May 31st, 2013
Some days that pass as sand nights do, you’re so alone that you have no choice but look for a single thought. Or, if you consider thinking to be lonesome activity, for a line, not so much a words’ one, but an aural one. There must be one somewhere out, you assume. It can’t be that you are deserted and all one – if that were the case, you’d be with all gone ones, not knowing it. Having this as a sort of a beacon, you wander in the grey looking for a black or a white one to pulse out. So you can take its stead, cling yourself to it, have it sway you, even if violently – better in a pained chamber than the grey. You never pull up, mow the black or the white ones. You give yourself to it, give yourself up, let it have you, let it make you obsolete, a trashed one. At this line of miniscule proximity (as well as distance) you lay your bones so as to have the resonance pass through the tips of the nerves of the crossed body.
Something start flowing from the double wound, as you lose the memory grip of the day, the grey and the lone something that is neither white nor black.
You can’t name it, won’t spell it out, just have it bend you, stretch you out. You are becoming a line now, let the else one find, what colour it has become, what colour it will become.
May 20th, 2013
One can lose one’s dream. To find it empty. This is called a deep sleep. To have your dream withered away.
One can also dream someone else’s dream. Now this does not necessarily imply the existence of that someone else, only her dream.
I, having no horse, have dreamt the sorrow of a woman whose horse has hurt his leg. I, being that woman in a dream, have cried and felt deeply for the horse, who might not be able to run again since he was very old. (Now, I assume that the woman, whose dream I was dreaming, has lost a horse because of a vision of the same horse in a dream – laying on tall grass with his eyes slowly closing). I mourned and continued in tears after being woken up by the excessive blood pressure, rising precisely because of this sadness.
The one who dreams someone else’s dreams is, needless to say, a terrible sleeper, for not only he feels things someone else must feel, but also becomes worried about the existence of this someone. Where is she? Her objectivity, obviously, cannot be (without a doubt) inferred from a dream, but, going by the fact that it was her dream, she has to exist, she has to possess some – objectively ungrounded – subjectivity.
One could call this way of experiencing the world sobjective. And since it is pathetic in the purest sense of the word, the dreamer of someone else’s dreams tries to invent whole worlds for the people whose dreams he has taken away.
For without dreaming people lose their ability to exist, as horses put to sleep.
May 11th, 2013
I have adopted a mother. I love her voice, her tone, lawless and joyous in its errors.
My native, my original mother have long ago became too demanding, censorous, as if I owed her something. Even admitting that I did, I could not, I did not want to follow her lead, however gentle or poetic it might have been in her grace days. I ignored her, I deliberately translated things she wanted me to answer to my adopted mother.
A mongrel, my new mother, having come from Caribbean, France, Americas, Africa, Arabia and England – always not quite at home, always not good enough, not there enough.
My old mother comes to me at times, raging and mad: I cannot make sense of her, how vulgar she has become, how desperate to have me – her rhythm and emphasis escapes me, her wisdom makes the world shatter in pieces as if to say that there’s no longer a place for me.
I, the son of two mothers – one half dead, another still naked – persist between madness and childish desires.
Kissing the tongue of my young mother, listening to what’s leaving my first one.
Embracing a being of homeless ones, building a home for those, who will never come.
April 8th, 2013
By descending into spatial form (a place) we come to realise that space is essentially tied to the void. However small or big, space mirrors itself in composition – in this sense space does not change and should be finite. To do this we would have to obtain an atom of inspaceable place, sort of a wall.
But this would assume that at some point space becomes completely placed, that is – full in its presence, which is not the case, so the only possibility would be to assume that space is infinite or that space is void.
This is a troublesome point of desicion. For, assuming that space is void, we must posit something like primordial atom of matter which would be unspaceable. Would it then exist in space and be impenetrable to spacing? What would it then be if not some transcendental limit? Existing in space, but having no connection with it?
Second presupposition – that space is infinite – would yield endless regress and progress in spatial magnitude and place us as a part of it, but infinity is closer to a force than a quantity. It thus seems that space is neither void, albeit very similar to it, and not infinite.
In a certain sense space is radically finite. And while being so is unchanging in its compositional principle, it nevertheless does acquire different forms – precisely because it is acted upon by force of infinity. This being so, presents us with a point that is undecidable – namely: is space constructed of primal atoms (which as we saw leads to contradiction) or is it a form of a void and encounters some transcendent atoms as its limit? In either case an atom would be sort of known unknown and transcend any spacing whatsoever – from inside and outside altogether.
Should we leave this point undecided and still want to find how space becomes placed, we could assume that it happens so by it (space) being some curvature of infinity in a void. So space would be a result of a collision between void and infinity. And being the only finite thing space would necessarily be placed as a form of experience. Thus any experience is finite. We don’t have infinity experiencing itself, but finite things being a result of there existing unexperienced power of infinity and utter bottomless of void. Experience (placed space) is finite. Infinity and void can only be decided, axiomatically posited and accepted as necessary for existence of any place and its experience.
1) space can not be atomised and is not acting on atomised unknowable alterity.
2) space is always placed and idiosyncratic in its composition.
3) space, being a necessary form of experience, is finite and is the only finite thing.
4) its finitude is a a result of infinity coming into collision (or, should we better say, powerless pressure) with void.
5) thus finitude is only possible because of unexperiencable existence of infinity and void.
It seems now that some positions outlined in post scriptum of previous intermission are not valid, or don’t hold ground. Infinities don’t act on each other. That would most probably produce a disaster (a god) – infinity experiencing itself. In which case there would be infinite space and experience perfectly mapping with infinite time that is present and represented at the same time. Needless to say there would be a me or a you. No place. No time. No spacing and no thought.
I will try to grasp the logic of this possible disaster in next intermission.
March 11th, 2013
The past passes (retreats) and the future delays its coming. The present thus expands approaching void. Here is the point where infinity strikes. Being unexplainable in forms of time, it bends, breaks and retracts it. The past, future and present are merely the result of this strike. Depending on the strength (for infinities vary in their powers) of it, we have times, or epochs, as one or another epoch lasts for certain amount of time. The time of epoch constitutes the time it took for it to gather the effects of a strike.
As there many infinities, it is almost inevitable that epochs overlap and contain things or ideas from other and quite heterogeneous epochs.
Every strike of infinity results in certain destruction, which makes possible for new epoch come to pass. Since there is no origin or end of infinity, every epoch starts in a place of some other – thus destruction is necessary.
The time that passes between strikes of infinities is history. It lasts and extends exactly to the farthest points of past and future that were created during the moment of particular strike. History is thus always of a present and is simultaneously being constructed from the past and the future, both of which are moving beyond the grasp of history according to the arrow of their respective vectors.
The presence of the present does not exist, for it is an exact point of the infinite strike. The longer it takes for another strike to happen, the more extended the present becomes (the richer the history of the epoch), as mentioned, approaching void, or, as we shall see in subsequent intermission, absolute space.
While all of this is clear, it is not decided whether each epoch lasts enough to construct the history of its time: mainly, the origin from infinity and what that entails. Having that in mind, I can’t conclude without a doubt whether this intermission is correct (or true enough).
1) Time is a retroaction of infinite strike that happens in the void of presence.
2) Past and future moves farther away from the present as present expands after being infinitely contracted during the moment of a strike.
3) History is (a record of) time passing between the strikes.
4) Every history also includes an epoch, as a specific form of its relation to infinite strike.
5) All histories thus are different but not without points of convergence, overlapping, be it as contingent and accidental as they may.
The possibility that strikes of infinity are so dense that it would make talk of time, histories or epochs futile is probable, though improvable, as to do that would entail thinking and being infinity as such.
And, as infinities are many and discontinous, we would not form an idea of strikes of infinity.
P.S. There is a possibility that different infinities account for different categories or forms of experience.
But to be experienced, to be known to exist, every infinity would need to interact with another one – and precisely that moment of interaction would be a place and space of that happening. So time could become a category only because of there being and it having come into contact with another infinity, which, for its own part, would yield another category, for example – space.
February 12th, 2013
January 28th, 2013
January 11th, 2013
January 4th, 2013
life is an answer without a question
death is a question that has no answer
one is groundless
the other – voided
one is infinite while
the other is of such a density
that we can’t predicate anything of it
except its unpredictability
the history tries to reconcile the two,
to sew them,
in all its vanity, however tragic, great
or miserable it is
the truth belongs to none of it
neither answer nor question
the truth gets chaosed in history
it might belong to the real
but the real has no place,
no time and no heart
once you understand this
you can pop the bottle open,
take a sip,
close your eyes, or open them,
depending on your habits of thinking
you can pour your heart out
or stare silently,
depending on your history
you can invent a god
or a goddess,
depending on whether you had
or still want more
December 26th, 2012
the pills stop work and
alcohol reeks of blood
the cold eats your lungs
or what’s left of it
time was never there
to last enough
and the memories
become the terror
the ignorant win
the greedy celebrate
the space is populated
we’ve become accustomed to
alcohol reeks of blood
but so does milk
the perfume of it all
hovers just high enough
to deceive one
into lighting a cigarette
and swallowing the coffee