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Sunday, June 26, 2011


This Is Your Life (Fight Club Music Video)

Acting / Voice-Over / Video Production | Myspace Video

Sunday, June 19, 2011

dinner with choronzon

This is all up in the spirit, freely moving within the spirit, happy.  
I have a few times, known the frightening, bondage spirit, the revulsive thing, that comes with betrayal; but its nature is to stop even the thought of writing and of this kind of philosophy, and so what you read is therefore not that, but the joy of being away from that.  

I write a transformation of that.  
I kill that killing thing.  
All of my writing is reconstruction.  
Maybe transubstantiation.  
    Maybe art.  
The working out of my salvation.  
Yet that shuddering thing is close.  Without it I have nothing.  
The unspoken is spoken/still unspoken.  My words are totally false.  I am undone.  
Only God is left.  A stupid philosophy.  
But I have escaped death.  And I am giddy and lively in my dance.
There finally comes a resolution to leave.  The worry and wafting are done.  
The decision is made.  
On is leaving.  The firm, calm, peace comes.  
The thoughts cease to be about anything here.  
Nothing in particular.  
Only the spirit, and love and the awfulness of God are seen and thought of.  
It's chaos to the thoughts, but one approaches anyway, and the decision eventually makes it cohere.  
  It turns out that this new eternity is no different from this place.  
  It's this place going on forever, but with no hope of escape.  
There is no death.  No place away from the meaningless.  
But there is the beautiful firmness that has come.  
Through all the ill-informed-ness that has become you, there is now your resolution.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

fɨˈnɪʃə phoenicia


 These writings are my words spoken to me in the mind of you.  Not you.  
You are free of them.  Free to do with them as you like.  
I have had my say.  I am not you.  The break is absolute.  
But in you I am listening to myself.  
     I am speaking to being.  I am.  
You may listen to my listening and speak in my speaking.  If you like.  
Before you read this I already heard your answer: I know you assent.  
The words themselves insist on it.  They have taken you as they have me.  
             I am not them.  I am free of them.  
These words speak to me in the mind of you.  And they speak you into the mind of me.  
But we are both free of them.  In their speaking me to you.
Now maybe you can see what I am about.  
In all those words I communicated nothing to you.  
       This isn't ordinary prose.  
In them I saw being, speaking, independence, breaking, assenting...word messengers revealing holy sparks into the air between your and my eyes and this page.  
I wrote them for the sheer pleasure of seeing them.  
My listening was a seeing.  
My speaking was a show.  It never stops.  Come with me.  Weren't you there already?  Didn't you see me seeing you see me?  
I passed by as you stopped to see me pass by you stopping to see you pass by me.
In me and you the words are incarnate.  
In them I can see you, and surely you can see me.  
  I have written you and me and laid us out.  
My voice hangs in the air.  Mobiles.  Speaking crystallites.


Sunday, June 5, 2011

piecewise function

At this late date in history of the incoming of the leveling of the Logos, the Technos, and the fire.  

After so many monks and scholars and lovers have repeated, repeated, repeated the same words, naming the same eternal things, all one voice, one word, one heartbreak.  

Before the last turning, and it is finished.  

In this late night attempt to think to reach that thing yet unthought, that one thing, that unreachable.  
That thing that I have discovered I have already thought and reached many times the same, gone into my past, sweet memory, existing because right now I have laid it out, the many voices, the one voice, then and to come, down, here in strange syntax.  Time typing playing around my fingertips.  A thread pulled out of my spinning mind.  

My mind a momentary exemplification of the one brooding thinking, laughing, leveling, reaching sweet heartbreak.