Tag Archives: Death

Juxtapositions

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Allow the nights intelligence to drift in and through your headdress, removing feathers that hold to much weight, moon whispers under spoke and wheel, lights gathering dust. Allow the days intelligence to break your slumber, sun scattering leaves, dreams piled to high upon your shoulders.

This is how we walk in and through the two towers, the darkness holds the candle as much as the light retains its shadow. It is in the space between that we may find truth.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Unknown

The Net

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A net that is so big can never catch the scales of single trout, to behold its glistening diamonds parading the infinite values of light from its sun. A net that is so big can never catch a life wanting and waiting to be slowly reeled out into its depths to learn of its appearance in its pond. To surface with dignity and courage, to be reeled back towards that end. Yet to fight, not in fear but in love, as you are pulled to that silent bank and flayed open in that blinding light, gasping for breath not in fear but in love.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Unknown Alchemist

Live

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Some say the worlds on fire, I say its been burning for sometime. Some say we must stay attached to the fetal monitors, I say sometimes enough is enough. Some say you must be involved in the many affairs of this world, I say to be in bed with one mistress is more than we can afford. As if before the daydream theaters were attached to our lungs we negotiated our terms with any better insights. To be of the space we are in, acknowledging a presence vaster than our own, to work within this caulk outline, this mortal hunting ground. To address all the things we would rather stay censored. As we extend our attenuated gaze at all the worlds problems, fear and worry become the thickening blood, as the feeding begins. Your own malevolent tumors are expanding. As you tend to that flicking flame of static, a warmth that never would come, the droning hum begets its lonely passengers at the centre of its passive controls. Its final directive is its capacity to pacify, to reflect back a version of life painfully edited and ended on a live stream, that everybody forgot to watch.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Unknown  Alchemist

“The Search for reason ends at the known; on the immense expanse beyond it only the sense of the ineffable can glide. It alone knows the route to that which is remote from experience and understanding. Neither of them is amphibious: reason cannot go beyond the shore, and the sense of the ineffable is out of place where we measure, where we weigh. We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore. Citizens of two realms, we all must sustain a dual allegiance: we sense the ineffable in one realm, we name and exploit reality in another. Between the two we set up a system of references, but we can never fill the gap. They are as far and as close to each other as time and calendar, as violin and melody, as life and what lies beyond the last breath.”

-Abraham Joshua Heschel

 

Rumination’s On The House Of Spheres:

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A Discourse On The Nature Of Things

A Manifesto of Humor and Its Place as Possibly the Highest Form of Philosophical Reasoning and Knowing

If ever you come upon some quieted suspicions, that maybe, just maybe the Universe(s), is just merely an accidental expression of itself, or a fucked up physics experiment in the lab of some alien adolescents basement, a conversation between a madman and deranged woman, a monocular-myopic all seeing eye-grey bearded overlord, a polyphasic panoply of interchanging waves and particles-expressions of a flower and seahorse, or of a Hindu and Canadian, or a frisbee stuck upon the roof, that becomes a belief system constructed possibly under the influence of mind-bending intoxicates and recreational sport, aptly called “Frisbeetarianism: the belief that when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck.”, or an explosive corrosive interpenetration of hostel and loving forces of which we have to attempt to mitigate, by syphoning and straining the alchemical bad bloods with that of good, or possibly that it is all of these things and much more, possibly that it holds or contains or rearranges its many houses, just as we shed our sense of fashion statements, possibly it has one of the most, dare I say dark, witty, loving, adaptive, creative, imaginal and ever expansive sense of humor(s) than you or I could ever afford to grasp, then at least your suspicions may rest in the moments of your most uproarious laughter that floods your every vein, as all the rivers, tributaries and streams of your being collapse together in a precious moment of spontaneous acceptance of that very moments occurrence, the kind of laughter thats painful in the gut, that makes you weep, and stretches a smile across your entire being. The kind of moment that can be found not only in laughter, but in silence, in dream, in conversation, in creative explorations of art and science, in religions and spiritualities, in the birth of a child, in learning how to walk tall again, the kind of moment when all of the Adams-Atoms and Eves-Electrons come together to say hello and that your doing just fine, to keep up the good work, to honor this sense of expression, that is a form of quasi-zen-enlightenment in that in the moment of full on engagement, the worries, doubts, and theories, all fuck off and allow you and possibly that of others surrounding to participate in a shared sense of much needed unity and in a compassionate attentive, “Creative-Expression” of release and containment.

At the end of any manifesto worth its weight I believe a belief system should be constructed in its honor and then quickly burned away in a effigy of itself before any one person could fatally-choke or swallow the contents, thereby absorbing a distorted sense of nutrition that becomes a diet and not a medicine, reorienting its meaning, internalizing some half-truth to lead them upon, walking their thoughts out on a leash, pissing on anyone else’s fire, anyone else that thinks otherwise.

In lieu of creating a proper cultish-religious-unorganized architecture I have developed a concept that may be used I believe without any unwanted side-effects, yet please consult your own self-reflective questioning authoritarian of a maturated perfectly groomed sense of ego, or even your astral-ass-hole brother or sister of a soul before administering these words.

To be of Creative-Humorousa is to simply be a part of being a humorousa-disciplinarian or of Humorousive-Disciplinarianism, whereby any entity is allowed to freely and openly engage in the activity of divining compatible humorousive qualities which may corrode or degrade divisive, cynical, or proper-reality sets, to interchange ideas and values, to shape-shift into the seat of your opposite or enemy and say damn I see your point, but I don’t find your chair that comfortable, or just to simply laugh at your inability to fully grasp even the concepts as they dribble off your chin, its also respecting and expecting a return from laugher, to take seriously your work in this life, to move towards some creative legacy that is of your own making, but to also occasionally to enjoy Saturday Morning Cartoons and Sugar Coated Cereals, further more Susan I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised that they all were smoking themselves in the pipe of their own making, to be of and in this Creative-Humorous Temple is to hold a suspicion of beliefs, but welcome any possible faith(s) to instruct or reorder your present syntax, if you are in need of such a tune-up to be performed, a balancing of worn out tire treads, as the roads of life are gravely, dusty and full of shitty pot holes and also full of opportunities that can only exist and present themselves within the same dirty pools laying stagnate in the shitty pot holes of existence itself, for in and along these roads is where we may learn of love through hate, learn of life through death, learn of light through darkness, always try and remember that life and existence maybe of a humorous yet disciplined view of unfathomable creation(s), this may allow you to better adapt to various reality subsets as you continue to wind down your path. So make sure not to forget your “towel”,  for it will be deep, you are going to get wet and very cold in the process, of learning how to swim, but you eventually will find some shore to rest upon for awhile, to warm you bones and to contemplate by the fire of your own making, then to shed yourself of that old skin and swim naked and freely back into that abyss.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by the Music of: RUSH

Image of: Stockhausen performing at Expo ’70, West German Pavilion, Osaka, Japan, 1970.

Failure To Communicate

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This is not a place to spoil and rot, heaven has seeded such bounty, it grows out from within all things. Patient are the small gods, yet their wrath is a horrorshow, bloody pools of darkend memories still clutch the back of the cave. Respect reciprocates respect, compassion resuscitates wisdom. Blunted blades can slay no rough beast, we must face the animal with tooth and nail. Wrestle it down from its high perch, tame its fire, remove its cowering shell. Left stripped of all its defense, so it may become apart of its story, rather than be a part of its failure. A scattered fossil, or a living relic, let us not be a mistake in evolutions craft.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Morgan Herrin

http://www.morganherrin.com

Terror

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We are afraid of the Forest, when in fact there are more squirrels and butterflies than bears or mountain lions. Fear stokes the pen that forges the sword, bombs have expiration dates, corporate interests have debts to pay and revenues to seek. The War on Terror, better than any War on Drugs, Death and Taxes, Money and Greed, Control and Power. We are feed lies, our stomachs turn in disgust and rage, yet we continue to open wide for the next spoonful.

If we were to destroy, to crush all of our enemies, both foreign and domestic, extremists and major world powers, the well would dry and the crops would fail, so much influence and gold rests on the weights of a scale that has been rigged, an endless war has been waged, to maintain the status quo, we shall reap all that we sow.

-Josh Fleming