Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
It seemed to Justus that the point at which he finally lived in his own head was the moment before he lost it. To be aware that he had become aware was to lose that first simple revelation and suddenly be thrust into the tumbling dominoes of thinking that he's thinking. How often his mind had struggled and finally achieved that epiphanous thinking outside the box only to have the box collapse into a sort of nothing-point that left him realizing that he's only in a bigger box, more difficult even to see out of. Never did he get the calm sensibility of being able to examine the box from the outside.
And like Jung's horse trying to be in it's own saddle, to BE it's own rider - he constantly fell into the dust of an afternoon's pleasure, flopping around like the spiritual cripple that he was.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Fell into the next sky like it was the duty of all pathogens - entitled to composition like parts of all the people she ever knew, but older, she told a favorite apparition of its appearance a few days earlier. The less mindful and more rote ghosts of walls gone sour couldn't move their assemblage point past the unpredictable. All of her talk and want and hysteria towards the go-karts had no place in the limited scope of replay.
After that she picked up a dusty iguana by the side of the track and howled metalic alien laughter at the thought of it "going someplace" as she drove it around in figure 8's.