The world unfurls to the mind that unclenches. He made federation with the terrene, and so was multiplied by it; became proliferate, polypresent, and in quintessential composure clasped with a hundred fingers the esculent soils, the sorbile air.
Perceiving his teleological identity, he stuck his nose beneath death's viscid surface, then concluded there is nothing abstruse behind a mirror. His invented sun was already there watching in the reflection.
But telaesthetsia randomized the organization of thought, discarnate will vied with eidetic appetite. Would he cease to be participant, slouch into an asemic force? Conceit induced him; so he fabricated a body for himself, reimagined from pieces of Dwlf and Amidash, levied with the imperfections of the flesh, leavened with the facilities of a god. Immediately he understood the significance of voluntary reincorporation.
I am the new tellurian.
March 31, 2012
March 25, 2012
Conception
When he had digested that last bittersweet draff of his psychosis, he sensed the cluthe's pollution was depleted. With angry, febrile effort, he commoved his heavy limbs and eyes back into waking. The torfire had exhausted its crude fuel; together he and the dowager of Cær Brae were bundled naked under a thin blanket, so that she could furnish him with her body's heat.
He became instantly, absurdly aroused by her, a reaction he had wholly forgotten, and tried to stand to hide his distress. But she had stirred and sensed his motive, and cleaved to him, importuning: "Yes, yes, welcome life!" He could feel directly her sensuality, the softness and roundness of fertility; his counterpart instinct swelled to arrest control.
In a vulgar fury he tore away their cover, and took her to her back. But her small cry brought a sudden, unhappy stop; his breath and voice shook upon her throat, "Do not goad me further to this base act."
She cried again, her keen nails raking his shoulders, and she seethed at his ear: "What now, man? You fear the surrender of sex? Yes, surrender! I my body make vulnerable to you, you your emotion make vulnerable to me. It is in surrender that we abolish our own walls."
So he submitted, to himself and to her; and as he entered her he felt that he had entered into her, she became more real and he less so; and as he released he felt that he had become released, his body abluted and ablated, and only his senses remained - momentarily suffused with hers, then rushing upward, outward, across the dark of the sandveldt and in all directions.
In the sepulcher of Cær Brae, the Allmother curled, sobbing; her lover gone.
He became instantly, absurdly aroused by her, a reaction he had wholly forgotten, and tried to stand to hide his distress. But she had stirred and sensed his motive, and cleaved to him, importuning: "Yes, yes, welcome life!" He could feel directly her sensuality, the softness and roundness of fertility; his counterpart instinct swelled to arrest control.
In a vulgar fury he tore away their cover, and took her to her back. But her small cry brought a sudden, unhappy stop; his breath and voice shook upon her throat, "Do not goad me further to this base act."
She cried again, her keen nails raking his shoulders, and she seethed at his ear: "What now, man? You fear the surrender of sex? Yes, surrender! I my body make vulnerable to you, you your emotion make vulnerable to me. It is in surrender that we abolish our own walls."
So he submitted, to himself and to her; and as he entered her he felt that he had entered into her, she became more real and he less so; and as he released he felt that he had become released, his body abluted and ablated, and only his senses remained - momentarily suffused with hers, then rushing upward, outward, across the dark of the sandveldt and in all directions.
In the sepulcher of Cær Brae, the Allmother curled, sobbing; her lover gone.
March 16, 2012
Do You Remember Love
He wrenches himself through the walls, always behind them, blind and trapped. He can hear the rain outside. He fights down asphyxia, reminded he is still in fever, and coaxes the crawlspace past him. Now he is hunched in a thin covert, a place he knows... knew.
Then is Nilet, huddled with him.
Oh, Nilet. After all, I forgot.
"Will you?" she has asked, her eyelashes high, and thick with wet.
"I do will." he makes his voice low, emphatic.
She is several summers more graced by the Lady than him, but a diminutive creature, that provokes his protective, masculine urge. She has - in spite of that, he thinks - a confidential ease that could unman him, at a time when he is on the cusp of proving out to be a man.
He nears her lips. "I will to be eternal to you as the sun."
She leaves him close but accepts no kiss. "It's boyish to think in such absolutes. Even gods die."
He does not know whether to evince anger, or despair. "You think me a fool young in love."
She is casual and amused. "You are. A young fool, and in love."
She nestles her forehead with his, warmth to his cool, but she leaps out into the rain before he may complete the kiss, meeding him no anodyne.
"I will remember!" he solicits, and chases her mischief.
I will remember you, my love.
Then is Nilet, huddled with him.
Oh, Nilet. After all, I forgot.
"Will you?" she has asked, her eyelashes high, and thick with wet.
"I do will." he makes his voice low, emphatic.
She is several summers more graced by the Lady than him, but a diminutive creature, that provokes his protective, masculine urge. She has - in spite of that, he thinks - a confidential ease that could unman him, at a time when he is on the cusp of proving out to be a man.
He nears her lips. "I will to be eternal to you as the sun."
She leaves him close but accepts no kiss. "It's boyish to think in such absolutes. Even gods die."
He does not know whether to evince anger, or despair. "You think me a fool young in love."
She is casual and amused. "You are. A young fool, and in love."
She nestles her forehead with his, warmth to his cool, but she leaps out into the rain before he may complete the kiss, meeding him no anodyne.
"I will remember!" he solicits, and chases her mischief.
I will remember you, my love.
March 9, 2012
False Positive
It is often said that experience, belief, and truth are subjective. This is a naive assertion. It is incomplete.
A man is not only the sum of his experiences and actions. He is also the product; a compounding sum. Experience is not the engine of the consciousness. It is a vehicle; consciousness not its operator, but its captive.
Belief is not a scale, it is an agonist. Belief is not confined by dimension. Belief is abductive, belief is conditioned, belief is schizotypal. Belief is the calx of experience: And experience is to belief as belief is to truth. There are no metempirical truths!
Truth is a dangerous word, but all words are dangerous. Words, and truth, are not like the traded sands but as marble. Haptically strict but concealing a mystery of possibility, translimited by the sculptor's chisel. Truth is a prostitute, truth is a currency, truth is a democracy, and belief is to truth as truth is to society.
This triumvirate forms an ecosystem. It is inhabited. It is policed by Doubt. It is governed by Lies. It is schooled by Imagination. It is gardened by Apophenia. A man may change his mind; a society may change its truths. We measure these epistemic transitions as progress, but that is an etiological fallacy. Change forms no syllogisms. Change can only husband change.
A man is not only the sum of his experiences and actions. He is also the product; a compounding sum. Experience is not the engine of the consciousness. It is a vehicle; consciousness not its operator, but its captive.
Belief is not a scale, it is an agonist. Belief is not confined by dimension. Belief is abductive, belief is conditioned, belief is schizotypal. Belief is the calx of experience: And experience is to belief as belief is to truth. There are no metempirical truths!
Truth is a dangerous word, but all words are dangerous. Words, and truth, are not like the traded sands but as marble. Haptically strict but concealing a mystery of possibility, translimited by the sculptor's chisel. Truth is a prostitute, truth is a currency, truth is a democracy, and belief is to truth as truth is to society.
This triumvirate forms an ecosystem. It is inhabited. It is policed by Doubt. It is governed by Lies. It is schooled by Imagination. It is gardened by Apophenia. A man may change his mind; a society may change its truths. We measure these epistemic transitions as progress, but that is an etiological fallacy. Change forms no syllogisms. Change can only husband change.
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