proposition/ 08 & road songs (2nd ed.)

the proposition

 

beauty is what appears

there is no time for essence

 

we move to the end of revelation

the heart is a chamber of echoes

 

when lover’s eyes

cold hands / every act is true

 

the self and other functions necessary to fact

if it was as simple as avoidance

 

in every act the question put

when he said love one another as I have loved you

 

when the path taken is unknown and clear

the truth of people is what they can see clear-eyed

 

when you come to the question of how to be

yes and how to match the trauma with explanation

 

we are all sustained by the great poverty of love

the dynamic that is never still

 

there is a giving up at every point

you can often slip through the impossible unseen

 

in the end it can only be a question of style

the range of human power is +1 or -1

 

the mathematics of unknowing

it’s not that anyone can say why

 

beneath the presentation in the absence of explanation

God came after the fact

 

there is always a question of kind

you have no option but to choose

 

the origin of forms is not a question of cause

the sky is without end

 

what can you do for another?

the world contracted thus

 

best to see it as a disappearing train

a space where you can be without identity

 

the observer does not see the observing this is the crux of it

you could take it as just an obsession

 

the passionate always walk alone

the way of being is a stand against

 

we move always in the shadow of other worlds

in the world of objects the spirit is untouched

 

to be driven by the senses is the purest way of being

beware the trap of blood

 

your essence is fluidity

it’s just a movement to emptiness

 

the question of how to find coherence

the world was born in secret

 

the heart just moves from space to space

when the point of focus becomes the loss of strength

 

the eyes of God are blind

the diamond maker sees in darkness

 

the heart was born in horror and sunlight

somebody said they saw me

 

always the innocent heart passes through shadows

if a deep order behind / beneath appearance

 

and as to the beating heart

Sam Phillips / five colours

 

the necessity of shutting down worlds

on the forgotten stone

 

the world is a function of the eye

beyond the logic of the need for explanation

 

it is to regard everyone and everything with awe

the great illusion is that there can be control

 

particular existence is a relation between

it rides fast in the wind

 

our consciousness of existence is our only knowledge

the fact of time subverts identity

 

everything is necessary / nothing is sufficient

every heart is broken / only the sound of tap dogs / there is a brightness

 

the noise behind the sound is a constant translucent whiteness

in the wealth of nations or in love and hate

a kaleidoscope heart the colours of the world /

a moonlight question for blackbirds and trees

 

 

proposition/08

beauty is what appears

(the phenomenal
is a function of

consciousness

the world

as that which surrounds mind

its origin and foundation

and so

we translate within language

one term for another

is knowledge

if so

any assertion
is equal to

any other

and all propositions
are exhaustive

of truth)


there's no time for essence

(we just run /

the stillness is never
now

it is something else

outside of time

you know it
in a moment

and always
it is gone

and ever present

behind

the anguish and the violence

any lover's kiss

the heart behind
the heart

the world as made)


we move to the end of revelation

(there is a point

when the choice is made
that is never uttered

to return to the silence
before the cry

to listen

to a logic
deeper than language

to sense

the rhythm of being
before existence

to walk into

the colour and the shape
of the hills and the sky

alone
in the crowd of the world

to watch

the wind

beckoning)


the heart is a chamber of echoes

(the heart is the mind
the mind is the heart

outside of metaphor
there is no translation

everything is without
description

it is pure being
before your eyes

it is pure being
behind your eyes

every lost world dying
every new world

emerging

you must deal with
eternity

on a thought by thought
basis

this is the daily
grind

even so

there is no question
the matter is settled

just love

children
and old men

know this

right thinking
is delight

it is without basis
it has no foundation

here is the test

the right act
a necessary act

its mark
is pure contingency

it is without cause

the way of gods
and beasts

the physics
that underlies the earth

the music
of the spheres

play true
to the sound of things

if you listen to
the actual

there is no option

sound
casts no shadow)


when lover's eyes

(what is seen

the mystery the panic
the joy

the unknown

in reflection

an accident of
necessity

sense substance
yes

but here too
the beginning

of the world

before

a question
of survival

the hunger of need

the thirst
of desire)


cold hands / every act is true

(consciousness
is indeterminate

in its definition
of its object

and so its value

the great illusion
is objectivity

always the play
of priests emperors

and grifters

you decide

what is in your interest

and it can never be
correct

in all settings

the decision
is only a thought

to act

every action

a quick grab
into the unknown

we imagine
possible worlds

to give substance
and form

to the actual

there is no one view

only a plurality
of minds

points of light

in the darkness)


the self and other fictions necessary to fact

(the issue is space / time
and if

it could be
fixed

we would have identity

that is not
compromised

by knowing

that doesn't bleed
into metaphysics

at the slightest
pressure

the quick silver
effect

and therefore
it makes perfect sense

to create a template

and hold it as
permanent

in psychology
this is character

like when people just live
in terms of their necessity

without a thought

moments of bliss

in mathematics
conventionalism

and really

what else for the sprite
number -

and the apparent motion
of calculation?

in religion God
or the son thereof -

or indeed
an alternative world

without the energy
of uncertainty

and the anxiety
of creation

in science
Democritus

quark!

and other small screams
in the dark

in madness
the mirror is broken

and the pieces
are alive

and if it is the case
that consciousness

has no ground
has no logic

before itself

why not?

outside of it
is nothing

that can be known

and this is
the real basis
yes

and the source
of all

laughter true

but even so

we must move
on)


if it was as simple as avoidance

(logic puts
either / or

and this is
a dangerous trick

as if

there is a line

when in fact
the question is how

to draw any line
at all

not to mention where

we operate with
p or -p

as a rule of thumb

up and down
the street

it works for questions
of fact

as presented
on the surface

of things

it is raining
or it is not raining

but of no use
beneath

she loves
she loves me

not

and the strangest of all signs
is

everything

the universal

is what?

the idea of the domain

of domains

OK

we understand
inclusion

things within things

so

we think a place

outside

that is not included

yo

when it comes to me
all I can say is

there is a light

and behind

the light

an unknown source

but this is to go

too far)

in every act the question put

(as if nothing else
to say

what does the artist do
but make himself
/ or her

outside himself
/ or her

and so to be
the author

of that

made or can we say
create

not if the conservation
of mass

holds

OK

perhaps then
only

'composed'

still the point is
to see

the subject as object

or so it would appear

a strange state of affairs
I hear you say

inside / out

that which is
as that which is not

and hence

the impossibility of
peace

on any footing

as clear as day

but always the central question
displayed

where am I?

as if nothing else
matters

and everything comes
to this

apparently

we have posits

categories of place
to work from

but nothing
underneath

to call your own

and so

to take a wide view

endless motion

to
and

fro)


when he said love one another as I have loved you

(I say it is no more
than everything

we need desire think
and do

there is no commandment
no should

in the desert wide view

and 'God'

the simple statement
of this

a name
for possibility

a sign

of the logic
of consciousness

in re

and you may ask
yourself

when did you not

and when did love
not reply?

do not think
it is only pleasure

or the construction
truth

joy

comes close

but suffering
too

as if

finally nothing

with empirical
content

hence

the escape
of spirit

or the door
to another door

and so on

you are never
without)


when the path taken is unknown and clear

(there are decisions made about how the world is and
how you are to be in this life that were made in the
blink of an eye without knowledge /

strictly speaking they have no origin

they are orphans / they can be loving or dangerous

and any explanation is as good as the next
science god or magic

though

what it amounts to is
a seeing or foreseeing

or not

of a pattern

that falls from the sky perfect for you

in the dull taste off autumn

even if you don't know

despite the world and anything it throws up

the unseen vision holds with assiduity

there is no more happiness or suffering
pleasure or pain

in the sum of things

as a consequence of this intuition

Dianne Keaton says Mr. Right never came her way)


the truth of people is what they can see clear-eyed

(it is the logic
of a state of affairs

of a mind or heart

the physics of it
if you like

but this is just to set the scene

the matter is way more
severe

it is to identify
elements

and see the relation
between

x and -x

is the guts of it

when the world
and vanity

is deflated
thus

so

avoid the trap of

judging

in terms of sense

if the issue is essence

and when is it
not

the question is always and only

where do you stand?

one's choice of place

is the only

value)


when you come to the question of how to be

(we are all mathematicians

operating in possible worlds
of self

in flesh and blood
mind and spirit

translating one to the other

without a book of code

it is to live magical

in concrete and sky

the making of new signs

new realities

from everything and nothing

to represent

and so

each consciousness

burning bright

always
a secret language

behind

the light)


yes and how to match the trauma with explanation

(as if anyway
it makes a difference

understanding

OK for how things work

in catastrophe

no explanation
embraces

they key is multiplicity

to accept the brokenness

each shard

a different view

a different light
another darkness

to shed upon

the event

negated

or at least mitigated

by the possible accounts

that never

amount to

fact)


we are all sustained by the great poverty of love

(you take the world away

its structures schemes
organizations

systems and things

and the innocent look up

only the tenderness
of touch

is left

and it is the day to day
care

of one another

not in life decisions
vows

or such

rather a smile
eyes alight

and words that mean
nothing

as words

but are the sound
of touch

the gentle heart
is everything

the world is a wind

love

the simplest
of things)

the dynamic that is never still

(we operate
in the centre

of every dialectic

to either side

a place / a possibility

and so the question
where to go?

a step to the left
a step to the right

there is no resolution
in choice

this is always
a diversion

a distraction

a dead end

the real game
is depth

the going deeper
into

and the making
of new forms

new expressions
of the unknown

oppositions

of greater

embrace)


there is a giving up at every point

(what needs to die

this is the shedding
of lives

the pure stance
is without

memory

and expectation

is simply

eyes

wide

the point

is always found
first

in thought

it is the logic
of absence

and here
the ground of all being

action

a matter of

defining

and then holding

the world

at bay)


you can often slip through the impossible unseen

(it is as they say
how you see

what you are
blind to

is most important

avoid the trap
of

being open
to all and sundry

experience
is a lie

delightful

though it is

the question
always

how to hold
a line

and granted
not worth

dying for

but finally
the only way

to maintain
against

constant
attack

so

when all
is said

and done

and the hands
are free

a clear
and distinct

idea

from the centre

straight for

the heart)


in the end it can only be a question of style

(and this an idea
of how to be

that holds up against
contingency

or through it

artists know this

it comes to them
like rain to ground

criminals too

celebrate a world
outside the ordinary

it goes on and on

each mind
in essence

a unique point
of possibility

a different way
of seeing

but deeper than this

how to stand
in eternity

in the pure
position

without form

the reason is breath
and truth

so how is this to be?

I say

it is to think

outside of
knowledge

and to see that
being

is before
all definition

and in every thought
and act

to bring this
understanding

to the day)


the range of human power is +1 or -1

(+1 is to move
from the centre

to initiate
on the basis of
reason

to see clearly
and so to act

-1 is to be moved
from the outside

to respond
on the basis of
sense

to be passionate
and so acted upon

stasis

is the position
of non-action

and non-affect

here the essence

the ground
of conscious being

it is the space
of absence

of stillness

it is

the moment
before

and as such
never known)


the mathematics of unknowing

(in practice

we live in
conflict

how to act
or what to be

there are no
absolutes

only degrees
of independence

or its loss

there is no
clear way

rather

a proposition
is put

a proposition
denied

a calculation
made

or

the energy of being

is its own
reward)


it's not that anyone can say why

(strictly
we live without
knowledge

the body
sees itself

from the inside

and as a result

imagines
gods

thinking is

the breakdown
of everything

even so

no guarantee

this is how
it is

outside

therefore

we see what we see

x = x

draw the line here

certainty
is just a decision

the horror
the horror

and begin
the begine

the great
manufacture

of dreams

of dreams

of dreams)


beneath the presentation in the absence of explanation

(the electric field
of madness

and things that are
aware

know
the source is

chaos

at the centre
of any order

why else structure?

the making
is to show

the absence

of design)


God came after the fact

(it was known

we created
the alternative

to the simplicity
of blind

existence

so as to make
beyond

the given

as if all our needs
to be met

what vanity

but how else could
it be?

what wish
cannot be granted

or

should be?

the line
is just between

everything

and nothing

x or -x

is the history

of everything

we touch)


there is always a question of kind

(and so

is an absence of definition

even possible?

the idea of a natural state

before order

or is it that

a fix of some kind

is the given

and the range of possible
forms

the limit of
the limitless?

also

perhaps it is just
that

we are led astray

by
negation

and imagine
just what

is not

as if it is)


you have no option but to choose

(a life is only seen
from the outside

in terms of other's eyes

and from the inside

where to take a stand

at what point in which
story

the one and only?

so

it is no simple matter
what you present

everything is
an interpretation

based on nothing but
a chance thought

unless the state of things
impress

and a particular cut

is needed

be aware

how you see yourself

and how you represent

is always

a work of art

with the pretence

of finish

and the illusion
of articulation

beneath the statement
to yourself

and to the world

you are an unknown

and so

of necessity

free

of being fixed

by any conception

of your mind

or

another's)


the origin of forms is not a question of cause

(what we see
the contents of consciousness

is evanescent

on reflection
we seek reason

as if
the last thought

the ground
for the next

or is it the other
way around?

and so

a picture of relations
between

this is
no more than

a reflex

an action of mind

it has no bearing
on how

things stand

it is like breathing

or the heart

beating

just what happens

and therefore
real

or as much
as

any event

so called)


the sky is without end

(and it never
begun

consciousness gives us
what we see

every intricacy of sense

the language of mind

to the world outside

behind this panorama

essence

has no appearance

it does not speak

there is no deep

syntax)


what can you do for another?

(what is there
to hold to

of a person

to grasp?

the appearance changes

from whatever angle

and finally
disappears

and to the question

of essence

it is to face square

the unknown

a source of delight

or

the ground of
fear?

let us just say

be true

to the ideal
of enabling

another's truth

whatever this may
be

either that

or walk away)


the world contracted thus

(I am what
I appear to be

and I am
what does not
appear

the point
of unity

is unknown

it is nevertheless
a necessity

that underlies
mind and body

deeper than

self

and more essential
than

the world

of appearance

so

the other sees
and imagines

and when you touch

you see
and imagine

this is just to say

love

or closeness
limits

the possibilities
of

not-knowing

for a time
and space)


best to see it as a disappearing train

(hey

the shapes
that were forming
and moving

down the streets

the tracks of mind
searching

always a world
within

worlds within

the journey

I am

a series of pictures
frozen

and disappearing

lost spaces

of the heart

and so
it should be

everything
gone

in a breath)


a space where you can be without identity

(you can step back
in thought

to its negation

to the absence of
object

and be still

in a simple presence

a place of no
definition

a space before

the emergence

of matter
or spirit

it is the unknown

the source

and beauty

that is

emptiness)


the observer does not see the observing this is the crux
of it

(so

the truth
to cut a long story
short

is to embrace

the unknown

as the source
of all

freedom)


you could take it as just an obsession

(that perpetuates
itself

in expression

the point of which
is

to find

its reason

the world is blind

and I would suggest

energy

or the essence

is uniform

motion

and this is why

Being

never falters)


the passionate always walk alone

(at heart
it's a reaction to

the order of the day

the assertion of self
as outside

the frameworks
of other minds

the attempt to find
a place unbound

to touch

the un-touched

to find
the essence

and never will this be acceptable

for the world
moves to

an ordering
for function

and so

the dangerous act
will be marked

even so

no one can live
entirely

in the given

we must all seek

its origin)


any way of being is a stand against

(if an essence

we have
no way of knowing
it

so

we decide
if we decide

at any rate
live

as we must
in what is

given us

still

a question
of definition

what is it
we face?

we make
an answer

for the moment

aware

we can never
be

certain

and for
an act to be

possibility
must be

denied

your reasons

are only what
you make

of your acts

shadows
of the fact

necessity

does not bring
satisfaction

the world
is blank

we make
marks)


we move always in the shadows of other worlds

(regions of being
adrift

and not recoverable

who you were
and where

dislocated images

appearing
for no reason

eyes that flash
opaque

as if the question
never answered

what you felt

a dull tug
from your own
eternity

details

that point to
nothing

the haunting
of false truths

a step away)


in the world of objects the spirit is untouched

(consciousness
gives us

the awareness
of possibility

and this can be
either

a liberating effect

or indeed
lead to

a loss of charge

depending on

the day the moon
or the stars

regard
the objective world

as a game to be
played

the pieces in place
or to be made

and know

you are always
above

what you posses
or what you lose)


to be driven by the senses is the purest way of being

(consciousness
demands

reflection

so

the impact of any act
of delight

is dissolved
in thought

even so

it is not as if
you can escape

the desire
for essence

some look to
pure thought

here though
nothing is fixed

unless
agreed upon

therefore

we live
in uncertainty

pleasure falls
to illusion

truth
to possibility

and beauty
not an ideal

rather

the absence
of)


beware the trap of blood

(you stand alone
in a world of dreams

wings within wings

the infinity
from the centre

and so

the smell of fear

is only the forest
at night

and need

is what you are
not

the promise of blood
is nothing

the hearts inside
the heart

go back to

a single cell
split in two

and every abomination
thenceforth

founded
on the same

wrenching forth

do not expect

the return to one

every union
of body or soul

a conjunction
in the sun

a coupling
of wind and fire

be at peace

in your days)


your essence is fluidity

(there is no
point

in a consciousness

at which it is true
or false

we move with
different pictures

we operate
within

uncertain
bounds

and are free
to the extent

we do not know

so

by all means seek

definition
of your life

and if you find
an idea

that is right
and good

and a way to be

make yourself
in its terms

right to the bone

for this is
a great and worthy

quest

it is the work of art

and beauty is to be
found

in deciding
what is not

however

should you find
the notion

falls short

and this just
the reality of doubt

nothing is lost

for you will
always be

more than
any idea

of yourself

the truth is absence
the truth is space

let yourself go)


it's just a movement to emptiness

(the body remains
as shadow

its action is
transformation

to essence

the internal is lost

physics
loses its grip

a door closes
and the room beyond

disappears)


the question how to find coherence

(as if
an idea will resolve

put the fix in

the essential
chaos

of experience

beauty

from another
point of view

or just
the way of

anything
comin' and goin'

no glory

there is nothing higher
or lower

the vision

flat and extended

the purity
of desert

the elegance
of truth

the ground of
reflection

everything
you can see

is here)


the world was born in secret

(flowers grow
to delight

gentle bodies walking
fail to see

or choose to deny

the horror
is a black stone

in the paddock

no-one
can explain

the shine

in the distance blue hills

animals and men
wander aimlessly

in fields

apparently looking

(there is no mind)

illusion is
the reason for

every action

and we
inhale / exhale

to a prearranged
number

so

paint your image
in the sky

enjoy
the clash

of gods)


the heart just moves from space to space

(and each time
a world complete

as if
there never was
another

and

/ whatever reason precipitates

be it anguish
be it delight

an explosion of image

a light show
for consciousness

to give the illusion
of substance

to play the trick of
choice

in the end

all to the fact
of silence

or

the pure
emptiness

of act)


when the point of focus becomes the loss of strength

(as if there never was

and passion
is a shadow

and mind
nothing to discover

just the eternal

yes

and what of touch?

so the illusion true

it is a sea of transparency

only the intrigue
of colour

gives reason

shape is doubtful

and content

the absence

bright

a train ride in the country

would be good
for the body

and the world
could run through consciousness

as if

young again)


the eyes of God are blind

(and here the true
vision

of stone

mind
the making of image

nothing but
a contortion of physics

for delight

disregard

as to the babel
of hearts

only the intricacy
of being

with forms
of another space / time

intersection

hence the illusion
of difference

the only joy

we move with intent
as if

a reason
peculiar

rather the grand
action

mindless

writ small

even so

for all its impossibility

the beauty
of these hills

rolling green

defying
any metaphysics

as if

an ancient
consciousness

made still)


the diamond maker sees in darkness

(the comfort of black
streets

the poetry of stone
under feet

move in passion
to drink

the unknown

is to know the delight
of no

satisfaction

the fire heart

cannot be drenched

and everything
living or not

a word

language is never spoken

it is the making
of each event

every vision

of beauty

and death)


the heart was born in horror and sunlight

(the lost time
of well walked
and known

streets

and there must be a point
a deep significance

outside of perception

the reason

is just not there

and so

we act to create
substance

foundation
truth

as if a young woman's
eyes

in the summer of '72

the cool walls

and thought paths

in the Atlantis

of eucalypt
and wattle trees

remains

I have lived in many
worlds

I am the different
histories

of the unknown

and every trick

of light

and time)


somebody said they saw me

(the given
of consciousness

is without purpose
origin or end

the moment
in itself

is peerless

true delight

(as pale
as a pale sky)

it is only
on reflection

we need
reason

and in its absence

metaphysical
guilt

the original sin

as if

staring at
the absent corpse

and so

the need to transform

translate

eternity

into bits

and to give

these atoms
of the mind

point

connection
and direction

and with this

the making
of the character

of the world

as if

it could not get on
without

colouring
structure

and motive

we create illusion
out of nothing

to forget

the final truth)


always the innocent heart passes through the shadows

(evil

is a complex configuration
does anyone believe?

it is a loss of grip
by those who must hold

and the angels who fly free
are never grasped

they lack the darkness
of substance

and here the reason for
persecution

in the name of

it might be

a misuse of logic
and not

a blackness
of the heart

either way

you see finally

or in the beginning

there is no name

and so

the great unknown

that should not be?

at least for those
who seek

a point

a reference
for reference

on the other hand

when you open
the door

to the garden

there is only laughter
and this

a sign of
anarchy

the forms
of joy)


if a deep order behind / beneath appearance

(it is not conscious

for consciousness is
the effect

reflection

and a function of
what is beneath

and so

a logic of no awareness

the empty sign
or any sign

still

the question
what

the essence

unknown
and

unknowable

but for
manifestation

therefore

the world

if so

what appears

is what is

how
to describe

the only
question

and every attempt
undetermined

we fly

above

the fall

endless
to

the place
of

no ground)


and as to the beating heart

(the days of pale blue
behind the deep and complex

history of nothing seen

and the seer
imagination has no structure

the world given
a moving thing

the dream magic of substance
a pure logic of operation

in whatever form
true

and so

the way of bodies
sensation / action

the illusion of mind
defying

the great stillness)


Sam Phillips / five colours

(consciousness
the inside

of the world

the body

(externality)

we cannot see

outside of
this

(God)

reflection

on reflection

the beautiful
emptiness

(mind)

is space

for decision

action

without reason)


the necessity of shutting down worlds

(of the heart

there are no constants
though the desire for

yes

so the mind pretends
with all its force

the fix on matter / body

and always the escape
the loss

of grip

and the point is
life

the need for certainty
is more

the anticipation of
the preparation for

death

the lust of it
infects

every

human touch

and we are ever
saved

in the movement
the symphony

the motion of things
is vitality

forget the vanity of
consciousness

the truth is deeper

(the mind is
but a screen
for showing)

evidence

light / sound

the action of the infinite
in every presentation

and so
no doubt

the shock of abandonment
or betrayal

necessitates
amnesia

for how else
would you go on?

the history of everything
must be

now

remembrance
of things past

horrors / delights

distractions
in the art of fact

perhaps

the seeking of
reason for

as if there was
a beginning

or indeed

an explanation
of)


on the forgotten stone

(a distinction
what is desert /
what is not?

millions of ants
organized

on another level
the absence of fixture

the space of not-knowing
is the reason for

any action or
thought to

so

dawn is the closing of
an eye

and the sun

the argument of disdain
for

night the place of
creatures

the eyes are blind
and bright

everything moves

if so

stillness

and there was once
history here

for a moment

the totality

now emptiness
and junk

where we begin /

desolation just is

the matter

out of which

and stars
the illusion of

distance
from

it's as if

there should be more
than)


as to the logic of forms

(why

a particular thing

at a particular
time

is all there is
to being

and reason

an action of mind

(itself)

inside

the world

so

in the absence

of God

there is
only

delight)


the world is a function of the eye

(behind the eye

mind is

inside
(and the picture of out)

we see
that we see

here

is the point

(never seen)

too much really
only

the ramblings of one
who cannot be held

by a moment

who would have thought
the slave is free?

(and disconnected)

nothing
extraordinary -

just ways of being

like pathways
though the garden

by the unknowing

and much as
you may wish

you cannot deny
history

the effect

is now

and so always
the problem of translation

is the problem of language

what to make of

the presentation

the body

tells every story
but so

being in
and the world

defies

with every perspective

the timeless

and this is what
you never

escape

the wrenching
of

my heart
was never pure

it never knew
the truth

absence

(in the midst)

of everything

action

with no

end)


beyond the logic of the need for explanation

(is

the cool silence
we can only

understand

as what
is not

the impossibility of peace

is just the action
of action

(it is without mind)

and mind
a reflection

or

the image that holds
image

as the moon
follows you home

in the words of the
song

but for the import
of colour / shape

and touch

we have only lines
drawn

on a plane

or undefined primitives
in the absence

this is about
the best you can
say

that we (and the stones
and the stars)

represent)


it is to regard everyone and everything with awe

(given that

the brutal fact
the cold beauty of

existence
as such

is without account

why
anything / anyone?

is the first
and only question

of your eyes

beyond this
miracle

of dust

the emptiness
supreme

space for
mind

to be still

the great darkness)


the great illusion is that there can be control

(perhaps
just from the reach and
grasp

the configuration
set

or

I would suggest
the differentiation of bodies

the idea of myself

and what
is / not

and so the view
writ

large

yes

it is possible
to see

everything

therefore

God

the mistake of consciousness
projecting

itself

outside of reality

the logic
is clear

this is not on

nevertheless

it is ingrained

and so

to science

the objective view

that there is
an object

outside of
the subject

that can
therefore

be embraced
(grasped)

and known

this

fixation
on

fixation

is the making of
fantasy

to the purpose
of power

over

is what
it comes to

bad metaphysics

too easy)


particular existence is a relation between

(the holding
conditional

a set up
beyond comprehension

nevertheless

the reality
of being in

the world

so

we live and laugh
and die

in the colours of space
and the energy of time

bodies

constructions
of mind

outside of this

or

in explanation of

any picture
as valid

as another

myself
I figure

it is deeper than
knowing

where there is no

intelligence

and only thought

has an answer
to the question

what can you do

but give
to the beggar?

what can the beggar
do

but take?

the world disappears
at every moment

yo

it is given
complete)


it rides fast in the wind

(as if
a stillness

at the centre

intelligence

the illusion
of design

is no more
than

a deeper
contrivance

made necessary
by

an accident
of

dust)


our consciousness of existence is our only knowledge

(and it is

a knowledge
without certainty

this is it

and so

we can dispense
with the props

of actuality

and think
pure

though
this offers

no consolation

in the face of contingency

the infinity of frames
in lightning speed

beyond the eye

or

be

true

and face the horror
of fact

without foundation

you can

decide for the
intellect

here

and be witness
to the invisible

logic

the effervescence
of spirit

you could say

or

plunge

to the senses

and find

the great emptiness

of delight

is a blackness

(beautiful)

in short

I recommend

the practice
of

knowing

distraction)


the fact of time subverts identity

(so

we persist with the illusion
there is no choice but

to insist

in the face of the absence
of form

a notion
you could argue
has no basis

in fact

it is the only
focus

of consciousness

nevertheless

defeated
at each

turn of the eye

each beat
of the heart

even death
has no hold

so

we live in
dispute

what I was
is not what I am

what I am
is nothing but

what I was

you cannot draw a line

but the fact of no
start

a ground of uncertainty

a source

of fertility?

the point

I think is

no judgement
can be made

for

every construction
dissolves

this is the place
of being free

or

undefined /

the senses

denied

or the end
of

thought)


everything is necessary / nothing sufficient

(ok

the fix
eternal

as if
there could be
a mistake

a slip

a contingency

indeed

appearance
is in motion

even so

no accident

essence

is without
definition

the picture is
complete

a world
outside

this world

you say

and outside of
that

is just thought
spinning

thought

the spider
in us all

I want to say

there is no
lacking

no surplus

all forms
all things

are needed

embrace

and know

you are

embraced)


every heart is broken / only the sound of tap dogs / there is a brightness

(in the trees

under the ground
and above

it is covered in flesh and bones

and eyes reveal

the essence is thought

it is beneath /
inside

and it is like
white spirits

no colour / or texture

only fire

distilled

I have known the way of this

and now stand back
to watch

the same eyes

corridors
are where

you find

the emptiness
of yearning

and the joy
of absence

God is always there

the chill is not

physical

the cold is true

secrets

in old rooms

in the abandoned
hotel

a wild woman with a needle
reads

poetry
in your room

everyday

while you are at work

teaching
children

you discover
in the future

at the bottom

stool
by stool

for Kris K

yo)


the noise behind the sound is a constant translucent
whiteness

(before God
was conceived or

for that matter

anything

appeared

we are expressions
of this

predications

energy

that became

aware
of object

and then

turned
inward

to see

or imagine

there is
a history

beyond
the moment

that gives it

a reason
to be

as you wander
through

the city lanes

the new history
of stone

and the amazing
thing is

you can only
see

design

yes

the mind

is out there

try

to imagine

the absence

of a time line

or

a place

with no

geometry

the fix
was always
in

the reflections
endless

stop)


in the wealth of nations or in love and hate

(it is a dependence
on

uncertainty

the possibility
of

exchange

requires

a relation
of

reciprocity

demands

the illusion
of

faith

there is nothing
to believe

but belief

itself)


a kaleidoscope heart the colours of the world /

(the illusion
is stability

the myth of Euclid

is the glory of it

true

and the fractions
of being

moving in and out
moving in and out

the hollow forms
collide

action
is the reason for
action

how so?

the terror of
not

is the only
constraint on

thought

we live within
the imagined

out of nothing

you
on a blue sky day)

a moonlit question for blackbirds and trees

(yes

and is it that everyone
has this

dark mass

that goes back

to everything

before the light
the effervescence

of consciousness

a reminder
in the heart

the dead
of emotion

a point of origin
perhaps

we need to
revisit 

for bearings
or just

because

it is essential
to know

darkness

as the source
of light)

road songs


as to /

what you see - the surface (of another) is hardly it / you always see beyond your focus ) outwards ( and beneath is what you already know up front / like the clothes worn on a body (it's called the showing) get that for a turn around - there is nothing beyond (Wittgenstein tried this one on) so why would you bother to inquire? at the heart of things / everybody kneels and pants / the hunger is immoral (and insatiable) so you have to divert / Darwin was on the track here - make planes (not the flying machines) for to throw off the stench - and there assemble the structure (the world) in Venice it's called a mask - in delirium the end of sickness (for mathematicians it doesn't really exist however to keep you quiet they will concede function / though really why would you bother to turn your gaze from delight / the rest of us they will tell you have been looking in the wrong way) / what is the absence of (?) - and you wonder why it is ingrained - so // there have always been beings who structure unique (only as a defence against the metaphysics of solid things) and you can learn there is no place - so anywhere will do nicely thank you very much or like my father you can reach transcendence a spiritness (completely hidden by the appearance)

what is behind / what is behind / the eyes (the field of action you might say physicists like to think they've got it cold - in fact they don't see that you can't see the seeing / OK back up Shorty / imagine little wire like figures (without minds) moving in relation to (there is no substance to these things) they are pictures that have no referents / lights (that are never seen) so / at least there is happening and it has no hold on itself / (blind as Saturday night) yeah OK so why the anguish as if nailing it would stop the sweating and dreaming with no logic the point is moot

(I was going to say it's about separating out what's already separated out like saying what happens when you distinguish one colour from another / you draw a line that must already be there)

there are some women who only have intelligence left. they are skinny boney and brown as berries it's when you come to gardening as the only thing that makes sense / they have large eyes / harbouring a wisdom as cold as fruit / children gone as never had or hadable (it must be a relief) carving anger into a figure that stands on the window sill hollow eyes seeing only the outside (the last demon eating from a bowl on the kitchen floor) and men as if they never were shadows passing in the flicker of light down / through Autumn trees

the leaves on the path alone / true consolation

dissatisfaction is any movement away / therefore time is a deduction / in the logical and economic senses positions are held in / and let go the point is everything falls (not just you) and the next world into place (don't sweat it you haven't lost your mind just a step or two) and you had all that space in that one instant? hard to imagine hey - and some want to tell you it's cause and effect where do these people come from I ask you the rubbish heap is just bits that survived the world's loss of itself and it's replication - there's always a cost / the skinny white girl says opening her legs and her smile is already died for (so when do you start paying?) the way of things is an illusion there is no change beneath the days (it's only light that gives the appearance of corruption and birth) in a dark room you have a chance to review / the crime was the beginning / (full stop) and the thing is no-one did it / and so entirely by accident you've stumbled on the origin of laughter / (is the fire of light) / drunk eyes see with delight

and the sickness? - always before and after just the way of it if you watch from the farm house the road the line where nothing comes / whoosh or goes / a solitary tree in the dry dirt / like there's a reason for something (legs can only hold it together for so long) and then the other world closes up tight / you never really know how to get out / not to worry Murray you don't appear to have suffered at all / that is from the inside out / as to - well we won't go there now will we -

and there is an image it could be everywhere and it just connects to one girl (no wonder she took to the night and the hopeless attempt to shed pride) and after years on that corner only the light burned brighter

we know everyone has reasons / and everyone knows there is no reason / imagine if the truth did not flicker (what a state we'd be in) Jesus only the dogs would know (it's called a joke) you see the point is not knowing / so your biso would just be the same / with the same cunts beings cunts and Saturday night at the local with Myrtle (true love_ it would seem withstands every configuration of plagues / God only knows where that door leads to last time it was the street but that was before the stars were shut down / Maurie said it's finished but then he might be right off his head I would bet the dream ended in the last century and you just stopped wishing / strange calmness in the Burra / no more poker night they tell you at 6.00. p.m. / now there's a sign (and like them all sign-ifying nothing) I say stick it (what the gang at the bar have had to face is eternity) light as a touch

perhaps we just fold down for a time and by chance the drugs start working again - or some such mistake occurs you see the idea of it staggering to a / or dissolving itself into a what? is too much of a stretch in this day and age of wire like things behind the curtain making picture shows you think you're watching (the facts are quite simple) Lulu tap dances at the Ritz at 4 in the arvo and only Benny the taxidermist turns up to watch so there's never really been a last days / show closing (though it's in someone's mind) / and yes it's not good to be trapped like that / but hang it all who can bear the cross let alone the hanging (around) / and as if leaving means anything at all - some people are sick in the head / they think death is an opening like there's a difference between things yeah right

horror shudders down the street (the world is unaware)


yeah

who would have thought the brace / the chain-mail of text - as hard as bark really hides the dancing - (the beauty of it is inside you see) the imposition of it is not a closing a trap a shut down to the floor nailed - the secret is this - this grid of syntax is the gateway to the mind's delight it is what happens beneath the signs and their constants - the possibilities released like a plague and the wind is without scarring - or heart sinking regret it is the spirit released / this is where you live when you walk outside / and madness is

every delight / I know the price is sanity / and yes the logic of it is three dimensional the journey into the outside the outside turning itself back to - what we have is the fluidity of water it is not subject / object vertical looking into space - the great horizontal - I mean who is to say that's it otherwise no one would paint or do numbers - and it's just not that how it appears is the background to what will be / there are innocents that are capable of the most horrendous crimes of the heart and spirit / and they play as if nothing has happened / I love the music of old men and women / down the autumn boulevard

the streetscape is just a cover for the great motion that is beyond order and disorder /a point of light / still / eternal (anything else?)

I keep thinking of splints - wooden splints tied to legs as if this is a metaphor for lives splintered - the terror of being destroyed is quite simple - it can happen before you loose your mind with grief those sunny days / there is in fact no crime - the actor just walks off - the stage is dead the audience gone there is nothing left to say and so we make a mythology to give some significance to everything / and it is rather necessary / there is the backdrop of stars and their implications just setting / context really for our peculiar affairs / the killers walk free the dead never leave the miracle is without choice / and that is the point

to be embraced denied forgotten trashed left on the roadside by a desert cafe it's footsteps really just mind marks on paper or ground sky or water and nothing to be found beneath or beyond really this is the great mystic river - you see there just is no dilemma where did I get that idea from as if you have to try and work it out and live a life of epistemological misery either that or go completely immoral leaving bits and pieces of your mind on the broken days / (like an insect collector) mirrors reflect the intrusions across light and its variations to absence / there is always the poker game upstairs at Fat Tony's (hey its a point of focus / saved lives / just going up those stairs each Tuesday since 1954 is reason enough) / there's not much to it I hate to say / apart from the waves of colour behind your eyes

I remember the caress of tress down the convent road the park just sitting to the side always a place of peace / and for young lovers to be free (those trees against the sky) there were years I wandered gentle in their gaze

what has happened to that space and every other time I had the luxury of - is it all still there layers on layers and always the new one face up and ready for imprint perhaps the odd detail changed in case an inventory needs to be taken latter / this is to say there are objective marks to time though some will tell you esse est percipi (it's the seeing that makes the world you can be cursed with such a lover) the rest is imagination / but the real question is how to describe anything / like what is to count as final / or for that matter is there an initial state? It's a carnival and you just go from one tent to another the wonders increase with each step and the laughter is without awareness /

so there is a purity of act we cannot grasp / on reflection - it is the directness of being qua being as they say at the Bottom Bar / (and it becomes a longing to be intensified / you see the tragedy is you never forget / the forms are eternal / and life / your life - the introduction to essence

with each person / or really any event - it is as if everything was begun again - and a new direction taken / like repetition is impossible and the link is difference/

(not drinking can be perilous)

God / it's just a question of art really / something is behind it all and it makes the things and the wires necessary to hook them up to work / and the workers necessary to electrify the things and these workers are really just things-plus / the fact is though it's all got right out of hand / (and I mean big time though no one's really saying just how bad it is yet) look we know any project can go off the rails / and it's not that it has a life of its own it's rather that in this case the knowledge got lost and now every thing is moving without any reason at all (strawberry fields forever) / and this is what some have always longed for / and others will tremble

look / it's either all in or all out / that's logic (writ large; small is 'either / or') / erotic dancers have an identical movement but they can only show it / they have no way of saying it in words (as Wittgenstein demonstrated) the point is it doesn't matter one way or the other / you are / whatever you want to call it (or) however you wish to dress it up / or whatever name you adopt or give // if you think / and have some courage you will always be beyond definition / (hanging out there with the wild ones) therefore anguish and delight / OK enough said / the stools are up / the lights are going out the door / the night is waiting /

down the street go dreamers full of madness


I went down

into the shadows) the wings of logic (soundless Icarus denied / to fly in the absence of forms / a moment of retreat the only ecstatic possible / a trick of dispersement / or the seeing between every thing / on the street bright as day / the pure appearance of light is no covering / rather the illumination of its darkness / Molly the bar maid in skirt and leggings comes to be (around the corner) her face // all the stones and sky (even traces of the spirits / come and gone) aspire to be / her lovely legs the beginning of the world (as we know it) every thought and touch from and to / the magic of the ordinary / is impossible to grasp with eyes or numbers we dissipate in pursuit of completeness / Pythagoras drowning /

silver screaming through the light the blue sky still // the continuous relentless tragedy renews / so I like to read books or poems that barely make sense / like hanging from a balcony by-your-finger-tips / the shut down begins day one / ask any rag trader / it's either / or - a cruel sanity the sinking to the knees / (or) / the release / the rush of madness - something beyond mind - perhaps just star dust from your skin / yes I remember the disconnect was complete the river was inside / a ride into bright darkness (I lived in two hotels and was looking for a third?) the thing is you are better to look out / there is nothing beneath - to see to grab to listen to / (the illusion is you) I hate to be the one - but there I've done it / you can wander off now (the outside is where the dreaming goes on)

Spinoza returned / as an itinerant preacher /(Panama hat / baggy pants) how to recover from the ravages of spirit / in prison the inmates tell him / from the point of view of eternity (means) who gives a fuck? / there are tribes that wander the alleys and meet on the steps / rituals of cleansing and abstinence / directions are never true / the light deceives / (you have no hope) only the illusion of front / like the actor and the eternal question / a good script? / or Beckett (the idea of what is between the words) that is the place (you never get out of) therefore the escape of language is sinful / God does not express / I would like to believe / the only truth is wood / I have seen it everywhere / and I was never looking / so / behind every act of design was the absence of form / nothing is the real deal / and this but a throw away (you think everyone knows at some level the voices stop saying / and what is left is all we have / ask the ex-weather girl at the esplanade market / it's tense / and Jesus the bar has disappeared as if the world started again (from scratch) / should anyone have to stand in the wind in a dead man's suit / juggling dreams / for all the world to see?

the tragedies go to bone / mind is a bird of flight / the days an eternal reflection repeating (the absence of substance the passage of light) and time a picture of space / the irresolvable connection is just ways of speaking (the idea of tense and position) necessary for locomotion (from a point of view of consciousness) it happens anyway and so the great superfluousness / nevertheless the source of every emotion (the climate reflected in your heart) / an exquisite / the essence everywhere and way displayed in your eyes // it just goes / it just goes / on down Fitzroy St. right into the mouth of the sea / we have no status in the cosmos - there is no differentiation / vitality a perception / perception - the lake reflecting in the sky / the sky back to the lake / it goes on / it goes on / creatures have self asserting biology / just a question of wiring / and God is the shadow / in the darkness / dancing / we can't help ourselves / there is just no end to the embrace / the trick is to forget / the problem of reason / wrap yourself in colourful / apparel and focus on your hands / the journey is just a distraction / (at best all the attributes of a feast) / nothing is left once you go / memory is the trick / we are the makers of assertion and denial / machines with hearts / 010101 /etc. / etc.. ....... (but oh the beauty of eyes)

down at the pier there are two old men who fish in a spirit sea they speak the ancient dialect of recollection and are mad with joy / only the wind can see them / they have /clouds for eyes / they leave stories on old newspapers / and people ponder the signs left / the question of meaning / you can hear them dreaming at the break of dawn / it is the sound of light / whether they come from time or not is impossible to say we must have an open mind on creation / the essence of form is anarchy / only time puts in the fix / and we all know how that goes / so perhaps the best picture is the horizon (at least infinity is self-consistent) so relief there - and the hills provide a buffer - a point of view / time for the sandwich by the side of the road / and then the walking on / the dust / defies design / we walk in absence / beyond the trees there are mind places / with ancient bearings / and young people reinterpret

I became a direction for accident / fixed from an arbitrary point / (as if there is an opposite - this is where the madness begins) and so the artwork is displayed (from no hand) in every act and thought / it comes to nothing (it never leaves the blackness) despite the illusion of Sun (at best out of this poverty a stream of figures / signs posited as meaning / the world is just a making of itself (ex nihilo) - and for all intents and purposes everything just is what you believe / and what you look at / is what is there / here is the miracle / the true beauty of nothing behind / the great storm of the heart / (is the only presence) a silence of force and fury / (we are all mute) and every color through your eyes / of course you must pray in the cold house of marble and wood where God fearing men come and go / and the great fraud of St. Augustine was just this / (the decision to bow) / the garden scene made for television / we are all dressed in pictures of the mind / and so to the true state of affairs / chanting and incense / and the deep symphony of shadows / and you will leave / never to find / (it is just the argument for stillness) that is impossible to recover / and this from before / the beginning of things / a thought that has no grounding / of course the flight is light itself (and substance but the illusion of self)

my heart / is a myth of history lost to breath // there is no sound / only the space of possibility / poets imagine a place of joy or pain - I know the fields of everlasting / the moment of birth / is not where anything begins / it is the playing out of the great argument / here is a way to see / that will set you free

down every road on every path / delight


ah yes

the point of view: you could say the individual breathing / always / a product dash function of existing structures / systems - that is above and beyond - the beauty of small dreams and salutations // and this we say holds like a fish bowl in God's hands // yes what to do? - you can be one with the great nothing of forms or stand apart outside the old movie theatre / in the darkness and the lonely lights (talking to the girl in the ticket box - who could just be you a chromosome or two removed) / so / in logic action is based on negation / this is the pure deal / no content or substance to glug up the works (clear vision has nothing to do with existence)

if so / the rational / ethical / and the only move in nature is against / (this does not answer your question) the emptiness is the source the place to return to of spirit - it is the ground of not

the responsibility for the world is in your fingertips / beyond / there is no account - the sky has only colour / you cannot touch

and to this dilemma of being conscious - of what cannot be embraced - you can only adopt a character for the play and watch from the back row how it goes / the careless heart is a great defence and for the most part fool proof / the seeker of knowledge is always deluded and well received at the moment / contempt the lasting impression out in the farmlands where every face is welcoming / hey there neighbour // the possibilities are quite endless good and evil just the different forms nature uses / for the pointless endeavour of continuance (fortunately from the inside we are all drowning in significance)

universals are concrete and have no centre of consciousness - so / the quaint think they can vote in or out the powers that be - and the disinclined imagine a glory of destruction / the revolution starts now - only to find after the party the masks have just been swapped or somewhat re-drawn / new divisions where there were once old enmities (you can get really sick of the whole story especially the puppet heads of history)

on the other hand the idea that you have control over anything but your thought is one of those necessary illusions that makes sanity a reasonable prospect / and every one can enjoy the street party - well let's face it who wouldn't step into the bar and stay for a decade?

don't mean to Ryle ya but category mistakes are necessary / to keep various continents of reality semi-connected - otherwise it would just be the chaos of windowless monads and girls with no morals

first up pain / you would imagine / is indubitable (ought to stop the slide into nothingness very quick smart ) - and but for an argument of necessity or recurrence this would be the end of it / a foundation for consciousness and a definition of evil - the two for one option (just think of the 3d geometric contortions your soul has been put through or you put it through over the years of faces and limbs and tell me you don't believe in cause and effect sweetheart)

and so the beast / the horror in sunlight (beauty is indefinable and black)

at any point // space / time co-ordinates - the mesh / the matrix / the grip -

as if to make order // - the imposition you know is false (before any dream)
the fix on eternity for every thought and action (necessary)

in desperation / always

a way forward
a road / through


© greg t. charlton. 2024. 2025.

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