...now where did I read of something like this some days ago?... I can't remember for the moment...
...and where is this going, what means it? (and why that archaic word order?)
no, it's better to continue than to ask questions. change gear.
There is no self, no separate body or person, only the illusion of divided reality, but I cannot prove it, only glimpse, at moments, that all things are parts of a unity, and oneself is that which enables one to be, to see, to think, or drink - alive to the wall, the box, the sky, the pinprick... the cup of tea that revives...
...this is not poem, nor prose, nor fact, nor even writing - it's just what's happening as I think, write words that appear from the necessary incompleteness of being alive. That's it! the empty head, generating cliches. But more. The reality is greater.
this evening I saw a flame, 3 or 4 metres high and 2 or 3 wide, moving irregularly this way that way in strong wind, after someone set fire to a double mattress in a back garden. Black smoke, many sparks, it looked to me dangerous, I suppose invigorating to some. It could have spread and I was ready to call the fire service... what's happened to my head? the invisible self.
(these're not thortz they're eventz)
digital diary archive© 2002, 2003 john chris jones
If you wish to reproduce any of this text commercially please send a copyright permission request to jcj at publicwriting.net