Hi! I sometimes write, but don't know what to do with the fragments. Some are resting here, for now.
I am thinking about ice. The way it creaks. Squeaks. Creaks.
In the winter, by the lakefront with a friend: we sat by the observatory.
The ice, on the lake, was in sections. The snow dusting each edge.
And it creaked. As large things do, sometimes.
(I wonder: does water enjoy being ice?)
This year there was so little ice. It was mostly melted (into water, then).
Gone! As large things do, I am learning.
I imagine the ocean floor to have some of the grandeur (silent, deadly, large) of a glacier.
In water's pressurized depth, light is lost and trapped.
(And in cables)
In ice it is shattered innumerably.
The horizon is like a chrome ball; the height of the observed clouds condense on the edges, getting smaller, into infinity (presumably). The horizon is the surface of a ball. The horizon extends into the distance, but there is no end. It is a loop, really.
cars do not need to run through the forest, or the ocean. in these world(s) that the cars live in, the forests are contained.
or they are replaced with something that serves the cars.
or they are simply gone.
where do we fit in to the world of machines? where do i fit, except, economically, as physician or trainer, realistically as fodder, and simply as a breeding ground for soft technologies of industry and control?
where do the forests fit in?
read more here
In messianic time, the angel flies toward no place.
Bird calls
Heard 9:35:27 03/04/2023
8:29:42 03/07/2023
8:35:14 03/08/2023
16:17:32 03/11/2023
8:37:42 03/15/23
15:31:42 03/20 gulls
8:31:56 03/21
8:22:14 03/22 gull
8:57:21 crow 03/22
8:57:40 songbirds 03/22/23
17:11:23 03/25/23
it is more like i am a ghost of an organism, then. a system applied to a vessel not built for it. a function applied to a body, and the dissonance produced.
If I think of baudrillard, i am a machine who produces dissonance.