Posts Tagged ‘prose’


Unwriting the Nonexistent

by adminadam in art, home, prose, videos

It’s all newness. It’s all new.
Every letter of this sentence.
Every breath inhaled – what of any of this has happened before?

And is this significant?
Yes. But only when lived as newness.

When newness itself is lived it all gains meaning;
it all has to be new, because nothing is allowed to be old.
And yet our all-too-powerful brains jump to nonexistent past and future times,
all unreal, jumping simply because they can.

Whatever you have to do, make it real,
cause there’s no time but this one – and it’s never happened before.
And as soon as it’s over,
it didn’t.

So put that in your pipe and smoke it:


This Is About the Right Width

by adminadam in home, prose

It’s a deeper level of introspection
that is needed
for to know oneself, is to know all others
and to know oneself completely
is to know all others completely too.

This space
is full of willpower and life
and it directs your soul-power and influence
your soul-power
known by many other names, truth
belongs to you
but you have to claim it
you have to claim it
and then never force it
to do your bidding.

Why because when it’s *your* bidding
it is not ours
but when it’s us
and ours
then it *means* something
and in an absurd kind of way
after that, the meaning
the answer, eludes me.


6-word stories

by adminadam in prose

“Tokyo. Two seconds late. Train gone.”

“Adana. Station closed; politicians drive cars.”

“Seattle. No station. Commute from suburbs.”


Don’t Escape So Fast

by adminadam in prose


Universe got you down?
First bring some grace to your mind.
With this, ironically, grace to others is simultaneous.

A nicely shaped concept, attainable but perhaps unsustainable.
So slow maintenance soothes.

Say to yourself: This is what I want — cosmic comfort.

Tao friends unite, eat grapes, and be merry.
Otherwise this wine will turn to vinegar.

The sky is flat and beautiful.
The mind weak and excitable.
Life is short and stressful,
but not necessarily so, you see…

Venus is watching, as is Mars
And while, in your mind, the Earth may be one pixel,
You are without a doubt only one pixel in Earth’s.
Always remember that.

You are but one processing unit.
And yet you have a place.
One pixel in the screen.
So don’t muck it up.
Don’t leave your block burnt up looking like another rock;
It’s not so aesthetically pleasing.

What is pleasing, however,
is the gradual recoloring of your transcendental neighborhood.
For this you will need some basic self-affirmations:

I am a human and I own my life.
I create reality but am linked to everything.
Just and peaceful turns of the mind do not only benefit me.

The usual suspects of confusion, anger, apathy, and grief,
These guys can be allies;
They have scoped out the terrain.
Listen and learn how to proceed from them.
Their language is one of ugly sounds with beautiful meanings.

Delay their negation.
Immeasurably it pays off.
Don’t escape so fast.
You have to know what you are running from.

When you next update your reality, please install these files.
The desktop will take on a whole new look.
Because perception is reality; i.e. WYSIWYG,
What you (choose to) see is what you get.


Don’t Neglect to Direct When You Act

by adminadam in prose

Happiness is a process that you continue to change,
in fact, you never use the same process twice.
All processes are defined by brain context,
which is defined by environmental and metacognitive context.

But is this all predefined by something beyond physical determinism?

That would be, in a word, mind.

Mind determines happiness in relation to brain context,
which is in relation to physical and metacognitive contexts.

In fact, it is your mind that sets the variables.
So much happens unconsciously,
it is difficult to track it all.
It must be felt and responded to as if in a movie.
One must imagine being in a movie that must continue to be entertaining for all those that are watching and acting in it.

It must be good for all players,
so it is your job to act your part,
whatever that may be,
and hope that you are allowed to move onto the next scene,
in which you are the star of the show.


3 Line Story

by adminadam in prose

I once tried to write a short story. It was a three-line dialog about a trip a long time ago that these two dudes went on. It went something like this:

“19 miles to midnight.”
“Ok, 18.8.”

The only problem was it was too long. I needed a short story, and fast. Two lines would have been nice, but I couldn’t compact the interaction into such a small dialectal space. Surely I had to reverse my thinking and add a line. So I tried it with four:

“How much further, Jim?”
“19 miles.”
“19 miles to midnight…”
“Well, 18.8 to be exact.”

Unfortunately, it lacked a convincing conclusion. How would the story end? Would the passenger fall silent in satisfaction at the respecified 18.8-mile reply, or would there take place some kind of conflict at that? A discreet critique of Jim’s need to speak accurately perhaps? It certainly needed something — either a resolution or dissolution; at this point it was exceedingly flat. But nothing was coming to me…

At some point about a week later on it struck me to limit myself to three lines, as I had originally intended to do, but to sneak in a whole new character as well. So then I had Jim, the driver, the curious cat (to be known as ‘Frederíco’), and another whom I called ‘the old author’, a retired novelist. It went a little something like this:

“Man, I bet it would take you a month if you were gonna hike it.”, said Frederíco, trying with false appreciation to mask what was really impatience.
Jim gave a flat driver’s-grunt and laid out his ETA: “19 more miles to midnight, folks.”
The old author gazed out at the dim rolling dunes and chimed in to keep everyone aware of the stars that would spin and said: “Look!”

At least now the readers could grin knowing that: even outside of his books can the retired novelist write a new fact. And so, from the muse, it was this story I took.


Just Ghosts

by adminadam in prose

To define Reality,
we must define Experience,
yet we must also define:
the Experiencer, Consciousness, Life, the Universe, etc.

In one model of the Universe, 99.999% of all Matter is empty.
(Think hydrogen.)
A proton’s mass is mostly Energy.
(Look quantum.)
Normal Matter fills *only 5%* of the known space in the Universe.
Meaning we, the Experiencers,
can only directly grasp 5% of what exists materially.
And all of it is empty.
Because 9.999 = 10, just as 3.333 = 3.
(Think fractions, 1/3)


Matter is both here and not here and we don’t know how or why.


Our Reality we generally define by what we sense:
Intuition, feelings, scent, touch, taste, sight, and sound.
A sense of Reality, Freedom, Truth, Justice,
Fashion, Compassion, Whatever.
All of these senses rely directly on the schema/ego of the Experiencer.
And we are able to process
only a small minority of what we are able to sense.
And some sense that they are free to believe anything,
because that is part of their schema.
A schema made up of everything processed during their life…

So, we come up with metaphors and diagrams and theories on
Life and Reality.
Taking, then, our constructs and descriptions and images
We tell it to ourselves, and it becomes true.


Once in a while, reality comes knocking on the door.
You say, [ Hold on a sec! I’ll be right there.
Gotta finish your diagram! ]
Or maybe your diagram is true…
Maybe it was reality knocking on its own door.



The Wind Song

by adminadam in prose

Come hurricane and they ponder fear me a while.
With a nice breeze they love and bless me some time.

I comb the forest and I find resistance,
howl in the canyon but none take heed.
I’ve got sound but no voice to speak of my journey.
Grinding against the sky I wonder why.

Can’t blow away my rock-hard luck,
factor in the chills of guilt, monotony.
O, won’t you trade with me?
Because the lull just means I’m elsewhere,
and you claim all the stable ground.

Come hurricane and they ponder fear me a while.
With a nice breeze they love and bless me some time.

Many lifetimes have I spanned,
since rocks smashed to make the sand.
Dunes so far and wide, bringing music to the chimes.
Lighting urban skies I wonder why.

Guard all beasts from hot-headed brother,
life-seeds in my pocket, rebirth in my arms,
painting pictures with the clouds in the sky.
And the trees gladly dance to my rhythm.

Come hurricane and they ponder fear me a while.
With a nice breeze they love and bless me some time.