Metatext (analogue ; tape ; printed to paper)
Light falls upon pages.
Back light shines from digital pages.
All rules have exceptions.
All rules are exceptional;
The rule without exception is thus exceptional.
You will die a voodoo death because everyone expects you to.
The tragedy of the commons is that there is nothing anyone cares to do.
Contagions of group expectations afflict your field of view.
A cursed question put on you: would you still die if no one thought you would?
Authority instructs you to confront mortality.
You and yours fantasize your finality.
You will die and Jesus loves you and this you know because a great big ole’ book told your parents so. But where is your existential subjective experience of this?
You are part of the totality, but, individually, you are also a triviality.
What you are is a value of a binary threshold function.
The sun shied back into the woods, partially concealed behind a cloak of mist and residual angular trajectory.
It gave the morning a quintessence of allure and glamour, even including that tinge of melancholy which the Vested feel.
I suppose nostalgia may be a more apt descriptor than melancholy.
Then again, I guess both words are completely right & dexter yet, simulateously, inappropriate.
The sun tests the boundary condition between night and day; everyday it rises.
I test the boundary condition within to see how supple and malleable I be without shattering into infinity just yet.
Dont own rights, but iggy owns rights to US punk verbe.
This has been reincarnated, to my limited experience, twice ( ala Michael Hutchence < of INXS, RIP > and the miraculous Deftones and MJK).
Listen to this track on great headphones and hear so much additional quintessence.
I told my sister I live to work and she said gross.
She misunderstands. We all work all the time.
We all move from a place we could call motivation to action.
Do you know yours? If so, what it is and how does it change?
How does it make your garden grow? Does it feel glad in the rain and sun and cold or heat?
How do you balance the swinging pendulum that becomes time’s arrow’s trajectory?
How do you know when to flee the vital activa for that which is its polar opponent?
Can you tell if you’re moving with no mirror to see?
Painfully lonely, not so much.
Suspensed in waiting for manifestation. Arouses my want for love, flesh, desire.