Wrongfully Right

Always wrong. Get used to it.

And use brings new ideas.

Creation is always

a relative matter

of advancement.

Lower costs mostly.

But that's something. More time for thinking and being wrong.

Comments

TENSION OF PRESENCE

A human being is content searching for form. My spirit flows away from me, reaching back to this Earth, returns to me anew, a force of Becoming. I am a river that ebbs and flows. ME crashing into NOT-ME, just as this world is eternally unrestful, always at war with itself. Constant movement presses us toward the present; we are carried onward, but we may clutch about in fright, lurching forward or retreating into memory. These are the integrations of a tumultuous mind: thinking that it is, needing to be, yet becoming something unfamiliar.

HIGH AND DRY IN SANTA FE

It is snowing. Looking out the window- I sit in my room waiting (no car, unmotivated [city on COVID lockdown], oh well). The snow looks like Dippin Dots. It rests on our balcony. My wife went out, came back in; now cotton candy-like fluff all over. Only water. I wish I had my car but I really don't have anywhere I want to go. My eyes drift to the yellowing leaves, intermixed with fading greens. The ivy, by contrast, is going red. I want my car. I have nowhere to go. Without it, I feel stranded in the middle of a desert.

EXILE

1. Permitted one day: collect things be beyond border or else. 2. A broken circle closes behind me. I spin-off indefinitely, absent gravity. 3. My memories disserve me—I must leave that life behind again and again; again and again. 4. I see familiar forms. I think I am home— I slip into an abysmal zone— I gaze into a labyrinth of memory, sink into a haze of yesterday’s today. 5. I did not abandon your memory. It might return.

Mind of Moog

Search This Blog