In here, the raw abandon of incantation
knows the fire that
runs with it ;
the flames that
leap at night.
It is always there, waiting,

----------------------------------------------------------

My house is conjoined. There are two separate houses, each with a staircase running from the kitchen to the upstairs, and they are conjoined through a central staircase that faces their shared front door.
I imagine these three staircase are very lonely and must be used about the same amount or they get will get jealous. Of course, the most dangerous one, (the steepest), is the one you use the least, especially in the dark. But then, it gets very jealous, and who know what it could do to you if it were so inclined.

-----------------------------------------------------------

My house is pretty crooked. Doors open and shut by themselves. The door to my bedroom, (the lower left kitchen), is kept open with a candle in the shape of a little mahogany colored elephant . It tirelessly presses its elephant brow, against the door, like a real elephant in some ancient palace. When I look at it, I am a giant, going in to sleep in my giant bed, large enough to sleep,.....the sleep of Ozymandias.


-----------------------------------------------------------

My two houses have their own histories with their own secrets. Topologically, there is a Klein Bottle conjoinment between the inside and the outside - left and right have been made naught.
One house, knows the endgame leads to inevitabilities; the other, wants life.
In the limit, information is nothing; simply another random bit pattern. Attention must be ex-nihilo, an act of desperation by the imagination. It must be from within, compulsory, it must be what justifies your net effect.
Outside (right), this is fear; inside (left), this is perfection; indistinguishable in the twisted flute of this space. Newton be damned! Euclid be damned! They describe the machine, not its occupant.
One secret is of shame; for cowardice, deceit, impotence - a child in an old man's body.
One secret is of hope; silly, unbounded hope, for all good things, all fine discoveries, all noble truths.
Cowardice from too good of an imagination. Cowardice from too much harm too early. Cowardice ex-nihilo.

Understand, this is not one house. It is two houses, conjoined, with two occupants. The twist in this space, of course is that they appear as one.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The outer (right) house -

I like the three staircases, they keep me company. I have decorated it to suit my tastes; photo of Coltrane, math and technical equations, photo of Paris, Rothko, Freda Kalo, ....that type of thing.
I play my piano, listen to music, work on software architecture, read, study, write, and so on. I am completely alone: irreconcilably separated, my son won't speak to me, my "soul-mate" left me, I am running out of time, and desire has me in its grip. I have no one to talk to. Anyone who could actually understand me would probably think I was full of shit and everyone else doesn't know what I'm talking about. I separate the spaces.
I have come to this place by luck, destiny, and nature. If I had played the game differently, I might have gotten different results - but maybe not.
I can look at my life a lot of different ways. If my life has been a waste, what did I waste it on? Yeah, there's the usual stuff: my self: vanity, gluttony, avoiding pain, seeking rewards, etc. But, what did I tell myself I was looking for?
1. Total merging with someone romantically - super conscious love - transcendent love - divine love.
2. The QUESTION: How does this work? - reality that is. I've been obsessed with this for as long as I can remember. It's like my consciousness recognizes something other than itself and says, hello, who are you, how do you work? But reality is not just physics, it's the inside worlds. If I am sad, it's just as real as the grass outside. The only real difference is that internal reality changes differently, it's more responsive. What about my perceptions, my explanations of people's behavior, of my own behavior? This is the reality I mean: Whatever is on the other side of consciousness and whatever is in consciousness.
I want access to reality, I want to be able to communicate with it, to know I'll be alright, to understand at least. If I understand, (I hope),I'll be alright.
I must trust the universe. I must believe in the good and see what comes of it. I must not lose heart. My only redemption is to improve myself. I must put desire behind me, it is the source of all suffering; only then will I be at peace.
These are the kinds of things I have to tell my self. An instant later, I am wrenched by the pain of it all, then the wheel turns again, and I can see how I deserve this, an instant later, I am filled with desire - to be mis-perceived in a way that turns me into my better self.
It is a network of meaning, and interpretation is it's vehicle. Nothing important is unambiguous.
RGB is measured more intelligently than we measure a life. Godel, Saussure, Solomonov; irrelevant, in personal life.

I write to justify my pitiful existence. I can see my words, dignified by the font. I can pretend they will be discovered, and me with them.

In the end though, there is but one metric - has anyone ever taken you in?

the wheel turns again.....

------------------------------------------------------------------