experience is consciousness
with an expectational narrative,
on, all the time.
how I locate right here, right now,
is by the high contrast of the looks and feel
from everywhere else,
as from the recent then
to the immediacy of now.
it's not that I am not bored with expectation
as my personal directive.
but I now look for the edginess
off of expectation's offerings.
I simply have to have the expectation
in order to frame the unexpected.
I live in the expected
but I live for the unexpected.
of course there is the obviousness.
but more so, buried in the ambiguous,
is the blatantly concealed,
the dark and dubious.
there is the seepage of the somewhat accidental,
the utterly amazing,
the unforeseen,
even the astonishment
that I can come to live with.
experience has to be made of that,
otherwise I am listless and thoroughly bored.
yes, experience is boring
much like a bus ride to where (?).
I don't care.
I have all this pent up enthusiasm
and nothing to spend it on.
all I have otherwise
is a closet full of self-intimacies
as my private form of healthy neurosis.
at least that is what I think it is.
anyways, experience is like this collage
and the intake seems to always be on,
don't you have one of these? . . .
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