13. That Much

Were these compliments to be

complimentary, as the delight

of pleasantries

I recognise that this is not

the only place and that You may

want it anyway. If Yes or no,

at most, You do not need my approval.

 

Seriousness

Are these decisions to be made or rather a joke played on the serious
Be still and know that I do not know.

(Seconds)Rambling ‘Philosophy’


We’re perpetually in a process of arriving and departing, neither of us ever arrive nor depart. The nature of beings is plural, always moving towards everything and always moving towards nothing. Neither are ever reached to be everything is also to be nothing. All values moving towards zero yet none ever reach it, to be finite is to be infinite in possibilities, in this regard to be infinite is to be finite.

 

Thus, this be-coming, in Levinasian terms the subject as ‘hôte’, both guest and host, one is always present as they are absent. In body and/or in mind, in space and/or in time. A journey without an end. I’m going…

Sprinkles & Memories

Variety is the spice ,the sprinkles, the chocolate chip. The profound in the mundane, mundane in the profound all that is new becomes dull, then new again. Everything is borroed, and nothing is ever kept, there’s no keeping each other, nor any other person. It’s not so much the person that is kept, but all the time we borrowed together.

Then we’ll have memories, even of the things we’ve forgotten. We’ll feel different and differently, about the emotions we had and the emotions we have. Young or aged, nothing new, movements made, altered, just different. All of us, each of us, changed.

One

There’s much to

talk about.

And always everything and

anything to write about.

 

Like the detour taken to write

this as all others go about

their business on their ways, avoiding

eye contact yet longing to be

‘truly’ seen.

 

There’s always something to think

about, dead leaves, live stones

and fallen buds never to

bloom.

Eleven

As a child

I ran around

the house, not stopping even to watch

my mother’s vases shatter or roll.

Now I pace as thoughts

race, not stopping even to watch

my mind shatter or roll.

Thirteen

The clouds like

an shell,

a shroud

all beneath.

 

Though above

in hope the

stars remain,

as below, the

winds bellow

and we may remain

unchanged.

 

The distance between

stars, like between

the soul and

heart.

 

As the mind tries to comprehend

its own inability in thought.