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Monday, January 15, 2018

experientialist 1/15/18

I have experience
that has no there,
that defies conclusive and final.
an immersion with only all moving parts,
where everywhere is also indulgently the here.
no sense of containment or embrace
as if to make a whole.
the attention of itself, is completing
yet experience of it,
is a distant fallback position.
I throw these words at it
as if refuse from remembrance,
as if a there, and we were.
the rigor is not invitational.
the sense of it to say
is a conceded unconnectedness,
a lesser, by faintness of its totality.
for now, I am the snitch of being audience.
imagine if you drown in the ocean of within-you,
if you were universe in dominion only,
if detail and observation were profoundly obsolete,
where this telling is of false fronts as dimensions
that would otherwise not independently exist,
where time is but sedentary self-consciousness
as if partiality could ever take a stand.
there are no positions, as to the sum of it.
dimensions are the trough of it
and there for not linear with each as others.
movement has no stance, no appearance, no solids.
go has no future.
stay has no presence.
memory has no past.
immediacy has no impact as to retention.
if emotion, all embodiment.
mind has no particulars,
full of the vastness as if empty.
nothing of evidence proceeds.
to language it is a fallback of falsity.
the thought of it, separate from being it,
is a bleed-out towards a summary as suicide.
the think of it has be, before cognition.
experience is just a decal
on a journey that no one can take,
for there is no here to there,
no sensorial take-ins .
if experience exists,
the say of it, is also the hear,
the sight is also the be,
and the memory,
is ever the unapproachable,
yet the now beyond, beneath, behind,
the now . . .






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