fingers on cotton and skin

Important

My reality presents itself as a giant block of clay.

I study clay constantly. Its puzzle enchants me. This clay can represent anything worth contemplating. You probably study clay as well.

I start to knock out chunks (mostly corners) with a metal rod. I am making sense of reality. I am cornering reality. I am justifying reality. I am perceiving reality.

After the rod, I use smaller, more precise tools. Chisels and wire. I begin to define, forcing it smaller. That clear goal feels close.

The clay has shrunk immensely. Now, tools are not detailed enough. I place my hands deeply into the clay, expanding my fists, stretching my fingers, molding, caressing, and discovering.

I hold the remaining clay in one hand. I have made my reality very simple, concise, and clear, however still not perfect. Having no clay would be perfect.

I don’t believe reality should be defined. We strive to discover rules and patterns. By doing this, reality can quickly become dysfunctional. The more we corner truth, the more we loose the whole.

How deeply I want to define things. I crave simple truths and definitions. How much this intrigues me.

Unfortunately, the closer I get to a definition, the more frustrated I become.

Perhaps I should focus on defining opposites. Define and justify black, and quickly define and justify white. Then can I sit comfortably in grey?

I toss between black and white. I cannot relax in grey.

Maybe this is due evolutionary psychology. The pattern finders, the black and white thinkers survived and procreated. After all, they didn’t try poison only some of the time. They have defined and changed their behavior toward poison permanently. We live in a much more complicated world now. This world rejects definition.

“I'm afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.”
-Andy Warhol

here

I have trouble believing that I am here.

affixation till heaven

Affixation till heaven. Serene synthesizers pound the beat.
Neon lights are smearing together. Affixation till heaven.
A fallen piece of heaven. Fallen into my skull. Seems more filled now.
Affixation till heaven. A smiling coma – controlled.
Sweating fingers and numbness. Damp and pleasant.
Only enough focus for heaven. Affixation till heaven.

brothers at war

I watched two men at war on the television.
Their hearts were unmovable. Reduced to pure burning intent.
This was their chemistry. How easily they could identify with the other.
Their passion destroyed them.
It was like watching brothers murder each other.
Everyone sobs but them.
Everyone sobs but them.
Too much loss. Unneeded loss. Loss for ideals.