Ll.2

Another Day In Australia

Abandon

Notes: On right and wrong actions.

On right and wrong actions.

...then the only action that can be considered right (subjectively) is the one you already have taken.

Forcing one’s will on another in a negative or degrading way isn’t wrong any more than being kind or philanthropic.

There are no noble acts, there are no selfless acts. Only acts of will, fulfilling one’s own desires.

Thus we all impose our will on people in some form.

So... In a wold where there is no right or wrong, all actions are correct. The only correct thing in life is to act. To not act is to die, to stop playing the game of existence.

But to act is to enforce your will on others, yet this ability or necessity is shared by all that play the game*. This and all actions are correct since they are ‘conditions of entry’ of existing.

Strip back your perceptions of charity and a free society, these are simply to sedate and distract. This life is a bloody battle of will and desire.

Fear not your own might, nor feel sorrow or remorse for your selfish actions.

In life you can never feel regret for slaying the lion that would so soon have had you for his dinner. Such is to regret to rules of existence and in such a subjective state we are not prepared to make such a judgement.

So, you might say “why not become this rampaging narcissist you so threaten, destroying all in his way to self fulfillment?”.

And I would say; I am in part already this mythic beast, we all are. But there are powers grander than the individual stopping this from happening in its proper form. In a cast based, human powered society the ego is suppressed. We are forced to believe that we belong to something greater but as individuals contribute little.

I say, indulge this modern conceit but know it is a lie. For the only true force in this existence is the self.

*In short: The game is existence itself or existence as perceived in human form. In the game of existence the only rule is: other players may be affected by your being/will to the point of death but this also insists that you must also allow for the possibility of your own death for the desires of other players.

The Dizzy Summer Calf

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Words by Norman McCaig, 1943.

The Dizzy Summer Calf

The dizzy summer calf, hen chasing sparrow,
bristle of the green, the tilted grids of waggons,
the posing mare in a violent tent of shadow--
sun burns on these; his fiery light is steep,
and the day halts and pants between step and step.

No water in this quilted country dances
or shivers in cool shocks in pots of limestone
or melts the fiery flakes with bubble flounces
or echoes birches with its shaggy fall,
but in green pools holds its own funeral.

No music now but colour, green on green;
breathless in light the wind had lost it's voice;
no thrush to string the moment on a tune.
And cuckoo sounds on his horn no longer from
his castle of shadow in the summer dream.

The puff of heat balled in my dancing eye
bows like a hazel twig above desire
of crisping sand and dowses for the sea,
and whilst a furnace moment halts and hangs
I am where water walks and the wind sings.

Sunset

Just A Job.

Poised at the edge. Close to the point of breaking.
Grasping at shining moments -
A rare positive statement or a joke shared.
But these remain few and far between.
They are the only sustenance for my starving psyche.
I die slowly - the bones of my unmet aspirations showing through my skin.

Ll.1

Friday lovin'

Character sketch (bomb) . ( relief from a shit job )

On The Hunt

Crisp morning. Breeze cold on my face.
Notes are folded neatly, ready to be put to their best purpose.
New stores, yet to be explored.
New coffee shop, never visited, to sit in, and write.
New streets to navigate - no idea where I'm going -
let the adventure begin!

Thank You, Please Come Again

Mineral/Spectrum

Nereidean Waltz

Girls holding balloon animals.

limited access, unlimited time

Razor

Tabula Rasa

Upon the blank slate that I am -
others write their stories.
But I have no part in this construction.
I do not help prepare the banquet of me.
The feast or the famine.
Every day I become someone else's story.
To be wiped clean as the day ends...
none the wiser to myself.

Shelter in a Storm

Ebb and Flow

New York City (VI)

Dark Side of the Lime

Glass Drapery

Gordon Banks # 3: The Nihilist Date.

New York City (V)

Autobiography #03: Emotional Clarity Histogram

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Lost In Transition

Ion Storm

St.Francis Winery Ghost Hunt

Autobiography #02: Fragility

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Waiting

Waiting for the axe to fall.
Waiting for the ice to break.
Waiting for the tears to come.
Waiting for the pain to start.
I only want a peaceful life.
I only want to feel at ease.
Yet all I ever seem to do
is wait.

What God Looks Like

Our inefficient life

New York City (IV)

To be human