tom taylor - MORE
More, specific destinations are set out as parts of the larger journey from absence to a warming of the heart to its details at the closer reach; translucent surfaces sustain the weight of four automobiles on the reflection which, while resembling a watery distance, is less and more at the same time. A shimmering plane enhances a surficial lack of depth which itself has no dimension other than a solidity and an absence at the same time, less by far than the objects it supports. It is not a sheet exactly but a force or an impetus to be seen as something dividing what is above from an emptiness beneath its actual dimensionless energy. So much for the separation of the seen from the seeing which engages the perception which seems to allow an evanescence to be revealed in seeming contradiction of a frail yet determined shimmering of light itself rather than any emanation or restriction which might contradict density or existence itself. Beyond this allowance for solidity there is little else to recommend it to one’s partial yet unexplained perception, confusing what is real with what is not. This is the allowable distance. This is the heart monitoring your own sensations from a mark on the screen of your own making into some newer recollection inside the definitions which are provided in the essence of what has been previously ignored or denied if only from your particular stance in the dance of light and shadow which becomes the focus of your own messages from an unknown who might or might not reply again.
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this hopeless silence. "things are not as they appear; nor are they otherwise" you found me in my hopeless silence seated in the same chair as the centuries, most distant, most silent and therefore most vulnerable, most available. You came to me in this silence and joined me without speech or song or gesture but with your own perfect isolation and silence, and there, we communicated our perfect thoughts without moving or sending but only open in receipt to the wave lengths of thought itself carrying all sensation all emotion all distances united in the silent dance together in the sunlight moonlight nonlight of what passed between us long ago and now again the lines across the day were open and closed like a distant star coming into bloom in a haven of retreat and safety where nothing passed for nothing and something emerged into the space between us which glimmered and passed into our unity as if something generous and filled with sense and song observed our passage and our destiny as if something had come home from the wars and the trails and the distances into the room of hopeless silence and made it into something new and real beyond the treasures left on the floor beside the bowl and the tomb and the rock and the hour and the sign itself….
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time zones have melted away by virtue of their definitions and absences on the face of the clock beating history’s destiny and song apart from all continents and definitions. Your hours have become the moment on my screen coursing back and forth across the day, sentences willing to march have reported for orders and set off for the front of your brain without plan or locale. The seeming signs have been turned off and there is only a realm of color washing through the vision of our dimensionless perceptions, here where the allowable presence becomes a second on the face of light…. The music on the radio recalls the passages and eloquent denials we’ve sent around the world over and over, marking our turn and gleam like a manual on the carseat for how to drive along the waving hands in the air, motionless and profound, all contradictions are resolved in the hour of our forward careening space and time bound into a unity and a forgiveness.
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this hopeless silence. "things are not as they appear; nor are they otherwise" you found me in my hopeless silence seated in the same chair as the centuries, most distant, most silent and therefore most vulnerable, most available. You came to me in this silence and joined me without speech or song or gesture but with your own perfect isolation and silence, and there, we communicated our perfect thoughts without moving or sending but only open in receipt to the wave lengths of thought itself carrying all sensation all emotion all distances united in the silent dance together in the sunlight moonlight nonlight of what passed between us long ago and now again the lines across the day were open and closed like a distant star coming into bloom in a haven of retreat and safety where nothing passed for nothing and something emerged into the space between us which glimmered and passed into our unity as if something generous and filled with sense and song observed our passage and our destiny as if something had come home from the wars and the trails and the distances into the room of hopeless silence and made it into something new and real beyond the treasures left on the floor beside the bowl and the tomb and the rock and the hour and the sign itself….
.
time zones have melted away by virtue of their definitions and absences on the face of the clock beating history’s destiny and song apart from all continents and definitions. Your hours have become the moment on my screen coursing back and forth across the day, sentences willing to march have reported for orders and set off for the front of your brain without plan or locale. The seeming signs have been turned off and there is only a realm of color washing through the vision of our dimensionless perceptions, here where the allowable presence becomes a second on the face of light…. The music on the radio recalls the passages and eloquent denials we’ve sent around the world over and over, marking our turn and gleam like a manual on the carseat for how to drive along the waving hands in the air, motionless and profound, all contradictions are resolved in the hour of our forward careening space and time bound into a unity and a forgiveness.
posted by jim leftwich at 8:38 AM
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