collecting in anticipation
of sharing in doubt
A wakeful night
To lose its sleep
The opposite becomes equally different from all others
To accept the souvenir is to perceive, invest, return to forget
Outside of oneself
To see if nothing should be said
of all confusion)
Arriving at a choice and immediately regretting discipline
Better to regard in passing
Better to claim in barter
Better to alarm far-away allies
Better to pose dissolvency
Better to manage aversion
(Should we dream of loss?)
(do not) subitize
Crime has a face
—In operation on the number five
To pass through/across would be to see the face of (god (again))
The present is now the future and the past
Indeed we are vain
The sky its own fable
We its children make our way
Beneath and brought up
Seen at length, in property unalone
The sky executes
Kind keepings, cold clause
Fine provision, limpid loss
Seen in breadth, the prudent beast
Seen at point, plain danger
left door and right door
awful to approve
Yet arms remain open:
calculus, aspiration, always assertion
I took the time to spare hesitation,
Took the time to breathe without thought.
I took time to imbue what I saw as its very own message.
(This was my station, which I found to resemble the commonly welcome, just as its further requirements, asking me to look forward, caused me immediate unrest.)
The importunities that come
To wish the moment would recede, finally
There is a chance like a beginning, and a beginning like all
(What will be the will, the distortions, required?)
I should no longer aspire to know
I should no longer desire to want
I should no longer care to need
No longer discuss
The great fortunes of objects
The opportunity to engulf is rare
The chance to engulf also rare
The desire to engulf is almost measurable
The wish to engulf is the appeal to chance
The moment swells and swallows much
The remains are rarely swollen
In between the two
Of the two
In between the three
Of the five
The five of them
Let me count all the vines in the vineyard, as if it would be the prosaic sameness as counting all the stars in last night's sky—obvious, stupefying appeal.
Time aligned to a cause
Time aligned to a minute
Time aligned to a chance
Time aligned to our gait
Time gone from decision
Time at the seat of no door,
That is the power of feeling—decay and boon in vast entangled array
That to complete is to finish
The lives of flowers,
Too horrible to repeat,
Are written on stones, on roads, on rivers
(We walk them all, our senses around us.)
We see before us
And may easily look back;
In the middle we sing our praise loudly, warily, with expectation advanced or beleaguered.
The sun colors the world as we do our best, our duty.
The flowers glance is given
Later some bring shame
What keeps reliable
What is the resource
That maintains known desires
To again find comfort
(Happiness as such in hand and eye)
The known still known without betrayal
The protagonist, in observing the observed, felt something that could be called indescribable. The eyes weren't thoroughly unfamiliar with what was seen, but saw something unexpected; the inverse applied as well. The color was indeed the same color as it many times was, and what surrounded it had many aspects of the known. The overall effect was such that the protagonist could choose to: note, extol, consider, deny, tarry, and then others. That what s/he chose to do was one or many of these, put the matter on record.
Light and vision
Sound and sound
Taste on leave
smell comes near
+ touch is clearly everywhere
Narcissus gained; Narcissus lost.
The impulse is to discern the perfection of things;
The result is the reckoning of this impossibility.
To reject the desire to enumerate; to be resigned to the expanse of the single idea. That which encompasses is that which always is and will never be. Faith may rely on broken will, and so quality is a consideration of forgetting.
To come to see beauty without the thread—however long and thin—of the familiar could be impossible. And to see the impossible is perhaps the same thread.
To rest, to resign—
To decide on something new, to discern it, is the problem that may disappear—
Is to count to name?
They are on their way
They may leave us
We may love them
We will never be certain
The poverty/indelibility of the mark
That the eyes itself [sic] is [sic] a camera
That this will be good enough
mute, inexorable, numb, and unsteady
how to distinguish justice and life
Leave the senses at ease
Ready for them for difficult times
To discuss nature is rarely perilous, but hard and often unnecessary.
I will hold it in my hand at a later date
Starting additions / additional begninnings
79,520; 1,352,641; four-hundred eight.
The soul in shade
The canopy in light
The clock may betray
The choice that behaves
This is what I mean
Some notion of night. Lie carefully
When hands complete their journey, beaten to a station of honor,
the audience applauds, skin against skin, summoning the numberless back to their kin.
Always to be destroyed, humiliated
To hate rising up
To love everything
distinctions, absolutes, and rewards
(Followed by …)
Little more than complete
A difficult plan
The eye, never noble in failure, loves the flower.
The flower will be touch or falseness
The flower is posed, is poise, will be deposed.
It will leave us; we say that it has died.
The flower seen may be looked at too much.
The flower in hand becomes another correct story, always the same.
Beauty is always beauty in name—such is the flower.
Touching beauty can have no consequence,
As long as your eyes must turn away.
The river fish
Unusually expected, usually unexpected
New friends won't yet be welcomed
When they are, there will be a curse
What theater didn't happen here?
Nothing stops living.
Living stops nothing.
I imagined everything and then pressed record