numbers &/ notes
- all cretans are liars it is the way the truth and the life all who come to me will be saved says the cretan who is a liar like all of us that are cretans if you believe me i will not believe you if you do not i will it is that simple for go around look at the back come to the front and draw your lines that will never i say never connect you will as they say be stuck in the middle an unrepentant sinner that knows the truth and that will set you free
- … playing with words just seems to happen when I’m in this place. Nothing feels solid, and yet there is an oddly felt certainty about everything, particularly the nasty negative voices that tell me things like “you should just give up” or “you couldn’t do that if you tried for the rest of your life” or “you ought to have done things differently”, and on, and on. More shoulds, coulds, and oughts. I know, from experience, this moment will soon pass away like all the others. My attention, thankfully limited, will alight on a different spectacle that is not my own mind’s confusion, and longing …
- My understanding of … is that the gods meant to subject him to eternal suffering and futility for some misdeeds. But I imagine that he might have been actually quite happy … his understanding of the limits of his existence … the boundaries of his emotions. happy in completion, happy in knowing fully … absurd in his happiness. Racing in his task at times to see how fast he could get up the hill; at others, slowly trudging to see how long he could drag out one cycle. But the never ending task maybe doesn’t appear to me to be suffering, I don’t know because our lives parallel this kind of thing and we need hope. Maybe that was a point of the myth to expose the suffering of our lives in hopes of something better after death or maybe it was just to threaten us with fear of punishment for misbehaving. hope for relief from fear of not suffering the right way. I don’t know. But there is something fascinating about the comprehension that he could obtain of his (after)life after a small number of repetitions. Perhaps he was bored after a little. Not suffering, but boredom. And with each cycle maybe he contemplated how he might undo the system of constraints, tear them down, rebuild some other ledger of constraints where he could choose a different boulder to push around and the futility of this contemplation maybe was suffering. Or maybe he composed grand symphonies for his own enjoyment, great works of art for his own keeping. Or perhaps he became incapable of creating art, stuck in a world without difference or change or complexity or anything un-explained. so maybe he just whistles sweats suffers silently
- I don’t believe in angels god heaven hell souls etcetera like i used to but I still reach for these words and metaphors because they still speak — even in their absence of presence — they speak. Their textures still reverberate in my heart and my mind and my emotions, my longings and my hopes and my fears. They stir the pot of slowly boiling stew and ready my plate for a final supper. And so I wonder, Is what is changing my belief about belief?
nothing ever sorts quite the way i imagine/d it would as soon as i
begin attempting to use categories I had previously
scandō latin to climb scan english
to read closely scan english to read hastily
x- synonymous as prefix with trans-
x-scan to read (close|hasti)ly across outside beyond surroundings, perceptions: transgressively read-look. cross out. x-(a|tran|de)scend: will have been transforming singular place above below into polyplied place here there every where.
infinite detail, fractalizing, scale, proximity, distance. carrying eyes down that were up and up that were down -- looking across, in, out; seeing other/s; un-climbing; un-descending; remembering how horizontally.
- 14. In the long run every program becomes rococo - then rubble. from Epigrams in Programming
- if x- is negation xx- is identity xxx- is negation after a brief visit to where you first started; xxx is initial completion of vision, initial conditions for next, fulfillment of transgression, leaving-coming-leaving, comprehension. first completed step of infinite journeying back and forth. necessary.
- pretense as in pretend but pretension as in a claim but also pretending so that to make belief to make-believe is to make a claim to stake a spot to say a thing an imagined an unreal as of yet thing is yours and that you in fact already have it since what is different what is the same what is neither with illusion with play with truth with possibility
- How are you doing, Well to be frank, I know what I am doing but I am not yet sure How, and I wonder if you may you might be as kind as to tell me How you do what you do and How are you doing these things that you do, Would you be so kind so frank as to help me in this way, I have in my pocket a poem to give you or to read to you if you would like, It goes like this, A man asks me How are you doing / I say I am good and things are going well / Even though I think I maybe probably yes likely / Just kicked him or me in the face / After he gently tapped my knee, Do you have a poem you would like to read, Maybe it will help me see or find a How for your query.
- Punctuation is interruption is punches to the face is a hand held up telling you it is time to stop is only done when you look back when you construct as you build when you do not move at the speed of flow when you interrupt your self-interrupt to tell yourself the daily news to give boundary to wall off the insurmountable mess the overwhelming complexity the dread the horror the fear the beauty of unknown waiting beyond a well structured well placed comma period colon ,.:
- words. words. what are they in the presence of unlabeled existence. how do they stand under the wait under the weight how do they under-stand their contrast with the stars with the sounds uttered to make sense in labeling the gravity of the universe. how. an alphabet soup mixed into word machines waging war on the un-intelligible wondering when we may declare that we have won against a false enemy against an artificial foe that never had the thoughts of our annihilation merely the presence of spirit the presence of unlabeled unthought unenclosed there. oh my words i love your shapes your connections your intimacy but i wish at times i could toss you all away to sit in the middle of a field a grassy flowering overflowing field where trees line to keep watch upon my space as i dissolve into the earth.