the totalised disappearance (death) in your mind of what is far from you, temporally and spatially, is forming the basis of the whole of my thinking right now.
a poesis of related epiphanies has been striking me with a kind of episodic repetitivity:
(1) the poem and the art object are beautiful because they are a kind of material crystallisation of the ineluctable yet intangible forces that seem to govern us — death (death of god; hard gem-like flame under the sentence of death eternal; the absurd man facing the totality of the universe and laughing), language, (the gwistic turn and the ism that informed it), and time.
(2) poems — mapped by metric — uniquely crystallise time, bringing eternity into moments, or bringing the mother-tongue into time, or bringing times and spaces together as if the whole four-dimensional universe were the crumpled snotty handkerchief up your granny’s sleeve.
(3) the problem of time and the place of my self in it — exacerbated and intensified when in moments of crystalline genesic fixation i am mentally entirely elsewhere to my present time, or when in simple mental recollection i am flung beyond my present to a sense of another time (provoked by a smell, the memory of a place, a conversation, the recognition or reconstruction of some kind of patterned recirculation, episodic repetitivity) — and the fact that in those moments i am forced to acknowledge the entirely wrong temporally stable identity i had constructed for myself in re-membering the real difference of that person to the person i say is me.
(4) i am struck in these moments by a sense of the profoundly episodic repetitivity of memory, yes, but also of the dark astral difference of my isolated selves in their singularity in dislocated time: how can they all be me?
WRITED. (Journal) 