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.