Assuming this world is an unstable void having a hissy fit, would art be rendered emptiness as visual auditory madness?
clay vase cremated ashes Homo Theoreticus ablaze Homo Resurrecticus arisen counter-counterclockwise vortex tunnel funnel world rhythm ascending if depending who is it zapbap foto of course dusted with flower eaten for breakfast web caught nature's mirror brown spider none other thread spun self
Commentary: Unconscious psyche broadcast conscious art may be the best magic.
Does the soundless sound between the heart's drumbeat reverberate the soulful song? Like facet drip tides of oceanic time keeping the sleeping awake. Biking on dirt dreams of cyclic discontinuous disruption interruption. Sign ahead flashes neon "extinction extinction". Supposing that if birth ends in death, death too might become antiquated acquainted. En route caught in the woven web of on-off tweedy thread. As emptiness worlds of singular points of stellar sound and singing sight. To find the note between the trumpet notes of sound's stillness heard. Spatial openings where a breath of clearing air sways a green leaf spring. Passing past a mountain rock flower garden hidden ravine. Like movement between birth and rebirth never stolen. Comes a momentary void of volcanic eruption. Spewing forth hot glow lava flow spatial form of time. If death isn't antithetical to death so be it. Still recognizably undefinable based on what came a moment before an after. If so, how could death’s death be graspable from an empty standpoint? If this moment a layover en route between what was and what is to come? While in wait time to ponder if birth ends in death could rebirth begin life? The reason words stop silently between each breath taken. As if to tell the story of how to breathe words into worlds might be kept secret. When only to say if something isn't new, it isn't. Called to walk the miracle mile barefoot on cremation ashes. Down death row's hallway past the blindfolded walking. To executioner and executed alike comes an executive execution order. Miracle if it violates any and all rational and testable limits to what is known possible. This can't be happening yet it is. Where obsolesce is baked into the cake recipe. To be is to be eaten. Swallowed in bites. Because if the void of emptiness is itself unstable all is well. As bubble gum blown is meant to pop. If so, en route is the right type of stretched tightrope. Spanning where an impermanent incomplete imperfect world begins and ends. Commentary: The limits of my language mean the limits of my world. Ludwig Wittgenstein
Henotheism: belief in the supremacy of one god without denying the existence of others. wordnik.com
Assuming the world is incurably pathological because existence is the void’s terminal illness, the existential predicament all face should be inherently tragic. Even so, if this world was chiseled emptiness could carved falling fragments spring forth as as God's daemonic beings? Pop goes soap bubble consciousness. Loss without boundary or center. This is no laughing matter. Affront to such as why matter matters. Wondering if it had always been about stumbling. Over a cement crack where the why of It hides. Slip and fall hard ground roots down bodily found. Business didn't turn out as expected? Because if the death card gets played too often, a shivering self might wonder if things might have been different. Like supposing at day's end the unexamined death was the one worth dying. As twisted within the winding wind bent tree. Some force of nature howling an apology past Socrates. As if the right kind of imperfection held drumbeat close had caused the goalpost to dance. As if no two heartbeats ever identical fell sand grain felt. There was a knock at the door when none expected. A voice familiar yet distant memory unlocked. I have chosen you. Not you I. I God of gods once dead now alive forevermore. Have snatched away the serpent keys of Hell and Death. Open the gate to where horned men roam. They too have gifts.
Commentary: There's nothing quite like going for broke selling water by the river for the radical price of free.
