Sunday, 2 November 2014

Stone written 
cut
stone paper scissors
scissor written
cut
scissors stone paper
paper written
cut
paper scissors stone
cut

Out streamed words and gestures, gathering back gestures and words. The material pause between presence and decay. 

As a moment between two forms, the hesitance is suddenly neither

gesture nor word

not suture not slice

not what it came from nor what it is going to. 

There is a new form. A shape of sensing. A material awareness, shaping sense, this moment becoming all its own. 

What is a moment that it is all its own? Paper wraps rock, rock blunts scissors, scissors cut paper.

The written cut and sewn together alphabet. 

Now decisions flow swiftly, call it a gamble, call it play, call it a game: Call it. 
Decide or elide, the moment hidden or revealed is also the moment.

The whole collection is a moment, a collection of gestures, the gathered role call of the pause. 

The whole gesture is a collection, the instance of history colliding with its own gaps.

A gathering of a strong scribble, fingers rolling around the making mark, the long scripting of senses seething forth from the smudge. A writing of the presence of present tense thought. 

And hovering above the possibility  – stilled in the scrutiny of this instant – there is discovery. 

I am told there will be discovery.

Awareness in material coming back to material awareness.

Your material awareness paused, heard, and returned may suddenly become materially different. Of course, your consciousness does not venture forth without its own potency. “You” may very well change everything around you and do so, sometimes, before ever reaching that which you have changed.

Beginning at the end of a book, we have changed the beginning.

To tiptoe out without net and barely a wire to touch our toe upon.


To step into a moment without a reference to another moment, without a beginning. What kind of foolhardy act is this?

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