perception – Page 4 – WrittenCasey

Light panther Eyes included

The reenlivened stone panther turning to moss.

Her eyes shine.

Even the car’s breeze is

friendly on days like todays.

And, i cannot tell dust specks

from pollen from

cottonwood nor

seed from insect.

The sun stings.

Disaffected is not unaffected as much as dispassion does not necessarily

imply apathy.

Expelling exhalations

I pass through two gates.

My breath manages

to hit me in my

own stomach.

White fuzzies fill my peripheral.

A busy broad.

Little bobbing heads under water. Learning to feed the self.

Cue that cricket queue ready to play

With legs rolling over like car

engines.

The dragon grew a mohawk.

And, a man passes, reading the same piece of paper that I passed him

reading a week ago.

Sweet thing, don’t freeze in my prescence.

Why did the racoon cross the road?

I dunno either, but one sure did last night.

Right in front of me.

A dog panting on the trail

Makes me wonder:

How does that muzzled dog sweat?

Looking down whilst standing on a bridge over the salmon ladder,

You see

You can jump down from above

And into the sky above?

I heard you playing accompanied accordian in the parking lot down the trail.

He was playing real good for free.

I know because you could only tip him in

An unlabeled box.

Howl Maverick.

A Sunny Resumption

[suddenly (the guitar sound _i hear in my cans_swallows)

hard]

Fallen

Or placed?

The best preserved tree.

Shooting down fuzzily.

Psyche-

Delphic

Spots

of colo(u)r.

Saw.

Jumping mouse

Flits under the dragon’s

Mouth

uncaptuted here, hear?

Shots of light. ( Not too )

Briefly.

Ready to root ball.

A /w/hole in my head or

A…?

Needed the same, regardless?

I still need

The gortex, eyelet boots to

Support the bum

Ankle.

TheWoods Set for Rain Yesterday

Found on the asphaulted exit, fluttering in the breezy preparation.

Impatiently.

Right angles form

Unnaturally.

Coral, from below, meet the leaf that fell above

On the same path.

Another near ninety degree angle.

Still grossly a gauche.

The last embers of the dragon

Who hibernates through the summer?

Still grinning at the pass.

Too close

But

comfortable.

A tighter

Right angle to chance. Found.

Yellow

In the spider’s veins.

The sun still shines.

Forested

A leaf paved over.

A flower in parts.

A bit of purple in bloom,

enabled and barely shielded from above

By what is below.

Yesterday’s feather.

Yesterdays’s feather

today.

Balance and proportion

Foaming for seasonal salmon roe.

A welcoming en-trance

A good exit.

Herringbone does not yawn

Fuzzy balance

of positive and negative space

on a cape that I drape around me

to step outside.

The grey morning opens wide

And inhales me into its reality.

Here we go again.

I fell into fitted sleep last night

while listening to to

to the British “Sir” talk consciousness.

I read two of your books.

A late night compatriot who noticed

the emporer was still naked.

(“A new theory,” he said, “not another reinterpretation.”)

S/he should borrow

My houndstooth.

I awoke to your unannounced reentry.

There is nothing to take, hurt, or steal

but me

But, you could still lock the door

When you do leave.

The salt is gone.

Now, I see how large this place is.

The placelessness is almost too big.

Me and these ghosts make good company.

The chorizo finishes.

Eggs and a bottle of white

Microwave hood fan

Setting two.

Discounted granola.

Time to cut meat from casing.

An unused balcony.

The window with the looking-glass.

The other window that is looking-glass.

I drove the perimeter of a street festival.

Ludicrous.

People formed a line at the

Automatic Teller Machine.

I could have walked for my eggs.

But, the milk would

Have gotten spilt.

I arrive home.

My salt is gone

Summer Maize

I made my hair sit straight yesterday.

But, summer has its ways

Of sweating my scalp.

Salt and the occasional breeze.

“You should write about that,” said the girl,

Who stopped for a smoke,

About something else

Entirely.

“Thanks.”

Kind.

A little

Shock ti

Power.

Speak-easys and

Music without lyrics.

Talk of narcissism

And, I wonder,

Do narcissists know they are as such?

The dog was all fur, and

presumably

Sweaty as howl, too.

Fur ball coat

Dandelion-white.

The masters smiled

And said, “her name”

Meant /hair/ in another language.

Doubling the word

In affection and affectation.

Cars pull u-turns,

To go to the street festival.

They hold traffic while invisible things

cross the street.

From a car ride: Phoenix to a Grand Canyon

Sun-chapped, vermillion gravel lines the Arizona interstate. The smell of civil anticipation of draught conditions.

De-ride derision. Re-sent. De-ridden. Hostile.

Reproachful.

Regurgitate…come here, baby bird.

Under my wing where the sun does not scream.

Absolution awaits.

Abscond

like wild things run fast.

I run so quickly it looks as though I am lazy.

Because, I smiled all the time, my narrowed eyes confuse.

Rode hard but not to be

Put up wet.

I asked him not to say things that seem to be true.

Show.

A certain gaze becomes requisite.

A dis-focus agile like a cacti forest.

Look for the invisible shrub-brush. The one that may or may not actually be there.

When you see that you do not see it, you will know you’ve got off on

The good foot.

So scratch, scratch pen to paper. Then take tips to keyboard.

Pleas. If you cannot silence your mouth, write it instead. For yourself.

Spit yourself upon the page.

See what floats.

Mercury corresponds here, where air is the element?

Striations of stratifications.

I am not what you expect, because I am not as you’ve known me to be.

Newly transmuted. I let my stomach gnaw on it’s own emptiness.

Acclimation. Deceleration of mass.

A bob becoming weightless, still tethered to a Flagstaff.

Asphalt lanes crisscross terrain like varicose veins.

Little, red blood cell cars traverse. Scrub-brush grows on either side.

Entering Sedona. The elevation changes. Ears pop.

The energy comes on before you fully make it to the valley.

Invigoration as my heart beat hastens, my skin quickens.

I feel my circulation pulsing.

We are told to Be Prepared to Stop.

We prepare.

We are stopped.

My father acclimatizes to the energy but not the dry air.

My sister fidgets with her fingers in her mouth.

My mom crossed and uncrosses her hands. Fingers tapping on top of knuckles.

The four of us seem far too old to be in a car on a road trip. We do not mind.

Joe Cocker. Feeling Alright plays on FM.

Sharp. The energy is sharp. It will hone you.

Make you diabolical, I giggle.

I feel you giggle against my ear. Echoed back to me despite your absence.

Despite your presence on another curve on another side of the world

I magnetize you to my mind’s eye.

There is a church situated in an open expanse. Nothing surrounding on its acre.

There even an atheist might easily see some god.

The orange and red rest easy in my eyes.

Like short pants slung low on hip bones.

When a pendulum is displaced sideways from its resting equilibrium position, it is subject to a restoring force due to gravity, that will accelerate it back towards the equilibrium position. When released, the restoring force acting on the pendulum’s mass then causes it to oscillate about the equilibrium position, swinging back and forth.

The time for one complete cycle, a left swing and a right swing, is called a period. The period depends on the length of the pendulum’s swing.

In the same vein, “when we hold our breath at the end of inhaling and before exhaling, we experience a state in which the process of becoming seems to be suspended…It gives the impression of a break from the past, quantum leap. For Sufi’s, time is ever recurrent rather than linear.”

P.58 The Ecsatsy Beyond Knowing. Pir Vilayt Inayat Khan.

“What seems to be coming and going is really the result of becoming and manifestation. ”

P.58 The Ecsatsy Beyond Knowing. Abu’l-Hasan al -Hujwiri.

“When the owner of waqt (the instant of time) comes into possession of hal (that is: it becomes a permanent state) he is no more subject to change, and is made steadfast in his state.”

P59 The Ecsatsy Beyond Knowing. Abu’l-Hasan al -Hujwiri.

“Witnessing only takes place when two lights come together.”

Muhyiad-Din Ibn ‘Arabi. quoted from The Sufi Path of Knowledge

I call out for you to breath back and forth against my lips. The light upon light of eyes into eyes.

Quicken the periodicity.

1.0 Parçigal’s Appearance

Parçigal learned, nearly a decade past, the powers of appearance and its ability to manipulate others. Howl, all gals did. The power of pretty and/or style was the source of feminine efficacy where she was reared. What she noticed, but no one addressed, was the long-game. Prettification during youth resulted in an aging-self prettifying to remain relevant.

The true Tao seemed to be finding beauty unmasked. Bare-face. No jewelry. Unadorned. So, she stopped staring at her own reflection. Hair pulled up, with a disregard for style. Others treated her differently. They ignored her altogether. The joy of the crone helped her become the gal she became.

It tasted different on the way back down, wielding the power of make-up’s corrective abilities.

The difference between beloved pronounced with three syllables instead of two.

Parçigal lived her dream of art. She reinterpreted Myschkin, finally freeing him from being misinterpreted as a Christian allegory. Don’t tell the critical schools.

Of course, books are more often quoted than read these days.

She writes some notes on index cards:

The enumerable is now innumerable. Hypertextuality.

Apposition: the grammatical relation between two words or phrases that stand for the same idea.

Your load-stone hypnotizes & I become a loadstone.

Beta Testing the Block

I step out for fresh air.

A test of a weakness.

An ankle.

Something cut down before ampersand after it grew.

A bit of pink on loam.

Two sets of fox gloves, where before there was one,

for anyone to slip on.

A well-placed curve.

A root-ball as seen from one angle.

Threads of scarf couple with a fallen blossom on the asphalt.

The most-intense yellow mimics the fields of North Umbrian rapeseed pastures.

Juxtaposed upon green.

As seen from a train.

Slapped By The Sun in the Forest

The sun shocks the forest today.

What looks like white flowers turn out to be hard rays of light slapping against the greenery.

Just dots of rays slicing through.

Strange yellows descend into the green haze. White Light.

Heat of the summer begins.

Before

(The shaded stele.)

After

Someone wore a white sox.

Bugging flowers.

Buzzing flies and humming bees.

Hiss and Hush

and you can creep right up and observe.

Who went here? I w/o/ander.

The visual heat of the light makes it easier to see a thing by the shadow it is

casting.

Roots reaching.

Balling out and into.

Creating

A lee.

Shelter and cover.

Shade being thrown over you.

The cottonwood graces those spiderwebs which are so finely spun they are only indicated by the cottonwood snow.

Flight caught from above and below.

A containment of water.

A o O 0

A circle almost completed.

Ferns shade a shallow empoolment of liquid.

The evaporation will be affected.

Effect of dissipating one state of matter

into

another one.

Water Moving.

Water Still.

Re-

fleck-

ting.

A very tiny rabbit hole, unless you are tiny.

Light falling on water

Hidden in the corner.

Glassy separation not frozen.

Inching.

To the edge.

These are the chambers.

There are levels.

Of a ladder.

Alice says.

Four out of five days a new mole surfaced only to fall asleep

Again.

Not-again.

Again.

Fie While Effie Rages

All you are is a one, signifying a specific

attribution

You are what came before while also what

will be.

But, ‘you’ now is a virtual reality.

You came from Australopithecus or else some PAST ERECTUS.

A sapien is, in sum, a predecessor

pantheon.

Fie grinded with rage.

“I hate you and your face. I hate your ears. I hate all sound.”*

*of course, all anyone could make-out were strings of gashing, ferocious garbles spewing wildly from his lips.

“I already met Fie. Fie?”

Effie paged backwards through the notepad, until she found out where she had met Fie, as his two brothers, Foe ampersand Fum.

Exceptional Notebook Nonsense: Install One.

ALL RULES HAVE EXCEPTIONS.

ALL RULES ARE EXCEPTIONAL.

ALL EXCEPTIONS MAKE THE RULE.

THE RULE WITHOUT EXCEPTION IS EXCEPTIONABLE.

[it is an exception to the starting rule

that all rules have exceptions]

You die a voodoo death because everyone else expects it of you.

The uncommon 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 die if no one

thought you would?

Or, could.

Authority instructs you to confront mortality.

You are part of the totality,

but individually, you are

also, a triviality

What I may be is the value of a binary threshold function.

Insert the prefix ‘looking-‘

to ‘-glass house’.

Suddenly, and without warning (giggle-howl) a hypocrite becomes a stranger in a strange-land.

Forest Down: It snowed Cottonwood

Canary-ied.

A yellow monarch on

bloom flutters-by.

That is not random light, it is a worm

suspended by a satin string.

Spinning mid-air.

Center-stage

of the path.

Is that a good or a bad day for the creature?

Hanging by a plant,

pint and a praeter-prayer.

One branch a’loosened. Snapped. Remaining.

The bark of a

tree’s tread. Rubber meeting road-air.

Veined loam.

Detritus.

Vitriol.

A feather/s lost is no

clipped wing but

Bird might have gone

down-y.

I well-aged pair of companions.

Purple seeps in.

Light hangs in

almost-rainbows.

Gone before you can even blink.

Driven snow around and on the ground.

Guess what this is?

This is a trashcan with pollen on it.

Pretty, no?

Unsheathed

And pitted.

Sheared.

A dragonfly found dead, yet posed by nature.

Before that, another’s wing was clipped.

It must not fly now, should it live.

A drag.

This is a w/hole in the ground from above.

The above is actually a rotting tree, cut in half and lying on its side.

You know what this is, right?

Reel to Real

Transition equal

the changing of the

guard or the gourd?

Howl. Giggle.

Does this and that prove x, yet?

Did it hurt, ewe?

Tell me true.

Folks ain’t used to fools acting differently?

Do, do what you do.

I know. and

I do.

allow people to hear anew

Vessel unvasseled.

No game, no simple-tool, not an achievement

not religions.

Love in the key note of the tonic

of a practice of ecstasy.

Just breathe.

Method before theory, dummy.

Fear versus fright

on the fight or flight

that wilt be

pay-per-view

tonight.

Howl I smile.

New does not mean novel, dear.

Praise, you say?

What’s that like, I say?

I caw-ckle aloud but only inside.

Hun, if it is not a game then there is no

prize to win.

Just a desire to hunt and

that is regardless of the financial costs some

enobligate in self-defense.

I am fickle, am I?

I am love and love hated.

Loved hatred and hatred loved.

I submit that I am written.

Tolle lege.

The lesson is

it does not matter what

The lesson is

Don’t overlook the symbols.

I was taught we inherit the problems of a previous, now non-corporeal generation,

but, I don’t believe we can

blame ourselves for their

patterns within which we

now

find ourselves.

A carbonic processing of your pinot.

Noir.

Dark.

The guy in the corner?

A martial artist.

A soldier in disguise.

Blacklisted for the blackbelt earnt in logistics.

The Nature of the Forest Today

This is juxtaposition

This is not syncretism.

Chains trying to work in nature.

Snake espied. First thing.

Black

Sea Foam, cool green.

Longitudinal and kindly striped

safe.

Per se.

Feedback on me.

Otherwise, the robin in the rain makes better company currently.

Such a saucy fellow.

Showers always made

him…

…wait for it.

The sky confused and

confusing time changing.

Protective turns opulent in opalescence.

The beauty of opening.

The beauty of splaying.

Time-resistant skin.

Elegant rhinosarus-dermis.

Still moist, somehow.

Meets the confusion of curves.

Collective noun style.

In ever widening circular cases of you, ewe.

In you.

You in.

I hear you, here.

Look at you bellowing, pretty thing.

Cottonwood seed absorbs in its resonant, spidery remains.

Arching in ecstasy.

Boughing and bowing

Bowled over.

Divisors.

Create foam.

Some tire so completely

they resurface on their

backs

and asleep.

Three such gents just this week.

Suppose it makes the fly’s feast.

Do you remember meeting here?

Where tree grows out of

stone.

Dog esshit or esshinola?

The buzzing of the approaching nearing the a’spread.

Alit on the globe.

Buzz, you say?

Humm, is what I say.

Also, Howl.

Taken from Recollections of Sartre

Words are, for some, living creatures.

They persist in being and as such they insist on being noticed. The bound and covered, silent sirens contained on the leaves between the book’s cover.

If words live, then literature can possess.

If I read and share the a sentence that crossed Plato’s eye and mind too, has time and distanced ceased?

If most celebrated literature spouts from the community of dead authors, their words become free of their original sin of the author(s) having possessed physical existence. The sentences are not devalued by the messy work of the author living his/her life at this point. The lens becomes free from the shackles of selfhood. The lines now belong to the public. There is no greater authority to which they may appeal, who will explicate their “true” meaning.

Category: perception

Light panther Eyes included

A Sunny Resumption

TheWoods Set for Rain Yesterday

Forested

Herringbone does not yawn

The salt is gone.

Summer Maize

From a car ride: Phoenix to a Grand Canyon

Imagine a Pendulum

1.0

Parçigal’s Appearance

Beta Testing the Block

Slapped By The Sun in the Forest

Fie While Effie Rages

Exceptional Notebook Nonsense: Install One.

Forest Down: It snowed Cottonwood

Guess what this is?

Reel to Real

The Nature of the Forest Today

Taken from Recollections of Sartre

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