Windsong

Six one one six six three, three blank blank four blank
Malleability, frugality, the veil that hangs between myself, the world,, the here, the beyond,, the to reach through beyond a the mist has become known unto my hand,
In every room in the world the light will turn off at the same time, the power is going out, the power has been out for days, it only comes on now and again, you can’t remember a time when the hum of the generator didn’t make your palms itch. Is, To worry is to exist in visceral discomfort of the unknown. Distance between thinking

I am walking around in my mind always, my mind is walking around in me, and my mind wants to say the matter is that the mind matter matters to the mind. In the bluest sky I am no longer a bell underwater.
They watch on and do not say anything. Their backs turn and they walk up the stairs, right, left, until they are soon running up the stairs, the stairs muddied, the cold wormed into my bones, a tongue made of leaden air, an evil balloon,
this time in the meditation I didn’t see anything at all, not even shapes on the backs of my eyelids. My spine a cube minerality, stretches from one to the next, each vertebra constellated into a form more complex until no longer, result unknown save for system lattice.

I am lowering a candle down into the center of the earth. I am spitting melon seeds down into the garbage compactor at the center of the earth. I am smiling down into the crystal at the center of the earth. I am throwing rocks down into the belly button at the center of the earth. I am pouring vegetable oil down into the C battery at the center of the earth. I am asking down into the whale’s eye at the center of the earth. I am thinking about jumping down into the ceaselessly spinning molten nickel alloy that produces the electromagnetic net at the center of the earth. I am peeling a pear down into the bathtub at the center of the earth. I am bleeding down into the open palm at the center of the earth. I am dropping a basket on a string down into the monastery at the center of the earth. I am fragmenting down into the fragmenting fragment at the center of the earth. I am hanging upside down into the oven at the center of the earth.

Politics of space, place, how we are seeking, producing heterotopias, place within place:: is the task to approach singularity, like that which exists at the center of oblivion? Should we all survive the end, when the star collapses into a singular point and we become nothing, the material that makes up the material of our being will hold hands and we’ll turn to straight lines in the darkness.

The heart of hearts is a heterotopia, a place within a place. Hell is a heterotopia, a place within a place. Mind and mind’s eye, the dream, always the dream, as of late the dream has been a continuation of the world awake, made strange, made real for you’re there with me, we are drinking coffee beneath a windowbright, we are covered in crumbs, we are standing on the bleachers singing a song, we are jarring moths, now I understand it hasn’t been a continuation at all, more of a discontinuation, an incongruent mirroring, because you and I are there, projected somewhere above, and sometimes the there is the same as here, but as I think more about it the there seems less like this here and instead a somewhere that is elsewhere, you’re there and I’m here, I’m there and you’re here, we’re here together and you’re there and I’m in a here that is some where else

And when I look down below and see only the coursing pulse I am my heart and it is the fence that bites.

It’s all pressure, change in pressure, lots of air one place moving to where there isn’t any air at all, or it’s the great breath, the original breath borne from the original sound, from the original letter, or it’s the movement beneath a pair of wings invisible and seen..The electricity comes from potentialities, this is why I am telling you all of this, understand. I am waiting for the bus, I get on the bus, I pretend to fall asleep and when I awake it is many hours later and the bus hasn’t moved, but now the sun has gone down, the entire route completed and I newly awake, the same song playing to my ears, perhaps the entirety of creation collapsed and reborn as I lay sleep, or maybe no time has passed at all, and I have misunderstood the waking dream.

It’s been dark for hours, I’m writing to you by candlelight, and outside my window the flickering light of candles in the houses, I stand in a sunken driveway and feel jupiter,s steady gaze into directly there, forehead opening, and I wonder how even just as I think darkness has reached it s nadir eyes mine now can’t see anything at all, not even the hand that is attached to the body that carries the heart, the mind, and when the lights on the street turn on again there, just as it was when I was a child, the lines downed by a fallen tree then, by a firework here now, only there are no candles hanging from the ceiling, there are no eggs frying on the woodstove, there is no snow on the ground, there is no unremarkable silence,

And I think I do not understand a single thing.

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Addendum 12 march 24,,, emma jane and I are in the library, we are realizing a nodal intersection…below as proof…