Root Cap

The Web of Life

It will be unmistakable (finally!) when it comes in its careful violence, in its profane ceremony, in its sanctified hunger. The dark touch will satisfy an excess of love.

Generosity demands sacrifice.

The Generous Coyote

If charity is what love becomes when we are dead, than death is where all life goes to give again. We eat love in life, so in death, become its nourishment.

 

The Small Becomes Us All

We will not question Effect, or attenuate the significance of its progenitor. What we will suggest is that the important Effect effects its cause. The child its mother, the river its sea, the leaves it seed. A flower, the fly that feeds, the fly that feeds, the tree it will never meet.

Thus each of us will effect what it is our Sun will become.

Plato in the Wind

Reality defies the transcendent, dismisses the perfect, makes a mess of the eternal, enjoys the promise of the infinite, celebrates the mutable (this song of the mire), knows itself by cause & effect, and in spite of its many constraints, aspires to an excess of freedom. Reality is weather-like in its moral confusion, ambiguous intentions, sifting interests, contentious identities & provocative vagueness. Hopeful because of its athletic spontaneity, deceived as often by its avariciousness. Led darkly astray by extreme “self-interest”, redeemed by its sunny generosity.

An entirely fecund enterprise consumed by the pleasures of increase. An entanglement of the endeavoring infinitesimals that people the universe & teach us how to be creaturely.

Reality is beset with revisions which are themselves the ingenious fortuity of stars. Most keenly felt amid their extravagant beauty & when such beauty is suborn—the well ordered heavens operating thoughtlessly—Reality mocks the status of its own satisfaction with the imperatives of a hunger that is diminished by what feeds it; or the well ordered in lock step, slavishly stiffening into the serrated edge of cruelty. Engines of destruction that range from patriotism to the perfection of entropy.

Never to be wholly overwhelmed (though persistently threaten), its totality is in each atom of Life & its adventure the atoms of Life's entirety.

Muscid fly seeking the satisfaction that compels Reality

Honest

there is something
to be said
about all that goes
unsaid
between those who can
and those who can’t
that what is meant
is certainly the sense
of what is never said

should we (who can)
say what we mean but not
intend,

            (our intent:
senselessness;
void of insight
disease of weariness
lack of all animal
satisfaction)

than what we mean
is not the sense
and those who can’t
(never fooled), are quick
to understand
our woeful predicament

 

The Nose Knows

we should each
make a spot
in our lives
that stinks of Plato
gather round
that pillar of air
---odor
of immutability---
and let go like a dog
mark the smell
like one wise to the dead
loaf & live
for that telling
breeze

There Is No Metaheat

The compulsive intercourse in Spring follows the increase presence of the sun because Heat is choice habitat of touch. The weather of Love ascending until it reach its replete apogee.

All its receptions well past urging, her creatures learn how to languish & lean into the lazy pleasures that satisfy those now musing upon the urge to die.

 

Touch

Touch is the sensation of matter. What makes sense of the cellular. The openness of systems. The propensity of a universe. The tendency of the vivid. What may swell conceptus because it swells desire.

Touch is the urge of change. The longing of effect for its cause. It removes the absence that isolates the loveless. It empties the void of memory. It quickens like hunger, the hollow of reception. Stirs the body to crave the many penetrations.

The sexual needs of Cornus stolonifera cloyed by Chrysopidae's philosophical ambitions