Someone took the scissors from the print room at work.

Someone left a passive-aggressive note to ask for their return.

Someone returned the scissors and created a metaphysical dilemma.

Where are the scissors?

Have they ever moved?

Where am I?

What is this place?

How can we be sure what we are seeing is real?

What is my relationship to something I perceive?

Do I create the scissors or do the scissors create me?

Why am I shaking?

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Where are the scissors?

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Comic

Sketch for a Superman

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Writing

It is

Blessed are those who seek 

what they can’t see

Some mumbling bumbling 

category.

 
Jewelled demons claw at you

They speak without voice

Only need a few dollars

Employer of choice.

  

If it hides, light its darkness

If it fights, set it free

No actor can act 

what a being can’t be.

  

The dancers deceive us

Sweet night set us free

This turbid green liquor 

Herein lies the sea

  

Open the window

Take in the air

Bathe in the lamplight

Reject every care

  

Concrete and fences

All guide your way home

But it’s too late

And it feels late

Because it is late

And we commiserate that

In the end

We’re all

on 

  

our 

  

  

own

  

 

 

But that’s ok. 

  

Sensate 

Annihilate

Gate, gate, paragate

 

Infinite

Devoid of hate

Or was it something that I ate?

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photos, Writing

Golden Man

Little golden man,
where are you running?
There’s nowhere to be,
up on your shelf.
Your wicker basket
weighs no more than you
And is just as precious,
not precious at all.
Little golden man,
with a hat for a head
Tell me your treasure,
“No treasure at all”.
Ah, now I see,
So very precious,
Not a dead insect,
The moth deserved more.
Thwarted by glass,
And forgotten by sunshine,
The flowers of spring,
Mean nothing at all.
Dust in the morning,
Disrupted by black birds,
The garden is dirty
(Not dirty at all)
Electricity’s out
A solar light charges
Anticipate nighttime
Compete with the moon.
No work can be done
No internet blinking
No wisdom forthcoming
The moth died to soon.
Little gold man
Gilded in nothing
We’ll empty your basket,
This verse is for you.

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Writing

Prophetic Desolation

When the world is stripped of uses
tomorrow wake and find
a fate with no excuses
a past you can’t rewind.

Forget those lapping waters
that island in your mind
for ignorance is golden
(but resale value is unkind).

Breathe in dust
Skin, nails, rust
stagger on
remember us.

You did just what
you had to do
you could do no other
you you you.

And nothing
More
And nothing
Less
And silence in the wilderness.

Is this the end?
(this is the start)
this act’s unwritten
live your part.

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Writing

Your thought for the day

Throughout our lives our experiences and social interactions shape our modes of being and our opinions.  For some of us these opinions become rigid, mentally isolated from the flux of being which originally gave them form.  This inflexibility will cause conflict to arise in this shared world of ours – but do not fret.  It is not difficult to change somebody’s mind.  All you need is some patience, a little time and a mad surgeon with some serious blades and a co-operative or sufficiently restrained brain donor.  Never give up on people.  And if you’re really ambitious you can follow Ghandi’s advice and “be the change”.  Change a mind, change a life (or two).

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Writing

Existence Stage Left

“Know Thyself” – Delphic maxim

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“No Thyself” – Gautama Buddha

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“Know why self” – Deleuze (postmodern retort)

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“No wine shelf” – IKEA (kitchen cupboard)

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So, here’s the truth about critical existentialism:

It’s all pun and games until someone loses an I.

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