crossword

real crosswords are not done online. they are not aided with google's army of spiders marching delicately across the entire invisible world. real crosswords are done with memory and pen. ink is unerasable. this, all of this, is just an experiment. the things we say, critical moments where we choose to or choose not to act, tiredness, drunk words talked to yourself in the mirror of a bathroom, wrong picture painted, paper covered floors, misplaced t or r. these are not revokable. they might, as the patterning of motifs on canvas be resurrected in a new light and time, but words are never revokable. maybe forgettable. but no one wants that. functionality is a feather precariously placed on the tip of a ball point. ink that sticks thick to the white delicacy of its virgin prongs. i'm not sure about its origin. where the thickness first came from. but i am as words tested permanently into the porous fabric of space. a crossword. cannot hide from the lasting of words. everything is digital nowadays.

ergo ibid

we are all stuck in the twirling of the world, motionless to our loss of everyone and everything that was before. it is not just me. so many people here are stalling. putting and lurching like an angry engine to a standstill. some lacking violence are as quiet and frustrated as a sail boat with no wind. they stand there beating fists at air and cause only the slightest fanning breeze. mercury must be in retrograde. we all want what used to be, in one way or another. before The Great Forgetting things used to be intuitive and accomplishable. actions and words made more sense, or perhaps it was the motive of sense-making which was at one time a worthy cause. therefore as before. and so the emphasis tends towards the previous syllable. our gaze passes backwards even though forwards is the cause of this deprecation we cannot comprehend. we cannot place blame and we cannot find momentum. snow has fallen on our smoldering. a great snow. white and new we are covered.

the procession of that which is known

it has been a long time now since i have been taken with the beauty of science. swept up in it like a wind or scurry of soft descending paper thin summer seeds. the youthful and naïve days of pre-physics excitement faded more than a bit over the years since i have immersed myself in its splendor. though perhaps what makes Beauty so striking is its absence for long periods. it is true, a Beauty given by invisibility can be so thickly and undetectably consistent. and so this perceived absence threatened fatality, doubted my ability to see or love or feel faceless things. application is the detail in which devils live and theory is merely a crystal of application. i have learned this. my world was a series of loose strings. a piano left untuned to the weathering of time. or perhaps one of those webs spiders on acid or in space weave. a threat is the prediction of some perhaps never realized catalyst: this semester as the almost rejection of my Axiom of Faith. all i ever asked for was to want to keep working at the end of the day. all i ever wanted was happiness. was Beauty. but today, for no particular reason other than people and math, i feel it again. not a rejection nor an acceptance, vibration, or apathetic defeat. today what i feel is a satisfaction that perhaps, one day, life itself might descend like snow or fog, reach a state of equilibrium among the evening rocks and trees and have self perpetuated quietude. that is all i ever wanted.