Monday, 4 November 2013

the being arriving





Oh my “the being arriving” in these pages, gradually, millions of pages, mini-internet, ah not even an internet, this endless text, no don’t be scared, we just talk, or don’t .. we can’t really adjust, something else in us, hear someone really do it, that has trained, broken free, but not to hate their human, ah they get along, and you won’t see them really, making a big show, they are very shy.

Oh, is it some strange animal, strange advancement, a creature of mind words wish “magic” no you see the work involved, the terrible life, the hardship, it’s not so magic, quiet little thing, arriving.  Past art, writing, literature, scribbles, “no way to do it” scribbles, the most legible, the most high and mighty, of “minds” can’t do it.

So there is this.

Some more I wrote this morning.  Gradually, winding, like water in land, those strange rivers, you see from aerial shots, winding curling wearing their way in flowing but not straightforward as this hasn’t been either ah internet book pages paper old school or new school past it all doesn’t exist, all our doing, performing, using ways that humans can, and not touching the ways we can’t, not viable, no pieces, nothing, not said, able to be thought, nothing.
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So here is a little writing, from this morning, offline, the book, I am shy to give, shy to be me.  In this, as this.  As we all are.  I give what I can, public.

We hope in art we stay alone do art display art in public “there that is enough they see the strange me the wondrous me that is enough” but it is not, in your daily dealings with people, off the show on the wall.  Off the painting drawing sculpture poem writing created all humans millions of years avoiding doing what they can, now this, shy, doesn’t work, just in everyday life, where it should work, has to work, doesn’t.

We trudge around, see a nice painting on a wall, or this.  The mind flickers slams collapses like falling a 10 story building inside yourself, can’t do it.

The mind sees area ahead it can’t do steps into is rejected.  Falls back.  Looks again.

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Monday, November 4, 2013  9:55 am
An inability to work on it, ever.  To come clean, what are we, go to the edge of the universe, talk as that.  Assume that form.  In some way.  Instead of avoid, avoid, build, build, but what are we building?  As we are constantly “doing” oh dig in and do, produce something, sell something, we need more things, more possessions, more signs we are “something.”  Instead of “us.”

A sign you are something.

What exactly is that?

That takes a lot of guts.
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Making things, advertising things, we are carried along, but what is us, what are the little papers, you hold, touch, think about, can’t think about, but are comforted, can’t say what they involve, can’t say it out loud, but feel it, in them, a beginning, you can start here – distinctly uncomfortable, the daringness, to stop all of it, all the doing, and be, past a slogan, repeated, but the material, the depth, incorporate it into your life, virtually impossible “I barely get the slogan, can I just stick to the slogan for a long long time?”

Trade the papers, or buy them at art galleries, special ones, public, where you get a chance to talk to the person, dare to, very uncomfortable “can I not just buy your art?” “see some inference in it, of something happening, that never does?”  “Why talk to you, the person?”  “Very uncomfortable, are they going to do something, are they going to be something, different than how we are now?”
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How does art change, look at it, is it finished in what it is, I hang it on my wall, or keep it in a temperature-controlled vault, humidity controlled temperature controlled, if it is a really vaunted high on high millions of dollars painting, has done the public value system thing, the art, the artist, the career, the meaning, the applied value, deserved or not, who gets the hype, whose art goes up up up, and what is this then, the person required to be a person, or what exactly is the person/ advancing into something else?

It is very very strange.

What then are your little pieces of art?  What do they look like, when no longer is it enough, stay in art, you’ve done your work, no, now be daring, in your life, how you relate to people, strange strange man or strange strange woman, people, not really people, to do with dimensions, matter, made of matter, skills, what the mind can do, or the ego broken through meditation, move on to another form “oh freaky!freaky!freaky! don’t do that to me! I wouldn’t dare come near to you, you fucking freak!” or some value system laid out, never approach the artist, or the person past artist, or the thing past person.

The thing.  Like some horror movie.  Of advanced human form.  Or impossible.  Leave the body, to appear in words that hover in midair, a sense of self, that nobody can do, break from being lodged in human, and have the human help you do this, whatever you are, establish a base in words floating in midair.  Struggle, all, look foolish, or be quiet, “true art” “way past art” into a form, you cannot deny, something is there.  There is something in them.  Is it us then, there, is that us, the missing us? Of producing things? doing? making things? being defined by it? can we then “make us” in this strange strange way?

Not be hanging around as human bodies supposed to be us, making things?
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Can we then make us, from human to this thing, making what we really are?
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/endf’ snippet/ 10:20 am
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What is this, abstract art? figurative art? make the thing, make us, we are not us yet?

It is not art.  It is evolution.  Some strange missing piece, leap, to form, not matter, but the mind, spirit, inside, undeveloped, unseen, seeing its true expression now.  What is art, freaky pictures, strange twists and turns, and now this now?

What are we, not a thing, clothed, tall, short, rich, poor, carry yourself a certain way, what are we now?

Moving into this?
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What are the particulars, this “internet within an internet” or actual content, actual meaning, for humans so sad, hanging in limbo before this “everyone saying ‘we are defined’” but we are not .. ./there is nothing there, despite it moving, sparkling, there is nothing there, nothing in us either, we keep going, on fumes, or inference, we are something, we are something indeed, but not getting there .. what is it, to be this, the years alone in meditation, then this trying itself in public, for true human definition, beyond human, advancing into some other form

Do you have the guts, of course we don’t, as simple as that – you get there – of course you don’t – required to do this, in public, with people – no.

So follow the story the great untenable being, not possible, struggling.

The reality of it arriving, the true reality.
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/endf’ snippet/ 10:35 am


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So end of that writing, offline there, back to “halfway here” a file more close to the internet just about on it ah how do we do all this we need all pictures very little writing so I guess this isn’t it .. and life, the hard slog, a being in us, no longer “believing” just doing the work, standard, the grind, for something to live, no longer enough, to show up, worship, oh is that blasphemy? ah have to do it for myself, call it nothing, “eotu” “edge of universe” good enough, not even that, ah just get help for myself.  Things not here, it’s farther than prayers, take it on, strap on the knapsack, sit on your cushion, in meditation, take it on.

Viable practice, have to learn how to do it, takes years, a viable practice, practical, no show, no boasting, just sit and do it.

Inner work.




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