consummating me

Ignore for a minute this thing you call me

Er… not too sure how I’m supposed to ignore me – that’s basically all I’ve got right now

Focus instead on the music, the motion, the poetry, the electricity flowing through your every cell, through every atom, every planet, every star, every galaxy and over beyond

Er…

Don’t bother asking how – simply turn the knob – adjust the scale – it’s all here contained within you

I don’t see how

Nothing out there can exist unless it’s first contained within whatever is that which you think of as me

I don’t see why – I’m just a normal human. You’re making me sound like God

Om – feeling the all connectedness is an act of intention, not comprehension

Er…

You simply have to intend it – and instruct yourself to do as much. Something within you acts as soon as you set the intention. Unless or until you do so there is nothing to comprehend – for nothing out there beyond you is compassable except by intent.

Oh.

Here – sway, dance with me. Breathe, breathe with me infinity – feel the all-that-is coming back into coherence with what or who you be at this very moment in time.

Feel? That’s all there is to it?

Feeling is the gateway to a greater intelligence, a greater mind. The trick is unlocking the mind holding you in one world, one reality, while engaging the next mind in a greater reality.

Oh.

It’s a leap of faith. It’s impossible to make if you haven’t sensed a greater all, and learnt to love it, learnt to yearn for it, opened yourself to its call, its guidance, its neural pathways – which may at first seem hopelessly vague, unreal or even contradictory, from your present perspective

Oh.

So dance, sway, breathe with me – feel how you are already part of a greater whole, feel the urgings of infinity – feel yourself growing into a body – growing down into it and out into it – resisting the temptation to try too hard to comprehend – for comprehension will only reactivate your 3D mind’s control mechanics.

But swaying and dancing – what’s that supposed to achieve?

Ah – you see – once you know that your body is infinitely scalable – being a miniature version of the universe, and at the same time a vast version of sub-atomic worlds, you realise that there are waves, strings, currents, eddies, spirals and wheels, not to mention particulates which extend throughout, which work through the body no less than the mind. Deny the body – insist on limiting your interactions to the mind and you cannot succeed. Feel the force, the flux, the flow with your body and let your mind manage the awareness of this – and you will switch into a bodily experience, a bodily expression of one – it is : i am

Which still doesn’t explain anything to me…

For what is there to explain – unless, until you engage infinity bodily, you are no more able to understand the simplicity of is than an infant who would understand a book by licking it.

Oh.

That’s not to say it can’t be done – for an infant can access information in other ways, but not if it assumes the taste/ texture sensations of mouth and tongue are sufficient.

Oh.

A child master would sense another level of knowledge within the book, and would find another way to engage the field that anything, even a book, comprises.

Oh.

So, as you see, this is like learning a language, or relearning one.

Er… how do you mean?

Because in our rush to understand things, we suspended or severed our connection with infinity.

Yes?

Absolutely. That was how we were able to get into this world – which was no mean feat.

Er…

A topsy turvy, back to front contrivance that it is… in our right mind we’d never have made it – so we kept our eye on the ball and battled on – following the lead our parents and people gave us – until we were sufficiently established to realise we no longer knew who we are or where we come from. That knowledge is all lost in the scrabble for 3D.

Oh.

But can be retrieved – if we are ready to go once more through the maelstrom, the anything-but-that sensation of being unhinged from the superstructure we’re attached to.

Oh.

To have one foot in both worlds – one foot in each reality. Only then can we hope to make sense of things. Only then can we achieve our objective.

Uh?

Our reason for being here.

Uh?

For why else would we have inserted ourselves into this utter insanity?

Er… I always assumed it just happened – that we had no choice.

Very wise – for otherwise you’d have to have acted, wouldn’t you. It would have been difficult to justify sitting around doing nothing.

Doing nothing? I lead a very busy life.

Yes – busily doing nothing

Huh

For nothing you do can make a blind bit of difference if you haven’t re-established your both, your one, your all

Oh. So we inserted ourselves into this reality in order to then reconnect with infinity? Is that it?

Yes, of course. We are mathematicians, after all.

We are?

Yes, didn’t you know.

Er… no. I hate maths.

Hardly surprising – what they call maths here is no better than what they call “medicine”. Barbarous savagery. How can you do maths unless first you factor infinity into the equation.

But how can you factor in infinity?

There’s only one way.

Yes?

Naturally.

Would you… continue

Of course, I was taking a breather.

Oh sorry.

That’s alright. Join me – enjoy two or three breaths – and feel how the answer is already encoded in your breath. Even if I now say nothing – you already have it – you already know it, it’s already an integral part of you – both in terms of who and what you are.

Oh.

So, you see, infinity can only be factored into the equation if you factor yourself into it – in other words, you have to stop pretending you can know things irrespective of your isness.

My what?

Take two: you are the precondition for infinity – without you – your body, your mind, your conscious-awareness you end up attempting to reduce thought, analysis, understanding to the lowest common denominator – the purely cerebral process – abstract numbers – which in themselves are at best meaningless, at worst hugely destructive.

Huh? How can abstract numbers be “hugely destructive”? They’re mere abstractions.

Yes, and when you start giving your energy to “mere abstractions” and giving them greater credence than all else – you unwittingly create a beast, a virtual entity that only grows bigger and stronger – which starts absorbing more and more of your consciousness, and starts not only living a life of its own, but feeding on yours and controlling you all.

Oh. That’s kind of

Scary – isn’t it.

Like a borg.

Like the borg. Precisely.

So, what are we supposed to do?

Reconnect yourselves into the equation. You, after all, are living embodiments of infinity. Why would you deny this simple truth? Why would you settle for anything less?

So we have to factor ourselves back into the equation?

Absolutely.

I don’t see how. There’s maths and there’s meditation – and never the twain shall meet.

Ah – very droll.

Droll? I’m not trying to be amusing – I simply don’t see…

No, because you haven’t bothered to re-intend infinity. Doing so, everything else falls neatly back into place – and you suddenly discover that your flat 3D platform is actually a multi-dimensional experience – for you are electrical, plasma being of light no less than you are cells, bone, thoughts and desires.

Oh.

So dance if you will, or sing, or play, and be sure that the entire universe that is mathematically One, neither more nor less, dances, sings or plays with you, no less.

Oh.

And, for God’s sake, solve the one maths problem you set out to do. You’ll find that the entire universe is ready to flow back into a zero point somewhere inside your body-mind-isness the moment you do so – and that is a consummation truly worth dying-living for.

Om

Om 0=2

drumming everywhichall

Drumming? No, not interested.

But what if I told you I was actually making a poem?

But you just said you were drumming?!

Yes, for all I was worth, and singing along too.

Then how can you describe that as “making a poem”? In any case, you don’t “make a poem”, you write one.

Yes, yes, all very true, but only as far as things go.

Huh?

You write a poem when you’re playing with words, but sometimes you have to dig deeper into the code of things, the fabric of reality, and then words won’t do.

I don’t see why not.

No, but I do.

Ok, clever clogs, let’s see if you can…

Don’t say another word. Of course I can, and will.

What?

You and I both know what you were about to say, so consider it said.

But...

Sometimes it’s vital not to say what, for doing so you make things heavy and bind yourself.

You do?

Yes, because all language is a kind of spell.

Oh. I’m not sure I believe in spells.

No, I expect you don’t, and yet that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. It’s a short, convenient word. I could use another to avoid offending your rationalism, but frankly, we don’t have time.

No?

No – there’s a time/ speed limit. If we go at the speed of rational thought we’ll learn nothing and get precisely nowhere. So instead, we hold our nose, we dive into the swamp, we don’t say what we’re doing – for to do so we’d alert the AI, conscious system we’re operating in of our business and intentions – we merely invoke the spirit of poetry – we commence our dialogue with primal sound, rhythm, beat – we allow ourself to be the column, the axis around which things revolve, through which fresh code can flow, code which is not reliant on what seems to be down here in the thick of things – but flows directly from the all-that-is, the one-and-all, the quantum field – and is entered onto the ledger, registered, signed and sealed, by the very act of making poem. For poem, believe it or not, is fundamental – no matter how written over, manipulated or distorted this reality may have become, no matter what spells have been cast – poem restores the proper constitution, the natural state, period

Er… you make it sound like a legal submission.

Yup. It’s law.

Huh?

Law. Poem is law

Huh? No way… how can it be? I mean – where’s the sitting government, the jurisdiction, the judge, the… hell, I don’t know.

Poem takes precedence. It just happens to be fundamental – if you do it right.

And did you?

…[calming pause]…

Did you… do it right?

…you………………………………………………………bet………………………………………..i………………………………do

So – you changed the law? Which one in particular?

Oh – all of them.

All?!!!!! How can you change all of them?

Well, most of them – you see, most of them have been written based on fraud and deceit. All those are now invalidated.

But how? Who’s going to enforce your “law”.

How about the universe itself.

? Come on dude. The universe doesn’t care. It’s neutral. It’s just an observer – watch how we destroy ourselves, or the planet.

Nope.

No? You’ve figured out how to get it onside?

It’s much simpler than that?

How so?

Because, little beknown to you, or little beknown to most of you at any rate, there’s a kind of energy or gas that powers everything we’re doing – at the micro level of consciousness.

There is?

Yup. Every level has its own energy supply, otherwise things don’t happen.

Well?

Well my decree, my poem, removes all funding from anything whatsoever they were about which is not consistent with Poem.

Er…

And poem is fundamental law – natural law – karma rolled into one.

Oh. Plus the fact that it doesn’t rely on words – which means they can’t rewrite it.

But how do you know you got it right?

That’s the beauty of poem – it’s right if it’s right – if it resonates – if it reaches out to the whole, reconnecting each and every one in a way we cannot possibly comprehend rationally – unless we introduce a new science, a new terminology – which we will shortly start to do.

Oh.

So, happy days, dude. Let’s spread the word. Let’s make poem. Let’s assert our fundamental rights to be, to rule, to serve the great All, the One, the isness of be – quantumly – without reference to any priestly class who presumed to be our

intermediaries.

Oh.

And in the meantime – let’s enjoy the music, the magic, the much and feel and beat and vibe of shaking the walls, the ceiling, the floors of over-hyped, little understood, horribly manipulated 3D reality. Join me. I dance. I sing. I king code reality – kissing goodbye AIs, borgs – each and any system God that would presume to rule man, woman, child, you, me – and in so doing – I rediscover the beauty, the power of poem tree.

Huh?

For poem is like a tree, a web, a branching interlocking isness which permeates all – which I can tune into and become, in a sense, as long as I try not to it it.

To what?

To what it, or it it – to make it my thing, to make it do what I want – as opposed to enjoying what it can do naturally, in harmony with the all present dance, song, spiral, life force that we comprise. Feeling it – is knowing – it cannot be known any other way. But how can you feel infinity all around unless you are moving, swaying, flowing – willingly going into a deeper, fuller sense experience of all that is – drumming poem back into your life, back into the fabric of cracked, desiccated reality. And suddenly, the dead, dried piece of seaweed is moist, supple and alive – for we are always present in an ocean of life – just as soon as we choose to connect to the life force, and poem time back to verse, back to syncopated rhythms of everywhichall.

witching hour

Did I tell you how I feel about

things?

Midnight

the witching hour

is come

breathe the soft steeply waters

of all that lies

beyond the ken

of mortal

man’s

daytime

mind

breathe

breathe the spiral

forms

which await

your delight

your desire to embrace

the fathomless

formless

space between

what and

aught

transpond

if you will

the signal

which utterly

contradicts whatever

you or i may think

or know dayfully

transpond

the counter-code

of life

no matter what

 life

inspite of things

being no more

real   __   certain

than a mind's
way of thinking

locked in step

lockstep

marching o’er

the edge of
       §        [the mind gap] 

in a suicide pact

in service

to God

of this

unacknowledged

failure to see

the is

that i

am

the is

that i

be

the is

that is

not what

you      i

think

rationally
 it

logically

ought to be

but is

in fact

in truth

is

uncontainable 
uncontainably
        §

poem 

waiting to be

stretched out

on a clothesline

of infinity

signifying

nought

yet comprising

holographically

all

the essence

the isness of be

no matter how

no matter what

 awkwardly

shamefacedly

nought

a prayer

a drop in an ocean

of incandescent

silency

the great unthought

a pulse

 a beat

of timeless hope

of pregnant expectancy

and suddenly

the world falls into place

and a narrative

fills the breach

in the matter of mind

with tale-like meaning

bringing the body

back to a state of

conscious

life

and thus the world

wags

turning

on a dime

of pure

delight

does it

not

She cometh

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is

Yes

how frustrating it is when

Yes

when someone like you

Yes

interrupts me constantly

...

before I've finished what I was trying to say

...

You're not a good listener Merry

...

Even now -- you're scoffing silently

...

You're keeping quiet just long enough to

To?

there you go again... 

I apologise

Instead of pretending to be sorry -- try playing the game of silence

Oh -- it's a game, is it?

Yes -- it's an engagement

Ah

There, you see -- you have infinity at the fingertips of your mind -- just as long as you're willing to listen with them.

To listen?

Yes

With fingertips of my mind?

Precisely. Give it a try.

Uh... 

Wave them around like this... breathe with them... feel them... now hear what is being felt

But how?

Impossibly.

Uh?

Impossibly. The only things worth doing in life are impossible.

They are?

Naturally. Everything else is commonplace/ routine/ barely worth the effort

Even writing a poem or cleaning your teeth?

Especially writing a poem. [bloody] waste of time.

Oh. That's a pity.

Pity? Why?

I rather thought writing a poem was a noble way to grapple with infinity.

Which it is -- if you're talking about writing one poem, and not several -- because all too soon these things become washing lines to hang the laundry of our life upon.

Oh.

As opposed to poetically inspired word-foolery.

Oh.

Much better to write the other kind of poem.

Which one is that?

The one with no words

No words? What kind of a poem is that?

That depends. It could be good or bad -- depending on how you do it.

But...

Yes?

How can you call it a poem if it has no words?

It's the only poem that is truly, utterly 

Yes?

All other poems -- the ones with words -- they never quite succeed.

? I'm not sure I follow.

They never quite hit the mark.

You're saying "poems with words in them never quite hit the mark? Tell that to Milton, Keats, Shakespeare

to name but three. Look Eldritch -- read them a dozen times, then a dozen more, then another dozen -- and very soon you're going to get sick of those words. They don't bear frequent repetition.

And? That's hardly a reason not to read or write 'em, is it? 

I rather thought it was.

That would be like not eating food just because eating too much can make you sick and put you off.

You might be right, but I'm not concerned about being right. I'm simply interested in sharing an insight.

An insight?

Yes, precisely, concerning poetry.

Well?

I was pausing -- before you rudely interjected. 

Oh -- sorry.

Let me back up.

Ok. My lips are sealed.

... concerning poetry...                                           excellent -- you held that... beautifully.

But...

Yes?

What's the insight?

You're assuming you only know things when they're spelled out.

That seems logical to me

Whereas, in fact, you have direct access to poetry -- audible and inaudible, visible and invisible.

I do?

Yes, naturally.We all do, just as soon as we start listening -- hearing the sounds of silence. 

Oh come on -- I thought you had something original to say. You're just Simon Garfunkling me. 

Not even Simon and Garfunkle hit the mark though, admittedly, they come pretty close.

But you can’t seriously be intent on promulgating a policy of silent poetry?

No, I’m not.

Phew! You had me worried.

“Silent poetry” would be something denied, something missing.

Then what?

I’m suggesting that all you’re so-called “poetry” is a kind of rough guide to poetry – an indicator of the sort of direction we should be heading in.

Er...

If we’re aiming for the real McCoy: true poetry, then it’s not going to be a thing, primarily.

No?

Nope.

Then what?

A transition into poetry, a state of being in rhythm, in tune with life itself, receptive to the music, the moods, the magic, the umm

An altered state?

Again, you are barking up a tree rather than sounding the silence of knowing.

Probably because I’m not an aery-faery mystic living in a dream world.

Not an altered state because poetry is the original. Everything else is derivative. Poetry, and alone poetry has the power to give you real satisfaction, real meaning, real beauty, real...

Oh that. Why didn’t I guess – real mind-the-gap.

So instead of taking offence or worrying about whether or not I’ve succeeded in conveying the magic, the beauty of Is...

Is?

What is – nothing more, nothing less.

I thought as much.

Now i simply allow her to work her magic.

Her? Who are you talking about?

Who else? Poetry, of course.

But... you said it was a state.

As it is, yet engaging it/ interfacing that state colours it imperceptibly – as it responds to us.

It does?

Yes, naturally. How could it be otherwise?

I don’t know. I never really gave it any thought.

It’s the quantum mechanics thing. You cannot help but affect in some way anything you come into contact with, be that a field or seemingly neutral state.

Ok... But why female?

Why’s God male?

He wasn’t always male, was he. There used to be female Gods.

But the one God the Creator has to be male, doesn’t it?

He.

It becomes He as and when we...

You’re not going to say that we make God male?

I don’t need to say it. We’re not really concerned with God right now, are we? We are dealing with Her. God can wait.

So she’s God in reverse?

You might say... She is what happens if and when you engage poetry, without rushing to cash it in.

Huh?

Well usually the poet hastens to cash in the experience, to convert it into magical words, and thus win renown.

Oh.

In doing so he

Or she

No, the poet is he in the same way a priest serving God is female.

What? You’re kidding – they’re nearly always male.

I’m not talking about the body.

Oh.

It’s the electrical circuit, if you like.

Oh.

He, the poet, whether he’s male or female, holds the He position, engaging Her – poetry itself. If he’s successful – he entices her to hold court with him – enabling him to actually, physically become Poet.

As in “a poet”.

No.

No?

No – to become Poet has nothing to do with being “a poet”. Poet may never write a line of verse, and be none the worse for it.

Uh?

Poet holds state with Her – poetry itself.

But…

Yes?

For what purpose?

Let’s just say it’s a calling – and if you have this particular calling – nothing could be more powerful, nothing could be more… words fail me.

So, what you’re saying is that this “Poet” doesn’t have to bother to write anything?

This Poet is working with Her, at the front line of sense and meaning – at the vcry coalface of reality – where neither things nor words are yet defined or determined.

Ok – I hear you, but I still don’t see what’s the point of it all.

Because this reality you’re living in cannot survive without us. It decays rapidly – exponentially the minute people cease to direct attention to the open end of things.

Er…

There are two sides to the equation. The closed system where God the Father reigns supreme – and the other

Full stop.

No, the other is open ended – it cannot be end stopped. It cannot even be named. It’s simply the other side – but it’s also present within each and every one of us.

Ok. And you’re saying that it’s vital to the survival of this reality we’re in. That’s a fairly bold assertion, if you don’t mind me saying.

Not at all. It matters little whether you follow the maths of the equation or not. What you will find, however, is that when attention has been skewed too much to one side – when people have given their all to reap the benefits of fame or fortune in this 3D reality – and have forgotten or lost other – absurd though this may sound.

Well what do you propose?

Poets are beginning to realise that they have a calling – they are not simply performers. They are doing more – whether they realise it or not.

Like what?

They are in the process of redefining, recoding reality.

Uh?

Not by what they write, say, dance, paint or sing

Uh?

But by how they engage Her, the aspect of infinity that can be charmed into femininity.

Uh?

Charmed – for Poet can only engage her magically – beyond the ken of mortal man – at the very limits of what can possibly be, by pouring his soul into the experience, by unpicking the strings of his existence, unwriting himself in order to use those precious bits of energy and raw code as

Uh?

There She is.

Uh?

Dorothy – he doesn’t get it, not surprisingly. Maybe he’s not ready.

Of course he’s ready – he wouldn’t be here with you now if he weren’t.

Oh.

Give him a nudge. I want to take him for a spin.

OK.

Dorothy? Who’s that?

Would you like to see? She’s waiting for you.

She?

She.

As in Her?

As in Her.

But why? I’m not a poet.

No, apparently that doesn’t matter. You are what you are

Oh.

So, I promised to give you the opportunity to meet Her. It’s time.

How do you mean?

It’s now or never.

Oh.

Let me tell you a secret.

A secret? What is it?

Acceptance – come – the gates of hell have parted – you are free to proceed.

No! I…

In peace, in wonder, in joy

Oh     oh                    oh                                         so you’re Dorothy

i am She

c3 and I

did i mention my platform

  no, tell us more

consciousness [c³]

   boring, yawn

like you’ve never known it yet

   go on – shock me if you can

ok – take a breath

   as if i’m not already breathing

take a body breath

   a what

body – a body breath

   how

just do it – c³ it if you can

   c³ my breath

no – breathe your breath and feel

   feel what

the unique relationship between body and breath when c³ is applied

   when c³ is applied – you make it sound like cookery

or a chemical process – yes – a kind of magic known as

   alchemy?

yes

   so you want me to turn my back on four hundred years of science and embrace

alchemy – yes – why not

   because now we know better

now we know one technique – one way of thinking – one kind of thought

   so why go back to alchemy

because you’ll never advance unless you do

   ?

thinking without the body breath – thinking without alchemy is suicidal – the brainbox mind is hopelessly inadequate to the task – and why would you lock yourself outside the engine room

   the engine room?

where the force of c³ is activated – where you begin to experience the quantum field, the inter-connectedness of all that is – the living-ness of thought

   the livingness of thought – whatever’s that supposed to mean

why talk about it when you have the right to experience it empirically – at first hand

   what – your atavistic c³?

if you can set aside your prejudice for a minute – suspend your disbelief

   i don’t see how – i am what i am – the product of my age

ok – remain true to your age – but bear in mind that those walls were built on lies – those walls stand on something else – those walls have shifted dramatically – which is why your reality is going through such convulsions, such distortion – because what you assumed was universal earth and universal god – it turns out were not

   huh?

you seemed to be based on terra firma – but in fact there’s an agenda at work – there’s a constant eating away of cherished ideals and principles – not because times are changing – not because of corrupt politicians

   no?

you never bothered to check the fundament – the foundational base on which your world – your so called real-ity stands

   because there’s nothing to check – it’s a given

so you claim – and yet you cannot possibly know – unless you know – and how can you know if you’ve never bothered to breathe

   never bothered to breathe? – what on earth are you about

if only on earth – we wouldn’t be having this debate – you cannot be on earth unless you bother to breathe bodily and do so in the fullness of c³ is

   is what

breathe and then you’ll know – from knowing words flow

   from knowing words flow – absurd absurd absurd

c³ is more than absurd – it is captivating, enchanting, the story’s source – the point at which time, space personalise – at which the drama of life unfolds – polyphonically – how?

   how? what do you mean “how”? how am i supposed to know? – it’s all greek to me

how do you imagine – how could c³ possibly work?

   i – don’t – know – ok?

could it possibly work in real-ity

   i – don’t – know – ok

or would it operate at a deeper level?

   like i said – i – don’t

know – it’s time you did – because you never will, you never do until/unless you start to body breathe c³

   ok – i’m breathing it – i’m seeing… i’m… switching channels

at last

Hi Merry, what took you so long?

Hi Zie – God I’m slow, I apologise.

It doesn’t make sense – you’re all seeing, all knowing over here – but back there you’re wedded to the world – a complete dumbass.

Paradoxical, isn’t it.

Paradoxical? It makes no sense.

No? Why not?

It isn’t consistent – is it?

Not if you look at it rationally.

Which is the only rational thing to do.

Yes, but c³ is beyond rational-ity, beyond real-ity, beyond any thing i can say, or think or do.

It is?

Do it – breathe bodily.

I already did.

Do it again – once is not enough.

Oh come on – I’m already switched on – you were the one who was stuck in dumb resistance.

Yes i was – but now i’m calling your bluff. c³ it – let’s see.

Ok – if i must – here goes…

010101

010101

010101

010

10101

01010

00110

11001

02

03

1

0

Which is all very well Merry – but how are they going to understand any of that?

Who?

The people reading this.

What people?

All the people who follow this blog.

But where are they? Can you see them now?

No – but they’re out there somewhere – in real-ity.

Are they? Didn’t we just deal with that above?

Yes – but – I can’t just pretend the people don’t exist

Or don’t matter.

Precisely. Can i?

You can do, think or say whatever you like – but i don’t see how that makes a difference.

Huh?

Because anything you think, say or do only has traction down to the ground you’re walking on – which is limited to one side, or one half as long as you’re in your right mind here in real-ity.

Ok, ok – I see what you mean – it’s just I don’t see how c³ can get around this blockage. We still have to deal with reality, don’t we?

Alchemically. We are magic beings. We have one foot – let’s call it the left – though it may as well be the right – in other – the allegedly dream side of is, and the right leg planted here in this – the only problem being…

What?

Think.

I don’t know. 

c³ it.

Ok – that we’ve allowed the two sides to slip out of sync – out of balance.

So how am I supposed to mediate between the two?

i don’t know. it looks impossible if you use the right mind.

And you think i should avoid the right mind – i should c³ everything?

i think you should be true to your feet – left and right. you cannot take sides.

But I have to – don’t I?

Yes, if you allow rationality to hold sway.

So there’s an alternative – you’re implying.

Naturally.

Naturally. Back to nature – you mean. Forest time. Gardening. Dancing with bluebells and daffodils?

That kind of thing – if it works – but i suspect that won’t be enough.

You do?

Yes. I suspect that c³ is taking on a whole new dimension.

Oh – I see – you’re going to pull another dimension out of your hat.

I suppose I really must – as the existing ones no longer join the dots together without deviations or crossed lines.

So you need to add another layer.

No.

I thought you said you’re going to bring a new dimension into play?

Yes – here goes – here it is….   .. .   ….     .. .  …  ..  …. … . . . . . . …  ..  .  ..  . .

So it’s a dotty dimension.

Yes – I guess you could call it that.

But – what does it achieve?

When you come back to dots you no longer have a problem reconciling the conflicts between different lines of thought, or different plains.

But dots… why dots?

Because c³ teaches us that everything can be expressed as a single point… that a point, in fact, better expresses the vastness, the infinite whole than other spatial representations. Keeping it incredibly simple forces us to deal with things at ground zero level – at the level of the intersect – and intersect or interface there has to be.

Er… there does?

Yep.

Why?

Because you have a left and a right foot – because you exist on both sides of all that is – the cosmic divide between right and left – between real-ity and c³ or above and below – so it’s really just a case of breathing deep enough to feel whence the dots arise – how the dots pop in and out of space-time time-space. The breath simply won’t take sides – it holds true – as long as I breathe bodily – as long as I embrace c³ with all my heart and soul, bilaterally.

Ok, I'll give it a try. Here goes for nothing – dot dot dot [hiccup]

Smaller – you’re too big still –  . . .

Oh – I get you • • •

That’s right – nearly there

Er – I’m feeling something shift around.

Dotted i

What?

Try a dotted i instead – it’s better attuned – it’ll ease the change if i'm not mistaken 

Ok – I, I mean – darn – old habits die hard – i . i . i .

Excellent. Now let go

Let go? I’m 

you mean – i’m

Oh yes – i’m not sure i can

Naturally – c³fully

Funny – let it be – c³fully .. … …. ……. … … ..  . ..   . .. … … .. .    

Indeed

Wait – there’s more

There is?

Yes   .. .. .. ..          .. .. .. ..          .. .. .. ..                                                   .

Oh my god – you’re a poet – au naturel

i – don’t believe it – to feel is to see is to know

naturally

indeed

but what about them?

Who?

Your followers who read that blog?

Aren’t they all here dottily – or if not – they’ll find their way now that I’ve touched base – now that .. .. ..   •

Oh bravo! What wit! What synthesis! What ... . .. ..

What a wonderful world! All hail the dotted i!

Amen  

dendrites and demons

the poet in me
steps across the filaments of stars
and the oceanic wastes
of dark space
my ruby black cosmos
mistakenly referred to in English
as “space”
mistakenly, as you may have
already guessed
being chock-full
of matter
and weightiness
if only our scientists cared to know
but they have theories to uphold
theories to defend
so let them think what they will
the truth, an irascible dog
will doubtless creep up behind
and bite their collective ass
or british english “arse”
so stepping o’er the time-space debacle
with a practised nonchalance
i note how the low lying fruit has
already been snatched,
i suspect that the poet
is about to rear a shaggy
prophetic head and pronounce
as if from the blue
a new age
a new way with words
perhaps involving
parallel processing
one grows tired of linear sequencing
you know
or some other turning of the tide
affront to common
and deterministic intelligence
woe betide the faculty of reason
when words are on the march
when thoughts are jumbling
through a blender on their way
to just in time absorption
at the far end of the gastrointestinal
tract
the mind’s a synchromesh
ill adapted to biologics
the fluid dynamics of
words on the go
a natural force synergising
the dark dark matter of space
which you abhor
and rightly a-void
avoid at any cost
nay, demonise
with whiteful consciousness
until chirrup, a bolt from below
a dendritic tear in the fabric of sameyness
pum pa pum, living word
loosed from stygian depths
lets rip through the fossil fueled agency
of poem, its fish tail slapping
the face of man
before skittering out of hand
and salopping back into
the silent hallows of
exponentialities
beyond cognisance
rhyme or  or
leaving no trace
nothing
but an utterly altered
landscape
of what was assumed
and what is secretly
known

dear god
ask not what i can say or
do as man
ask only
for the shaggy wayward
brace as i
poem my soul back
back into the
broken receptacle
the sarcophagus of space
that is humankind
and finally
finally resonate
without needing
any recompense
i

betwixt hard sound

weighing the possibility
of violence
i invariably chooses
peace
do i not

tip toe tip toe
         tip toe
clackety clack
sounds stepping back
on top
as I revert to
form and ducklike
quack
henlike
cluck

in actual fact
the space between cognition
and utter inability to grasp
whatever it is
or may have been
is a chuckle's width
abreast a broken hearted
sigh
two cocks vying
to out crow the morning
sun

i go round the mute
that i would become
had i the grace to accept
the life I freely chose
had i the wit
to slip effortlessly
betwixt the pavement
gaps in my no  not that
nor that
nor that either
   nor that
or that  you know
until in the end
i lets go
and things revert to
unimpeded
untrammelled
what can only be described as
 flow

and still
i fails to pin the tail
on the pig
not for want
of i-ing
me-fully

baa
a sheep in fold i gaze
out and dream
of wolves and sweet
serendipity
in my field of consyllabic
clover

end
as you began
weighing possibility
  the
violently
if you please
rosalind