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After love

So whose fault was it?

The one who betrayed the shared delusion or the one who failed to acknowledge the delusion wasn’t shared?


Jeni inspired this one too. By provoking me.


Off label

To say it didn’t go according to plan would be supreme understatement if there had been a plan to begin with. Have I ever been able to conceive of the achievements, failures, wonders and intensity to come?

I suppose there’s been an ever-shifting long-term goal. To somehow come to know or feel or understand or have or experience or perceive or encompass or be everything there could possibly be. I reached it too. By realising how ridiculous my very concept of such a thing is.

Mostly I’ve been fortunate to avoid ambition and all the limitations it imposes.


I’d like to ride the boundaries of reality but have no idea where they are or if they exist.


circle of flowers
am i the first to realise
or am i the last


You strained your muscles

you propagated your ideas

you expressed your inspiration

you nurtured your progeny

you led your people

Still the world reflects pain, suffering, decay, injustice, loneliness and emptiness

but now it looks more like yours


stop tugging myself
tightening the is/is-not
let is and ought be

Little faith

I don’t know you. I know a bunch of assumptions and labels and hopes and fears I project and assemble into the model of you I interact with. Or pretend to. It’s not as if I could incorporate you into my reality. I can’t even do that with me.

I don’t know how you experience love or time or pain or lemon-flavoured or red. But I think there really are those things. And that stripped even of the experiences there’s experience itself. Consciousness. That even when you let go all individual difference; all POV; there’s an irreducible subjectivity underlying lived reality. That it’s the same for all and therefore pointless to individuate. Compared to what? Unconsciousness? But I have no objective basis for the belief. I’ve never experienced objective consciousness. So I guess it’s a faith, no matter how real it feels. I think there’s ultimately a you that’s no different to me. Or anything else. That subject and object, cause and effect, are emergent and insufficient.

But even if I am you it doesn’t mean I know you. To know something is to possess it. You can’t own things. Not even yourself.

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