this world of dew

is only a world of dew
and yet...

-issa

i think my posts have been indicating my recent moodiness. true: i'm in an odd space, easily up and down, sensitive to all manner of trivia. the weather is brilliant, and in the park, babies are learning to walk back and forth in front of a guy playing the electric guitar. a few blocks later this guy in a truck chastises me for crossing the street on a yellow light, and even though i know it's not important, i can't stop that quick sting of embarassment.

treating everything as Mind, really testing this worldview, is tripping me up. i feel like i'm losing perspective in a very weird way -- i have a hundred ways of questioning my assumptions, all these damned rhetorical tricks of turning things around, so that i don't know what is a beginning, middle, or end of a line of thought, an argument, a feeling, what is important, what can be forfeited. to be fair, i've been engaging some heavy-hitting stuff recently -- martinis, renewed contact with once-volatile ex, 2046, bertolucci's The Conformist last night (holy crap). i've also been working on a big project i don't love for a month, and, you know, people are dying.

but this shows everything: people are dying. i keep writing this sentence. right now. now. now. i don't feel it. does the removal of illusion mean feeling it? feeling it, and then accepting it, and not feeling it again? or maybe forcing any kind of consciousness isn't the game to play, that we should be grateful for how life brings death close only in short, periodic bursts, so that moral consciousness and grief is a naturally irregular rhythm? what the fuck kind of question is this? who or what has the answer to this, can confer any kind of truth on it?

i must be trying to see suffering and its end at one time; it must be breaking my head. issa was smart and let the ellipsis hold the paradox. we all write in these units of question and answer, conflict and resolution, sitcom style, pluck out a thread and run your finger from beginning to end. i am having some weird philosophical block about conclusions, like it's not even possible. like, i can't think answers, just what's happening, just one step out from that into my self-resonance, pain or peace. everything else: i'm ignorant.

In the far, far future, essentially all matter will have returned to energy. But because of the enormous expansion of space, this energy will be spread so thinly that it will hardly ever convert back to even the lightest particles of matter. Instead, a faint mist of light will fall for eternity through an ever colder and quieter cosmos.

they put stuff like this in the newspaper, and they don't think it'll mess with people???? who has read The Cloud of Unknowing? holler.