February 2008

i feel dissolved in confusion.

so is that it? will i never see your face again? and just yesterday you had smiled at me like all was well. did you know then? could you foresee it?

i’m amazed at my own solubility.

Even more than ever, i discover uninterpretable signs of creativity wandering about.

i sometimes dream of telling them all that i’m actually a machine, but then i remember love and what that felt like before the gears and wires were placed within.

i saw a sunflower walking before me… skipping, actually. it smiled and skipped away.

sometimes when i think hard, i gain a small bit of insight, like the universe contracting into something tangible… but then i confess that i am just a normal human, and it subsides. the mind cannot handle too much reality.

sometimes i leave strange pieces of paper in various places, hoping it will lead to correspondence. it never has, so i make believe.

one time i negociated with a butterfly. they are treacherous tyrants, who hold caterpillars captive. everything you know is a lie.

those are things that exist here on earth. i don’t know where you live or why you can’t see them. maybe it’s easier for an outsider, who can’t select which sense to attend to.

[PLEASE DELIVER TO (IPCA) ARGENTA MAJORIS, HELVETICA, MARS, 2084, IPCA INSURED-56331]

poor little words… they cannot be three dimensional. they can’t turn a corner and see depth.

my eyes are metal. i have to focus to not look at him; consciously resist. should i exhale my concentration, he is a magnet, my eyes are metal

when technology creeped out of its cave, humanity tried to define it through nature. trains were giant slugs, looms were spider webs.

metamorphosis? it’s a virus attacking a computer system that is ready to shut down. technology. now i comprehend.

we are all cyborgs now anyway. we can melt into the soil, being encapsulated by ivy, and we can be hooked up to wires and scaned through networks.

but in the end, there’s only so much you can give.

is that what criticism feels like? resistance, acceptance, resistance, acceptance at war?

i have irridescent nymph lotion on my hands, it makes my veins look ever more purple. i love the contrast of veins… blue, purple, teal.

sometimes i am so fulfilled.

like the other day i was thinking about words and language. you’re looking at each of these words, letters, led scratches on paper basically, and you hear a voice in your mind, correct? how do we succeed in representing sound with vision? the letters look like they sound, don’t they, but we’re conning ourselves so marvelously!

can you read russian or chinese? the symbols don’t make sounds, do they? we’ve trained our brains to interpret strange markings when the sounds we make are so primordial. this world spins with verbal air circling around it.

how did we pick which characters go with which sounds?

imagine you are a lexicographer; where would you begin? there are no letters and you must assign vocalizations to led.

what does the sound of water look like? anger? love? catharsis? some feelings cannot be assigned.

what if there was no such thing as writing? would the world be dark? would our linguistic sounds hold more meaning? would they swirl around us virulescently?