street is olive loaf on pumpernickel without a plastic sword or cellophane-fringed pick to hold it together.
urban neighborhood is black gum shaped into a casual lawn with hidden plastic animal ornaments and a rubber hose that makes soggy newspaper gnomes.
nature is dried mustard clogging the spout.
Showing posts with label texture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label texture. Show all posts
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
unraveling nitsch
kitsch, notch, nits, snitch, itch – from the online resource word suggestion in the email/word connection i have enabled through the email entry i am typing all of this into.
it is interesting how “pi” exists. how, in a word that feels right or balanced, other words in similarity or rhythm further explain or capture, in exponent, the prime word or phrase/idea. “pi,” because a circle exists in theory even before we “invented”/discovered it. it has always been there. or, it was a latent reality. and “pi” comes from the manufactured or artificial arrangement of a circles circumference and diameter. an eventuality in observation and curiosity. one thing leads to another if relative balance exists and questions are answered in relative forms all the while creating new questions and new answers. ultimately the existence of “pi” is revealed as the layers are worn away.
the same idea of “pi” can be applied to all things. since, even “pi” is “of nature” or “natural”; having been discovered by beings of nature (humans). “pi” is an example of another product of nature. another article or attribute of nature. nature’s “experiment” or it’s latent potential becoming realized: eventuality or conclusion (abstracts of human understanding of existence – because static forms are immediately abstract in their existence. time and change create not end to end but overlapping – so there is seemingly never a static moment. “seemingly” because it is probable if not certain that humans do not have a great perspective of existence-entire. thus caveats like “seemingly” or “relative” are utilized to help represent the cloud of potential and latent elements such as the circle or “pi.”
since we are all part of a whole, relationships are continual. continuum. no end or beginning. connected in ways, indirectly, directly. layered influences.
nitsch is fluorescent lights, it is bodega and deli, and cold cases with stainless steel tops. a scale and makeshift wooden shelves with layered and peeling paint. it is old and continually; it is present and new. glass jars with contents. backlit with culture and comfort. nitsch is the secret notches and divots known to the backs, shadow is envious.
collected dust is a dirt. it is memory. dirty and rich experience. textures high-lit by the present segment. the moment of awareness. the layered and overlapping stumble of perception. epiphany in the closet tangle of christmas ribbons and champagne garland. the treasures revealed in the receding topical; the current sea of possibility. algorhythmic eventualities hone the structure, embrace the foundation.
nitsch is that felt and sparkle in the eye, the corduroy brain in the velvet carcass. stitched and darned it’s days of recognition. the stuffing is tight in its perfection. and loose and torn. it was handmade and tired.
i find the uneven and irregular, the odd and dissimilar, attractive. my gravitations have been relatively and continuously consistent. my whole live (an average of) has been this. damaged is as good as undamaged. old and new – the same. it is to the element of preference that decides. preference, a state created by the gathered experience and continued influences. a box of random collected items that eventually find rhythm and create new forms that enhance existing potential.
i live a life of difference. this is an awareness and not an assignment.
this difference is sensitive and the questions and curiosities it provides for are heavily knotted and twisted. loops of yarn telling and asking of until unraveled. there is a demand, i fall behind the quota, the necessity, the intuitive-urge.
i walk until i float through this realm. a temporary stay. the alley of forward action and notice. there are puddles there and haphazard hoses of gardens and intention. it is not neglect, it is byproduct. it is of the whole, this enriched place.
i am flirting with the environment of foundation. we kiss and create the flow of hidden theory. but we are teased with a touch we cannot have. no embrace because we are nothing in this place. we can only accept our state. an endless awareness, always falling, never landing. continuous and moving.
the nitsch is my love, it is my know. my gatherings. it is clumps of rhythmic experience who have found one another. propelled by genetic beginnings, alignments, and activated by the movement of the mental dynamic. influence and experience are it’s food.
nitsch is the bandaid on the dumpster, it is the lichen on the grave, it is the grass patch on the sidewalk, it is the peeling of skin and paint. nitsch is the darkly scented gaze of gabi. the spiced feeling of her yesterday. it is the see-thru of knowing, the back of potential – it cannot be seen except with reflection. mirrors are needed – glass or friend. seemingly common but not too common. ultimately delicate and rare. nitsch is freckled, it is this beautiful indication, this current that can be seen but not defined permanently. it reminds those who are aware of it of the nature of nature. a reciprocal reflection, examples abound in everywhere. letting us know the lesson is ourself. we are our own medium to mold. our own teacher. our own student.
nitsch is dust in the depression. not easily cleansed or collected. because it is not seen by normal or convention. it is protected from the average of process. but it is there. and can be seen and easily retrieved by those who are already there.
it is interesting how “pi” exists. how, in a word that feels right or balanced, other words in similarity or rhythm further explain or capture, in exponent, the prime word or phrase/idea. “pi,” because a circle exists in theory even before we “invented”/discovered it. it has always been there. or, it was a latent reality. and “pi” comes from the manufactured or artificial arrangement of a circles circumference and diameter. an eventuality in observation and curiosity. one thing leads to another if relative balance exists and questions are answered in relative forms all the while creating new questions and new answers. ultimately the existence of “pi” is revealed as the layers are worn away.
the same idea of “pi” can be applied to all things. since, even “pi” is “of nature” or “natural”; having been discovered by beings of nature (humans). “pi” is an example of another product of nature. another article or attribute of nature. nature’s “experiment” or it’s latent potential becoming realized: eventuality or conclusion (abstracts of human understanding of existence – because static forms are immediately abstract in their existence. time and change create not end to end but overlapping – so there is seemingly never a static moment. “seemingly” because it is probable if not certain that humans do not have a great perspective of existence-entire. thus caveats like “seemingly” or “relative” are utilized to help represent the cloud of potential and latent elements such as the circle or “pi.”
since we are all part of a whole, relationships are continual. continuum. no end or beginning. connected in ways, indirectly, directly. layered influences.
nitsch is fluorescent lights, it is bodega and deli, and cold cases with stainless steel tops. a scale and makeshift wooden shelves with layered and peeling paint. it is old and continually; it is present and new. glass jars with contents. backlit with culture and comfort. nitsch is the secret notches and divots known to the backs, shadow is envious.
collected dust is a dirt. it is memory. dirty and rich experience. textures high-lit by the present segment. the moment of awareness. the layered and overlapping stumble of perception. epiphany in the closet tangle of christmas ribbons and champagne garland. the treasures revealed in the receding topical; the current sea of possibility. algorhythmic eventualities hone the structure, embrace the foundation.
nitsch is that felt and sparkle in the eye, the corduroy brain in the velvet carcass. stitched and darned it’s days of recognition. the stuffing is tight in its perfection. and loose and torn. it was handmade and tired.
i find the uneven and irregular, the odd and dissimilar, attractive. my gravitations have been relatively and continuously consistent. my whole live (an average of) has been this. damaged is as good as undamaged. old and new – the same. it is to the element of preference that decides. preference, a state created by the gathered experience and continued influences. a box of random collected items that eventually find rhythm and create new forms that enhance existing potential.
i live a life of difference. this is an awareness and not an assignment.
this difference is sensitive and the questions and curiosities it provides for are heavily knotted and twisted. loops of yarn telling and asking of until unraveled. there is a demand, i fall behind the quota, the necessity, the intuitive-urge.
i walk until i float through this realm. a temporary stay. the alley of forward action and notice. there are puddles there and haphazard hoses of gardens and intention. it is not neglect, it is byproduct. it is of the whole, this enriched place.
i am flirting with the environment of foundation. we kiss and create the flow of hidden theory. but we are teased with a touch we cannot have. no embrace because we are nothing in this place. we can only accept our state. an endless awareness, always falling, never landing. continuous and moving.
the nitsch is my love, it is my know. my gatherings. it is clumps of rhythmic experience who have found one another. propelled by genetic beginnings, alignments, and activated by the movement of the mental dynamic. influence and experience are it’s food.
nitsch is the bandaid on the dumpster, it is the lichen on the grave, it is the grass patch on the sidewalk, it is the peeling of skin and paint. nitsch is the darkly scented gaze of gabi. the spiced feeling of her yesterday. it is the see-thru of knowing, the back of potential – it cannot be seen except with reflection. mirrors are needed – glass or friend. seemingly common but not too common. ultimately delicate and rare. nitsch is freckled, it is this beautiful indication, this current that can be seen but not defined permanently. it reminds those who are aware of it of the nature of nature. a reciprocal reflection, examples abound in everywhere. letting us know the lesson is ourself. we are our own medium to mold. our own teacher. our own student.
nitsch is dust in the depression. not easily cleansed or collected. because it is not seen by normal or convention. it is protected from the average of process. but it is there. and can be seen and easily retrieved by those who are already there.
the ambit of armpit
[a repost here from 7 the 2 2008]
the mixture of 90º heat, chops of optical saltings, metro-chasm formations, and smears of possibility,
sizzles grissly-side-down meat into juicy salivatious statements. this sort of "cooking" tires me out, especially being that i'm not so much in shape for where the recipe takes me. see that pile of sad tires floundering on the corner over there with their no-tread foreheads? that's me after a cook. i should prepare more. but i've not acquired the foundation to do well at that on my own. i do what i can, mostly i react to what i feel. i live emotion not fact(knowledge?). i may not always feed my body the balanced meal it needs but i feed my intuition a balanced food consisting of ideas from any side that come into my influence. either outside influence or inside influence. "outside" meaning environmental or chance or another person, etc. and "inside" meaning my own devision, or awareness, or effort.
"feed" is a misleading word since i am not actively doing anything, i only follow inherent feelings and my collected intuition(experience).
suspending myself into just living, basic-level existence without so much purpose and intention, finds me a discarded box of slot-car track with enough parts to make a circle. the set has a sticker on it that reads 10 cents. the feeling of "it might not work" is not something that quite registers to me, stops me. and i have no flinch to germ or image. sometimes i leave the findings, sometimes not. no reason, no plan, only the rhyme calls the flow of the "piece," the piece of time i'm in. a piece that has no real end or beginning except for what we assign. and i get that slot-set home and clear out a spot which, in my usual environments (ultimately/eventually), is quite a disaster. i test the plug, assemble the lot, find my old slot-fiero and put it in place. i have that click in my teeth of anticipation; the air grows thick, the iris closes-in. i'm in a hazy vignette. a doll in a dollhouse room. everything is in miniature. a flea takes a seat next to me, sighs of my pause, and takes the switch from me. the circuit closes.
it is a matter of orbit: things that can be seen, a nondecayable circular path.
my eyes, cradled in orbit, connect me, deliver the endless bits and crumbs and platters and oceans and chonks of space and time and process and matter to me. too much- to me. it is overwhelming; a bit. tie it down. look away. batten down something.
but eventually and always, i am covered in sheets. flying with sheets. connected with sheets.
exponential process. mindless. mindfull. but dissipating, changing. the process is organic. and what i experience flows as it should. balance there.
at least there.
the mixture of 90º heat, chops of optical saltings, metro-chasm formations, and smears of possibility,
sizzles grissly-side-down meat into juicy salivatious statements. this sort of "cooking" tires me out, especially being that i'm not so much in shape for where the recipe takes me. see that pile of sad tires floundering on the corner over there with their no-tread foreheads? that's me after a cook. i should prepare more. but i've not acquired the foundation to do well at that on my own. i do what i can, mostly i react to what i feel. i live emotion not fact(knowledge?). i may not always feed my body the balanced meal it needs but i feed my intuition a balanced food consisting of ideas from any side that come into my influence. either outside influence or inside influence. "outside" meaning environmental or chance or another person, etc. and "inside" meaning my own devision, or awareness, or effort.
"feed" is a misleading word since i am not actively doing anything, i only follow inherent feelings and my collected intuition(experience).
suspending myself into just living, basic-level existence without so much purpose and intention, finds me a discarded box of slot-car track with enough parts to make a circle. the set has a sticker on it that reads 10 cents. the feeling of "it might not work" is not something that quite registers to me, stops me. and i have no flinch to germ or image. sometimes i leave the findings, sometimes not. no reason, no plan, only the rhyme calls the flow of the "piece," the piece of time i'm in. a piece that has no real end or beginning except for what we assign. and i get that slot-set home and clear out a spot which, in my usual environments (ultimately/eventually), is quite a disaster. i test the plug, assemble the lot, find my old slot-fiero and put it in place. i have that click in my teeth of anticipation; the air grows thick, the iris closes-in. i'm in a hazy vignette. a doll in a dollhouse room. everything is in miniature. a flea takes a seat next to me, sighs of my pause, and takes the switch from me. the circuit closes.
it is a matter of orbit: things that can be seen, a nondecayable circular path.
my eyes, cradled in orbit, connect me, deliver the endless bits and crumbs and platters and oceans and chonks of space and time and process and matter to me. too much- to me. it is overwhelming; a bit. tie it down. look away. batten down something.
but eventually and always, i am covered in sheets. flying with sheets. connected with sheets.
exponential process. mindless. mindfull. but dissipating, changing. the process is organic. and what i experience flows as it should. balance there.
at least there.
a conversation with concrete
[a repost here from 6 the 30 2008]
corrugated box
downtown clocks
fire and jelly
wrist and ankle
the wind is still and the oil has a chance to carry on nasal conversation.
it is not uncommon for nearby decay to join the fray.
two boxes of takeout chinese sit on an abandoned louver.
purple pungencies exchange on the daily wave of oxidation.
heat and action pull off the shoes to go dancing in little wax boxes of purpose.
they'll have their fun while they can, before the bitters come to wipe clean the nonsense.
(latent chopsticks lay nearby)
clouded-sue says i'm nonsense; shakes her head at my prose and ponders. it is a sublevel manhole bursting with false gaseous notion. noxious-not. only my clothes say it so. only those fibers give away my brittleness. to the world, nothing- false; to myself, everything- and course.
the left-over programs leave mouse droppings but no mice. cheese no longer works.
a trap in the blind? do i move from this lieu? which way do i turn to wind?
sidewalk is steady. a solid underfoot. a crack here or there. paths of connection.
a return to that simple ground refreshes, balances the hue;
revitalizes and renews a moldy retreat. moving air, even if not fresh, moves to action than to fault.
the riposte catches the quick and carried-away but balance skids across
that action like rocks on hopscotch.did you miss it?
corrugated box
downtown clocks
fire and jelly
wrist and ankle
the wind is still and the oil has a chance to carry on nasal conversation.
it is not uncommon for nearby decay to join the fray.
two boxes of takeout chinese sit on an abandoned louver.
purple pungencies exchange on the daily wave of oxidation.
heat and action pull off the shoes to go dancing in little wax boxes of purpose.
they'll have their fun while they can, before the bitters come to wipe clean the nonsense.
(latent chopsticks lay nearby)
clouded-sue says i'm nonsense; shakes her head at my prose and ponders. it is a sublevel manhole bursting with false gaseous notion. noxious-not. only my clothes say it so. only those fibers give away my brittleness. to the world, nothing- false; to myself, everything- and course.
the left-over programs leave mouse droppings but no mice. cheese no longer works.
a trap in the blind? do i move from this lieu? which way do i turn to wind?
sidewalk is steady. a solid underfoot. a crack here or there. paths of connection.
a return to that simple ground refreshes, balances the hue;
revitalizes and renews a moldy retreat. moving air, even if not fresh, moves to action than to fault.
the riposte catches the quick and carried-away but balance skids across
that action like rocks on hopscotch.did you miss it?
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