aphropoiesis 5.4.22

the future is all

hotels & hallways

mirrors & endless

dreams

the car rides forever

the radio a sonic fuzz

music is how you hear it

lights on & off

eyes open & close

they say time is a river

but time is an ocean

we are only ever

lost at sea

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am i a writer?

i think my pal sophie strand is a writer. people who write to pay the bills, who write because they have to. for me… i USE writing. writing as a subset of language, of making sounds to communicate. i use writing like a drunk uses a bottle, its a means to an end, or a means to another means, a bridge, a horse, a road…

i develop, i design, and writing is one of many ways to exercise this process. words do not equal meaning to me, at least, not only. words are like clues, ctyptic mutterings from some lost apostle, each one a chamber hosting many doors. each door a potential. each potential screaming with the unknowable.

you see

i dont write

to know

i dont write to make the unknown known

or even to manifest the unknown a s a q u i e t l o v e r

writing is an act

ephemeral, performance

that reveals the unknowable.

most of the time it appears as a struggle, i must enact the protocols for sandstorm, for hurricane, for war. there is no future and no hope to rest inside of, only the pulsing.

each moment careening

together and music

lacerates the light

in this way, home is not a place. home is the total experience.

the words are just residue of the witness.

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but i cant abide the thing that certain people do

ahem

they scream as if oppressed, while their screams aid oppressors

we cannot share a whole world with those who aim to own it all, for the worldview of the individual leaves no place for the community.

“what are the three most important things in the world?

the people, the people, the people!”

maori saying