2000 and end

With only a couple more days until 2009 comes to a close, I find a head full of ideas and a night empty of sleep. The only way of dealing with a rush of whatdoyoucallit is to open the book and throw down. The ideas soon vanish, leaving just the pained metaphors. Like: 'oh, it's like trying to catch a butterfly, and only managing to grab hold of a wing, which you tear from the butterfly, and then you look at the wing and you've torn the wing, and that really nice thing you were trying to catch has just been destroyed by the act of catching, oh no, oh what a shame, oh dear'.

Just like that.

Like catching a moth because you want to kill it, and the moth turns to dust in your hands. How do they do that?

"I was wondering if you could fix this space bar that you seem to have broken, because it's really starting to annoy me, and I'm trying ever so hard not to get angry." Imagine saying such a thing. But really, imagine trying to write a sentence full of words, and all you end up with is one long word that ends with a full stop? That would get on your nerves. An entire document underlined by a squiggly red line of superiority. The old: "Hey, Mister, I know the rules and I know that you've broken them there."

The rules weren't made to be broken: that's just a cliché. Some rules were made so that we could focus on the more important aspects of an environment. And as sure as 2 thousand and 9 years have passed since some date in the past, the importance of aspects has never been greater. I have continued my construction of the most bizarre showroom of new models, and the models have been arriving slowly but surely. "Poetry in motion" a bizarre thing to talk about, because all good poetry is in motion. Static poetry isn't worth the words that have been put there and told to stand still.

But, nonetheless, I'll admit: this was edited. Poetry is always in motion, and so is time. Change changes changes [subject, verb, noun]. And if there's any truth, then it's the confession that will not come until later. For now it's late, and before this gets publish posted for real, something else needs to be ++. Hang tight.

The illusion of the position of the newspaper on the train

(The tab takes me backwards instead of forwards, but I quite like that for some reason)

On a stationary train in a train station, the relativity of movement to the adjacent train isn't the only illusion likely to play with the imagination of the idle passenger waiting to depart... I looked to my left, and the girl next to me was reading the paper; I looked to my right, and the man sitting next to me was reading the same paper. But the paper to my right was the real copy. It had just been coincidence that the girl too was looking down, perhaps reading something as well (and imagine if she'd been reading the same paper?).

The memory of reality that returned to the point that interested me the most was that, before the newspaper entered the scene, I had no idea if the girl to my left was in fact on the train next to me, or if she was the reflection of a girl sitting elsewhere on my own carriage. The illusion of the position of the girl on the train.

[ ... ]
The train came closer and closer and closer and I didn't know why it was coming so close, it was coming closer and I realised that there must have been a points failure because it was coming closer and it wasn't going to stop and it came straight for me and then it smashed through the window and I realised that it wasn't actually a train but the image of a train that was somewhere else.
[ ... ]

which one of you just flicked that switch?

and the light went on. if the light on the outside goes on, then the pupils shrink; the light on the inside causes them to dilate. a snooze on the train to help rest the brain, and then we're cooking. press the spacebar, but someone knackered the spacebar, it's slowing me down and I want to take these words straight to the space bar, these pupils are wide open like I'm in space. and so I came up with the name for my next act, the same name that I wrote on my phone years ago, but with a twist.

and just like that I pulled out the story I never finished and started trying to finish it again, and the memories came back, his memories brought my memories and suddenly there I was with an incarnation of memories, and more memories were shared and tales of another life, and a remix of memories, and memories and memories and memories. words about memories.

Lest you think I'd lost my mind and accidentally overlooked the capitals, there's one right there for you to start this line. The spacebar that slows the flow is far from acceptable: it's a par, and there's the word in its first appearance, how did it end up among all the other regular words of insanity. Sticking out like an alien at a beauty contest, there it is. The word.

and to celebrate the end of this return... nothing beats an ending like a full moon stop.

Rules and writing

The rules govern what I write. I may have a collection of impulses in my head, but these must be ordered by rules before they can find their way out of my head. And how much leeway the rules give these impulses is anyone's guess. With enough rules, the text should be able to generate itself.

None of this is news, but some of this needed to be written as a prelude.

funky 0034/35

Nothing fell out of my fingers when I sat to type the thought that had just flown through me. I picked up the sentence and threw it into the syllable counter. 21. The Lotto Numbers didn't come up properly tonight, there's music but not much sense in words.

Found connection

Momentarily lost, but recently retrieved, now the noughts and sticks are flying with more intent than a wayward missile at a misdirected gathering of layabouts and thoughtless drifters. The new information is on its way.

The clouds came to hide the sun and some rain fell again: the change came to signal that the time was different, and people left. More on the way. But no more words for the time being. Just these ones.

belly full of gas

Belly full of gas and mass, the roundness is big and sore and it's the only comfort on offer. A day when I returned to the castle and remembered what I was doing when I last played the game seriously, the rain fell today just as it did back then, there was boredom and a sense of no escape. When it stopped I went out.

There's nothing more to be told, the nonsense was stemmed momentarily. While the little duck sits but doesn't quack and the files slowly vanish the wrist sits awkwardly against the shell of the computer and the eyes shut as the mouth opens and the belly full of gas threatens to expand further. We made it. All the parts made it to the end, and now comes the fun part, here's to the fun.

Here's to the fun, I'll pour some more bubbles. If something's too good to be true, then it probably is. Here's to the fun, and to the inevitable opposite.

Spirit and heart

It'll never be enough to say to me that everything's worth it: you can't do this shit alone. And that's when I realise that I need to reach for the phone, but something stops me, a sense of futility grabs my hand before it can grab the phone, a sense of paralysis stops me from reaching out, and I just turn my head and look, and I'm lost, and all of a sudden I have no idea how to behave or what to think.

When I look in front of me, I see a mirror, and in the mirror I see someone I don't know, and I don't know how people see that person but, somehow, he's equated with me. 

Time to decide on something to do.

I clicked on your profile pic cos I wanted to see you, but when I got to your page you weren't there, there was nobody there, just traces of people who'd stopped by, signs that pointed to your existence but little else. I wanted to jump out of the other end, into your world of existence, but I was trapped in a different realm, far removed from where you are, which is far away from where I am, there are two different worlds here and all that connects us is a space of illusion and image.

No longer do I believe what lies on the other side of the screen. For all the illusions in the nonexistent space between us, this is the only thing that's real any more.