St. Patrick's Day

 

what would you do
if not for recognition?

and the secret
the necessary

to make clear
the world is separate

and inferior

to the hidden
ceremonies

of the self
triumphant?

is it not just
a foolishness

a tenderness even

in the fleeing of
cruelty

hard eyes always
with no change

(the span of a life)

trees and rain and streets
concrete blocks

on another scale
of time

where life and death
are beautiful

in their nothingness

such simplicity

the great understatement

of existence bare

without (and free of)

the madness

that is sentience

a great and fertile drama

from the inside

and shared among the bearers

constantly asking 'why'
'what'?

with the blindness
that is vision

from the outside

(if there was
an objective
point of view)

a flaw

of little consequence

an irregularity
of light

if you like

and all just
a sketch

of many possibles

(from the kitchen
to

the cutting edge
of mathematics

or even further on
to madness

e.g.)

it's the great
contortion of logic

leading to denial

and an idea
of peace

everyday fare

the battle for meaning

dishes in the sink

poetry

(wordplay)

necessary

to celebrate

the scream

(an irony of
silence)

marks scratches

'characters'

on a page

in the physics
world

or cyber

meaning
is everywhere

distilled

to this

we move between
invisible circles

always in motion

the stillness

a beating heart
and reason

emptied
of the world

clear

of no content

but its own
ground

of brightness

slips off
the edge

and floats
out there

oblivious

the push from

the Pythagoreans

and The Great Denial

who would have thought

out of such blackness

the light returns

to grid nature

in sign

and the emotional
wrecked

who can no longer
bear

touch

have

sought refuge

in pure
thought

and its comfort
of imagination

secret
worlds
again

where

the agonies played
in glory

and reason

restored

to the anguish

of the world

and so

thousands
of people

stand

below
a window

a frame
of space

in which
once

appeared
a spirit

in a body

in a frame

in a window

inside
a space

and so

and the Proustian
hypothesis

just this

the brackets are

as far as you
can go

in safety

for truth

you see

the embrace

must be

of everything

and then

you

drill

down

to

the

miniature

and beyond

it's

the secret
of

coming back

and never

to have left

a beautiful
artistry

and the ease of
it all

you could say

disgraceful

and metaphysically
true

still

it goes beyond
style

some ancient
in

the architecture

pre-Greek

to the beginnings

of number

and the grand

Arabic

Indian

discovery

of

zero

and America began

with the lie
of a new society

at the heart

of violence

the idea

for without
destroying

what is to be built?

no embrace
here

just

the emotional

junkyard

of now

Andy Warhol

a frenzy of scratching
in the dark

and the relief
of blood

must be denied

the incurable
disease

of history

or

option 2

the American Psycho

final solution

to the agony

of the false dream

you need

admit nothing

'whatever'

and who's

to care

at least fun

in dying

so we go national

after all you have to get
the universal
back

and show
your mirror

it was always
American
anyway

nothing like mass slaughter
to drive

the point of history

home

and simplicity dies in knowing

and it takes so much
to face

the truth

years
deaths

the history
of possible
lives

and still

a hankering for

perhaps

it's the meta heart

of it all

is not a complex

rather

one

a primal stamp
reinventing

against

true consciousness

is always
the complexity
at each

moment

you can
and I have

and many do
despair

(only youth
it appears

embraces

with all
the joy
of

ignorance)

but is not this
a time and motion

issue

finally

how long
can you be

frozen

and why stay
any longer?

the release

is a thought
away

forget

the argument

of Anaxagoras
and Democritus

it's Saturday morning
on the street

negotiating space
faces appearing

thought systems
clashing

emotion
a river

of all colours

flowing

and Sunday
in the map room

strategies

arguments

links

ancient history

and the problem
of manoeuvre

(if not
attack
and
defence)

it is
the nature
of energy

to work

and work

is to operate

with all
the resources

at hand

no more
or

less

it is to be

engaged

men

will often think

there comes
a time

when you can
rest

and be

still

no woman
has ever

allowed

or

understood

this

and it is

this

hard knowledge

that is

the true
ground

of their

strength
and beauty

and to get

the picture

sharp

make

a figure

with wire
and pliers

as complex

and

as real

as you can

twisting
and forming
to life

the very act

will show you

how to be

to think

and breathe

to act

with sweat

and joy

and everything is
valid

(the world simply
is)

and all action
conscious

or not

is just

what

must
be

value

a schemata

the track

decided upon

found

or indeed

the great habit

of trees

only this

be true
to the need

(purely tactical)

for
objective

and path
necessary

in the dust

and know

you are only

possibility
in action

on the run

and indeed
you can always

just

stop.

(dead)

jokes
aside

walk to
the other end
of the field

or the world

take a vantage

from the hill

and you will see

there is nothing
physical

about it

perspective is

the freedom
within

and the great gift is

there is

no reference

(no outside)

the illusion
is gone

contingency

is just

the joy

of being

always

in the midst

when the world is
young

the senses
overflow

and the abundance

obliterates

vision

every sound
colour

and touch

a deviant
logic

of joy

and facts are born

that were never
dreamed

and lives
formed

before

the knowing

(it is all relative)

and nothing
lost

forever

in the days of
clarity

when the glory
spent

the possibility
still

of passion

perhaps
what is left

revered

honoured

protected

a wisdom

you could say

found

in the aftermath

of the heart's
explosion

and the years
of walking

without
necessity

only to find

everything

as it was

(the world waits)

for shooting
lights

to find
the day

it is
simply
just

a folding into
another realm

the dying

the physics
of a body

the greater
moving on

spirit

is indestructible

the world
forms

around

its lights

dust

cannot hold
itself

it cleaves
to

a focus

and this
in turn

stays

the uninvited guest

embraced

till evening
comes

and the door

back

to the darkness

and I have
no sense

anymore

of the agony
that led to

hospital rooms
and escapes
in the night

and what of
Irish Jim Hayes?

the soft mornings
at the farm

his beautiful
lyrical

poetry

read
to me

for in a moment

he knew

and his
testament
in the hall

through the years
of isolation

and insanity

to

a humility

that was

pure
and
true

O to write

as he did

speak

to the wild ones
and crushed

in the darkness

coffee
and
tea

pamphlets

and

dreams

everyone
was there

at the end
of the night

out to

the cold dark

of mystery

and the world

war
is only about poverty

(forget
the whore

ideology

and the advertising
campaign)

spend
your billions

on food
shelter

inequality

of resource

is the only
reason

to want some
to take some

to deny

wealth

the poverty
of spirit

and the order defeats

everyone

who can
disengage?

how to redirect?

systems

deny
access

even if

a will

for justice

(for all)

and it's no different

for the man
in the street

(well-heeled
or not)

or

government

of strength
or bondage

who can change?

the one fact
of powerlessness

can never
quite

be overwritten

on any level

the terrorist
thinks

to cut through

the layers
to a heart

what heart?

only a myth

and

bad metaphors

but what else
do we have?

only this:

you can
move

through
the tunnels

to clarity

as if

there is no world

evil binds

it's the strength
of exclusion

from the murderer
and the accomplice

to the parent
and the child

and on a national scale
or beyond

the problem is

what to exclude
who to exclude

always

a group
must be found

for otherwise

there is nothing
to it

no victim

no us and them

simply

the way of things

and who can live
with this

the point is

(isn't it?)

to shape

to remake

to determine

and in the image of?

anything

to defy

the horror

of space / time

yes

the great comedy

of importance

and everyone

is responsible

sympathy

for all

it's a question
of waves

the metaphysics
of flowing

or point

the infinity
of

nothing

either way
the joy

of the incredible

we live
on the surface

nevertheless

in the pale light
of ordinariness

there is no question
of gulf

object to object

only in

consciousness

the fear

of abandon

and so

imagination
essential
to

survival

insanity

is the making
of your

own world

there is
no choice

or take
what is given

O.K.

so long as

you can

only think within

if you go out

the father said

you are on your own

as if
you had
never
moved

I think
therefore

I am

what does anyone know?

it is the connection
of sense

and circumstance

culture

as a final

clamp

knowledge

as a cold translation

lines

and points

of

intersection

(prediction

weak

more

a light of hope

than

penetration)

and the realm
of retreat

necessary

for

it takes little time

to see

the emptiness

of

the surface

and its play
of image

(nothingness
in colour)

so

a search

for substance

basis

foundation

(if you can stay here
you do well

it is beyond
this point

the risk
of despair

insanity
genius

and

enlightenment)

and it is here

the real work
goes on

all the imaginings
and excesses

necessary for

the pictures
to emerge

the mythologies

the sciences

and the arts

the great destruction
of everything

for a window

to eternity

(stay
with the beggars

and the miscreants

the fornicators

and the blasphemers

always

the sharp

and the fast

grip)

and time is the only
reality

everything
and everyone

an expression
of

its being

life or death
existence or
not

phases
of no consequence

the absolute

is still

there is no illusion

the emptiness
of space

it is the ground
of motion

a necessity

for existence

even time
needs space

and so

space time

beneath
this reality

this equation

no language

no matter

no mind

you can say

what happens
happens

and what is thus
excluded?

not a thing

is choice
a question
here?

I think

it is a matter
of perspective

position
of vantage

if you begin
from

the point

of your

vision

the world

is what follows

to think
from

the top down

is to see

your own
act

as consequence

the idea
of freedom

is

simply

non-consequential

it is

the idea

of option

(consequence

is

a characteristic
of

decision)

and
possibility

the imagining

of

the actual

it is

to think
outside

of the confines
of

space
and time

while
knowing

the world
covers

all eventualities

and

choice

just what

will be

everything
is within

fantasy
and
dreaming

as fixed
and as
grounded

as motion

and

the stone

you must
operate

and on this level

belief

a ghost
of the action

if you need
to understand

(and not everyone
does)

seek

and know
the seeking is

the force

there is no
rest

and assent
yes

for a moment

the best
judgement

a worthy
endeavour

though

no place of pride

truth
is a beggar

outside
the Grand Hotel

the dignitaries
within

in their finery
of power

and prestige

buffoons
and fools

of silk
and gold

by all means
meet

full on

the world
as it is

and do not
step away

from
yea or nay

and if circumstances
conspire

take the final
stand

but you will have
a truer life

of qualities
depth

and lightness

if you do not
sign

on any line

instead
to

hold assent
in

abeyance

when it comes
to any matter

beyond

your touch

perhaps

it's just
the attempt

to circumvent
the world

to deny it

and find
solace

in a blank
and pristine

state of

'clear and distinct'
ideas

some deep

metaphysical
terror (?)

and fleeing

to an imaginary
refuge

a kind of

theoretical
escape

in the name
of

knowledge

and truth

(the perfect
disguise)

and

the deep joy
of not-knowing

is forever
lost

in time

is it not

a moment
of innocence

of childhood

brutally
slain?

and so

we move on
to

the business
the fascination

of forensics

as if

in the minute
examination

of parts

we will find
stumble upon

the whole

known

as the archetype

remembered

as the myth

and the words
flow out

on to a screen
a page

(legs everywhere)

and like
Sleepy LaBeef

rockin'
the darkness

and then
onto

another town

it's lean

and fast
and hard

and no
baggage

what
the monks
are

dressed for

and waiting
for

in the stillness

a true
rhythm

to

the great line
of separation

earth
and

sky

Jesus

hanging
on

the cross

or

the alcohol
ecstasy

down

the street
of

dreams

when
it's all lost

you keep on

down the dark
alleys

the distorted
years

the decades
of nothing

and you hold

to each moment
as if

you know

you believe

that what
it has come to

is real
is true

and without
this tautology

there is
no way

to go forward

with or without
the world's

favour

(it is all the same)

the logic
of being

is absolute

the question
of survival

not one
you address

it's like

an afterthought

at a future date

or a passing
memory

of death

and so

the question
of what

anything is?

a matter
of name

to begin

and facts

define

any person

at any time
and place

beyond this
to something

definitive

there is nothing

no essential
property

of anyone

or anything

everything
is accidental

except

existence

as such

and all that
does exist

defines

this fundamental

fact

(itself empty
beyond

its manifestations)

and for these

why

what reason
anything?

it is all a question
of

perception

how it is
seen

(esse
est
precipi)

so

what you see

is what you

get

and there is no
total picture

of anything / anyone

just the infinity
of searching

and no one
path

to truth

so a neat

Jack
Daniel's

on the rocks

will
contract
the world

to thus

the metaphysical
art

is an intellectual
pleasure

do not mistake it

for

life

you can find
conceptions

that alter

the motion
of space

segments

people

can be

totally

transformed

in

thinking

for this to be
you must

take on

the world /

it's a

brightness

and

torque

that is

ageless

and it's

the beauty

of a pure

dream

in the clothes

of toil

an old hotel lobby
where the ghosts

are always

on the make

so

you move

like
a space / time
figment

in another's
mind

eyes

down
the streets

around
the decades

back to
a point

of unknowing

and

you are
always

more
than this

it is the agony
of the other

and the anguish
of showing

it all

or

knowing
it all

this is
the play

of the days

there is nothing
but this

folding
and
unfolding

of space

is it
a belief

or
indeed

a fact
unique

when

two lives

connect

intersect

transpose

as one?

the moment

eternal

happens

hey

and the world
throws it away

so

you
are forever
beginning

or returning

no-one
has any idea

of the next

heartbeat

it's early morning
on the street

quiet

in the old cafe

where everything
is forgiven

it is best to see
the human being

as an
enclosed space
of mind

for how else /
to account for

the worlds
within

worlds

the extraordinary
changes

in any heart

and still

the same face
always

in the mirror

regardless
of time

or place

geological records

it's a spirit
moving

and reaching
to the world

for grip

and the physical

is only mathematics
dressed in matter

extension

co-ordinates

for action

and mind

the reason

no further

than sense

cause and effect

a very secure

metaphysics

(integrated
into concrete
walkways)

bridges

above

roads

trains run

hither and thither

and people

go to their

place

it all ends
at some point

the great meaning
of a life

to dust

(this is always
the greatest miracle)

forbear

what makes for

the closing down
of minds

the reach for

the thoughtless

beliefs

of certainty?

it's climate

global warming

a cooling

of spirit

and when
the light

was right

such great
days

of love

and thought

a small window
of opportunity

as it turned
out

on this continent
of the sun

(a history of cloud)

and retreat
to

refuge

we prefer
to think

within
the house

and to run

in the emptiness

red
ochre

aboriginal
knowing

the great gift

never received

the ignorance

of occupation

generations

of stupidity

cities built

as if

to cover

the spirit

(and you wonder

why

no-one knows

where they are?)

St. Augustine
in the garden

who's to believe
the lie?

guilt yes
and denial

even just

a loss
of a nerve

but something
deeper

unstated

and indeed
unknown?

what truth
in this anguish?

Jesus

begged
for an answer

and none
came

in sweat
and blood

no cheap
tricks

of scripture

he knew

he had
no choice

into the hands

of death

and

the beast

is everyone
at anytime

moving

across
the world

its darkness

inherent

its destruction
slow

and methodical

in a moment
of

geological
time

it thinks

(only it
thinks)

and every
mind

a light
in the eyes

of horror

the madness
behind

all the insanity

of

the species

a belief

in strength

domination

and

gods

all nothing

in the great

sweep

mad

deranged
prophets

tried

to show

there is

an

apocalypse

coming

to this

vanity

its black
greed

and self

adoration

the key

characteristic

of the thing

the breed

its heart
beat

everlasting
life

'every

manifestation

is

an expression

of

enclosed infinity'

here

you see

the closing
of

a circle

the returning
to

the first

philosophy

a young boy
15

fair hair

glasses

blue suit

S.B.C.

and

a De La Salle

brother

Leopold

who was
the thinker's

thinker

(ah!

the playground
of

thought)

it's

the aching
of language

in my bones
deep

weakness

and a fatigue
of time

weary eyes

arms
of no

strength

and
crippled

fingers

all to the days

the breathing
of days

night

a revolution
of the sun

and

the knowing
of rest

it is only

awareness

that separates us

from

the machine

and this

is just daylight

on

the wane

thinking

need have

nothing

to do

with knowing

only

a capacity

to

reflect

(very
human)

and of little
consequence

to

the mathematics
of being

(more

in the line
of

a conjuror's
trick

to

deflect
from

the real
action)

"what shall we do?"
she said

"let's drive
across the hills
to Yarragon"

he thought

on such
a day

a good thing
to do

and so

winding
through

the Strezleckis

to the village

on the other side

book shops
and craft

and what to buy

always
a question

is there any
need

and what
makes for
need?

pleasure

its promise

knowledge

its possession

and even so

where is the gain?

if not for
this day

unseasonable
hot and balmy

and the smell
of fire

in the distance

he may have
acted sober

instead

metaphysics
to the wind

Light in August
The Ape of God
The Reprieve
Goblin Market

and she

her quiet
meditation

(always

it returns
to this

for him)

'My Place'

by Sally Morgan

it is

perhaps
only

a question

of degree
and level

the intensity
of the struggle

of what is
ideal

and what is
real

still

there are
those

who have
the passion

for truth
and life

and take
it all

with great
appetite

and deep
respect

their results
at least

this much

to lift
the eyes

of the ones

who live
out

the drama

with
the humility

of the ordinary

and with
this

a clarity

and simplicity

a ground
indeed

coveted
by

the eagles

jealous

of

what they
have

forsaken

to fly
above

and see
the earth

from

another
plane

as if
nature

the containment

human emotion

its endless
bottomless

expression

a trace

the power

the stuff
primal

from which
emerged

the form

the structure

the outside

of the world

consciousness

the interface

mind and matter

the unity

a third world

the revelation

this is an explanation

the presentation

is the phenomenal

what is given

without reflection

beyond this

only speculation

to the fact

such is the reality

the appearance

the trick
of the senses

(the world
as is)

has nobody
fooled

it's just
a matter

of dealing
with

the obstruction

(pleasure too
to

forget)

and the
deception

maintained

in the other's
view

a denial

a fear

of the sacred

of revelation

consummation

a secret
code

we all study

in the mind's
silence

or

at least
look to

between thoughts

and the motion
of eyes

the present

is impossible
to discern

you are blind

and every moment
thought

crucial

catastrophic

think back

when you left her

when you chose
her

the new jacket
the old book

track
(or try)

how you got
to now

links?

and everybody's life
just stories

accounts
of

the unaccountable

and who
are you now?

it's always
a fleeing

and a breather

to reorganize
the world

get it
pinned

before you go out

no eyes

only memory

and

reconstruction

despair

a lack
of nerve?

hands

too crippled

to shuffle

the pack?

it's
a magic trick

to put

the history
of the world

in a paper
bag

and leave
it

in a street bin

turn
and
move

to the light

and

down
the
road

walk

the illusion
of the body

through

the illusion

of the world

(everybody knows)

a rhythm

above and beyond

the days

life death life death

and metaphysics
is one thing

but where is
the beauty

in relentless order?

it's the miniature

that is
the intrigue

the defiant
stand

against
the nothing

the insane project

to find

meaning
significance

in everything

every
moment

incurably
human

yes

there is a common
humanity

but in the market place

day to day

it's the blood

and the stone

of difference

an infinite
display of

horror / delight

that amounts to

what we do

and have always
done

what will come

and
the reason
for

ideology

and its push

for conquest?

a basic desire

for

oneness

as exemplified
in

the world
itself?

or

just fear

with power

to crush

the idolatry
of difference

a fundamental
insecurity

forever

denied?

either way

a need
to control

variables

beyond
calculation

the absurdity

obvious

an ideal state

would be

to renounce

power over

and let

everyone

and the world

be

no guarantees

and requiring

something

of a faith
in

the self

based on

nothing

a strange dream
indeed

and the real world

too far gone

to begin
again

so

fight

your battles

hard
and
true

it's a great war
of ideas

if you have

more than
enough

in your belly

and way
too much

to lose

you need
such energy

for the fascination
of people

demonic

on the plane
of

true bizarre

is always the
artist's knowing

way above

street plain

or the enchanted
myths

of science

modern or arcane

such
a price to pay

to transform

pain and ugliness
sickness and despair

even evil

to a study
of beauty

is always
the joy

of creation

beware

the penalties
of drinking

long and hard

the spirit

crucifixion

a daily sight

the way of the cross

worn to stone

and there is
the mathematics

of madness

at every level

precise
calculations

so

you are
and must become

(in design)

forsaken

for the task
immortal

the exquisite pleasure
of each moment

and the world
everything that becomes

after the point
of pure pleasure
lost

ecstasy
of the body

indelible waves
to the black

eternal

is the true idea of
consummation

loss of consciousness

and its troupe
of dancing girls

to everything

in the way of
sky hills

rivers flowing
beside

the town

there is no mind

in true joy

there is
nothing specific

each idea
a universal

(it is the nature
of the thing

to embrace
possibility)

the question
only

level and breadth
of reach

we come from
an infinity

and zero

to a platform

of space

a possible world

given

an actuality
in brain structure

(chemistry
is the foothold)

everything

a question
of vision

and the sensing
itself

(fixed)

when you imagine
beyond

the facade

you are reverting to

the place
of no definition

timeless / spaceless

pure mind

(the eternal background)

for the play of shadows

and the momentary
freezing

that is the world

let us see
morality

is the matter
of style

the choice of
particularity

(thought
and act)

in relation
to

the universal
of presentation

the moving
picture

complete

in its embrace

a fluidity

of grace

down
the street

with intelligent
eyes

knowing step

and the great
surrender

of joy

it is the work
of art

all art
reminds

and imitates

'the limit of evil
is God's mercy'

and God's mercy
simply

the fact
of the world

contingency

the apparent
play

of circumstance

(all from
the point of view

of one)

the accidents
of life

in the total

(the window shutters
open)

no chance

what place
a pure view?

a ray
of light

eternal
in its

force

and

direction

the great seduction
of singularity

as if

superior

to the endless
plurality

within

the whole

still

the mystique

irrefutable

and

who is to say

one line

could not
embrace

it all?

against this
asceticism

the wonder
of novelty

and the action

of its
exploration

you can
saturate

in the multiplicity

and be
destroyed

by its beauty

stand

only as witness

to the question

the world moves

forever

beyond

its conception

it's rather

the issue of
respectful

distance

the anguish of
unity

is the loss
of innocence

this tragedy
of knowledge

and its
blurred vision

to the wisdom
of emptiness

old hands / old smiles

nothing to forgive

it all returns

to a new
starting place

(the world
does not change)

in the midst of
autumn

soft
caressing

shadows

loving hands
to show the way

down tree-lined
avenues

leaves
singing in silence

dancing

to the fall
of darkness

in the Jean-Paul Satre
weaving club

language
is the choice
of thread

and the practice
monotonous

the comfort
of repetition

like the rhythm
of a train

to the gift

of the loss
of knowing

here

you rewrite
the world

taking all

into account

and the picture

(nothing is lost
nothing is gained)

a beautiful prosaic

so clear and true

as a monk's
embroidery

of a venerable
text

centuries away

so

a question

what to do?

what is to be?

you must

forget

renege

the great drama

and simply
surrender

to a thought

only immersion

is rest

(and renewal)

and the understanding

subversive

anything
is worthy

(necessary

the pride
of Lucifer

against

the winds
of the world)

real power

is not a gunship
invading army

technology

repression

torture

or

colonization

not in the barrel
of a gun

except for
the ignorant

and
dispossessed

rather

it is the idea

all-embracing

a thought

and its reach

exclusion

the mark
of

weakness

is the sign

of evil

and societies
enslaved

by their identities

can only look
inward

it is the vision
beyond

a concept

inclusion

of all difference

(open up
the house)

a world view

indeed

is the solution

to the stupidity

of perspective

and the discrimination

necessarily

consequent

the world
is made

the struggle
real

the ideal

no less
of the mix

it's a movement
to

and even so

not worth

a flutter

you stand

in the great
emptiness

of design

a hope
in the heart

and so

only

the way of art

to see it all

otherwise

passion

and

absence

briefness

and

despair

it really

is only

a choice

of view

no more

no less

whatever

the horror

the joy

you can

always

step

to another

place

or think

from another

world

meditation

is to see
to sense

the rhythm
of circumstance

and to rest
or move

within

this flowing

deep
relaxation

integration

metaphysical
peace

it is always
the argument

premise
evidence
entailment

on every corner

the question
is real

whether

the time
of day

or the nature
of man

what is true

conditions

necessary
sufficient

the source
of the irrational

the question
of passion

the foundation
of reason

modalities

the great battle
of thought

and thinking

its energy

and life

the intricacies
of mood

defy the clarity
of idea

as if a test
of truth

or indeed
a dissociation

in a parallel
universe

and even
though

it's your experience

as in
a lucid dreaming

you can watch

the movement

its
disconnectedness

or a momentary
miracle

of no disparity

what does it
all say

and what is
the 'I'

in all this?

something
above and beyond

the differentiation
of emotion

the singularity
of mind?

a house
no less

with many rooms

the footsteps
of an unknown

guest

(get down)

to the dust
of boredom

it's the ordinary

plain

of pale light

the days

stripped of

the fraud
of action

the nothing
of delight

forget

the artifice
of despair

and the pretence
of intelligence

the happenstance
of love

just regard

the vault

the music
of the spheres

is silence

it can be
just

the collapse
of one

thought

and everything
falls

to black

delicate

the architecture
of

the heart

fragile

the surface
of

mind

and the blazing days
of carefree

the triumph
of

pleasure

the structure
of

achievement

(the world
itself)

who would think

the pale-ing

to greenness

the reckless
discard

to nothing?

(not much in it)

walk the city
street

heel
to

concrete

as if

eternity

is just

this

the horror
of it is

consciousness

the question
what to hold

that is

the true thing

is only

the deception
of mind

without this
no question

an extraordinary fact

anything

is

of no

significance

or

the equal
truth

of everything

be shy

of your own
conception

look
and know

but always
the doubt

of rain
and trees

it is the steadfastness

of economy

and the intelligence

of brightness

(age of no consequence)

the spirit moves

in laughter

you should
stay

in a place

in a thought

a system

an occupation

with a lover

a family

friend

acquaintance

stranger

just until

there is

no reason

to be

there

this knowing

is the way
of unknowing

it is

without precedent

or logic

there is
no path

or direction

no guide

as if

you only see

after

you have left

knowing

there is no bridge
back

it is always

a degree
of horror

and with this

brutality

a capacity to

breathe again

to see out

(turning
a blind eye

to the inside

gone)

there is no

sharpness

in consciousness

it is rather

the science
of waves

still

the possibility

to define

to shape

what will be

what is not

really

the point
of consciousness

must be

to limit

the stream
in

otherwise

no particular
thing(s)

only
the whole

and
how could this
be known

by what?

even
a 'super'
mind

could only
operate

from within

hence

no (total) view

'objective'

(as they say)

view of what?

what is it
that is seen?

the trick is
to understand
that

this is just
where it all
ends

(silence)

the only

rational
response

and then
off you go

about your business

and it's
a question

never far

how would you be

in another world?

the step

is simple

the consequence

too large

to comprehend

and it is
only this

that ever

kills the fire

never

a reason

of

integration

(moving
to the centre)

always

a broken
piece

becomes

in the eyes
of madness

a sign

a talisman

of

necessity

into the darkness

from

the evil

unbearable

(everything
is destroyed)

who can begin
and begin

and begin?

only the dead

have

the gift

and you must
live within

decision

to hold the world
together

it is no easy
or

natural way
to be

(if your idea
of natural

is to be
free)

it is the bite
down

of necessity

bitter
or
sweet

and
the fact
of

negotiating

through
the obstacles
of space

skin

hard drawn

dull eyes

calculation

in the step

it is always
approaching

winter

what joy
pleasure

or peace

a quick grab

somewhere

along

the way

there is always
a latitude

of thought
to act

a dreaming
to the moment

the heart
of it

is to find

the vertical

and stay
true

to line

no calculation
of the geometer

or sharp
observation

of the meter
reader

rather

a rambling
of hills

a shift
tectonic

the reasoning
of years

to a final
bowing

to the earliest
of truths

new days

and the freedom
of knowledge

embraced

free styling

is coming off
the head

free backing

is reading off
the breeze

free thinking

is dancing off
the edge

(lose your voice)

walk down

walk hard

walk true

walk through

di
mensions

inventions

the self

is nothing but

today

(as far as you can see)

have a hold

on something
near

be clear

some go
down

and don't
return

to surface

TERRAIN
MUTILATED

what's to hold?

the meadows
are sliding

the sky

falls back

you think

I joke

be thankful

to the bones

and read
the map

of stone

(ps: to the gods

for me

there's a question
of physicality

perhaps

I am just
old school

sound

evaporates

to spirit

gone

print has legs)

or so he says
or so he says

CANCEL

I never look back

though

a flash of silver
across my eyes

may see me

in another moment
place

for a time
of lost awareness

I do not regret

(for it is
within parameters

beyond

control

your mind
is not

a function
of decision

even if

you could
know

what)

it all reminds me

how much
I have disgarded

how many

I have
closed out

(some
who were there

forever

in their day

just a still

no focus

now)

and necessity

the mother of

extinction

(you wonder
at times

just how much
of this you can

take)

mental fatigue

will bring it

to an end

unless
the blood turns

or a hand

takes it down

(the memories

were all
unfaithful

anyhow)

when under
attack

and it's brutal
enough

to wipe out
the centre

so you are
staring

into a white

nothing

and the world
cannot be

grasped

(the reasons
for this are
everything

love hate
crime punishment
life death

so)

be still

accept the horror
of nothing

wait it out

(it is the privilege
of being)

know

the images
will return

and go
to death

in sky

and earth

(the phenomenal
is dependable)

and you will
then again

watch

the waves

to shore

in the great
monotony

of order

(the ground of any joy)

and the fallen
of battle

become

the reason
to deny

the atrocity
of war

in ceremonies of guilt

commemorations

of madness

and myths of glory

being

is all there is

consciousness
deceives

the idea of nothing

is only a stratagem

for motion

a necessary illusion

action

in the world

survival

(life and death)

the existence

of a mode in time

the totality

is ever present

change

the play
of mind

the art of seeing above

(is like spirit flying)

to think beyond
the drudgery

of cause and effect

and to see

the best of everything

is before your eyes

to know

the hidden truth
of every heart

is light

the world
of consciousness

wings
to eternity

walk
to the window

open
the shutters

if the world
did not move

and time
was still

any act would have

an absolute

point

of reference

(though
in such an event
the world
would simply be
one act)

and then a significance
eternal

(out of time)

however

there is no
true stillness
in being

consciousness

an apparent freezing
of frame

merely a process

within a process

and evaluation

can never be

fixed

it is

whatever
the idea

or disposition

only as true

as the next event

in a universe

in motion

(to imagine otherwise
is philosophic

and comforting

a necessity

for sanity
and survival

to see it

for what it is

will lead
to art

or madness)

there is no sacred
in nature

only what we bring
to the world

in imagination

natural as light
to trees

the imprint of mind
to ground

when just
a young man

he saw how it was
here

the anger the pain
the buffoonery

the pathetic
charade

of intelligentsia

bar room geniuses

and the cancer
of 'literary criticism'

in the universities

forensic ghosts
painstakingly

tracking down

the spark
of life

and this all before
he put

pen to paper

so

it was an easy
choice

when the time came

to not

step

in

to be an outrider

perhaps

it was just
the time

but there is

no generosity
of spirit

here

whatever the fashion

an underlying threat

conviction
before crime

sentence
before

word

and

if you think
about it

how to be

to another

how to present

is impossible
to say

a priori

or in the act

short of
vague

platitudes

we carry
great knowledge

to every
encounter

and the world
is without

final definition

space / time

the range
and action

of consciousness

the beginning
of everything

with each
embrace

of eyes

words

heart

and limb

we can never
be sure

and this no less

than the domain
of spirit

its freedom

creativity

and intrigue

(and knowledge
is reflection

always
after the fact

its tentative

arrival)

beyond disinterested
contemplation

(a possibility
of the suspension
of pleasure / pain

or a summer's day

fields and stoa

youth or old age)

metaphysical categories

dialectics

necessary
for

the account

explanation

of being

day to day

the echoes of

lost lives
and regions

of space / time

the archaeology

of gods

you cannot live
in the simplicity
of the given

the world deceives

mind / is how
you know

the revelation
is not welcome

the source
of all

dissipation

and so

in horror

the reach

to build
to fashion

to form

another reality

hammer and nail

word and note

the painting of the sky

all

a great and tragic

wish

the mind's
endeavour

to find

its end

(the earth is untouched)

so

beyond

physical
force

what is

the last
constraint

on

action?

temperament

belief

the fear
of Hell?

(a simple question

from the point
of view

of town planning)

objectivity

leaves devastation

(the end of colour)

in the world
of dreams

there is no

stepping outside

only the magic
of

immersion

the inside
(consciousness)

is all there is

to embrace

the question
of other worlds

(eyes
hands
limbs)

the beauty beyond

tragedy

has no solution

time only

the passing
of eyes

here I am
and have existed

'my life'

a movement
in space / time

memory
(a brain function)

the ground
of 'identity'

of action
and event

(to forget
is to cease
to be?)

otherwise

no connection

no ordering

or focus

simply
(beyond consciousness)

a random

chaos

of happenings

(the world

may be law
governed

and if so

one law

it is only
mind

that demands
multiplicity

and

particularity)

there is a natural
identity

in the power
of youth

(essentially

the mark of
the absence

of a need
to reflect)

and this indeed
the 'sweet bird'

we look back
upon

its destruction

time

and circumstance

the story of passion

the great
breaking up

of continents
of the heart

and so
the living of a life

once beyond
the security and joy

of not knowing

the question is

making a way to be

and one
that is just

to the facts

and yet

above and beyond

(perhaps

habit

holds it together

but for some

there is no
refuge)

the question
is ideal

(if absurd)

how should

I be?

and there are those

for whom

the answer
here

is all that stands
between

insanity
and survival

my punt
is

go with the image

of yourself
in action

that is the best
of your thinking

and be

what you believe

in the eyes
of others

for something

of the like
of this

is to walk
down a street

from
your childhood

to find
the house

that was

once

your home

you begin

with the talk
of the day

the gusto and joy
of opinion

(of no real
consequence

but its pleasure
or deception)

and go to

clear observation

and formation
of theory

to be tried
and tested

the cold light
of science

everybody
has a stake here

it is the ground
of what is real

when you need

to move or stay
to live or die

beyond this

speculation
of foundation

theory set adrift
of fact

logic and genius
the only mark

what is behind
what we see?

a reason
for it all?

the imagination
again

but wiser
and sharper

urbane
or gypsy

there is no guide
no rule

only history

and what is
to be

the toil
is magnificent

and finally to

the highest
level

of understanding

the absence

of knowledge

and the fecund

of possibility

remember this:

it could not have been
otherwise

and you turn to bright

the history of deeds

be sympathetic

everyone
walks off into the hills

we need to laugh
with each other

between
the concrete blocks

autumn days

the august splendour
of truth

it's the simplicity of being
and the knots of space and time

(nothing more or less)

hill to sky / sky to hill

the line is dimensionless

a sweeping
curve

of time

or

a hand
cutting through

space

the faces
the lives
the stories

of friends
past

as if still

in another place

you can see
you cannot touch

reach

and all such
glory

who's to say

it was real?

so many

worlds

gone

all to the delight
of being

let people do
what they're going
to do

observe

withdraw

and wonder at
the reasons

only never
mistake

the fact

no act
without
context

time and place

nail it
to the post

(it is never a question
of forgiveness

rather
the emptiness
of logic)

you need be

open in a quiet
way

wise in your years
(no letting the brakes
slip)

and beyond your years
with

an eye to delight

(an old man or
a child)

respect is the way
of your walk

a kind hand
knowing heart

(no reason for
foolishness)

and temperate ways

and when the darkness
comes

the end / a gentleness
into nothing

perhaps
it's just

a throwaway
line

a meeting
of images

(across a table)

secret
dreams

never revealed

and the talk
and the acts

the outside
signs of?

(the great mystery
with legs)

a lost look

a collision
of limbs

and the eternal

dance
of mind

in young eyes

and old hearts

solitary rooms

and empty fields

late in the night

anxiety
is stepping outside

and playing
beyond the house

and finding
when darkness
comes

you don't know
how

to get back

inside

and it can be
a day a night
a life

living rough

and yes

there may have been
a reason

a choice

to open that door

and to begin
in a new land

with rudiments
of stone and steel

the inhabitants

dangerous

and silent

the quest

to find a word

I

found myself

back in myself

today

looking out

it's like finding
yourself

in a dream

knowing

you have always

been

and the reason
short

I know

no reason
clear

but the embrace

of love

over years

strong

gentle

true

Jude

(the light is true)

you cannot reproduce

there is no copy

every act original

the world without trace

it's only

the existence
of mind

that makes
for this

without
consciousness

the world
does not exist

in time

space

is another matter

you might say

come what may

everything

has its place

but I say

for this

to be true

there would
have

to be

something

outside

of it all

to give

everything

its bearings

and that

you see

just
can't be

so

it's time

for a walk

down

a country road

mind
in

nature

how far to go?

thinking

I think

is not
for

everything

an attribute
of this

or that

rock

I doubt

trees
maybe

the heart
contingent

the only
necessity

or
no necessity?

all depending

on your
stance

inside
looking out

the beauty
of chaos

or outside
looking back

(the mind's
capacity

to be objective

to see

from beyond
itself -

the notion
of Idea

and implication)

and to regard
its domain

as if / apart

the truth
or falsity

of consciousness?

no final appeal
here

at best

a three day
card game

or

the fair ground

no one leaves

I just say

Walt Whitman

(in the early days)

if you can

throw off the harness
of death

the living

is a joyous work

you can forget

who you are

with each

step

and the painters
try hard

the writers know

the roads
the tracks

and really

it's no-one

there is no answer

in persona
occupation

or

the latest fashion

we

have not
advanced

the constant

is terrifying

(poverty or wealth)

this is

the great truth

of prophets

the Cosmological
Constant

and the anger
of all nations

the tragic hope
of advance

as if motion

absolute

and time

the great promise

of an eternity

yet to come

the question
is only ever

focus

for there is no

hard ground

only

a perspective

which

in itself

defines

the world

and its

gaze

and so
indeed

a circularity

what you see
is made

by the seeing

and here

it is not
just

a matter

of looking out
the window

but the whole
of conscious life

wishing
believing

deciding

acting

doubt

and as to
the truth

of any conception
or observation

let it just
be said

truth conditions
are

given in

the focusing

(and hence of
limited

and crucial
significance)

everything depends

on a certain
coherence

which

if it does not

alter

too quickly

too radically

is enough

to give

you a sense

of stability

even

'objectivity'

and this
finally

a balance
of chemicals

and the assumption

of a uniformity
in nature

(madness
above and beyond
this

is tolerable)

the order

is on a grand scale

the closer

you get

to mind

the deeper

the chaos

the grass

is always watching

in anticipation

pleasure

when viewed correctly
is not

an end

in itself

nor is it
a means to

an end

rather

a reason

for an end

be that
e.g.

nourishment
health
procreation

intimacy

it is
first and foremost

nature's
inducement

to go on

existence

itself

a reason

beyond
comprehension

it's a question
of perspective

understanding

place and function

you can always
renege

it's the option
of choice

to step outside

the framework

from a logical
point of view

it is to engage
paradox

and live in
contradiction

a valid option

and perhaps
wise

in the short term

if the given
is intolerable

yet to surrender

reference

is to operate
without

thought

to live on impulse

and with luck

instinct
a guide

and some survive

and go so far

they break into

the sunlight

and what
was unbearable

has gone

a new reason
is found

and the world

is in the heart

everyone

comes out of
the unknown

the dark light
of fascination

delight
or
terror

the frozen
and the joyous

and characters
who don't stay

walk away

and all
assume

more than can be
known

necessary

for the hello

and depths

few will see

or go to

deeper than

an ocean

the mystery

of a heart

there are no bounds

bodies

are the hook

and the illusion

the world is Fitzroy Street
on a Saturday night

you look / watch

others pass

forgive yourself

and who is not
a question

of understanding?

(the matter
to be kept

in mind)

don't be obsessive
for truths

(enjoy the absence)

the great pleasure
of forgetting

is the secret

of pure knowing

the opening gambit:

what is to distinguish
'everything' from 'nothing'

what is the difference?

how to decide?

it is clear

the dialectic
is necessary

to begin

(otherwise

you fall into
the well of time

and end up
a scholastic

seriously

trying to get
a hold on

'the one hand clapping')

nothing
stands
alone

and everything
must be

defined
in

a focus

(you begin
and began

in the midst

of it all

as a focus of thought
and matter

the world is
dynamic

and what this means
(above the traffic noise)
is

it

continually
defines

itself

as if

to reach

self-awareness

completion

and

what then?

everything
or
nothing

stillness

and / or

annihilation

at every level

the question

is live

where

there is no description

there is no world

so

you hold it

in a thought

and the next

is another world

it is an infinite
series

each point

an infinite
depth

a world

in each

raindrop

you do not understand
anyone

all

unique

the surface

is nothing

everything

is beneath

the illusion

an essential
requirement

for mobility

roads houses cities

bearings

for consciousness

Japanese girls

with skinny legs

to all those

who cross my mind
with fondness

graffiti days
against the wall

the insanity
of her legs

eyes

from the beginning
of time

and the gods
expelled

(the early opener
universe

off to the side
of

space / time)

remember

school yards

and the plain
good work

of lives and minds

so much learnt
and taught

(there have been
centuries)

days of youth
and brilliance

just playing around
the outskirts

of war
(no idea of the horror
before or after)

we all
fell back into step

the easy step

(and the mad
just went mad)

you must excuse
the population

for not having
a clue

they're just ordinary
day-to-day

battlers

(is what we say)

and

this crop
has never known
anything

but the sunshine

and too much
leads to

a search
for darkness

and the making
of

melancholia
just for

a reason
to be

ah the tragedy
of wealth

and despite

the coming and going
of decades

fads

and movements
to an open space

there are beautiful
minds

untouched

by the garbage
of history

down
any street

a pure
music

of free
unburdened

thought

the objective world

is what your vision
is directed at

your sense
of things

(beyond
your skin and bones)

is

as true
as it

can be

if light disappeared
from the universe

you would have
a metaphor

for

the reach of
understanding

or

turn to
a fable

i.e.

'Gormenghast'

and see a world

disconnected

from your own

all

the worlds
of mind

are detached

the true thing
is beyond

comprehension

(in terms of
human thought

it may as well
not exist)

Aristotle's God
made

the world

and then left

so

take great
pleasure

in your imaginings

and I say this to

the cosmologists
and the criminally insane

it is only
the fear

of negation

that leads to

regret
and despair

know

there is no

rule of thumb

only laughter

penetrates

the cold and black

and figments

come to being

and disappear

to non-existence

(you could say

a reason

but the harder
and further

you look at it

the less chance)

remember

everything is holding
you

and you hold

nothing

it's the alleys
of the heart

you must go
down

to find
the essence

hard
or sweet

bearing
no

resemblance
to

the body
before
you

and then

ever after

the transformation

until

a new

discovery

no

archetype
of

the spirit

always
flying

in eyes

across

the street cafe

where

people meet
and die

at a table

or walk off

to another
world

un-created

and
the sharpest
know

they are
without foundation

and must proceed
regardless

as if
the myths are real

and science
wins the day

notions

of progress and growth

it all leads to the
Xmas party

and the truth
is rags

Diogenes
with his barrow

looks back

at the party
waiting

at the lights

champagne
and flowers

high spirits
and laughter

it's Pierce James
Dewey and Quine

in any workshop
or boardroom

when the gun
is loaded

or the next move
made

it is good
to have time

for plans
that come
to nothing

the resolutions
(of no import)

reincarnate

no enlightenment

and the question
of waste

organizing
a room

no different really
to a world

a life

a wayward girl

a day

to find a place

for things

that have
no place

and never can

such a strange
pursuit

you see

I have
no dreams

only laughter
(true)

and a memory
of

a young man
in passion

becoming
and becoming

till

there was
no trace

and from days
and nights

years

of death

never defied

only

passed over

as non-urgent

"you'll keep"

hotel rooms
white

of space

and angels
crushed

in the hallway

it was

in another world

gone

in the moment
of

being

we are

time

passing through
itself

the piano plays

an ancient beat

holds true

we walk
in two dimensions

and it is all
to do with seeing

you 'see' yourself

a vision from -
and you are 'in'

and on reflection
'a bundle of images'

what else can you
say

beyond the first door

language comes to
the end of thought

(think of a desert
expanse

or the surface of
the moon

and even this is
way too generous)

the other view

the 'objective'

how you are seen

is just a matter
of other minds

they have a view

they 'see'
your presentation

and after this
it's all inference

which may or may not

have much to do
with

anything you
think feel believe

let alone know

(it's wild

logic does not need
truth

in fact it goes better
without it)

the point of intersection

the image of
and what it is
the image of

(another image
to be very crude)

is the total picture

as far as
this can be said

perception

understanding

is hierarchical

flying worlds

chains of being

clash gently

the world is full
there is no absence

the mind
breathes emptiness

logic

either / or

down
the stairs

beneath
the city

naked girls
dancing

eyes

bright
or
dead

the whole world
is

only need

the mutant
virus

has no
host

the adventure
is thought

the physical world
is to be

imagined

you were given

the sketch

there is no
trap

you cannot
think

your way into
or out

(this is the meaning
of wealth)

travel

roads
created

pick

a point
of reference

anything will do

it's the idea

of place

a lover

even culture

and
return always

as crucial
as

the capacity
to

lose

your bearings

always

the dialectic

the insane

have tried
to

escape

bearing
the cross

is the other
possibility

and it's worth
a thought

if you have

a demon heart

the point being

it is all a question
of how

you live

(there is no natural
advantage

one way or the other)

a nun

kneeling
in the cathedral

a psychopath
on the run

no

it's not that

she was an evil
bitch

(no-one

is one way
or the other

or

for that matter

either)

it's just that

tracks
get made

and

necessities
fray

and before
you know it

there's a dead
body

in the hall

hey

who's responsible?

metaphysics
takes no prisoners

the mass grave
is open

and reason
turns

like a sick eye

to something
good

and if
it can't be

found

move

to oblivion

down
the road

the whole point

of the streetscape

is

the idea

that yesterday
is the same as

and tomorrow

yeah

Freud

at a table
by the curb

writes:

'repetition
is a failure
of nerve'

dusk is falling

the evening sky

a holocaust
of beauty

and so

it's not the good
and bad

it's the moving in
and out

of lives

what you take
what you give

always
a deficit

(on reflection)

what have you done
and why?

God knows

the reasons gone
with the visions

and you ask

is it any better now?

but who can say?

there's an argument
for going in

to change the world

and all the crimes
of heart and thought

that come

that are left

(the shedding
of tattered clothes)

and now I think
the unthinkable
of yesterday

to have no effect
no impact

beyond the ones
I love

and to be

if anywhere

in the background
of the picture

(and even this
too much
exposure)

I think being
is good

it's just what

that's doubtful

age

does have
some

clout

but it's tricky

you can start

to imagine

a story

that is only

a stringing together

of favourite

deceptions

best to go

the Buddhist

path

(at least for
a day or two)

the idea

of an enlightened
emptiness

remember

what

you

are

not

it's a return to

the wisdom
of the young

when truth
was

all and only

the unknown

Parmenides

at the beginning

and end

change is illusion

it is all still

(you need to
understand

outside

the mind

and then

move on)

the important thing is
to go there

even if

you never

return

(it's the art of jewellery)

desert sands

where the mind roams
spaceless

it is
as if

time

has no effect

it has not touched

the dust

nature
action and reaction

the mind
within the space

no logic

necessity
demands
order

within limitations

consciousness
defines

on one level
the way of things

look behind

there is only

possibility

(in every life
the duality

process
and its absence)

the centre
is self

the intersection
of worlds

to

a unity
of

space / time

in perception

or knowing

life

a given

and taken

light sees

and

blinds

you are
to stand back

it is
the ground of inaction

a place
where the dust
is still

detachment

an ancient state

to be one with
and in

where
hands cannot
reach

a retreat

to the world

(passionless)

the clarity

an emptiness
at the centre
of mind

the path

to utterness

possibilities

are always
excluded

in any course
of action

taken

the question

cannot be
settled

by appeal

or logic

only
revelation

a light to the day

it's the art

of scanning
history

or its absolute

disregard

it was
only ever

shattered glass

into a consciousness

always reaching for
a unity

and broken
in the assault

to function
skew-whiff

and so

the knowledge
of streets

the question of survival

to function as

the constant

all turned
inside out

energy

a consequence

mass

shrinking

(all square)

the world

a struggle
behind

appearance

the battle

of realities

never knowing

origin

or

goal

exhaustion

the defining
property

faces

eyes

endeavour

you cannot rest

there is no

still
place

(and but for
art

no language

description

of being)

necessary only

to avoid

the sinking into
nothing /

everything

the great quest

to be

distinct

we have no argument

there is nothing
to be decided

without colour
scent touch

only

empty forms
of thought

the demiurge

before

creation

(to be mythical)

is to make
new worlds

for retreat

(the anguish
is overpowering)

and nothing
anyone does

to avoid

should be regarded
with anything but respect

so

forget

who you are

everything learnt

begin again

the hard position
is

consciousness

moves

to

darkness

(this is where
you are

in pain

doubt

confusion

turmoil)

the straight line
is

consciousness

sheds

light

hence
vision

the power

to be

(this is
the place
of

stability

integration

strength)

the thing is

the mind

reflects

on itself

extraordinary

and

incomprehensible

as this is

it means

nothing is given

determined

set

in how

you see

(you are always

in the realm

of possibility)

the fluidity
of consciousness

ensures

a choice
of vision

you can abandon
yourself

to external
forces

or

work
from the centre

and decide

a way

of being

the question then
is how to

fortify

and what to
operate with

to the first

you can only
defend

there is no
safe place

and where
and how

you stand

depends on

your outlook

life is

the only value

existence
necessary

work to

the understanding:

the world
happens

you can see above

(there is no failure
or success

just a step
to the left

or a step
to the right)

the world is full
there is no emptiness

consciousness
distinguishes

either / or

suggesting
non-being

this is just

a misunderstanding
of focus

any preoccupation
with absence

is not only
a logical error

it leads to physical
and emotional

decline

think about
what is

the flatline theory

where to stand
at the end of the world?

be aware

you can always go to

another point of view

or

trust your body

to know

the next move

the evils
of any day

motion to

and absence
of

the world is ever
young

no place

absolute

no end

in sight

justice

for all

a line in the sand

one man's suffering
is not worth

the history
of this world

we go blindly
to the generalities

of science
in search of

the obliteration
of particularity

its chaos
the primal moment

ever
reincarnated

behind
each thought
and its act

the light

of individual
consciousness

tenacious
in its fragility

there is no way
to live

the only definition
space and time

(and even this
up for grabs)

the ground of reflection
contingency

(no foundation
for consciousness)

hence

the silent cacophony

(thought seeking
release from

thought)

and we quite
naturally

ask for reason

(the illusion of
the objective world)

forever
the quest for

a return to

nature

a deception
within a deception

it's the going around
and around

(nothing less
to say)

give your mind
to the hills

rest

in the emptiness
of spirit

and when of
necessity

you must return to

the work of being

be clear
in the joy

of the mundane

so

in practice

it is just not possible

to shed

all content

strip
back

to nothing

the idea
is there

its value
not truth

but heuristics

and the belief
(subversive)

that

nothing is
irreplaceable

therefore

its value

questionable

and

in religious
language

you get to
redemption

salvation

'immaculate
conception'

(on a good night)

so

it's about

the deepest
desire

and

the most
profound

primal
even

suspicions

to do with

being

and the paths to
and from

many and varied

different robes
ceremonies

and

sacred texts

to

the one
point

that cannot be

universally
described

and so
faced

with this

you have

every

reason

for madness

on any level

but it
gets

more twisted

for

the big push
is

denial

let's run with reason

revelation

careful observation

and perhaps

the ugly truth

will be

covered
forgotten

hey

proved not
to be there

very well

and so

we have

the business
of making

and it's
got to be

busy

you seriously do not want
to have to deal with

impossible
realities

so

sweat

a clear mind

hard yakka

and

it starts to look O.K.

there's a possibility
of sense

coherence

and

stability

and you begin
to understand

you must

make decisions
for God

and take it
to the summit

forget

all the crap

about heroics

it's just a matter

of maintaining

and maintaining
a reason

for maintaining

you

are best to run
with what works on
the day

and

have
places

to go to

where you can successfully
forget

being

we

have only each other

in this parade
of the disabled

have an eye
to the quirk

and oddity

that is ever present

and

the underlying
genius

that is the score

of our great drama

and the lovely
thing

is

the ones who
just wander off

as if

there is no script

and rehearsal
is over

in all truth

it is just knowing
how

to focus
and

how to lose it

(you never
reach

either

extreme

the thing is
not to get

caught

stuck

in either
perspective

or direction)

it's just
dimensions

and malleability

and everyone's
got the touch

tectonic
shifts

can redirect

and you think
the world

is ending

it's just a wave

searching

for

a point

don't ever think

you need to
doubt

your existence
or its value

it's always

the argument
of the stand over man

you should never
be required

to say

'I think
therefore
I am'

(the call
of the sick)

let's just

love it

whatever
it

throws our way

you are always
up to

the task

is

only ever
a matter
of

which way

you look at it

advance

be still

retreat

if there is a reason
nothing is changed

you walk the same
streets

a moment
can demand everything

a perception
a thought

the flow of her
dress

it can all be
perfect

there's a chance

let us know

time is plain

rain and a tree-lined
boulevard

to the end of
an autumn

day



Greg.T.Charlton.
(c) Copyright: 2006. 2025.
All rights reserved.

Killer Press.