February 23, 2009

Black Corridor

Space is infinite, it is dark
Space is neutral, it is cold
Stars occupy minute areas of space
They are clustered a few billion here
And a few billion there
As if seeking consolation in numbers
Space does not care, space does not threaten
Space does not comfort
It does not speak, it does not wake
It does not dream
It does not know, it does not fear
It does not love, it does not hate
It does not encourage any of these qualities
Space cannot be measured, it cannot be
angered, it cannot be placated
It cannot be summed up, space is there
Space is not large and it is not small
It does not live and it does not die
It does not offer truth and neither does it lie
Space is a remorseless, senseless, impersonal fact
Space is the absence of time and of matter.

February 17, 2009


A civilisation is a struggle to keep self-control, and in this it is like some great tragic person, some Niobe who must display an almost superhuman will or the cry will not touch our sympathy. The loss of control over thought comes towards the end; first a sinking in upon the moral being, then the last surrender, the irrational cry, revelation—the scream of Juno’s peacock.

W.B. Yeats, "A Vision".

Solar and Lunar. A universe composed of dichotomy upon dichotomy, worlds of contradictory opposites. Existence divided into innumerable hemispheres. An inexorable dualism of all things. Emergent is the ultimate symmetry, an unfathomably intricate arc limitless on one plane of existence but finite on the other. The impending upheaval; coalescence of mythologies and prophecies of this millenium. Everything shall simultaneously turn on its axis and time will continue unfolding with no restrictions or boundaries. The gyres of history will continue to revolve and a circle shall remain a circle: inviolable as it always was and always will be.

Humankind and its civilisation represent a mote of dust suspended in this vast yawning abyss of voided substance. At the pivotal instant of equilibrium when the new cycle begins and the old one ends utter reality will be loosed upon living things and they shall know its horror in that moment. The everpresent duality that surrounds them all will become terrifyingly apparent and the belated conclusion will be figured.
This is true Mathematics; the spanless geometry of all matter which is itself encircled by the coil of self-digesting time. Everything perceived by the living is finite: it has a birth and a death. Time is not subject to such schematics, and therefore the living are subject to its motions. Its gradual, universe-twisting gyrations.

The gyres! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;
Things thought too long can be no longer thought,
For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth,
And ancient lineaments are blotted out.
Irrational streams of blood are staining earth;
Empedocles has thrown all things about;
Hector is dead and there’s a light in Troy;
We that look on but laugh in tragic joy.

Dove and Swan. Being and Non-Being. Solar and Lunar.