Tag Archives: writing

Movements

22

Are we racing back towards our beginning, entranced in futures-past, is tomorrows technology the high priestess, the culmination point, is time seeding itself from branch to root, from the earth to the heavens, are we working our way back through the archives of an encrypted code entombed in the earth to establish telemetry within the heavens or are we moving forward through the heavens to re-establish communications within the earth. Will we stay within digital dreams forever or settle back into analog notions, could we be entangled in-between two strings, not knowing which end to untie and which to tie together.

If the shoe fits don’t where it.

Time bending upon the axis of a circle squared.

Tripping over the laces of reality.

Walking without rhythm the bear feet feel the drum of the earth.

Yet wearing the socks of logic makes winters frost warm the toes.

The square gives pause and boundary to the circles curvature.

Cornering on the right angles of reason.

Walking in step to feel the measure of the heavens.

Paradox is a mother fucker. The end. Or maybe the beginning.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Jorinde Voigt

http://butdoesitfloat.com

Hemispheric Personality Test

tumblr_npzzb4aIDe1tntnzio1_1280

If A was B and B was A. If each shared their respective crafts, their dreams, myths and imaginations, their observations, calculations and reservations. If logic went out dancing with an axis unknown, if an unknown axis found its pivot, what world would we live in, one of fear and denial, tilted to the curvature of a world slipping off its own edge, or one of love and acceptance, wobbling and counter balancing in daily rotations to find its center.

Does imagination conjure reason in as much as reason conjures imagination?

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Arjan Janssen

http://butdoesitfloat.com

Flipping The Coin

tumblr_np9mrom1Bw1tntnzio1_1280

Are the roots of spirituality, mythology, alchemy, philosophy, religion and science beyond mere self-driven or self-interested improvements of oneself? Is it by our greater involvement of attempting to climb these immense mountains, to become an adept, to learn more of oneself and the self’s place within this world and that of possibly other worlds, implicitly implying that the adepts are wanting to know what is other than themselves. So the seekers can begin to work more symbiotically within these world(s), within these patterns of the human and more than human world(s).

If by wanting to know oneself is simply wanting to know others. Then by creating this narrative the adepts study and practice of science and spirit is the disciplined art of both sympathetic and empathetic relating and connecting with that self and that other. In doing this we are engaging in a form of passionate, driven inquiry creating a form of altruism. Aptly coined both Science-Spiritus, science breathing the spirit, Heads or Spiritus-Science, the spirit breathing science, Tails. We are all engaged in a balance of opposites most likely fully enveloped in a strange, yet relatable living paradox, wether we wish to acknowledge this or not. By accepting our ignorance within the various religions, philosophies, spiritualities and sciences we can and will a have greater chance of succeeding in our search for answers, at least possibly on a individual level.

Spiritus Lenis is soft breathing is the spiritual or mythical internal aspects of oneself.

Spiritus Asper is hard breathing is the scientific or logical external aspects of oneself.

If we allow ourselves to practice both sides or ways of knowing within science and spirit, or find others on opposing sides to remain in constant dialogue with, then we are in  engaging in a process of activism by keeping a bridge between these two worlds. For the betterment of those worlds and all the variable contents within them.

It doesn’t really matter what I believe or what you believe, what matters is that we can keep talking.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Arjan Janssen

http://butdoesitfloat.com

The search for reason ends at the shore of the known; on the immense expanse beyond only the sense of the ineffable can glide.

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…

– Abraham Joshua Heschel, 1990

ARTISTIC CONVALESCE

collage50

 

Art can be seen as the manipulation of perception into form. As artists we can only attempt to craft something that not only speaks to that of ourselves, but to others in such a way that opens them up to a new sense of fidelity and understandings of themselves and their world. Wether by facing some harsh truth, swallowing of denial, or by feeling compassion and the wealth of beauty pigmented on the page before them, possibly reflecting back some sense of gnosis or understanding. No matter what creative form or lack of form an artists comes upon to shape and mold, even if it is formless, as in a meditation, or the orality of spoken language crafted into a story, or the immeasurable immensity of which we call music, I believe it can still root itself in a form, root itself in the heart of the listener.

As we pass through galleries, street corners, skim through books, or digital bits of information trailing images across a lighted screen, it is up to us as observers wether we consider ourselves artists or not, to discover what we will. The art itself wether visual or written possibly does not hold enough innate ability in its occurrence to fully or always impact the viewer as much as when the viewer holds his or her respective candle up and within their own creative, subjective, imaginative or objective capacities they gaze upon the mysterium within its expression, to then illuminate the art for themselves in their own personal way of knowing or gnosis. So it is up to the artists to create the stage, but it is up to the observers to walk out upon it.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Elfie Kalfakis

https://elfiekalfakis.com/visual-art/collage/

Art is a Verb, that needs to hear an echo

img_0651

High Art, I believe you were mistaken in your deceit, of an occurrence bleeding symmetries upon a page. What is praised, is lost , if not gifted and given by an authentic gaze. You call them doodles, scratches against the wall, possibilities for perfection. I think you are to humble, I call them the most High. I say your Art was expressed in a form worth sharing as soon as it left your mind and trickled down to the patient hand that circles its emotive and creative nuances like storms, Great Storms, caught in the eye of some drifting falcon, allowing for errors and triumphs to pool together to invoke a feeling not just in yourself of alignments to steady your flight, but any who would choose to witness the same for themselves. To be so bold and put your Art out into the Great Storms of this world is much better than to cage it and allow to it settle, as many have and always well. Dying in some notebook, left in the dark corners of an attic, only to be revived in the eyes of a child sifting through the tattered remains trying to settle and see why the artist had to leave so soon in the ambulance, before being fully acknowledged for their impressions left upon this world, as we are forever indebted to the ongoing processions of the forgotten artists as they walk across this stage.

-Josh Fleming

Image by and poem inspired by: PMu ink, Echo

https://pmuink.com

In Other News

1e423a6de611eaea720c5383868b23b9

In other News today a incredibly cute kitten was born, Paws, it reached up and tore out the writhing heart of its owner, an innocent child lay dead. Born unto a world sick and transfixed by its own progress, as the human-animal that stood ever so tall, yet dared itself not to peer out over its own prison wall. Into that thinning periphery to see its world become an apparition of itself, as the dark tower crumbles without foundation. The next morning the dew returned and a flower arrived, with no man and no woman in sight to smell its appearance or gaze into its mystery. It continued its path to speak to the sun and speak to the moon, yet it always wondered what it would have been like to hear them speak in return.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Unknown Alchemist

Programming

images

The virtual becomes the actual, upon the axis of a screen never tilted away from the viewing lens, of that deadening eye, blood soaked, weeping, puss lurking from its cataract tombs. As the dead digital fish lay rancid and rotting on the banks of river never meeting the sea. Pixelated bits of information starving for that color of green that was forgotten in its re-visioning, the smell of an hour gone by in the backyard with the whip of the wind through the trees and smoke in the fire, simple worship of a memory never had. As the arc of and measure of our trees are now stacked upon servers rooted in the banks of a dissonant integrity. Polyform integrated values of language morph symbols into the actual, not unlike our ancestors that first scribed letters on the dark stone walls. The ever changing appearance of a world insulated and enslaved by its way of self-directed communications. Not that we should stop talking, but rather that occasionally we should also attempt in listening, without giving it a name, but allowing to enter our hearts and become known in a language that will not be so easy to speak of, but that may allow us to see ourselves before the path. Walking out again from our cave.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Unknown Alchemist