Tag Archives: ritual

Your semi-daily bog

Consider the characteristics or conditions of all the substance in your intrinsic perception, such as the entities which one can identify as a solid state or a liquid state, (or even a gaseous state), and you believe you know by the very nature of the “subject,” to be just what it is, because that truth is fundamental. Now, suppose these primary dimensions of your reality are permuted, a metamorphosis which transforms every element, transcending everything so that it is the not only opposite of what it may have once been perceived as but the same in it’s lack of form and no law of the universe has any law or harmony, (the gaseous factors would really be astounding) and everything is nothing, and all that is or is not, is a contradiction of the same problem.

The concrete is now the abstract.

The trivium is equal to the empty paradox.

The continuum is now part of absolute zero.

The phone buzzed and I saw two new messages. One was a tangible items requiring some thought and input from certain people involved.

The second message was clearly meant to test me although a immediate result was void of reason and consequence and was disguised emptiness. Support of an broken statement that was neither  subjective or objective. 

Alright, you lost me – I am off the trail of interest; you may kindly fuck off. I can shake off the pixelated perception you painted me. A blank canvass of nothing.

This cognitive action led to my next transitory side-effect which was after quickly reviewing the causal theory of epiphenomenalism (physical events have mental effects, but mental events have no effects of any kind) how very useless it was to philosophize at this time, how tired my mind was, then snip-snapping right on back to my strenuously draining brooding of the undetermined unknown and how that unknown was always about to increase in conscious life.

There are the places at which you are not, or perhaps where you would rather be, not be, won’t be, the list within the list within the list is infinite, but my point is that the location of where you are (or where you ain’t) is probably the most important place you could ever be. Where you’re not is: any, some, or everywhere you could be, certainly, of course when you have but a critical amount of “time” remaining to reconsider every place where you ever were which led me to this last circumstance in which I was currently entangled, where I was not was anywhere but where I was, at a condition labeled as the end of one’s lifetime; this is the place where you last were, and your mind works itself backwards, instinctively and recklessly, and flashes these excruciating images, words, colors, lines and limits, gaps and speculation, theories, people, pets, regrets, media, motions, accidents, mistakes, recoveries, tastes, dreams, nightmares, mischief, games, fame, humiliation, embarrassment, acceptance, awards, rewards, faith, apathy, remorse, anxiety, true faith, true love, true sex, true blueness of the purest skies, waters, and eyes; good fortune, good graces, all those artistic creations….

The worst part was always there: The realization of having to contemplate how anything could be even worse than the worst realization you can contemplate. To me it was feeling that I was departing without saying goodbye; abruptly leaving the party early, sneaking out irresponsibly and silently, the one who didn’t even say, “later on,” and never came back.
During these mangled, mingled conjunctions of deliberation, I disappeared.

Writing Exercise #117. Mas o Menos?

I had made an important decision that drizzly December lunch hour, a choice that might have been a major turning point, or one that made me realize I couldn’t trust myself, control molecular mutations that were implanted in my DNA, but were fertilized by the irony of life and made me older, smarter, and a riddle unto my own psyche.
I left the office promptly at 11:45 am and it took the usual 3 minutes to get from my desk to the elevator to the front door and down the dozen stairs to the front green and I swiftly broke right up Maroon Hill two blocks west, slushing hurriedly up to the garden gates, and then made haste past the goat petting zoo.

Temporary images whirled past me as I lost more seconds of my hour and tore down to the Landing, the hillside slanted toward sea level and my spine started to burn as my speed increased, the spring humidity filling my lungs with heavy water and my terror elevated to a state of shocking horror for that which broke so many on the same journey to the ends of the earth, the beginnings of the ends of the furiously confused souls who came before me, live amongst me, and will be as unclean with sense of extreme compound awe, as we run past the calm, self-controlled, the composed egos whose filthy poised smirks made our thoughts race faster than our throbbing hearts as we stole away from the sun and found ourselves caught between the past and the future, between the land and the sky, the true and the false, not by choice, but by the means in which we ran though life with desperation and glory. We were born running, we choked on our conscious intensity, and eventually we realize would all die running.

I just wasn’t sure where I was going, but I had to keep on, or let the world stop and close me in its carriage, the cradles of the casual, the place you stop to take a breath is the last exit on the last highway.

Gravity pulled me down the street and I lunged forward as hard as I could, fearing and seemingly unfearful of the fact that my little heart felt determined to blow up in its madness to pump blood into my pulsating limbs, but also my clear head, falling into the ground, falling before I could get anywhere, falling before I reached the new race, the next step to the next step, the next path that always awoke and stirred my soul.

I stumbled on the gravel and drove forth to the liquid at the end of the Landing, the people and children and dogs and boats were the same day after day with faces of security and familiar sanctuary.

I dove into the shallow water and cried the familiar war cry of the storyteller who finally realized to give up on ever ending a tale. Nothing ever ends anyway.


Posted by Wendy Clark at 7:55 PM

BLUE by Wendy Clark and Tequila Mockingbird

http://tindeck.com/player/v1/player.swf?trackid=quuu

-forsaketh- (an anti-poem)

-forsaketh-

so if i didn’t have to sleep
i would write more
and dream more

-if it were up to me
i’d never sleep
i would stay awake
the whole week through
and if god forsaketh
and forgive my mistakes(eths)

i would just dream
i would just wander in unsleep
i would just dream of you
dream
of you-

i think about you all day
i think about how uneven it is to think about thinking about you all day
and what the hell are parallel bars
if there aren’t any perpendicular bars
and if you can’t smoke in bars
then hey i guess it’s not cool anymore
any less – i have been meaning to tell you
i am not any less uncool than i used to be
i am just farther from myself
or is it further from me
or can’t you not tell
or do you not see
that i am starving for spirals of spare serendipity

© 2010 wendy clark hudson

the elimination of logical thinking

I ain’t been right since that doctor in Boulder made me take that shot of homeopathic-whole-body solution in Boulder when I was twenty-four years old.
But beside that, I had a few thoughts in the shower after a great Saturday evening out
but the point is that
i learned somethings that made the
bad news (regarding my new job)
not so bad at all
….to ME, that is…
therefore

i trust
that that psychobabble sweetly spoken to and for me
from my friends (the ones who read too much but love me)
and the point they were trying
or had something to do with
my need for approval
my seeking approval from others who don’t have it to give….
“We may look for approval from people who have none to give.”
and i don’t know why this little excerpt is making me
which i had known not to do this for so long
but also
I REALLY hope i can remember this and investigate it
on a regular basis
(of course, blogging it may actually help, HMMM! :))
but it may wash down the drain with the other epiphanies i enjoy
every time i take a nice, cleansing shower
for instance, just today some fleeting epiphanies were like, i should make a list, perhaps a spreadsheet, of every act i do all day and my time management skills would RULE; i should try to record my epiphanies on my digital voice recorder because it is hard to remember to write them down, hell, i am lazy; what is the point i am trying to make here?

regarding that passage which Joy had to remind me of after i got out of the shower with our burgers….

what if i can’t or don’t have the approval to give myself within myself?

take a shower?

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