“And at the end of thought of dance alone
There is an answer that evades us
The blessed dawn selfsame
Love does fold its wings at the close
It’s rising forest
Burning to the ground
And rustling like leaves on the Himalayas
There were three lights
At the fall of the full moon harvest
A holy trinity
Hollow beauty incorporated”*
So carry on thy business in the pretentious residue of emotion… as if all
humanity were just the same, same mechanism, same machination, different
strokes of the brush… lovers with no hesitation until the other perceives
hesitates… the awkward step in the dance that gives light to the intellect, as
without only a shedding of grace perpetually… the empty shell of a controlling
abstract…
The corporate model of the human is the hollow pit of western rationality…
the nothing hidden in the layers… the silence in the midst of the continuous
resurrection of computerized sentiment… and the iteration of the machine in the
person whom initially precedes and whom becomes a facsimile of itself… a clash
of humanities…
And they’re cage dancing on Wall Street in the prevailing materialism of
the age, making concessions to legitimacy in the interest of cooperation and in
attempt to trim brief that from which philosophy extends… as at the darkest
core of western history, at the logical end, any further thought is merely a
regression and this is contrary to the progressive motive in a profiteering
sense, natural to a western mind in disposition…
It seems the progress of the status quo is as perennial as the grass, love,
long and moving reiterations and as such the contemporary philosopher’s dance
should be a mockery of its dress, a cowardly clinging to the abandoned shells
of historical maxims in the connotation of a courageous essence while in the
midst of a saving hand, the invisible machination of self that wishes to forget
what it is to be human, not being toward death on the baptismal branding of
ontological intoxication… but rather moving towards life, reaching for the sky
from the burning canopy of forest… we must learn to fly!
Not face our fear of heights in looking down… as the ground is a western
lullaby upon the invasion of the east… and at last it is so quiet here…
I can listen to your heart beat.
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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