please turn your speakers up for this one

Dear Friend
find me right here
find me
right now
I am
spellbound
gutted removed
without a past
thereby too
with no expla
nation
for my future.

mouths talk
tongues
speak
and
teeth nash
The lips are without
a function.
There are
no faces.

Swallow always
swallow.

And let your hands
do the talking;

one is no-
thing
with out
them.
lost.

The discrepancy between
one
and multiple
lives is one as well
between statehood and
change.
A fascination
with the universal singular
demands a heaven.
Attention to
the impermanence within
heat & movement
characterizes
borderlessness
and
metamorph
osis.
Thriving by the heat and cold
our dead remind us of
our living.

The truth doesn't change
the truth
is change.

An interesting discovery: the past,
comprised of memories
and
incarnate
material shifts,
can most direcly
be altered
perhaps
through our dreams.


I now
again
practice flying,
and the speed
and stamina of my run
has rewritten the
history
of my childhood character,
through a time 'relived'
for this
very purpose.

An important lesson in
日本人心理学:
the
裏表
individual stands
in distinction
to he who is
本音　・　多々前.
Unlike the latter,
whose actions
and words
remain disparate by habit, he is not burdened
by an inside
and outside,
a
front
and
back.
He exists
instead
in a single dimension,
an honesty incarnate.
From this standpoint, he lacks the

complexity
of multifarious levels
and convoluted circuitry inherent to
the permutations
within a
dichotomous structure
between
what one says and what
one does.
Instead,
he is ingrained
with the
complexity
that substitutes bureaucracy,
one that represents the non-dualist,
rhizomic
philo
sophy
of the
sayer-doer,
the ordination of the
心.

It's a
real problem
for
the
writing
prolific:
we leave
our trail
wherever
we
go
.

Just across the way
from me
there is
what appears to be
a
crematorium.
Its smoke has charred
the rim of its
column
and floats just
above
the
roofs of our houses
toward the
wall of
black mountains
nearby.
These
reach up
toward the colored
clouds,
thus simul taneously
touching life
and
passively
encountering
death,
recalling
the stature of the samurai.
Hereby the
local
morgue
feeds our
archetypal
imposition as
well as our
scenic
constitution.