Sunday, June 17, 2018

Why do we care about morality?
It seems that we seek truth that spans between you and I,
Across the valleys and foundations
of what we should do,
in the landscapes of nowhere yet charted.
There are facts to build in the foundry,
forged in our minds and never tested,
only guessed at,
whittled and refined to the point of possessing solutions.
Thinking and sewing attention into our critical rationalist operation,
with joyful sensations,
overturned by the worms who till the soil at our feet,
in the spirit of creation we go...

Into the Forge

Rita was always an outlier,
always trying break into another level,
never accepting the sickness adrift in the rest of us,
work was spent in the smoke of the furnace,
in breaks she looked back and saw the flailing arm of her girlish self
swinging a hammer while creating her first cabinet,
she looks at her arm now and feels flawless force connect down into sheets of steel,
in flow – in her open-ended artform.

Art isn't easy, nor is it painless,
and soon, at the end of the day, that arm ached,
her instrument of power,
and aches turned into agony,
and ultimately into unemployment,
the means of her production evaporated.

She couldn't pound, she couldn't form, not with that arm.
She spent months waiting for something to heal,
or some news from the doctor,
some new therapy,
but it wasn't available.
She was restricted by tissue,
her body worked against her.

The idea of nothingness dragged on,
her anchor slipped away and she watched helplessly as her body,
her ship
went drifting towards known unknowns:

She could wash onto the rocks.
She could ram into another vessel.
She could drift alone and apart from anyone for years and years.

She could wake upon a sandy beach and take responsibility for all the new possibilities,
to find a new extension of all that pounding,
that knowledge – of shaping and movement,
force and material.
That time came and she began to live behind the wheel of a new form,
standing behind the veil of her own skin denying the most oblivious thing to do,

to create again but through thinking alone,
to go forth without the attachments
of arm or tool
or anything outside of what is absolutely essential.
Essential ever since man walked out of the valleys and into a new foundation,
into infinity and explanation,
to the landscapes of nowhere yet charted,
that is where she would mine her ore.

There were elegant facts to build in her new foundry,
a place that could be rebuilt or razed at a whim,
she began to see that she was always going to be injured,
be it by accidents or ignorance,
she sat and accepted that this first glance weakness was the source of everything inspired.

She was an unbounded immense world of possibilities,
She was a world undeveloped and immensely misunderstood by the multiple I’s existing inside,

weeks passed and weakness solidified into philosophical bedrock,
she began whittling again like she did in the old forge,
her moral choices became structures stronger with every systematic choice,
to the point of possessing serene solutions,
created in ideas stronger than steel
but as adaptable as clay,
evolving and creating joy
by way of this new criticism,
crafted in stainless sensations.