Shining threads

Shining threads

Friday, 15 September 2017

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The vile lies of evil. The supercilious superfluity of the superficial. The officious offishness of officials. The delicious delights of the delectable. The freakish frenzy of the fervent. The frail fractures of the frigid. The linguistic limits of the loquacious. The probable possibilities of the potential. The endless ecstasies of the elect. The smirking smiles of the smug. The compassionate care of the cooperative. The suave subtleties of the superlative. The dark dank of the dangerous. The alliterative allusions of the All.

Thursday, 27 July 2017

The Perfect Storm

Thunder came announced,
just after unexpected lightning.

It could have been many things - fireworks, a flashlight, an alien landing - but this time - it was a naturalistic abruption. (it's okay to make up new words)

They appropriated the discourse of Silicon Valley - declared a disruptive political movement.

Not playing by the rules. Introduce something new.

A perfect storm.

Storms are morally neutral.

A performance, an interruption, a tantrum, a crescendo of preceding heat, a destruction, a cleansing.

An assertion of Nature's partial dominion.

The balance of power varies, between the gods of natural phenomena and the entities that construct their lives within the [spectrum of existence].

The perfect storm is almost too much. It strikes with an awesome wrath which has no mercy and yet we indulge its excesses, out of respect and a sense of impotence with regards to this overwhelming electrical frenzy.

These days we are safe, as long as the waters do not rise too high and the trees are not felled in the direction of our dwellings.

These days we are safe, with our technological belongings and virtual networks and multiple media streams.

The predictions seem off-kilter, wild, an out-of-control spiral into a dystopic environmental desolation.

We can handle these discrete storms, marginal increases in heat and #flash-fires# & #flash-floods#.

The every-day people do not do the maths. We just want a quiet life.

And so the SUM of the equation, a progressive addition, subtraction, multiplication and division to overall elemental outcome, remains obscure.

Nobody knows - only these models can predict and philosophers can theorise and sages can warn.

We know disaster is possible. We know one person, one house, one village, one country can disappear into withered atrophy. The ways of destruction are many.

Yet this sense of a world in danger is too much of a           leap for those who find holistic vision distasteful - as if Enlightenment were an overreach of polite conduct, which must restrain truth and expression, in order to keep a civilised sense of, if not peace, then at least lack of disruption. Scepticism keeps reality at a safe distance. The discrete whispers of the unconscious can be easily ignored.

And then the Perfect Storm strikes.

Always outside. From the perspective of the sheltered.

It reminds us.

Thunder and lightning are symbols of our elemental power.

When we can match their intensity, then we will have arrived.

It is not dying, just forever.

It is not dying.
Not the flower.
Not the cells.
Not the meal in front of you.
Not fish
But perhaps the river
which cycles through Earth and Sky.

It is not dying.
Not the cat.
Not the tree.
Not the latest trend.
Not flame
But perhaps the fire
which burns everlastingly,
casting its gaze over all sparks.

It is not dying.
Symbols.
Alchemical recipes.
Haloed words
Which animate the air.
Resonating through the ages.
Despite the rhythms of existence.

It is not dying.
This.
Immortal.
Poetic vision draws forth.
And those few that walk into the fulfillments
Of promises made amidst dark despair and disparity.
Faith which was realised through movement and constancy.

It is not dying.
Nothing.
Infinite transformations
Despite transcendental sublimities.
We enjoy BOTH.
And between alertness and relaxation,
Eternal expressions of endless fascination.

Tuesday, 4 July 2017

Silicon beach

The radiance of machine dreams
Stream data from the sea
And the quiet hum
Of electric rum and coke
Sipped on this silicon beach.

Monday, 24 April 2017

Words consume worlds

The world is being consumed by a few 3-5 letter adjectives.

Opinions vary as to whether this is bad, sad, good, nice or great.

A radical suggests, provocatively, that we might stretch to include 6 letter adjectives.

This is declared a 'lovely' suggestion.

On hearing of the acceptance, the radical says 'that's great' and that 'it will be good to hear some 6 letter adjectives'.

'That's nice', says one person encouragingly.

'That's nice', says another person condescendingly.

A starry-eyed person sees this step forward and joyously says 'what about 7 letter words?'

A crowd puzzle together over whether this might be feasible, until they declare in unison that 'it would be AMAZING!'

An observer muses that their response was 'very nice', the way it was so co-ordinated and gave a sense of positive agreement.

The council of the Oxford English Dictionary look on with heads full of richly descriptive adjectives, weeping at the linguistic reduction taking place through society.

They are sad.

The world is represented by words and words animate our perceptions.

This was a great piece of writing, written at a good pace, on a nice computer, with a touch of sadness shared with the OED council and perhaps a touch of contempt. Oops. My bad.

Thursday, 16 March 2017

Decades of Decadence

In the 1950s, a woo bop de do wop rolled into town and a tipple named skiffle was the latest craze in the cultural maze. 

In the 1960s, pies got hip. Man gave service to his lips. DSL was their fuel. Those cats, they spat rhymes. What they lacked for in time, they made up for in crime. 

In the 1970s, the stories became rocks and glitter-glammed and disco-slammed and funk punk stunk and the microphones span.

In the 1980s, the Gospel was Goth and the Good News was Romance for Simple Minds and U2. Indie end the Queen was Dead and the House that Jack Built rocked da house.

In the 1990s, there was a ravelution, a dum de dum de bass and drums, and the trip hopped and the penny dropped and Gays' shoes looked mighty fine.

In the Noughties, the dance-floor was grimey in the discos of Cor Blimey and New New Wave Wave waved at the eighties to see who they could Spotify.


Written January 2016

We are the ocean

I see the ocean.
We are the ocean.

I walk towards the ocean.
We are the ocean.

I sit by the ocean.
We are the ocean.

I dive into the ocean.
We are the ocean.

I drink the ocean.
We are the ocean.

55% - 60% water and a sprinkling of salt.
Saline - Aquine
The potions of the ocean
Make motion.