MAXIMS, FACTORS AND EXPLANETS
the square root of twins parallels the eternal rectangle and
foresees the similarity in all equations that prosper from
pre-conception.
I know you.[1]
[1]We have already met. It was in the Bronx on May 27th, 1947. Or more precisely,
it was sometime before now. I remember. You might have been wearing a hat. No
matter; what's important is that it has already happened and somehow you were
there.
narration bursts in the door like a gust of voices; first
person, second person, third person, etc. filling up the
space inside the sentence with circles of chatter that are,
in themselves, pieces of the ocean and fragments of rock.
like cracking a memory in half. [2]
[2]the concept of birth is hard to remember in the first person. It's a vague
manipulation that takes us from the ocean to the beach. Our entrance 1s a
signature. A shell of the real meaning {hold it to your ears and listen). Our
contexts shift so dramatically that in order to protect our heads from implosion,
we block out the differences and act as if nothing happened
inside the cognition, an imperfect square rolls along the
floor like a circumlocution, making a sleepy effort at impression.
it is perfectly dreadful and empty. [3]
[3]1 can remember making the first memory, the first gasp - the first act of free will
that was forced into my head and was, to the best of my recollection, a dream of
birth and the long sleep that follows.
the addendum is nonplussed and takes away from the
smooth transition into cubic feet. the flower's
fragrance enhances two universes.
fancy meeting me here. [4]
[4]Arriving is an open wound. Entering a picture that is already filled with eternity
knocks the wind out of direction. Objects appear inanimate because they don t
speak the language. Trains of thought click between the flux of memory and the
clack of an acual event. It rides the track of least resistance, the tiny context
within the shadows that are brought to life.
quantum leaps into the picture, bouncing through the
formula without form; time and time and time again is
timeless, circumnavigating the rotation of each event.
this order is a monumental breakdown of structure.[5]
[5] we are expelled onto the edge of existence. Between night and day; in and out;
up and down; right and wrong; life and death; and our legs. The point of existence
7turns on the hands of the clock, screwing up the absolute until it screams, dies and
eventually disappears.
looking through a maze of flashbacks, areas tend to
overlap, putting exactness out of focus, being one thing
and being another, and being a reflection of that
multiplicity.
the silhouette of a shadow.[6]
[6] Abstraction was born on my evolutionary curve in a universe that cuts through the
linear. It gives rise to erections, fantasy and, eventually (event by event), gives
way to real possibilities. Each moment leads to another. Sometimes the next,
sometimes the one before. It is all part of the same circle of events.
the tree is a rock and the rock is flesh and bone and they
each, successively, fly into two corners. the apex is the
point where two imaginations become really triangular.
the center of attention. [7]
[7] Things from the very beginning, act like themselves and at the same time, like the
opposite of themselves. Events follow the same pattern. We expect one thing and
get two (or another). We expect to fall down and we balance on the thin lines of
our fragility. We always think of ourselves as the composite of nature, the one for
which events take place; the one for which the future is designed - and we know
the opposite is true. Eventually we will defy the gravity of this opposition and
become enlightened on the other side - the opposite of birth.
a monosyllabic, perpetual motion becomes the sensation of
a dry, concrete dimension. the wetness of expulsion cracks
up, giving a polymorphic impetus to arrive at this conclusion.
at war with pieces/at peace with war.[8]
[8]slowly we begin to forget the answers as the sounds of vowels, consonants and
consciousness begin to overtake the pure silence. And as the words make believe
that they are more than they are, a cloud of Oneness becomes the fragments of a
million dreams.
the x/y helix doubles over and spirals up the alternating
current of body english. the infancy of natural cause is
swallowed by the transition but its tendency is always a
potential threat.
toying with the idea. [9]
[9]The first toy is a feeling that kicking, screaming and biting are things of the past.
Success comes to be measured by how much the animal is subdued; how deeply and
securely the potential is pushed into its box; how nimble and quick it is at
overcoming the flames that burst forth on the edges of every reason for being
alive.
waiting for the future to catch up.[10]
[10] Between two houses of a memory an alley rides the abstract lines of concretion
and borders on rectangular grass. The cycle trips as balance scrapes against the
red shingle of spooky temple. Next door to the pinky, it bursts into flames. The
deep red is etched into the alley between things and in it lives in the smell of
childbood and the invisible dreams that were once real enough to touch.
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