- GOOD WAS GOD WAS NOT (T) (T T)
- TT TT TT TT(TO)
- SURE THEY WERE RIC(H)
- (HH HHHH)
- II'D GOD
- II DON'T II
- II DON'T II
- FOR SOME REASON SHE WAS WORTH
- FOR SOME REASON SHE WAS WORTH
- II DON'T II
- II DON'T IW
- THEY WERE LOOKING OVER AND OVE(R)
- SE SE
PAST TENSES II
II - e ee e
CONVERSATIO -- NAHH
1 RAN (1 R)
THEY WERE POOR POOR AS
CRUMB(CR)
What about a more complex, non-energy concept of the seasons? Some way of migrating to a world where populations are permanent, and infrastructure is perfect? Doesn't this require additional objects-qua-ideas? Would it require perpetual motion, or a more polished concept of human interaction? Can it be accomplished with the burning sun and the fearsome waves? Sometimes I long for a more abstract concept of nature. But what would the sacrifice be, if it were, in fact, virtual? How many hidden demands can I stomach? What would happen to my brain?
Or a metaphorical interface? To begin with, a visualization in which every tone, every smear, on the three-dimensional canvas made sense. Or a whirligig of spherical rooms, in which progress made inevitable sense? Or alternately, a world in which dropping marbles and making grooves on rocks intoned some hidden spiritual geometry. A place in which a caravan of thoughts was not just weight dropping in the ether.
Or a way where guns are a blurred object, which has no definite meaning. Warfare takes place through 'tagging' or 'naming' or 'sliding out' or 'scatter-plotting' --- bullets are just transposed relationships, blank rooms, music sounding a feint logic at the door of mechanical possibility.
What could be improved about chairs, or ultimately, walls?
What could be improved about basic experience?
This is a question of the inherency of progress.
Men drop seeds, and the world changes, or does not change.
A woman has a house or a mother or a language, or a vacation.
It is not a stupid question, to ask what is beyond the absolute failure of certain immediate things. Perhaps not everyone has this. I've suffered a brutal headache, and now I want a return on my investment. I want immortality, I want dynamic energy, I want objects that respond to emotion, and I want a reality that doesn't leave me crippled and dying.
What is beyond my 'attempted science' of intellectualism? Who is to say that my project is superficial? What capitalizes on the importance of an empathetic sentence? Where is the thing that satisfies me, but is not a meal handed through the wall? Where is the end of synthetic objects? Where is the end of the post-modern secrecy? Who knows a better life? Who kills the lives that do remain?
I don't ask 'what is left of sentences, what is left of language'? To me, although I am not a linguist, these are primitive questions. Everyone has potential. Many potentials are simple. Yet, simplicity must gestate, must be capitalized on by something. This is not a simple state, it is a dimensional state. It is the capacity for complexity and sincerity.
I don't ask 'what knowledge is required for this?' Knowledge is present when it is weak, poetic, and unquestioned. There are methods, but not everyone has the patience for them. Nor am I saying that knowledge is dead. Knowledge and language are waiting to be treated like Genesis dynamite. But in themselves, they are not disappointments, they are gonfalons flagging above the weary or athletic travelers.
Who would call attention to weakness when there is strategy? Who would not profit from the trivial disaster of pain? Once there is value, why not be granted life? Who can tire of byzantine urbania? Who would not thrive in their imagination, with a few potted plants, some books, and freedom to think, eat, and sleep?
What is the problem with shelter? Is it God's idea that we are hiding from shame? Is it technological transparency? Is it that it is too simple, as disposable as a sanitary napkin?
Who would not realize dimension? Who would not thrive on what we are given? What is tough-love about the promises of reality? Why not find sustenance in what we already know?
