Thomas Lowe Taylor -- BLOCKAGE-REMOVAL EXERCISES

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Efferent ratatouille nor withdrawn from the lighter sphere, estimated expatriot extension notwithstanding, your heavier dues are no longer remote nor particularly rearranged, yet still triangulate within their own spheres of influence among the other barriers which seem to equate to elevation.

Nor pattern insigniate re-rolling aside the rushing stream, heated outside now from the dying planet in its particular, late-fall, the fall of man, the fall into space from which there is no return, these are the fallow schemes now fruiting into elegance and restowal just around the bend. It’s hopeless, that much is known. The remainder is what there is, yet also the sum of its subtraction from a larger whole. A salamander absolute. A reconstructed absence, copied from what was not there in the first place.

Coming suddenly upon the truth, a certain silence ensues as if justice had no location yet in the air unknown from disuse or absence. That’s the fallacy of the past, or even of history itself. The leftovers of the day decorate the museum against its walls against its will.

Consciousness and memory at odds due to their differing times; axons and dendrites crackle with implicit collisions as intersecting motives criss-cross in the tympanum of being-in-action.

I’m not heanded, formulo meticulo in the aftersot of your own registrations, recognizing in the nature of a voluntary disorder, nor epinephrine closures insignificant reminding of what’rd not been epine or focused.

White space the ear’s eye
Self in collision with its copy in memory
Beyond the margin, origin
Conscience and recall the twin towers
Reclamate distances confound into pressure
In no causal synquencing, acts registered
Their consequences unclear
In white space occurs the hourly synchronicity as present


"Words are simply finger-pointing at the moon" why the document entails encounters of unmentionable distance and personality. predicated from what's neither given nor taken away, our measure accomplishes what such distances cannot, a recovery of the time of our mortality without color or form, as though the marks made on the ground with pointed sticks might actually be valid of our larger intent, not the pathetic gestures we use to contemplate the reflections of our energy at all.

you'd spoken of other things too soon to recognize them as false diagrams projected outward our solipt equations made into an intimation of the absurd and problematical discourse we carry on within our confines. there is no other to this but which is made into its opposite in our meditations as what was left behind our journey to opposing corners of the idea.

in this method, the document exists as an actor in the play of forces which relate us to our own being in less hidden terms than what preceded us into the arena at all, abandoning our auctions and preventions as a way of light becalming its own destiny and inclusion in our moving forward into the scheme itself. we can read the codes on the ground as the random arrangements of seaweed, bone and shell make a manuscript under the sand glow with immediacy. *comment 1

No others follow in this immediacy where we are all hostage to the moment; history’s offal clots the throat, museums of leftover trash, defucked and defanged prophets profit from their flocked flocks. She said she was the oldest of sixty five children. The sleeping child raped back and forth in the basement of the heart’s woe, the magic tortoise scooting for the highlands, discourse trivialized beyond the sign itself, begins decline rapido. Hammered.

The code unbroken lineage in secret transmissions you didn’t know even took place but which included you in spite of any choice you might have thought you’d made already, yet distant to the enumeration of the hierarchies which exist beyond perception or ignorance.

White space the focal of the one in its opposites with the document intervening.

’Something resembling a dream.’ A call without answer, living without. A solemn occasion would not recall its other or simple 'non'. However's simultaneous or synchronous present unrecorded lag-time reflects outer diagrams in seclusion, in repast of other signs. Gesture submits its constant semaphores of indication of what might be otherwise, yet unredeemed in tense or outer. Moan of ascent. Figures of grace and destiny reside in the tower's scene and tempo from unindicated heights their own elevations undisguised by depth. The flat arc love distinguished from background or noise, the constant hum reiterated from the causes themselves. No door opens outward but swings at your own rocks crashing together again and again.

Noun’s noun.

At plural, no known becalming into what it is, what’s been forgotten, put aside, ziggurat night without memory, without consciousness, before naming, a lineated summation, his arts and sciences in pre-time engendering irreconcilable differences their own mutations.

What does not change is the form of change, its own tautology in the face of science called a shadow on the stage of light’s own dimensions, unknown rhythms call her face your own mirror in the reflection a similitude on the glassy plane before you. It’s a large However which calls you forward into certainty, into the known unknown.

In autobiography there is a moment of erasure in the fusion of the thing seen and the character given the moment itself, as if identity were more an absence than an accumulation, more a summary of doubt than any locus of certainty. Words glow.

Passion’s just edge recalls the limits of energy in the face of what hard times will follow you into this future of itself. Not known to be forgiving, we allow what cannot be explained with some distaste, a foreign hour approaching from another direction, and which calls time its own measure of the lengthening of our footsteps, our feet as well, radiating into this change which will not change.

* comment 1: ( Jim Leftwich) In primitive cultures in which such a unique life crisis resolution is tolerated, the abnormal experience (shamanism) is typically beneficial to the individual, cognitively and affectively; he is regarded as one with expanded consciousness. In a culture that does not provide referential guides for comprehending this kind of crisis experience, the individual (schizophrenic) typically undergoes an intensification of his suffering over and above his original anxieties.

we were about to recuperate this but right wing backlash in the so-called culture war
has commodified even this & quarantined it in the new age ghetto where it is just another marketing strategy in the upscale bastion of vacuity

The subjective nature and absence of a frame of reference for this experience lead to individual, cultural, and religious factors determining the vocabulary used to describe and interpret the experience.

the reading is what counts. as in a correct reading of the false diagrams & pathetic gestures is valid and immediate as a reading in its correctness. we are after all here and now and the fleeting shadows are what is as we are in the is navigating these phantoms reveals itself as the teacher & the teaching.

our solipt equations as laing would have it and i agree are remnants & glimpses of a lost consensus read as absurd and solipt against the context of the current constructed consensus

thus the poetic codes...

a call without answer -- refusal of the call is an answer

a solemn occasion would not recall its other or simple 'non'
others, however, would recall it's other & its non

codes: diagrams, signs, gesture, semaphores, figures

distuinged -- a hinge, here. codes more deeply encoded. e.g., rhythm vs, syntax – where poetical decisions are in play, rhythmic context trumps syntactic context, at the expense of the conventions of semantic clarity. it's a question of speed, the reader's preferred pace. A construct like distuinged is a roadblock. the reader either makes a quick detour, or she slows her reading pace to negotiate this semantic obstacle.