Archive for the ‘A Dance Through’ Category


Posted: July 27, 2012 in A Dance Through

‘… as if they’d been kept safe in some time-free zone all these years but now,

at the unreadable whim of something in power,

must reenter the clockwork of cause and effect.

Someplace there would be a real axe,

or something just as painful,

Jasonic, blade-to-meat final

It would all be done with keys on alphanumeric keyboards that stood for weightless,

invisible chains of electronic presence or absence.

If patterns of ones and zeros were “like” patterns of human lives and deaths,

if everything about an individual could be represented in a computer record

by a long string of ones and zeros,

then what kind of creature would be represented

by a long string of lives and deaths?

It would have to be up one level at least

– an angel, a minor god, something in a UFO.

It would take eight human lives and deaths just to form one character in this being’s name

– its complete dossier might take up a considerable history of the world.

We are digit’s in God’s computer,

She not so much thought as hummed to herself to a sort of standard gospel tune.

And the only thing we’re good for,

to be dead or to be living,

is the only thing He sees.

What we cry, what we contend for,

in our world of toil and blood,

it all lies beneath the notice of the hacker we call God.


~ Thomas Pynchon: ‘Vineland’


Move Fast and Break Things

Posted: April 19, 2012 in A Dance Through

Eleven PM and full rain; lightening and the succulent radiance of the garden reflects within

both lightening and our neighbor’s lighting. Writing with an American bent, trying to get the

feel of the keys, their low tech dull sheen and sound, trying to call up and on The Muse, one

who, was going to say necessary but how can Muse be necessary …

One who is, again, or isn’t ready as internally we bleed from what we can neither understand

nor capture in this abstraction of a spell.

Why; why is what I wrote but is it why when we try to put sense to the absence of something …

My heart beats faster as rapid change occurs. I beg for training within this, a building of

robustness, of flexibility, of whatever the opposite if rigidity is. My nerves beat faster,

or whatever nerves do when cardiacally aligning with a speeding heart. Is it why, or is

just an inability to surrender, a refusal to bow down before this known intelligence.

I have faith. I have trust. I get people. I get me. And yet there is still this maddening

anger, this deepening sadness, this inability to jump from whatever it is that is right now.

We are entering an interesting time, one where this creation will be both torn apart and

ripped violently, beautifully towards its next destiny as a co-creation. A conscious one, this time, not some soaked up remnant of the average of a child’s fairytale and the seige mentality of our

elders and betters. My world will have no doors.

I advocate for ‘Break Something’ … I expell digitally getting rid of what doesn’t work and yet,

and yet, within this 4D we have, unless at gunpoint, a reticence to move. Find something bigger

than yourself. Find your passion. Without the habit of finding, of creating a passion, where does

this illumination come from.

What is there to create when the silence inside is but a whisper of an ability to un-create.

My world will have no doors.

This is all I want to say at the moment.

(to be always continued)

A Holding Pattern

Posted: December 29, 2011 in A Dance Through

lol …

(the out of date already post modern 21st C. placeholder as a welcome!)

Being greeted at the Settler’s Arms with an Irish coffee, loaded with Jamieson’s instead of the eloquently accented order of an ICED coffee, eighteen months along this Endless Road Trip, this Spin Of Grace, we find ourselves in an holding pattern awaiting the meme of ‘2012’ and whatever this present day experience of a kinda solitude at Touch The Earth brings.

A Holding Pattern – it feels like there is a series of touchstone events in my life, spiraling, circling around and enveloping me in the major themes and habits, the events, concurrences and Cosmic jokes of THIS, My Life So Far.

(Here we offer the disclaimer that Truth, that last bastion of enlightened scoundrels, is not necessarily true!)

My car alarm, unfixed, unbroken even, if florid function is required, harmonizes both the distance of awareness and the reality of the village.  I have a story, one that may require a suspension of belief. For one year only. I beg your pardon and your indulgence as we Dance together during this next year … the Rhythms to be determined, created even! Together, as separate witnesses to this Last Act of separation.

Yes, I have a story … it is yours, my world, your story. Not of a past. a fictional history written to suit the trends of the day but of the present, a fictional moment written to suit the whims of the author; a vacuous person, yet one with needs, a need still to be heard!

It is darkening now, a twilight ringed by cricket, frog and the last hurrah of the Old Man, Kookaburra. The shadow treetops have ceased their sway and bats, swallows laze across their cloud tainted depths. And I … I have nothing to say. It is all perfect, imperfectly serene, lush, and it needs no further, no further …

We Dance On …