Xepera, xeper, Xeperu

"I have Come Into Being, and by the Process of my Coming In to Being, the Process of Coming Into Being Is Established."

ars combinatoria


 












You must remember the existential moment.  
These transcendental cuttings are your own mind.  
You left intellectual distance far behind.  
The flesh you are stuck to is the show.
My words have no meaning other than themselves.  
They form a tight unity into a paragraph.  An area surrounded by silence.

I long for an empty desert.  No sound, no one speaking to me.  No living thing.  I want a whole planet like that.  I want my words to be silent geometry.  Themselves a sign of themselves.
I want phrases great and empty.  Tacked on.  A great ramshackle house.  Containing gardens disappearing.  Students at their desks.  Falling into pure grammar.  Secret correspondences nothing at all.  
Commentaries about commentaries.  Shifting lines, empty nothingness tempting witnesses, and so I say I have been found out, dug out, let to dry. 
My pockets are empty nothingness inside empty nothingness.  
Well ordered never enough.  Crawling craving sin.
As you see my writing is just that, artful non-deliberation.  
Maybe not only un-but anti-social.  Or maybe it's non-human.  Maybe angelic.  Demonic.  They’re one in the same.  That strange immaterial thing described by Des Cartes.  Instantaneous flashes of eternity.  
Everything broken.  Up.  
If you were little you could crawl all over these words.  They say nothing.  Silence.  
The true non-saying saying paradox.  Maybe false.  No thought at all.  
The true non-thought thought paradox.  Tiresome.  
The silence is getting thick and heavy, top heavy.  
Spin spin spin the dirvish can make it fly up and up and up into itself.
The desert, the dirvish and the broken senses.  St. John of the Cross, Cervantes, Love, Sin and the absurd all traveled together until one night in a kiss they melted into one whirling whirlegig, entered the school room of the student Des Cartes was sitting with his spanish. moorish, aryian masters and like clockwork the modern world began.  
Slowly working his way from Byzantium.  The student was taken again.


thebes

gravitas