May you offer calm
And may you teach
the kind of prayer
into the daylight
you can make.
May you cross
May you fail
to feel contempt.
Art, poetry, digital art, photography, criticism and essays.
|in that universe|
echoes of us
Time isn't money, but it is motion if it is anything... which it probably isn't, unless you are a devout Solipsist. The difficulty with changes is they are not measurable, however they are existent. I'm hoping that another bank doesn't crash like in US so time can become more lucid in the sense of freer interpretations and less intrinsicness.
Aloofness to time or "timewards", is now pertinent but exteriority isn't a mechanism without the dial that frees the face like a moon that frees the butt or a sun that frees the theatricality of global warming. My face falls on the clock face yet my rhythm and the rhythm of time are keeled to a Sun in winter and the Moon in Summer. Our quantization is expedient and parallel yet faces flow like cigarette smoke between the synopsis of dials handing the fractured fixity of minds worried to paralysis.
Sex is scary, to all of us fuckers if we're honest. Time can indicate the brevity of sexual relations, child rearing old age (past it) and death (in the breeze). Time was never an indication of complex systems, nor their raison d'etre, failure or success, where did this synonymy between time and the measurement of money occur from? Time is now an indication of health and sexual vigour. I can feel the fur slip between the numbers of its ever increasing accuracy the wolf at the door the rat in the sewer the cat on the mat the snake grating its poison on the door.
If any slippage were indicated, an evocation of transience and tranquility would be its opposition, a quiet meditative aloofness that phones capitalism and says "enough is enough - fuck off!". And from this distance we could observe late-capitalism, delirious and chaotic, melt down into a form that proved an essence was not the seed that we should measure but something that is blunt, non-incisive occurring because it occurs and however, we choose to alter it, we will not change the fact that it (us, our societies, cultures) are there because we are here.
A numbness at the cursing of over-capitalist societies, is no longer de rigueur. You can feel the bones wending, stirring vocalising a new amalgam of humanity and the market place. I long for the day that my face will sit timely and appealingly upon the dial of a clock and, time becomes a whimsy for those with time on their hands or those who must enquire or create. And when a lover sits upon times hands draped in flowing robes, I shall celebrate by writing my thoughts and feelings poetically, without disruptive anxiety about time and money.