking of splints - wooden splints tied to legs as if this is a metaphor for lives splintered - the terror of being destroyed is quite simple - it can happen before you loose your mind with grief those sunny days / there is in fact no crime - the actor just walks off - the stage is dead the audience gone there is nothing left to say and so we make a mythology to give some significance to everything / and it is rather necessary / there is the backdrop of stars and their implications just setting / context really for our peculiar affairs / the killers walk free the dead never leave the miracle is without choice / and that is the point
to be embraced denied forgotten trashed left on the roadside by a desert cafe it's footsteps really just mind marks on paper or ground sky or water and nothing to be found beneath or beyond really this is the great mystic river - you see there just is no dilemma where did I get that idea from as if you have to try and work it out and live a life of epistemological misery either that or go completely immoral leaving bits and pieces of your mind on the broken days / (like an insect collector) mirrors reflect the intrusions across light and its variations to absence / there is always the poker game upstairs at Fat Tony's (hey its a point of focus / saved lives / just going up those stairs each Tuesday since 1954 is reason enough) / there's not much to it I hate to say / apart from the waves of colour behind your eyes
I remember the caress of tress down the convent road the park just sitting to the side always a place of peace / and for young lovers to be free (those trees against the sky) there were years I wandered gentle in their gaze
what has happened to that space and every other time I had the luxury of - is it all still there layers on layers and always the new one face up and ready for imprint perhaps the odd detail changed in case an inventory needs to be taken latter / this is to say there are objective marks to time though some will tell you esse est percipi (it's the seeing that makes the world you can be cursed with such a lover) the rest is imagination / but the real question is how to describe anything / like what is to count as final / or for that matter is there an initial state? It's a carnival and you just go from one tent to another the wonders increase with each step and the laughter is without awareness /
so there is a purity of act we cannot grasp / on reflection - it is the directness of being qua being as they say at the Bottom Bar / (and it becomes a longing to be intensified / you see the tragedy is you never forget / the forms are eternal / and life / your life - the introduction to essence
with each person / or really any event - it is as if everything was begun again - and a new direction taken / like repetition is impossible and the link is difference/
(not drinking can be perilous)
God / it's just a question of art really / something is behind it all and it makes the things and the wires necessary to hook them up to work / and the workers necessary to electrify the things and these workers are really just things-plus / the fact is though it's all got right out of hand / (and I mean big time though no one's really saying just how bad it is yet) look we know any project can go off the rails / and it's not that it has a life of its own it's rather that in this case the knowledge got lost and now every thing is moving without any reason at all (strawberry fields forever) / and this is what some have always longed for / and others will tremble
look / it's either all in or all out / that's logic (writ large; small is 'either / or') / erotic dancers have an identical movement but they can only show it / they have no way of saying it in words (as Wittgenstein demonstrated) the point is it doesn't matter one way or the other / you are / whatever you want to call it (or) however you wish to dress it up / or whatever name you adopt or give // if you think / and have some courage you will always be beyond definition / (hanging out there with the wild ones) therefore anguish and delight / OK enough said / the stools are up / the lights are going out the door / the night is waiting /
down the street go dreamers full of madness
I went down
into the shadows) the wings of logic (soundless Icarus denied / to fly in the absence of forms / a moment of retreat the only ecstatic possible / a trick of dispersement / or the seeing between every thing / on the street bright as day / the pure appearance of light is no covering / rather the illumination of its darkness / Molly the bar maid in skirt and leggings comes to be (around the corner) her face // all the stones and sky (even traces of the spirits / come and gone) aspire to be / her lovely legs the beginning of the world (as we know it) every thought and touch from and to / the magic of the ordinary / is impossible to grasp with eyes or numbers we dissipate in pursuit of completeness / Pythagoras drowning /
silver screaming through the light the blue sky still // the continuous relentless tragedy renews / so I like to read books or poems that barely make sense / like hanging from a balcony by-your-finger-tips / the shut down begins day one / ask any rag trader / it's either / or - a cruel sanity the sinking to the knees / (or) / the release / the rush of madness - something beyond mind - perhaps just star dust from your skin / yes I remember the disconnect was complete the river was inside / a ride into bright darkness (I lived in two hotels and was looking for a third?) the thing is you are better to look out / there is nothing beneath - to see to grab to listen to / (the illusion is you) I hate to be the one - but there I've done it / you can wander off now (the outside is where the dreaming goes on)
Spinoza returned / as an itinerant preacher /(Panama hat / baggy pants) how to recover from the ravages of spirit / in prison the inmates tell him / from the point of view of eternity (means) who gives a fuck? / there are tribes that wander the alleys and meet on the steps / rituals of cleansing and abstinence / directions are never true / the light deceives / (you have no hope) only the illusion of front / like the actor and the eternal question / a good script? / or Beckett (the idea of what is between the words) that is the place (you never get out of) therefore the escape of language is sinful / God does not express / I would like to believe / the only truth is wood / I have seen it everywhere / and I was never looking / so / behind every act of design was the absence of form / nothing is the real deal / and this but a throw away (you think everyone knows at some level the voices stop saying / and what is left is all we have / ask the ex-weather girl at the esplanade market / it's tense / and Jesus the bar has disappeared as if the world started again (from scratch) / should anyone have to stand in the wind in a dead man's suit / juggling dreams / for all the world to see?
the tragedies go to bone / mind is a bird of flight / the days an eternal reflection repeating (the absence of substance the passage of light) and time a picture of space / the irresolvable connection is just ways of speaking (the idea of tense and position) necessary for locomotion (from a point of view of consciousness) it happens anyway and so the great superfluousness / nevertheless the source of every emotion (the climate reflected in your heart) / an exquisite / the essence everywhere and way displayed in your eyes // it just goes / it just goes / on down Fitzroy St. right into the mouth of the sea / we have no status in the cosmos - there is no differentiation / vitality a perception / perception - the lake reflecting in the sky / the sky back to the lake / it goes on / it goes on / creatures have self asserting biology / just a question of wiring / and God is the shadow / in the darkness / dancing / we can't help ourselves / there is just no end to the embrace / the trick is to forget / the problem of reason / wrap yourself in colourful / apparel and focus on your hands / the journey is just a distraction / (at best all the attributes of a feast) / nothing is left once you go / memory is the trick / we are the makers of assertion and denial / machines with hearts / 010101 /etc. / etc.. ....... (but oh the beauty of eyes)
down at the pier there are two old men who fish in a spirit sea they speak the ancient dialect of recollection and are mad with joy / only the wind can see them / they have /clouds for eyes / they leave stories on old newspapers / and people ponder the signs left / the question of meaning / you can hear them dreaming at the break of dawn / it is the sound of light / whether they come from time or not is impossible to say we must have an open mind on creation / the essence of form is anarchy / only time puts in the fix / and we all know how that goes / so perhaps the best picture is the horizon (at least infinity is self-consistent) so relief there - and the hills provide a buffer - a point of view / time for the sandwich by the side of the road / and then the walking on / the dust / defies design / we walk in absence / beyond the trees there are mind places / with ancient bearings / and young people reinterpret
I became a direction for accident / fixed from an arbitrary point / (as if there is an opposite - this is where the madness begins) and so the artwork is displayed (from no hand) in every act and thought / it comes to nothing (it never leaves the blackness) despite the illusion of Sun (at best out of this poverty a stream of figures / signs posited as meaning / the world is just a making of itself (ex nihilo) - and for all intents and purposes everything just is what you believe / and what you look at / is what is there / here is the miracle / the true beauty of nothing behind / the great storm of the heart / (is the only presence) a silence of force and fury / (we are all mute) and every color through your eyes / of course you must pray in the cold house of marble and wood where God fearing men come and go / and the great fraud of St. Augustine was just this / (the decision to bow) / the garden scene made for television / we are all dressed in pictures of the mind / and so to the true state of affairs / chanting and incense / and the deep symphony of shadows / and you will leave / never to find / (it is just the argument for stillness) that is impossible to recover / and this from before / the beginning of things / a thought that has no grounding / of course the flight is light itself (and substance but the illusion of self)
my heart / is a myth of history lost to breath // there is no sound / only the space of possibility / poets imagine a place of joy or pain - I know the fields of everlasting / the moment of birth / is not where anything begins / it is the playing out of the great argument / here is a way to see / that will set you free
down every road on every path / delight
ah yes
the point of view: you could say the individual breathing / always / a product dash function of existing structures / systems - that is above and beyond - the beauty of small dreams and salutations // and this we say holds like a fish bowl in God's hands // yes what to do? - you can be one with the great nothing of forms or stand apart outside the old movie theatre / in the darkness and the lonely lights (talking to the girl in the ticket box - who could just be you a chromosome or two removed) / so / in logic action is based on negation / this is the pure deal / no content or substance to glug up the works (clear vision has nothing to do with existence)
if so / the rational / ethical / and the only move in nature is against / (this does not answer your question) the emptiness is the source the place to return to of spirit - it is the ground of not
the responsibility for the world is in your fingertips / beyond / there is no account - the sky has only colour / you cannot touch
and to this dilemma of being conscious - of what cannot be embraced - you can only adopt a character for the play and watch from the back row how it goes / the careless heart is a great defence and for the most part fool proof / the seeker of knowledge is always deluded and well received at the moment / contempt the lasting impression out in the farmlands where every face is welcoming / hey there neighbour // the possibilities are quite endless good and evil just the different forms nature uses / for the pointless endeavour of continuance (fortunately from the inside we are all drowning in significance)
universals are concrete and have no centre of consciousness - so / the quaint think they can vote in or out the powers that be - and the disinclined imagine a glory of destruction / the revolution starts now - only to find after the party the masks have just been swapped or somewhat re-drawn / new divisions where there were once old enmities (you can get really sick of the whole story especially the puppet heads of history)
on the other hand the idea that you have control over anything but your thought is one of those necessary illusions that makes sanity a reasonable prospect / and every one can enjoy the street party - well let's face it who wouldn't step into the bar and stay for a decade?
don't mean to Ryle ya but category mistakes are necessary / to keep various continents of reality semi-connected - otherwise it would just be the chaos of windowless monads and girls with no morals
first up pain / you would imagine / is indubitable (ought to stop the slide into nothingness very quick smart ) - and but for an argument of necessity or recurrence this would be the end of it / a foundation for consciousness and a definition of evil - the two for one option (just think of the 3d geometric contortions your soul has been put through or you put it through over the years of faces and limbs and tell me you don't believe in cause and effect sweetheart)
and so the beast / the horror in sunlight (beauty is indefinable and black)
at any point // space / time co-ordinates - the mesh / the matrix / the grip -
as if to make order // - the imposition you know is false (before any dream)
the fix on eternity for every thought and action (necessary)
in desperation / always
a way forward
a road / through
© greg t. charlton. 2009.
all rights reserved.
killer press.
