Tuesday, 13 February 2018

Unifying Haptics

Gestures and scripts, narrated physicality made into humour.

The humour is made of the physical; the character stops and looks.

The character stops and looks, accusing
or bewildered

as a piece of inert matter apparently mocks their existence.

The inert matter is willful
accidentally animate
suspiciously willful

and yet in every instance of scrutiny it
the thing
it appears as its appearance

an object
a thing
inert matter

which thwarts one's gestures
and rewrites the desired narrative.

It is in narrative thwarted that we find humour arising.
It is in the humorous lubricate of frustration that narrative begins.

Unifying haptics, holding hands.

Monday, 12 February 2018

The retreat
the discovery; 
the mark making gesture; 
the abiding with powers which in another circumstance might destroy.

In this process a new aspect of knowledge. A communication of this knowledge is returned to the social realm. It is spoken of around the fire and one by one, following steps which have by now become safer, the group becomes a series of individuals as they witness – alone for a moment – a power at once familiar and yet new. To experience directly this fresh understanding.

In the shape of our novel, so in the shape of the cave, the shape of cognition and being. Both thought and thinking about thought begin to change. 

The process of differences serves an internalisation and reordering of gesture. A movement through language is a tool for processing the different. Once gestures become connected (stepping down into a cave, moving earth into image, putting a hand against a horse’s flanks) so do these movements become aspects of a new knowledge. We partake in the changing world.

The novelisation of our imagination is an evolutionary expression of being. Gestures and creatures are related and formed into marks, the marks form gestures which allow one to approach creatures. Differences are set in relation to one another. Each difference and each act of relatedness may then be rediscovered in a newly invented society. 

A society exists for as long as it carries a unifying haptics amongst each of its parts. Gestures and scripts link the body. A narrative conveys one safely up until the very point of meeting a power able to dissolve and utterly dismiss that narrative. Now there is new knowledge, change is encountered, a new dance amongst new mark making. Change is encountered and this is either a new story or the end of all stories.

The novelisation of our cave is an evolution of imagination.

Monday, 13 November 2017

Long form:

multiple storyline:

rolling conclusions:

open closure:



travail of truth telling.

Sunday, 12 November 2017

The gesture solidified makes type.

The figure of type reduced to mark is an alphabet.

An alphabet traversing word is

a mouthed gesture.

A mouthed gesture tracking the breath

dissolving type as it returns to gesture.

Shaped to shape, a kiss;

can this belong to a sentence?

Our rowdy typology eludes 

punctuation and alphabet, solidifying

into an open basin of dream.

Sunday, 26 March 2017

Woke from worlds
and worlds awoke in me

photophobic soil dwellers
scurrying away.

It is decided that memories are best bought. There is a heavy stone trough, redolent of daily life in a rustic setting. It is imported into my garden. I do not have any livestock which may drink from it. When it came to installing the plumbing for the hand pump, I ran out of money. If it rains, the trough is full of water. There is moss, and eventually a certain amount of slime. 

Worlds awake from the stone.
Ghosts of horses 

ghosts of dung
the flower beds are trampled all over.

Awaking from the green water, strange squiggles of living things. 
Soon the insects bite.

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Woke to the words (and it is only ever words which wake me):

be prepared to be 
on your way
on that last day.

The same shone first (and if ever anything wakes me it is only light).
Shone first, shines within, and this same light will shine out at last.

The word wordless when these, wordless, have many sayings
yet little string to hold them.
So how is it, wordless and stringless, they have their world strung together?

Time in both directions is inconsistent. 
Any inconsistency makes time timeless. 
The space runs without knocking any edges off. 

We are one and we are another, without edges.

Paucity and the deceased. Beauty and the least. The boat pulls out, escaping the intricate device 

of the word worldless, of the heist, a sea stolen of its ground. The bottom dwellers struggle, finding not the bottom.

Saturday, 4 February 2017

Lifted fire
twisted around this fallen knowing
of forgetting a candle. 

Neither fire nor smouldering
just the gathering

in anticipation of together.

Another note of repose

enthusiasm prodded toward meeting in the future.

Life is life is
life all the way down.

For life not to be found, 
there can be no life

yet here is living seeking living,
here is life peering toward the possibility
of no life,

being therefore,
seeking, all the way down.

One wonders at how a combination of death
may produce the seeking life
who investigates its own vestigial absence.