delight.

a dark cold mist. fog and condensation obscure all other sensations.

dense silence presses against the window pane. inside, the flourescent ceiling panels release epileptic spasms of light, stabilizing for intervals of a few minutes at a time. lurching through the darkness, rusted wheels squeal and spit white-hot sparks onto the rails in a feeble attempt at finding release from their irrefutable guidance toward an empty destination.

a figure sits by the window, motionless -- in all ways identical to my own appearance, it flickers in and out of visibility; afflicted by an inability to look anywhere but forward, it is possessed of little more substance than a melancholy apparition.

from my vantage on a parallel track, we seem to be headed in the same direction. do our paths diverge at some point? are we slowly curving away from each other toward a horizon that neither will see until it is upon us? is the figure truly a ghost? a warning, perhaps? or is it a possibility for my own future?

am i a reflection of it?

. . .

the clumsy picture painted in words above is, of course, an illustration of a concept. it's all a mistake, i think sometimes. all of the passion that i once felt leaves me. if not for money, what shape would my life take?

i have no dreams for the future anymore, only for the present. that may be the source of my fears -- that my path leads to an ignominious end. but i fear that if i allow my dreams to extend into the far future, the present will be sacrificed in the pursuit of those dreams... and tragedies seem to invariably befall those who dream of the future without thought for the present.

this present seems to move so slowly! maybe it is time to become a ghost, to pass through time in anticipation of the future rather than always taking care of the present moment.

but that just seems careless.

. . .

the riddle: i can be pursued every day without being found, causing both exasperation and delight in the same breath; i am worth living a life of a hundred years for, yet i am a source of fulfillment such that one who thinks of me is prepared to die, contented in his sleep by the pleasure of having glimpsed my true form even for the briefest of moments.

what am i?


audio: marumari . eno test

here.
... and accepted here.

: )

physicalist experimentalism

standing at the window, he places five fingertips against the pane. a blacklit summer night, outside it is warm; inside, rising body temperatures excite the atmosphere against the most diligent efforts of the air conditioning unit humming soundlessly above.

a single white tablet sits on a small table a few paces away, held in rapt attention by a lean young woman wearing piercings in strange places and a slightly feral expression. her eyes seem to shimmer as rare shards of flourescent light glance across dilated pupils; she seems unblinkingly fixated on the mitsubishi label etched into the surface of the pill. sound ripples through the darkness, vibration moving outward inexorably as if each molecule were designed to trasmit crystalline impressions of the audible spectrum with absolute granular clarity. if one listened, the music could be felt as well as heard, to the point of understanding silence and pause as the most basic and intricate elements of its composition. his back is turned to her as she continues her ritual gaze. his hands are strong, the slender fingers of a piano player betrayed by calloused knuckles. his awareness is enhanced similarly to hers, but he feels a calmness rather than stimulation. sensitive whorls trace unique identifying patterns on the glass beneath his touch. the window pane feels unusually cold, recalling the texture of slick ice.

eyes closed.

the depth of sound pushing from every direction disorients him for a moment, creating a sensation of hypersensitivity on the eyelids; an accompanying impression of sound as chaotic fireworks and tracer bursts of light swirling in syncopated rhythm. swaying slightly as his kinesthetic orientation shifts in response to the sound and light, he pushes lightly, transferring weight from heels to toes. the movement deepens his touch against the window pane, but the feeling of cold persists even after prolonged contact.

eyes shut more tightly.

focus on the contact between glass and fingertips. a secondary disturbance, from within the glass. the light show behind his eyes congeals into a map of his fingertips, the vortices and explosions becoming a pressure-sensitive photogravure etched into a background equilibrium of dark energy. increasing the pressure of his touch, he leans forward, nose only inches from the polished surface.

his push elicits an infinitesmal sliding motion within the glass itself. at first, he barely feels it. the dimensional visualization of his touch dissolves into raw particles, only to reemerge at extreme magnification in a matter of split moments. as he pushes, tactile feedback enhances the resolution of the mental image. at first, glass and skin are clearly differentiated. the disordered amorphous solid arrangement of energetic particles that is "glass" becomes distorted by the intrusion of external pressure. time becomes visible as a singular dimensional quality, as both causation and correlation between elements. distortion in time becomes a merging of sensation and interpretation; he feels the glass strain to maintain kinetic intransigence, even as it begins to bend.

pressure receptors embedded deep within his skin register a shivering, wavering resistance as the second order transition deepens. finally, the areas around his fingertips attain minute heat elevation as molecular bonds relax and expand. the visual map pulsating before his closed eyes becomes more intense; he feels the pressure as a measure defining the expansivity of his attention span.

expansion. the glass now feels less dense, giving way to a syrupy goo that conforms to his skin. the emergent viscoplasticity gives rise to an increasing concavity as the transition nears completion. the syrup begins to flow as it continues to change state, fixed boundaries between glass molecules giving way to a homogenous collidal dispersion of supercooled liquid.

three fingers are encapsulated; the strain is immense on both physique and psyche. tremors begin to ripple through his body as muscle tension begins to fade. attention falters and ebbs as he realizes the impossibility of what is happening. instantaneous loss of the time dimension from his synaesthetic visualization disables his perception of the state-shifting disequilibrium. the vision fades into a blizzard of vibrating particles, receding into the darkness of his mind.

he feels her standing behind him with that unnatural gaze of hers. the clack-clack of her barbell tongue piercing brings him back to the world as he slowly opens his eyes, even the darkness seeming intolerably bright. slowly removing his fingers from the window pane, he sees her move toward him in that way that she has, that light step and predator's grace.

shaking himself quickly as if awakening from a trance, realizing that she had said something to him. mumbled assent and a nod of the head; she was hungry. he had glimpsed the thirst in her eyes earlier, but the thinning crowd would make them overly conspicuous. it was time to go.

the pill sat unattended at the table, dancing its glitch-hop dance. moonlight poured through five finger-sized curves in the glass window pane a few paces away.

audio: trs-80 . i am energy

question. answer.

future. past. who. how. why.

silly questions, but i find it difficult to stop them.
sexuality, survival. what use is all this existential bullshit, anyway?

just go, i tell myself. force yourself to survive. find a place of your own. for now it doesn't matter whether it is beautiful or unsightly, perfect or decrepit. i always imagined that motivation comes from basic needs and the desire to transcend them.

september passed without me, as if driven forward by its own impetus. one of the aspects of being a consultant: time is elastic. there is no set schedule -- i move when clients ask for help.

but this has also become the rhythm of my life.

time tightens around me, pushing me ever closer to its warped continuity. i move through space, breath and awareness enmeshed in a taut interthreading of intention, action and reaction. i have trained myself to the point that body and mind can move without me; they know what to do. on the train, running through scenarios. am i ready for the possibilities?

days pass, a week is gone. each instant is gone at the moment that it reaches the threshold of awareness. in the midst of calculated motion and measured emotion, mind ebbs and flows between absence and presence, preoccupied intensity and serene transparence; yet my grasp is always empty.

is this a singleminded approach? one evening a few weeks ago, a vague sense of breathlessness crept into to the middleground between thought and feeling. impatience: move faster. you're still here. get moving. keep moving. the nonverbal intonation of an ambitious impulse, the insolent arrogance of a self-improvement mantra. you can do better than this. can't you?

i sat with the feeling for a bit; gaze wandering absently downward to street level, the view was partially obscured by the fiery brilliance of dying leaves paying tribute to the fading autumn sun. although night had long since fallen, the leaves wavered but held fast in the evening wind, their colors muted by the darkness yet vivid in contrast to the asphalt shadows of the intersection five stories below.

after a few moments, eyes raised to the phosphorous pinpoints of stars and constellations, it becomes apparent that this ambition is creativity's bastard child. combined with a shifting awareness of my own limitations and an insistent sensation of restlessness, i find that there is a continual struggle between inner potential and outside reality. starting a business is one manifestation of the resultant intentionality, but as time passes, my mind craves a deeper satisfaction.

how can i create an object in the world that embodies past and present, projecting its intrinsic value to others in a way that embodies their own hidden desires for understanding? how can i have a positive effect in the larger human world?

what skills do i need to gain?
who will i need to become?

i've had a long time to ask the why questions. i wonder if the answers are enough to prepare me for what comes next.

Vote!

And vote for the candidate that you want to win,
not for the candidate that you expect will win.