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back Heuristic by Peter Wilson Number of episodes: 10 Words of previous episode revealed to each author: all of story Written between 23 Oct 2004 and 8 Apr 2005 late at night as one drifts off to sleep pure-thoughts come, as opened from their keep in the morning if remembered they seem less profound yet no less are they gems revealed from the ground. between the paradoxes, between the using words, cut adrift dead to superficial delusionary realities the orange sun sparks marvelous birds gather on frozen river. ---------Smoke---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The oblivious conflict from the very start pulls people in - despair, blindness, ignorance - but there is always more than one way. I-I / Now-mind Little or no relation to real so conflict separation trauma pain becomes - truth only becomes more distorted with time. Real / I-I people are unquantifiable or qualifiable - impossible to quantify (ascertain) - impossible to quantity qualities (judge) Images are approximations are used - distortions, no relation to real life. (that which is) Conflict pain of course people image fixed thinking violence / force of will = right. Being blind to blindness they separate I from all I's through images which are always false memory, Nothing is sacred except people. Images not people Madness is widespread I knew this as a child The difference between what is and How we act - think - remember Deal, treat With other unique real indivisible selfs... It was so strange feeling this in child-mind. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- in the pit, the bones seemed real, but i knew that this was meant to be, all moments come together and are blown away, scattered and related by the time of togetherness to come again, still my brow wrinkled and i felt pain where i thought it was, the bones off-white decay was a distraction from my knowledge of love, knowing love there was no fear, the entropy i felt was only an image of death, a phony death mask, pulled into garish contortions, like a Sunday on the couch, the television bleating commands and memories, it was no more real than all the excitement gathered in a drunken royal. the light behind the light out-shined the whole scene, recompense, revenge, justice and deserving, all the tricks of human paint-polyester mind, the crayons spilled onto the grass and i think i'll just leave them there, the worms can paint their tunnels aboriginal, the paper wrappers will melt into fungus and blow under leaf litter. the help i had been waiting for had arrived, in a shape i did not recognise, yet knew intuitively to be my stranger come to friend, a journey through, into sound. music is life. all of my dreams are shining down on me, sparking shafts of light like water undersea translucent * down comes pure knowing a vision i had last night so lovely there's nothing to lose 'cause you're already one to judge is to be judged to help is to be saved to love is to understand - love from the present - today i woke up with a thought... i feel like an angel... strange then i-self cut it off and mused, strange, well i often get strange droplets in the morn, at least it felt warm on my tongue. this morn after or before my friend called, she has news... i remembered i'd forgotten walking around the back of the compex, the ice hanging down the clay bank a whole hill-side valley of what i'd seen before in a dream (a parallel shift) except in the dream it was luminous bright colours perhaps showing the charity that had collected, that had bloomed here, the significance washed my sent and fragrance underneath, my sweat dried and a stranger in my skin, a sanctuary for those given to give of themselves and love was new again. he opened a cupboard, inside full of iodine bottles and notes of paper, some were post-it yellow squares, others torn jagged from books, posters, advertisements - napkins bleeding blue streaks of what he thought was a profundity, an insight of some-thing-out-side carefully drying his hands on a paper towel, mind between the fingers, water hiding, bleach on cut, more iodine, applying a fresh band-aid beep epp beep epp beep epp beep he coffined out of bed and thumbed the alarm, a bowl at the edge of the table cornflakes, no-one else moving yet. - love from the present - today i woke up with a thought... i feel like an angel... strange then i-self cut it off and mused, strange, well i often get strange droplets in the morn, at least it felt warm on my tongue. this morn after or before my friend called, she has news... i remembered i'd forgotten walking around the back of the compex, the ice hanging down the clay bank a whole hill-side valley of what i'd seen before in a dream (a parallel shift) except in the dream it was luminous bright colours perhaps showing the charity that had collected, that had bloomed here, the significance washed my sent and fragrance underneath, my sweat dried and a stranger in my skin, a sanctuary for those given to give of themselves and love was new again. he opened a cupboard, inside full of iodine bottles and notes of paper, some were post-it yellow squares, others torn jagged from books, posters, advertisements - napkins bleeding blue streaks of what he thought was a profundity, an insight of some-thing-out-side carefully drying his hands on a paper towel, mind between the fingers, water hiding, bleach on cut, more iodine, applying a fresh band-aid beep epp beep epp beep epp beep he coffined out of bed and thumbed the alarm, a bowl at the edge of the table cornflakes, no-one else moving yet. the paper was covered in his scrawling hand, notes curled up around the edges, filling the borders as he ran out of space for convential left-right script. words, sentences were linked by lines and small arrows, important parts underlined or circled. he put the paper in a drawer and the pen on the table, carefully washing his hands, drying with paper towels. ....................................................................................................................... we think because we can explain / codify our habits and behaviours by and through language that they are then more developed and somehow higher than that of animals. they may lick their bums, but they're equal, - judgment differentation and levels of respect, categorizing - all nursery illusory crap. ....................................................................................................................... we exist simultaneously at every point in space-time but have evolved perception that is linear and sequential or in a universe of infinite selves (and universes) parallel selves are like a stack of rings or a spring coil, each is the same whole but not necessarily in the same place (in our four dimensions of space-time) walking home late at night in York, maybe i was overtired, the wall swayed, reality seemed to buckle and shift, i felt movement other than that i'd ever experienced. York city walls are stone walls York city walls swaying walls Are late night walking phantastic walls. ....................................................................................................................... convergence a dream of reading a part of a book but with the non-narrative events of my life combined in a very strange way with the events in the story, a kind of catalyst, enzyme, co-agent somehow to the premonition. a premonition of events and the feelings that surround are triggered by and intertwined with a fictional passage in a book. i dreamt of reading a part of a book or watching a movie and this contained the feelings and events of what was happening to me in this future time. Pet Tong-len. ....................................................................................................................... this awakening, dissolving of the fog around through which i see, the fog i is, last night the purple phosphorescence above our bed i was thinking about convergence and what Paul had said about time present and i opened my eyes to the purpleness, that heuristic colour purpleness opening kick-starting my heart again i felt it the day before walking home to wonder steam colour brightness everything so real, so bright! that love is here and not to be taken as given but giving moment by moment in communion with each other and ourselves as we are. first step, realize impermanence otherwise castles of sand become concrete prisons all ideas way beings as impermanence. ....................................................................................................................... consume deserving worthy simple luck watching infected strange thought protection handshakes wild honey relaxed running down rice fields naked street pick-up here come up yet surreal money bank empty awakening shine on air. back © All work herein copyright the stated authors. |
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