Ok Will, - and pretending people are watching, we call prayer - I'm going to give you one uncut. You play polisher. The bit you can't do is see the words. Hear them. Breathe them. I'll give you the stream, you freeze it.
REM:- START STREAM
Here is the secret. Man is clay. Mind models. Minds are in man. Breath is life. On reflection. Now you can breathe life into clay. It is not genius, it is forgery. As Venter forges life. You have to be able to see unichromatically. Then you can make the rainbow. It's one brush. There are no separate colours. You think there are separate colours. That's why you look them up. Collect the names. You will never paint. You can carry no light.
Quicker
Now look. The word doesn't make the colour, the colour makes the word. In the beginning was the colour, and the word wasn't there. That is why there are more words for colours, than there are colours for words. But there is no colour. That is why there is only one language. If you can't read it, you can't write it. Thus it is written.
Now listen. How could there be separate colours? What could separate them? Only I. How could Beethoven hear when he was deaf? Because he was never deaf. In heaven no one hears.
Random. Geist is a lovely, pregnant word. It has triplets. Add Zeit and you play abortionist. Hit the anvil too hard and the sparks will fly away. Faster than the glitter-fly, buzz to see the compound lie, I could make this unify.
REM:- STOP STREAM
Now polish. Polish for the NewtonKeats combo-weave. If you over-polish you will gain the world, but lose the soul. That's what that means. I'd say you should be able to put that 4 second stream into 4 lines. Do it right, and you'll see beauty. See if you can do it. I lied when I said I was going to do it for you. It's all plagiarised, but there are no marks for noticing.
Tuesday, 1 May 2012
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Beauty is truth, truth beauty...magnificent. Keats himself would admire.
ReplyDeleteThought! Tame your taxa with a lawful line.
ReplyDeleteMatch set. Invent disguises ever fine.
Laugh! Love and Beauty join the play of sorts.
Word never captures what her game of calling courts.
The more ways we see to divide,
ReplyDeleteThe flowsnake finer ways doth hide.
Four lines? Right, a challenge...
ReplyDeleteA perfect form? Thought despatched.
For with such conceits we are unmatched.
Messy, uneven, rough-hewn desires;
Crushed into spheres: re-named and admir'd.
Takes longer than 4 seconds tho'!