Aphorisms, fiction fragments, random bits, poem bits
Form is a trap and an illusion.
Form is crucial and necessary.
To feel--fully feel--while thinking, really thinking ... is revolutionary.
To open up is to play with finger paints.
This is no brainstorm. My whole body is involved.
Play is serious business.
+ + +
They met in the Plaza. Had never seen one another before. Both were the death of art, of fiction, of poetry.
Both knew form in formlessness & vice versa as an inescapable fact and uncontainable mystery--the heart of
every glistening moment--, met each other as that. They did not speak. They weren't on meds. They had
escaped the prison of normalcy and abnormality. Their dazzling freedom was no affront, needn't moltov coctail
Silently, having just met, they sought each other's gaze and held it. They had never seen one another before.
They came to the dance and held still for it, gazing.
[ To be continued ]