Geof Huth

wavelight, than which (continued)


Tort, like a drumming, each as sound, awry & unreliable, action against, each, as action for, & again it happens, each happenstance, dependent, on the place of sitting, & placement, how it is set, upon, forward, forth, on, as a hen, quirky, movement away, & afar, & back, to its seat, settled, & down.


Like, as, as it is, suggests, refining as it adulterates, action fro, definition of, essence. As it smells, it persists, a waft, movement, as air, like stream, upon action, as motion, just notional, regarded, as character, of it, no, as if, as it, though it is.


Sure, it is, although thought of it requires, by nature, it, the resemblance reassembling, familiar resemblance, to vary with sight, each slight brilliance of light, beyond the original, surety, since nothing is, simply, secure, but loose, loosed, & upon the world.


Deleterious, we see it, though delicious, to the mind, the only realization, of it, without which, tendency of, it cannot be, as even endurance provokes. Dexterous, with each finger of, that eye, resolves, each problem of interpretation, that simple, perception, of it, as.


An iteration of it, before it, how it, in being it, is itself it & not it, a being, no an entity, an instance as an extension in & into the word, & how that state of being, at rest, in motion, about to move is more than visible reality, the aura of it, its essence, a gathering of what it is as a smell, scent, as an urge, a feeling, a being, an instance, & instant, it.


Of the memory of it, the memory for whatever it does is done, like a photograph slipped into a book, white for skin, grey for sky, the outline of dusk, how it falls out, flutter to a floor, face down, step to it but on, footprint on the back to date it, not a memory of place, how it was, the smell of an adolescent, not curvature of sky, air pressure as wind, no kiss, no warmth of hand tunneled with blood, just paper, stiff enough to snap, as fingers, bringing us to attention, to the mentioned, thought, the racked memory, some consciousness of the nose’s shape as it turned away, & the white back of it, footprinted, down


Senses, not as meaning, but feeling, experience unmediated by word, even if, even thought, even when, conscious of them, words, as vision before, or sound around, option to sense meaning, translate sound or sight to thought, what ought to mean, but meant is bent, the posture of the word, perceptions, embittered cold as imperative, warmth subjunctive, mood as meaning, light as sight, contours of thought rising with morning, how it dawns on him, who he is, who that he is what he is, thought compounded by thought, interest in it.


The play is it, thing, the, it, mindless, the monster of black & white, let it to, as it, as it is, be, for without, it, the monster, shadowed portion of the wakened world, would be then nothing, grey blackness, vision off, as it plays, acted upon, & for, it is but itself, the play, from which we be, exactly how, in incremental, portions, actions, of movement, playing as play, the mind learns, the becoming as, from it, what comes to be, precisely how it, becomes.


This syntax as it is for is from, where it is from is it for, the system, of it, though it matter, movement like respiration, how it moves forward to it moves backwards from, out, & out, for all the intos, of, digression, at its discretion, a pause into a parenthetical within a parenthetical, though it, all, as it goes forth, all its multiplications, polysemy the only breath, the only word, but as, word upon word, word up word, is made & made up, created anew, renewed & construed, & imparted, in pieces.


What a thought fought, what it fights our fights for, flights forward in space, is reception, more than, not perception of, noticing, the words sent in flight & caught, but a full reception, catching, caught, the mitt out, around it, maybe a bounce, one, out, of glove to air, but only if always back, into, into it, safe, the palms of the sweaty mind hard upon, around, gripped to, & of, it, so that it cannot, escape, a thing had as it is, but, no, as it was, was when, released, into air, to float, a thought totally on its own.


Concept, as it seems, is an expression of what it truly is, the impression of, hardly something out, let out, to be, something squeezed, like a pustule, from the face, but, as it, so it, is, something of a meaning, how it means, pressed into, the soft folds of, grey, does it matter, of, what it is, muscleless, powerless, soft as a sweet meat, sweetest meat of, his body, her body, our heads, into it, until there remains, there, in it, deeply engraved, ingrained, the concept, in clear relief, bas or not, but formed, into to which it is.


It is, as it is, known by what it is, an appellation, the apple of Adam’s, eye, how it named, & named each, every thing made manifest not by, with physical presence, but through the word, to it, what of it was made, known to be, in which way it was known, is known, would be, for the name did not mean, but, by its being & attachment, pointed, to, the thought of it, so strong, the attraction, & seal, the thing known was not so much it, made instead by, open less to the possibility of, than was, as it, by the name made, each mention of, the incarnation of, each instance, sounded as a word, it, it the it, would be.


This semantic life, entrailed into itself, vortex for text, for voice, for ear, the hear of it gathers, into sound of, what mention of them, that they are, meaning is manic, &, manic, means, each symbol of sound, or of, sound or sight of, giving over to, as the burden of, onus of, meaning, the semantic man’s burden, that, that gives to us all, we all, what we need, the urge for, to mean across, sentience, the volley of, allowed, each syntactical sequence divided into, as it were, as if it were, as if it could be, each semantic bit, a blip, a tiny kernel, yet all we need, to eat, our thoughts, of as, full of, meant, signified as, significant to.


It is the shift of it, forward, to make it, that makes it, that brings it home. Take a thought (any thought), or the words of it, arranged, arrayed, mislaid, & find the sense of it, where it hides, how it goes, where it goes to. A small turn causes a click that unseals it, so that the of of it can be. Released, it expands, extending beyond reach to a dimension beyond us, but made of us. It is all constructed of us, out of us, our desires boarded up, & shipped away, our bodies loaded into cargo holds, the sweet scent of our minds working, humming away, like that ruby-throated beebird afloat at the cusp of a flower. It is a way we use to be, by making it what it is: simply itself, simply the manifestation of our beings.

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