Well somehow, or some-way, what it is with me now is: that I have
developed (conjured?) a prescient feeling that some of the most needed
critical questioning is hidden from us in our trying to think deeper down
and higher up into the breadthless widthless heightless depths of that MOST
UTMOST ultima-tatum of all possible questions, the:
'WHY __IS__ there any THING at all?' question
we are moving ever more nearingly near, and once again, to the epicenter of
the time of that now decentered olden time whence first incurred a thinking
along the lines of the metronomic mensuration of time itself _as_ time,
i.e. the time of time itself - - -
or to say, what is present, what presents itself to us in the clockwork
timing of that singular metronomicly evolved time-spaced place, involves
turning our mensurations towards that most eerie presence within us, the
presence in us of the totally absent, i.e. the presence of a nihil out from
which a nothing becomes something present "as a nothing" - as the __place__
of an ultimate end, an end for measure itself to persue its ends, and this
some-thing present inside this end, awaiting on this end, is that extremely
particular nothingness that is and always was a particularly solid thing,
an exceedingly busy thing too, yes, forever presenting itself to us __as
an absence__, and it did this long before there was any somethingness
around us of any some thingified thing around at all, including absence.
or to say, we are presented via the imaginative with the concrete absence
of a concrete presence, one that is THERE, AT - - - [insert self rite here]
So, at this point, the only sure thing we know is, that in the world in
which this question is asked, the world of the something that is nothing -
- - [allow thought to peter out rite here]
we are in a space where thinking can occur [de-certify artificially assumed
selfness rite here]
often we ("we" as thoughtlessly thinking conformers) don't push the window
of that rarest of all flesh, the flesh that thinks itself into the open,
and so, standing before that crack in the envelope of this corpuscularic
window, we can now look out and watch as the lilly pond fills itself to the
brim with ancient sedimentations of gross inclarities making the best
amongst us spend most of their effort just trying to stay afloat above the
surface reflections of a reified selficized image revealed on the surface
of this surface, and thus not seeing any deeper into its unseen and more
real unreflective deeper surface as meanwhile we look longingly around for
land, for a raft, for something that comes to us from the outside AND that
will not give us up to shipwreck on the shoals of meaning - - - -
or maybe not
kenneth
-------
it's far easier for the unicameral christer mobs to settle their nerves
down with rote chant, hail marys or hail johns or bagwhans, the latter
being that grossly intemperate knower who knew intimately the bottom line
accounting manipulations where psychic $ profit and loss rules
or - - - - - - - - - - - - -
er,
etc.
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