CosmiKnot

It occurs to her that everything she thought was thought is only the surface of things. Thoughts being opinions or judgements that is. You may think you think something and let your mind meander round the thought to pull it into focus and line up with the post rational view point until it feels like something you feel. And yet what if you decide to blur out these kinds of   thought and simply feel she thought? The thoughts then become like the gravel on a driveway, which looks to the eye like a smooth surface but you can dig down a few inches to a lower level but still it remains a surface, albeit one with a shallow depth. What if really real life is the event below these thoughts accessed by actual feeling but because we are so convinced by the veracity of linguistic reason we find a way of determining that this is real life and within that shallow surface we can find the statements and equations to prove it.     Growing up she had not worn hearing aids and a modera...

  I’m reading a book called The Night library and have been enjoying it until I got to this part where they are repeating humans this and humans that. Humans simplify things because the complexity of the quantuum wave function is too much for the brain to handle. Hence we create a simple narrative. In the book the librarian in the between life and death region is the narrator’s simplification of a god narrative. It struck me that this is     total bifurcated thinking with a complete blindness to the faith in the separated state of sciencification, which deems that there is the scientific reality that humans encounter and process. The truth is that we are part of the region we perceive and therefore our stories are also part of the region. Our own singular experience is part of the region expressing itself. The book goes on to discuss the multiverse and I must admit this is a theory I have enjoyed but now find myself wanting to call it out as a bullshit fantasy that is the...

  And so you have passed your driving test whereas yesterday you were a learner driver today you are a driver. A wiseman with a clipboard asks you to read the number plate. He recites the words: I'm happy to tell you you've passed. The carcass of the prey lies flayed on the tarmac. Steam rising from its innards. The world around the shopping centre begins to come to life. I am a driver you think raising a hand to touch the blood smeared on each cheek. Clunk click every trip only a fool breaks the two second rule. Yesterday you were a novice driving with a scarlet letter and now you are a driver in charge of your own destiny turning the key in the ignition reversing off the driveway into the stream of life. Fuck you wanker Have some of that It's all second nature now The guilt gilded trauma the dashboard certainty it's all there waiting for you  to slip into neutral.  

   Oh let us go to Greenwich you and I And see the origin of time The place where seconds were first discovered   Bubbling up like hic-ups in grey mud covered Up on that there hill  overlooking Olde Father Thames And later hours were found Once they had a powerful  Embroidered large handkerchief To wipe the sweat from the brows  of nearby weary tradesmen whose job was to surface the roads; To help the passage of time  flow more seamlessly.   Oh let’s go to Greenwich you and me Where the river tide flows out Towards the sea And the baby in its buggy Grows whiskers on her cheeks Whilst the museum assistant Makes sure no one speaks As he takes stock in the corner Who left him in charge Of the gold leaf flotilla And the funeral barge?    

  Oh Lordie troubles so hard, on the way to the hospital we listen to young Moby I mean he was younger when he had recorded the album in his New York apartment With what we might now consider to be primitive electronic sampling equipment And an anachronistic but quintessentially of its time electronic piano Perhaps, I speculate, it was this very primitivism that helped him to entangle with his terrain via the refrain, a milieu of the soul. He was  plundering  updating the field recordings of African American gospel folk songs My father loved Lead Belly and would sing me his version of Cocaine Blues along with the Dust Pneumonia to lull me to sleep My Father’s versions of these songs are my favourites and yet they do not appear anywhere on Youtube Lead Belly’s are the closest thing I can find I believe that the timing and social context of when you first encounter a song determine your qualitative processing of its value. On our way to see you on the respiratory ward we ar...

  Into the valley by The Skids   Driving past the village pond Perhaps we would have brought you here Though that chapter has ended The one that began with me crouched  In front of the B&W portable tv In your and mum’s bedroom Taping Into the Valley of the Dolls by Generation X Onto my very own radio-cassette The one with a five-pin din for recording LPs The end of an era  Was it on vinyl? Ready steady go - you’re not ready to go you tell us You would like a nice cold beer You want to look at a smiling face I can’t make any more analogies anymore To explain the hard-plastic oxygen mask  Clamped to your face Twisting it out of shape Nippy the friendly CO2 level monitor Bleeping and warning us as you struggle  To be understood through the membrane. The priest with his yellowing well  Thumbed liturgical guidebook Thrown in out of his depth A sage fisherman’s sweater clinging to his paunch Falling with us down the log plume I see your face as we are su...

  It’s been a bit of a week From clear plastic straws up each nostril To full deep-sea helmet through which you strain to speak Together we face the nearing impossible   Father am I forgiven Your mask has made me deaf You look like David Niven Diving to your death   Life is a matter of imagining The meaning in its moment Stretched across the wide screen Like the arrows of the bowmen   Suspended for eternity Above the cosmic ocean Your dreadful looks could murder With love and devotion   And now round the ring you stagger Absorbing each and every blow Before you I see a dagger When you gotta go you gotta go   So suspend the disbeliever The tank has nothing left You look like David Niven  diving to his death   The projector beam it flickers The consultant can’t save you with his bell It’s nearly time to still your beating ticker Inside the blue curtained family cell   To the hospital we’d driven Through the forest of unrest Now you look like Da...