mystilogue

travelling is from one perspective a cheap mysticism - a way to insignificize self, one's birth culture and hence the assumptions and notions separating i and world from void, to equalize at least the human world and possibly the myriad worlds within world. cheap because it uses money to achieve its mysticism and an apparently authentic mysticism uses flesh (but what else?). but travelling - and this only works if one travels cheaply (economy class, lowcost accommodation ...) - disintegrates time, despaces space, caresses death, places one in that vast irrelevance of god

mysticism is our only available known mechanism - though it is as much a dearchitecting (deverbing, deminding) as anything biologically molecular - for subverting (mocking, bypassing, ignoring - we detour around words like combating, destroying, even protesting, evolving) the brutalisms of human sociopolitical structures and processes. mysticism exists outside, in part by virtue of its inveterate insideness : its status (though this diction must be ironic) as the consummate inside. it finds the trap door of in (mysticism if full of anything is full of traps) - or perhaps rather just the trap (there is no door, only void) and so not opens it but falls in (from in to in) - and there (through this through) finds out. as human sociopolitical processes and structures are devoted to entirely incompatible methods (and consequently lifestyles, languages) of achieving out (and in fact mysticism doesn't achieve out [or seek it], it finds itself accidentally, inexplicably out in a thoroughly different way than any ambition, quest), it remains a question to what extent these outs aren't the same out - as (perhaps to a large extent) how we get to a place fundamentally, qualitatively alters place

so we cultivate mysticism - these ins and fallings - as a hard hope, the only alternative we see (which we see through not seeing). cultivate? yes. no. we fall. farmers of fallings, pilgrims of traps, pariahs of voids. we labour in uninvented calendars. we do nothing, our ins our outs, those traps our homes, other outs unworthy deaths

so travelling's another mechanism in the workshop of the impure mystic (the only form remaining in a cluttered universe?) to rein outs, reout ins, to fall and fall