such as I, not I, I

The fool is I is you
The fool speaks with out asking
The fool masks without laughing
The fool opens a mouth
Utters a sentence

Without dancing
He, she, it glides
Over the dance floor
Until there is no
More floor

No more support
Holding us up
Weightless,
Motionless

Emotionless.
The fool has forgotten
To feel
What is real?

What is matter?
What matters
Anyway.

Bad news?
Good news?
Old news?
Ancient muse

It’s all tattered,
Shattered
Masked in
Golden Copulations

Saints sacred
Sinners profane

Another fool
Asks for
It's
15 min

A Fool
Believes very much
In what they are saying.

Fools keep it
All straight

Knowing the right
from right
from wrong from
night

from day
to day

Another song,

Written in
Golden
Light

…

A fool
Tries to get
it all down

But it won’t
Go down or
Stay down

Any longer

A fools remembers
Memory. A harmony
Is all they have
To go on

Fools find
Themselves drunk
On time (telling one's self
It's healing. Medicinal,
A temporary

Balm

Protecting from
The injustice of
An inequity

Of a failed
Collective experience).

The fool will
find
Desperation,
Seek
Attention

Know
Un-natural
Means

Through
Un-natural
Thoughts.

Fools needs a
Reality.

It will
Hold you
Accountable,
to it.

Un-acceptable
Unreasonable,
Your actions,

A gasp.
A mess,
Unworthy,
Un-mentionable
Besides your

Inability
To known

To act
reasonably
while
extinguishing
your instinct

ask,
is your memory
worth
remembering?

i have no answer,
but then again,

i am a fool.


…


Looses oneself
translated
Motion

Not remembering
Or moving

With everything to loose
Take no risk.

Risk everything,
Always for
The sake of

Nothing

The detachment-attachment

i've forgoten
again

that i
was me

this happens
often

forgetting
i mean

there's
more time

time to
remember

further adventures of the mem being

my novel idea is here: untitled


technical writings and musings to a degree: new media


national novel writing month, o my: NaNoWrMo

october 31, 1992 - january 01, 1901

E. Paul Baker

remembered today

and everyday

from the

wilds

of "stefanannie"

to the halls of

k. gildersleeve

you are

remembered

13

all elements

all bonds

all atomic decay

all gravity

all spacetime

all singularity

all mind

all reason

all feeling

all uncertainty

all rationalization

all conceptualization

all meaning

Full

Fall

New Moon
noon Your
time

Last time
I entered
Your soft
Time

Drunk with
Libertine rhyme
And apology

Btw

did you
know

I found
My head
In the shed
Behind the sled
Painted red
Full of

lead

Just in
Time to
Loose it

Again

Bliss

...
...

What is this...?
Why is this...?

Who knows...?
Why know...?

...
...

Drunkenness

How I loathe you

How I adore you

You come to me

I should have expected you

How you shape me

How you made and

un-make me

I forget all the prose

You told me

In my defiance

un-wholly alliance

You plague me

And you save me

From my self

Who else?

care to listen?

I’m listening

Thank you,

Goodnight

Goodness Bless

lem and the un-mix

out of my mouth, every sentence is quickly followed by a trail of nonsense:

the moment, the music, the un-descriptiveness of it all - all my attempts to interact in this world, to perceive, to feel, to know - this is my life - my fate:

this moment of light and night, of eternal revelation and illusion:

am i the fool or the alchemist? heightening senses and blurring reflexes until each moment of control and expectation is forsaken and every moment is un-distinguishable from the next:

Am i awake? Am I aware? do i see the world with new eyes? What choices do i make? Why do I make the choices i did?

I am confronted, in one form or another, by these mysteries at every step of my turn. i break them like bread. i drink them like wine:

i expect nothing and everything from them, never and always at the same time:

I must question everyone and everything i know, believe in or perceive to be:

and only then can this perception turn inward:

unite the self with the selves and the light:

until everything is undifferentiated

[excerpt}

---

I see two choices continually. The first and most seductive of these choices, is the choice one makes by stepping into the unknown. Taking risk. Looking foe adventure. Motivation. Hunger. Lust. This path usually leads one nowhere. The lure of promise and threat of loss are both great. The decision to take this turn, or not, is usually based on one of these two incentived factors.

The more familiar yet somehow deceptive choice tends to lead one to the antithesis. We know this as going home. Staying safe. Security. Sorry not tonight I have to... I would love to but...

Each decision shares a unique set of reward and consequence. Usually, there is no other way out, it is one or the other.

There is a rummored middle pat, which in this situation would be almost imperceptible, hidden in light like an oasis, slight of hand, hallucination or hologram. Something that at first doesn't seem real, but as time passes is often mistaken for reality itself.

[excerpt]

you see, i have given birth to a myself,

and this self exist as its own self,

its own father, its own mother,

the thing as the thing itself.

you see, there must be

nothing

i no longer

have to say

it's not that i have said everything,

i must,

or what i have said is meaningless,

yet rather, what i am

saying

is only a distant probibility,

an amalgorithm,

of a past memory,

a memory of the past

and

what was

Christ for the price of television [excerpt]

If you or anyone of us fortunate enough to reside for any length of time within the inner sanctum of the modern cityscape, you, more or less, know what it’s like to be here. The ‘more you try it the more you like it’ approach at first seems like an ideal situation. Years (sometimes months, weeks, most likely even days) latter it takes on more than daily living can afford. It is here we are divided into categories and sub-categories and re-located to respective geographic and moralistic territories, each with its own individualized site-specific economic responsibilities. It’s a battle for the top, if you are a multi-nation conglomerate or if you’re a street-wise punk, it’s a struggle to stay high. Both, poised with the same struggle of dominance or threat of disaster, have their own system and network of fail-safes to assure at all cost the avoidance of any unnecessary remedy. They exist in exactly the same stasis of need and ultimately there is no one who can make a right decision about anything.

Both sides have advantages and disadvantages. The Junky is clumsy and heavy-handed; the multi-national is driven by the power and greed of conquest. The Junky has as his advantage the power of invisibility; he or she can safely disappear for intervals of time, as they never existed. At the junkies back, however, is the never-ending demand of a most elusive and restrained capital. The multi-nation, on the other hand, has as its base the liquidity and dexterity of commerce, yet its restriction is a constant and bothersome accountability, known as the paper trail.

Long Form: [excerpts]

long form
and other post-modern apocalypse

______________

“One no longer sees the blue sky or the green earth, only a consonant grey, brown or black enveloping the soul in a spider like web forming within a sphere like glass.”

I have no memory of anything, anymore. The line between the real and what was once considered unimaginable has long since blurred into a searing white noise rendering my mind blank as a canvas and still as a wintry morning blanketed with wet, heavy freshly fallen snow. There is no room for movement of any kind. If I were to look up, I would only see, staring back down at me, a sad, lonely reflection of an old and withered man I have become. Loneliness is the final mask hiding the pain and joy, which is life.

“I no longer touch the blue Earth or see the green Sky…”

This is not Death or what some have come to believe in as Death, more precisely, a catechism of purgatory, limbo, half-life, the spirit world, Bardo. One recognizes this state in questions poised "who’s listening, who’s speaking?" This is the oldest, most primitive, primordial conception of humankind.



_____________



"What good is truth if the truth is us?"

Of course, this lovely imagination can never hold the truth and why would should it? Gauging from history, the changes the self as an absolute authority brings is what none of us really want. There is no God as there is no Death. Yet the ability to grasp the meaning of such is and has always been beyond the reach of Mankind’s rational mind and its obsessions and struggles of conformity. It is the words you read [or believe you read] now that is the closest you will know of these things. It is you who are Dead. In fact, you do not read these words or hold this book. If I where to answer you, why, at this moment you will dissolve, before your own very eyes, into a pool of undifferentiated matter which comprises and is comprised by the multiple realities of this Bastard Universe.


"I stand at the gate of Hell whilst holding the keys of heaven, yet, I can enter neither. My heart is as pure gold, a wild flaming fire whose love, compassion and kindness fuels all lust, hatred and desire. I am every poet and every mad man. I am every blessing and every lie that has ever been spoken."