What is happening right now
Is there a chance to understand
How everything is linked somehow
And nothing random makes more sense

Prophetic lines – poetic rules
If there’s a future left to know
I’m lost with writing as a tool
Which does affect the very show

There is no way to understand
In causal terms or logic laws
Somehow we are creating sense
That weirdly frames its very cause

It seems that we are woven in
A thought becomes reality
Are minds the place where we begin
To make us dream what we could see?

Is everything deluded signs
Adapting selves in unknown ways
To things that are from some behind
As long as each belief betrays

By making aspects seeming real
Independent from our views
We seem to act just to reveal
The context we’re forced to reduce

But how to think of such a place
Such a condition makes minds sick
We are a knot of time and space
Reflecting within a broken trick

It seems there is no way to know
Whether there’s another way to go
Or not

So are there new realities
Beyond those trenchant causal chains?
Are these new patterns that we see
Or just misread coincidence?

Are we fooled by how we feel?
Constructing by using minds
Interpreting what’s hardly real
How to decide what we could find?

We are unable to describe
What is outside the way we think
We can’t grasp things that we wipe
Out with our mental way to link

We are unable to decide
If there’s another truth that hides
Or not

Abstract thoughts can only reveal
an abstract world to understand
we cannot say what is real
how to detect beyond our sense

my hands protest today
so they become
don’t know how it started
they were filled with air without memory
nowhere to land, no stories attached
to the sleeves
this body is a history of fights,
wandering weeds,
of fists full of laughter

I was once an empty space with time borders
a true self or a void full of ambition
certain patterns disguised in black and white
milk tears


I met my shoulders today
I no longer hide my thoughts in open spaces
or defeather my dreams
my gestures turn into statues
to be seen from afar
I put my spin into the cup of morning
so I could tell today apart from tomorrow
in time’s bone marrow

Autopoiesis.
Autocorrect: Autopsies?
Such a pessimist.

Poiesis, praxis, being, art, creativity, expression
From <https://quod.lib.umich.edu/c/ca/7523862.0001.005/
--poiesis-and-art-making-a-way-of-letting-be
?rgn=main;view=full­text>
what do I do?
<copy and paste, from less to greater than, up there>

- In my future we have had Hyper-text for a generation,
- my children'…s generating phase
- has had this means <gotoknow>
- from day one, autopoiesis threading a James Burkean sort,
- sifted and brought -link by link, point to pre-surity
popped
abrupt-rupturousssski, boom, point of all as ifity
- into light barrier transcendence James Webbian clarity

Focus the fire, see and recall athink athought, teeter taut,
tip, to up, as we continue
slow as molasses, yes, black sticky precurser
to sweet granulated persuasion, passion say, you

listen to me, now, see, you
listen to me, now, I say no, I do not think so, you
say take nothing away…

Let meaning fluid be, statistically
trending toward the peak,
tipping point, the spectrum wave-
off Kanagawa,

flat reality, where whole men, and men's heads
disappear behind the wave that isn't there.

Thinking,
you know what I mean, mean free inbetween,
point to point,
needle work, mmm, using time, I'm sure
- waiting, as silence hears nothing cease, so
nothing, now, is
impossible to simulate, Torricelli does agree,
in principle, all actual emptiness
is full of this
and other interesting imaginable things,
and nothing
is not one of them, after all began to be said and done.