Lúcido
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| Image source: behindinfinity.deviantart.com |
So between the
ludicrous and the realistic is the difference between magic and no
magic. To watch as the days unfold and becoming desiring machine, part
of the general neutral machinic phylum, not bending out with any sort of
magnetism to the beyond. The first fragments of our thousand worlds
within one were profoundly resonant and clear in themselves. The pieces
are not arranged in random order but in an appreciation of the value of
the violent sign. Our very human existence is violence upon the self in
order to convey simple truths to others. Truth signs, through symbols
that articulate the order inherent in chaos. But the articulation of
thousands of worlds does not mean that we have made our conquest. We
have made a conquest as far as the sexual machine disseminates its
language of genetics and highly charged post-Cambrian language. The
silent language that is expressive of an order within, that is
penetrated beyond either self-denial or that
which cannot articulate.
Those architectures of spirit that are conscious realizations of the importance of dreaming, of continuing that dream into the mind of another, so long to be built and so delicate, as if they had been realized upon the surface of water. It was difficult to transcend the distance between daydreaming and the joy of sharing a dream with someone else. Though we may be vastly set apart as night takes us from the surfaces of the everyday, in which we can craft our own lines, hold our own dreams inward, it is in making apparent the memories, slightest details that make our souls wish to continue through life, we can yet articulate ourselves in the recurrence of words, images, musical forms that change in such slight but unmistakably profound ways through the course of a continually changing time. To always make new surfaces, new ways to speak so that we are not trapped in habit, in hurtful silence. To allow a world in which souls can speak to one another from so many different worlds, so many variations of silence and obscurity which veil the underlying beauty of difference.
Those architectures of spirit that are conscious realizations of the importance of dreaming, of continuing that dream into the mind of another, so long to be built and so delicate, as if they had been realized upon the surface of water. It was difficult to transcend the distance between daydreaming and the joy of sharing a dream with someone else. Though we may be vastly set apart as night takes us from the surfaces of the everyday, in which we can craft our own lines, hold our own dreams inward, it is in making apparent the memories, slightest details that make our souls wish to continue through life, we can yet articulate ourselves in the recurrence of words, images, musical forms that change in such slight but unmistakably profound ways through the course of a continually changing time. To always make new surfaces, new ways to speak so that we are not trapped in habit, in hurtful silence. To allow a world in which souls can speak to one another from so many different worlds, so many variations of silence and obscurity which veil the underlying beauty of difference.
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