My Ineffable, (:A-Sensual:)))

To begin, we close the books of our lives… we lose ourselves for a moment… to contemplate what the dance might be if we were free from our contingencies… and so we start in awkward step, imaginary, line by line… changing ourselves one step at a time so that we might find a balance in the derivative of our psyches… a parallel in the essence of our appearances… insofar as they might claim a metaphorical representation of ourselves…

And after some time in the deconstructive conflict, the steps move the imagination to present itself and we find ourselves again outpouring the intricacies of our being… what it is that makes us tick… and listening for a resonance so that we might move into the lead… mesmerized of ourselves in the eyes of other… as a full disclosure is selfless indeed and there is no reason for some other to perceive thy nuances in fair light, rather only the belief in aura must we cultivate night and day… and breathe…

We cease our conversation… we move now to the time of a silence that beckons to touch upon the seas of thought within… a tiptoe on the delicacies of our peeling emulsions… leaning on each other and unraveling… tied to the core of empty gaze… mesmerized… the mystery of other… without a word to break the silence of our understanding… sensual… curving deep and leaning in and pressing to conception of a thought… an allosensual creativity… blending the difference of other into a tapestry of self… a little death…

And thinking quite aloud… then what love must we begin… over and on over to the other side the phone… words just beckoning the abyss… and nothing even there… and still in love… with nothing… but still in love, always… taking upon ourselves a disseminating ring. 

Muchas gracias por la inspiración, Andrea Dispenziere… her dance piece, Apples and Bananas: a text duet


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, "See my voice sail into the night." - Ex Nihilo

Did thee watch the color drain my face

As thee voiced thy philosophical doubt

To the watchful airs of class?

So did thee then peer into my solitude

And take notice of the desert?

And what rain did sparkle my eyelash

When thee pulled me fast on back

From my deserted intoxication

I sweat to stave the desert that night

To keep my being moist for thy affinity

And the rain pattered the valleys

Of allosensual death

Upon our emigration from solitude

The winds tend to rise after the dark sets in

They come in off the bay

Of our umbellate memories

They come in off flights from heaven

On a darkening white

If I am lost

It is because I might not be found

Though an abstinence from the company of slaves

Preserves only innocence save truth

And solitary freedom is a deep vein

Alas we must live in step with time

And not in spite of it

Though how am I

To make it through the night

When everything is the same?

We must draw from the dark

Even in the light of day

And a funny thing that dark

Lulled to sleep in the panic

Of a candlelight oust

The machination of the ecstatic moment

Base flashback

The concerto toss

Life is teeming beautiful

Crisp and elevating the violin

Shrills to the chilling wind

Shaking the rafters

In the tidal pool reflection

A weep after the storm

As if life’s greatest ease

Were to dash it for abandon

A tangoed insurance

The poet concludes his dark dance

With a concept that stands

In the stead of reality

Within the season of light

And the naïve poet

Seeps through the dry stucco

Of analytic philosophy

A step back from meditation

Having been lost in the traces

Of fugitive gods

The imagination

The lips that pucker the channeled spirit

Lead me in

My heart beats like a melting clock

And I killed myself in my pretensions

For my reflection in a preconceived consciousness

An idealization of imperfection

A solace to what was once cowardice

Now a light at the center

Of a glass figurine

Honing thy concentration

The illumination of dust a settling

Into an angel’s caring hands

She’s saving me from a rationalized solitude

The nightly messenger of despair

And quickly the bustle

Enshrouds the color in disastrous solitaire

And poignant alienation flashing through

Heaving moments of butterflies’

Births on same alien airs

Where the colors are refracting

Upon my vanity pressing crisp

And sweet on through the infantile delicacies

Reaching dire exposure in emulsion

The silver is coagulating

In the mantra of a yearning insemination

Straight the jacket I’ll need my freedom fixed

Flourish in the brief bursts of a shackled emotive

And distilling my apathy a proper distance held in vain

Am I losing all in my exacting fortitude?

Or in my distillation of illusion?

Am I swimming faster

Than a doubt might catch me back?

I’m begging change and no more to be exact

And I’m butterflies all the same

Nothing is moving me so soon as you

So would you care to dance?

Just dance the night away in the eclectic moment… the conglomeration of a conductor’s halt on the perpetual rise… We are always moving forward… too fast too fast… to notice our descendants’ fates… and too large a gap between common sense and our well reasoned expectations…

We must make concessions of consistency if we are to invoke a genuine sense… merely dancing in the dynamic dissemination of contemporary art… entropic… lest we rise and rise again, (re-presenting) the illusion ad infinitum.

So level me if you would care, catch me if you can… a butterfly towards the airs of fate, gesturing to him.


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Rationalized Sleep Comes Lest

“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.

* Excerpted from Šariš, Copyright © 2011 Jason Greendyk


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com 

My Ineffable, A Queen of Oriental Snowdrifts

Ciao Lady Luck

Either arriving or departing

Still always moving forward

To subtle close the gaps

And stitch a tapestry of control

Into the fortunes of becoming

A steady hand to hold position…

We dwell so close to reality now… all the menagerie of our caricatures having found semblance in that which peers out from behind the reflection and all illusion is a masquerade of aura… all mystery a façade of belief… we touch close beneath the surface in the writhing of our tongues on the accents of an adopted parlance… what choice of words would have us fare well into the hush of an feigned advocacy… the arrogance a cold wind upon our heartened shelter…

And what meandering does lead us to flight back farther than tides recede in the ailing of our memory upon the repetition of our straights… what apathy alights to have us buried in the seeming of our age… our idolization of vain artistry having gutted the machinery of our intellect to the appearance of no perception might discover the reality we hold so close in our dangerous admittance slipped our mind for the parallel of truth conjoining in the selfsame illusion of our distancing…

Watch me dance my vanity and thine will be shed… the walls closing in having only fortified us despite our fears of an end… lovers closing on reality… then who are we and where are we going? 

Then, to what end would we want to answer?  What other might be listening?  Save just embrace and trace to mind the longing… moving in our distant slumber.


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Becoming of Externality

Arrested in the shifting of worlds

Barreling distance furiously

From an corporate utopian apathy

The beauty of glass panes'

Their partial reflections

Reiterating the vanity of monotony

Jittering to the last light

And caving in the swell

Pressing the juices of our burgeoning

Day in day out pressing further an internalization of machination... the evening groaning in our alighted eyes and the sensuality an atrophy of our discussion... a lingering distillation... and burning reluctantly for the tongues of saturated being to tingle the eclipse of nerves in the wake of capitalistic distance...

Even into the deeper reaches of provocative enunciation the residue of our dry linguistic pinches as a rosethorn... marking the contraction of our veins like the many rivers of thought forgotten on the passing airs of focus... the contingencies of artistic nuance revoked in the nurture of consistency...

All the very best... an externalized contingency of good faith in fortunes born to internal drums... the rhythm of sexuality comprised in the strain of sunken eyes always reaching through the feckless drift of night for the dear enlightening of dawn... a stark sobriety that the sun will rise again and again no matter thy passing on.

We must externalize the psychologizing internalization in the repossesion of our age to stave the lack and pair a trace of our becoming... the wrinkles of an afterthought condensed in the relief of a moment... a disbursement of our residual hesitations to the growth of our adornments... breathe light in need and we must fade until the morning of a sleeping revolution... the sun forever circling...

Impetus.


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Población Flotante

The humid air of life in kindling

Teasing the structure had born a stifle

Lapping the onyx stone

Of a steady pace

And overlooking Bohemian haste

In a nomadic consistency

A floating population hanging dear on the strands of an electronic nervous system… for life, perpetual solitary improvisation… flamenco à la ciudadanía… à la corporación.  The branding of the self with the image of corporate elegance… in the dissemination of directive idea throughout an internalized tightrope web of externalized contingencies…

And the world vibrates in these details… the corporate entity of persona a stark weight in the air… perpetually lagging just behind the present at best and continually evoking a credence in solidified progress… the most dire illusion… progress rather the most ephemeral, nomadic element of dynamic constitution… always moving and just out of sight… continually evading real time like a masterful escape artist.

The progression of the modern nomad dwells in a shifting conceptual landscape in the semblance of a moment.  Straining to close the gaps of the past and consistently working towards an ineffable future, a perpetual horizon… The modern world no longer exists as such… it is incessantly becoming to an image branded in the consolidated moment, losing ground.

Stillness is a bore… ay, but where are we to contemplate, moving forward?


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, Philosophia

…

“And still skating by the concept

Vicarious assimilation of life

Lingering ephemeral

Thine eyes reflect my self obsession

My awkward silent hues

A forced epitome for structures’ sake

Evoked in concept ghosts of dreams

Shrieking underground

And losing sense of delineated time

To abandon (her/sense/time)

Is the commission of suicide

I’ve no reason to believe

But enjoy the life of night

Its ringing

And ringing”*

… and ringing louder still in the silence of a moment crossing worlds.  Philosophie the flittering trivial nonsense that you’ve abolished in the want of things.  In authenticity, strung to the values of a waste.  The power of the people contained in our aspirations. 

But in the language is an emancipation of this people’s strength.  A backdrop of silence the impotency of word as in legal confrontation.  All a veil of poetry.  We must rather measure our translation as a silence filling sound.  Overcoming the gods of sense and their superstitious ruse that confines our language to our written codes…

Again…

“I do believe

That in the pit the darkest core

Of western rationality

Is the quiet of the eastern shore”**

… the dissolution of corporate personhood an incessant reiteration, that is both legally defined and culturally incorporated in the language of a free people, as if freedom were too much to bear, too light to grasp.

Alas, we must not be cowards when we make our lace to the airs of our externalized humanity.  Rather, we must persistently embrace new life… bien, bien… à bientôt.

*Excerpted from Tango de la Materia, Copyright © 2011 Jason Greendyk

**Excerpted from Šariš, Copyright © 2011 Jason Greendyk


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com