Title: first paragraph ...
Our overlapping co-relational story is like
an organic fractal diversifying and expanding
with recognizable patterns, brilliantly filling
and unfolding into a deep black and purple
The space itself, is the realm of all possibility.
And now, the foreground, just barely emerging
is awaiting patiently to be rediscovered
and redefined over and over.
With every nuance of expression, a surprising pixel
begins a curve, a wave, cascading over the top
of our imaginary edge.
Uncontrollably we travel further from the naive
and wishful firm grasp of a defined shared domain
we once hoped for and clung to.
Even our delicate ripples become waves that send us
with momentous swells towards the wonderful shores
of islands we have not yet named.
Our goals, our seeking, are netherworld rumblings
underneath a mindful playground.
Here, we gather to mingle our pain with joy
to make up rituals to serve the apprehension
of a solid boundary.
We often tremble in exhaustion and slip into
that light sleep to dream of Tribal grounds
that once revolved around ancient merry go
round like totems.
With our Totem Guides intricately centering
the manifest, we knew enough.
So we thought ...
Amazingly we sense an awakening from
an even deeper slumber, it seems.
Perhaps this vital energy we feel
is initiating a novel movement.
In this moment we might generate
a new daily gesture for play time.
We might appear a little different
for a little while.
Some will grow too confident though.
Our understandings become a wonderful
new reference, for yet another
desperate glance of the whole.
The glance itself is entangled inwardly,
concave to its pregnant centre.
The cord unfolds.
Who truly knows truth...?
A childish fantasy about its mother?...
An infants story of a subtle playful light being...
A twinkle from a powerfully explosive star?
A slight smell, mere touch or taste
of the most subtle intimate reflex
still manages to gradually tip
the entire sensual cart off balance,
toward the pathways of entirely
new landscapes and forms.
Every sincere interpretation of inner and outer
is inescapably a divulging creative force
driving the shapes we concoct into wildly
The great story tellers concocted their own ...
A certain precious glass was said to be made
into a wonderful window, its beauty renown,
an ineffable profound pleasure.
The frame itself was almost alive with the emotion,
its union also a great delight.
Yet the frame sensed at times, that in comparison
to the Great Glass, it was but a mere outcast,
a blushing temporary companion,
engaged by short arrangement
in honour of that Famous Noble Lens.
Look, the people would say,
perhaps this Pure Crystal
offers a perspective suitable to perceive
the Great Artist.
There is, we believe,
an Art capable of cloaking our mysterious ego
within a camouflage fabric
that might for a moment fully hide
our gawky gazes and our haphazard reflections too.
Then, perchance, we might finally witness
a glimpse of that magnificent Architecture,
the Artwork of the Artist,
Always making it and baking it.
This, they say ... this is the Spectacle
and we were all made to inhabit It.
What does the immediate scene of our story
sound like, look like, feel like?
With what sense paramount do you initiate
this great voyage of our collective imagination?
This strange focus of attention is like a game,
whose ball has traversed the Gap.
This involved some really wild hopping activity
over the internet.
The Ball is now in your court.
What might you say?
Where we go from here is entirely a matter of
spontaneity, my friend.
Our story unfolds.
personal clip board ... we write and edit text.
copy and pasting to the common story board.
e-mail ... we send bits and pieces of the story
to each other and reference them
with the links that recall them.
Your visit adds one for the site:
and adds one for this page: