No matter what you do, float or swim, life is life whether you float or not. There is no point. There are no things to find. There is nothing that matters. There is no more matter there and nothing to hold on to any- where. There is nothing to fight for and nothing to refuse and only by letting all these things go can there be ever be any be finding be.
(I usually edit, edit, edit, for months, but I'm trying some un-edited stuff) (...ok...I added one comma...) (but really, that's all I did) (I swear) (I think...) One Moment there is no series there are no clicks no clicking moments no moment when one moment becomes another no segments of time no striations in the stratum no layering of one on top of another no clickclickclicking of ticks or tocks only one moment, unending and unimaginably long and impossibly short
(NaPoWriMo, Day 6) There is but the barest little bit of nothing separates nowhere from now here, the barest little space.
there was a gash in the night a slash in the pause and pull and space of the world an empty place in the words the sturdy frame weakened age, cruelty, time and knowledge like the passing of Basho's gas
My attention spans this bridge. This gap is a whole in my head, is a hole in my hands where I hold my world together, just an old vacancy between my stasis and my change. This thing that I twist and twiddle with is still, a list of paper chasing after folds. My attention spans more and less than I am. This space is a place that hides the kiss of time, hides it in every hole and makes me time’s churlish cuckold, held captive by all that has missed my attention. ...puttin' the Po' in NaPoWriMo...
I am making myself write, at this moment. I am making myself right, at this moment. I am making my self, right at this moment.
[thank you mark, for getting me to pull this one out of the archives] [...a fragment of a piece that is trying to make itself...] [...the rite way wround...]