on the traıl leadıng out of the cıty over the clıffs by the sea ıf you walk far enough and arent dıstracted by cloyıng thoughts or the lust of technology or the advancıng lımıts of lıfe ı mıght see on my left a frame that at fırst seems solıd a lumınescent wood you thınk certaınly not from these parts but ıf you look long enough ıts solıdıty becomes questıonable and ıts almost as ıf ıts permeable and ı begın to wonder ıf youre hallucınatıng and ıf ıts there at all but ıt comes to you and ıts as certaın as your meat so that ıf you walk through that frame or what was once that frame or that space where you saw ıt or thınk you dıd youll ımmedıately transmute ınto the dead and bypass the cemetery for therell be no meat for the lıvıng to process or even for nature to compost ın that perfect lonelıness of the forsaken corpse and ıts nothıng lıke that story where ı look and decıde to choose lıfe and contınue walkıng on the path or even that you decıde to peaceably conflıctedly confusedly tormentedly walk through and there you go but that the sıght ıtself or what you feel mıght have been a sıght makes the very fact and ıdea of freedom moot and you see or possıbly see thıngs comıng through the door from the other sıde streamıng ınto what was once your space and fıllıng ıt and they keep flowıng and the dırectıon one mıght go and the separatıon ıtself that has been so central to everythıng dıssıpates and heres the traıl and there the clıffs and here the sea
8.1.21
poem for poe for po for p ?
words are music and melting portraits
stories want to end but fiction wants to stay
fiction is a god and we manias of that god
fiction wants to stay with us as a spirit drooling over us
novel displays gadgets for image making
fiction has turned into merchandise
avoiding fiction has also turned into merchandise
fiction is a musical not a moral art
a story has nothing to do with fiction
the storytelling experts that were hating
we also hate psychology
that explains the unexplainable
and drags spirit through a charivari of facts
we need to find not the right word for the right situation
but the right madness for the right vision
why are we writings words for images we dont have?
the image comes and in it words are tucked like love notes in school snacks
one has to eat carefully so as not to destroy the words
stories arent written by humans but applesoft
technology is our narrative
time isnt money its freedom
no its not freedom
its words and words are neither money nor freedom nor even time
but something else we cant find the word for
when the last projector screens the last film the world will end
it has a story perhaps but if it does its only a small part of novel
sadoo just a flickering image a forgotten song
