Strange Creature

There are no panaceas, but there are choices. You can meditate, do push-ups, or paint the blue sky yellow. Each experience is unique. Each brain a world, each world a singularity. There is wisdom in the fin of a fish, cartilage in winter, magnetotactic bacteria, grasshoppers sewing the air with the thread of a ferocious monotony. Words swarm around an ancient emotion. The mollusk opens its shell to the greatest degree of expansion, allowing the ocean to shape its shell into spirals. There is so much beauty that even the sensuality of sand appears to be solicitous of something transcendent in us, something like the luster of obsidian enhancing the lectures of the sun.

The zeitgeist needs a bath. There is something clearly wrong with a riot of unbridled consumption on a planet this small, this refined. Can an equation describe a waterfall?

The world is made of language. Biosemiotics. Ecosemiotics. Semiotics-a-go-go.

The alligator carries its text in the texture of its skin. The jelly pretends to be Luxembourg. The octopus is a naked mind. Turns out even bees share our sense of nothingness. So you see, the world is configured by a very soft voice, a feminine impulse toward care and perspective, lips unzipping a sentiment of consanguinity. Interrelationship. Contingency. Balloons.

I love the voice of Yvonne Elliman. Ruth Radelet of the Chromatics.

I once had more expectations than I do now. I feel lost, helpless, sad. The arctic ice is vanishing. Billionaires propose spaceships to Mars. It’s crazy. I need a rattlesnake to convince me of what’s real.

On June 27^th, 2018, the temperature of Quriyat, Oman, never went below 108 degrees.

The potato crops in England have failed due to drought.

Drought in England. Rain in Spain. Murcia has had the most rainfall in thirty years, including snow.

Interrelation is the fundamental principle of the universe. But here in the U.S. it’s every man for himself. Look out. Here comes another 4 by 4 with a bad attitude and gun rack.

This is my Declaration of Symptoms. My shout to the spirits. My circus of words. My tribute to crows.

The weight of a thought depends on its density. Each supposition is put forward like a boat. Each word is the fetus of a larger meaning. Kelp, Irish moss, the drool of the sea. Peter Green with a piece of cheese in his hair.

Matter creates its form out of nothingness. A tree isn’t made of wood, a tree is wood.

My hands smell like an emergency room. I push the ghost of analogy into its final adhesion to reality. Emotions are powerful influences in human life. Our language contains innumerable ghosts. We assemble our identities out of bits and pieces of time and history, circumstance and biology, penitence and intent.

Pockets are inherently metaphoric. If I reach far enough into myself, I can bring out a crystal. I can show you a clam squirting water from its siphon. Psilocybin opens the cage. The hardest need to fulfill is meaning. Does a goldfish in a bowl aboard a ship feel the movement of the ship?

Language is a strange creature. Bring popcorn.