laughing drunk

I like to place my self

in a space before shadow or light occurs.

a space without sight perspective as such,

where I ponder the notion of distance

from a me to a thing that is there

and wonder how did that occur

and what keeps us as such,

claimed as separate. 

at least in my mind,

that is the declarative I start from.

so I sit with that premise

and wonder what made that so.

what made everything so referential? 

what made the naming of everything

include a separateness from,

as unsaid but part of the invocation

that I assume when naming as I do?

how did I get claimed as so lost

as to need a system of self-consciousness

pursuant to being found?

there is part of me that wonders about that.

a part that does not sense naming 

as my first or essential option.

I seem addicted to naming 

without forethought at all.

although I do deeply appreciate

when something comes 

to an awareness in me,

where the energetics precede 

the sensory obvious.

it's where we, of then, commingle,

as a harmonic of sorts,

a melody without experiential lyrics.

and so I residence

in space without light or dark as relevant.

where there is embodied swim,

currents banter without evidence made,

a sense of being, 

having no particulars arise.

it is the lead-in 

to every single second in passing.

it makes time seem like insistence 

and space like a remark to be made.

and if I had religion,

it would happen much later 

in each last second occurring. 

it feels like I am carving an ice sculpture,

in a desert, 

at high noon.

and the carving and melting

are dancing with each other 

into an evaporative state of presence.

and I am laughing, 

drunk on their nonexistence 

of invisible fumes as results . . .

the source of ethic

 

a sense of ethic is self-positional.

law is rendered, 

as a mindset existence.

the spirit of the law 

was to transcend that,

to feel for the grounding 

beyond display,

that which can be memorized, 

does not apply.

knowing and being 

have different start-ups.

we seem enhanced by knowing,

that either disguises 

or overwhelms our being.

feel is subsequently placed 

in a cognitive home.

the logic of the mind 

appears to be well dressed,

while feel is always nude, 

inside those clothes. 

surely, we have 

a basic species ethic alive

but not intended to be integrative 

with global concerns.

we, as a species, 

have a self-intimacy 

that denies that.

our sense of ethic is 

in the vain of self as concern.

we invented fear as a means 

of observation's interpretation.

it is a mind sense of that, 

that is definitional in the first sense.

we make understanding, 

a sense of rightness used.

we have a comfort-zone criteria 

as practical use.

we make life 

as an audience-director involvement.

experience becomes the movie, 

taken to heart.

this is how separatism is 

a conner stone 

of our wellness condoned.

ethic is observational cause-worthiness.

it's application should have been 

from the spirit forthcoming into play,

not ordained by bystander 

or consensual approval.

we all hurt by false premises, 

as machiavellian proposed,

as if a moral code 

is implied or imposed.

there is nothing fluid 

in the life of judgment.

and ethic is not a show of hands, 

that are judgment authored.

it is as if we all agreed 

to do a broadway show 

about 'wrong'

and tried to separate the actors 

from the audience.

and any paying customer is 

not in a position of creating value 

as a privileged perspective.

the ethic of be 

cannot be regulated 

by the ethic of know.

know should come from 

be's accessibility's domain.

so where did we loose 

the expanse of focus needed?

what is when 

the self got to be pre-occupational?

the heart-brain has an ethic.

it's where we are one 

ethic to start with.

then moving within 

and where upon . . .

this worn path is well taken

this worn path 

is well taken,

as every obstacle 

is a conclusion.

for the conclusion 

is the mind's effort.

and the mind's effort 

is the resulting belief.

this belief 

is a static form of suffering.

and that suffering 

is the self possessed,

as the self possessed 

is sensed as isolation.

and that sense of isolation 

is self-induced.

for self-induction 

is a style of observation,

as observation reaffirms 

conclusion's stance.

those conclusions 

are self-made prisons. 

prisons that present the obstacles,

that have become 

one's interior design.

for interior design 

believes what it is sensing.

as sensing names it 

as separate from it self.

for everything 

separate from the self

is an obstacle,

and in our world, 

this is where 

conclusions reign . . .

the virus called wealth

 

when is it when wealth buys insular demise?

is it mentality seeking a superiority status?

is it fixations seeking higher ground?

is it a false superiority lost in an overview?

insular self-measures 

attempting to define life?

are we these attempts at cosmic devotion

based on wealth premises 

subsequently declared?

surely no mirror of self perception 

should ever display

in the images of wealth personified

wealth is a pettiness format

in the minds striving towards 

singular distinction

it becomes a celebrity-curse

as if earth is a prop-fest of ownership design

wealth by this ownership 

is a fallacy principle

a human commandment composed 

of collective ignorance

we, as humans, don't get 

the planetary collective in principle

we are the singular species 

of unending insular pretends

wealth seems to be one 

of our incurable viruses 

ever expressing our insularity 

into species demise

we are born grave robbers 

by these demonstrative means 

as if a false glory premise-popularized

wealth is its own broadway show

and we as witness to 

as its audience as means

where wealth is a proprietary mindset 

with humanness lost in the discourse

wealth is an aberration of our species

towards the elevation of self as worth

we are then all sideshows

wanting for center stage

only to eventually discover

that human wealth does not exist

if the earth is not audience 

duped into a false attendance . . .

the if-then rule applied

if understanding has an endpoint of bliss,

then owners are eventually 

just curators at heart.

if stress indirectly focuses 

on causes of concerns,

then timing is perceived 

as being wildly out of focus.

if one perceives themself 

as hurting with details,

then depth of perception 

is not a field of dreams.

if a person in conversation, 

is their own response,

then everyone else 

is just bystanders overhearing.

if one can never say 

that they are sorry,

then they are in the spotlight 

of self as right livelihood. 

if one perceives themself, 

as clearly a cheater,

then they know the rules 

that they intend to avoid.

if complementarianism is used 

as a personal disguise,

then the audience face to face 

is the feared enemy.

and if one loves 

everyone they meet, 

then they are happy to be alive, 

is totally justified . . .

the unmemorable now

now is not memorable in its full presence.

we, as a consciousness, 

are always going, wherever we are,

but only availably present 

as experiential tourists.

we are the pirates, 

who are in the now, for the nominality, 

but not the absorption 

and broadcast of its isness.

we take from the now, 

lower frequency compositionals

and rework them in to a consciousness 

of self-composition conditionals.

we become self-referential 

in the construct of time 

and subsequently, its elemental view.

we are in the constant construction 

of the imprisonment we live within.

we are continually self-induced to do so.

we use elements and rituals 

that constantly construct the reverence 

for this method of time.

we are then 

our own conceptual imprisonment. 

every thing of thought 

is an inmate condition.

to be mindfully concurrent, 

is to be 

without the production 

of awareness as such.

to be in the now, 

there is no production of props, 

and all of existence 

is the immersion of integrities ongoing,

and all of thought is essentially 

the exhaust from think, 

as we live and breath 

in the smog of it

as the fertileness 

of its futility . . .