enough obscure posting. today i slept off and on until about 3:00. i had dreams, maybe a bit more like daydreams or fantasies given the autonomy i had over them, myself (perhaps only myself metonymically) hovering somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. i could try to explain to you what they were about but i doubt it would make any sense. i think it may have had something to do with divisions and sub-divisions of singular things and perhaps categories, and royalty as well, but that's as close as i can get. i got up and rode my bike around and saw some people i know, and had a mexican pizza. last night i hung out with my colleague Metal, and i mentioned that I liked when he said in his paper, althought this paraphrase won't do it justice, that metaphors are useful because they allow us to understand truth in varying degrees, rather than in terms of binary oppositions (Perspectivism as Anti-Realism, Kevin Cook, 2004). and then last night he said that metaphors are our strike back at language and it's inflation and proliferation of signifieds. i added a bit to what he said paraphrastically. and i agreed wholeheartedly and drank some more beer.

i think it's about it. i just wanted you to see this site, you might even like it. kneedeep in cliches.

http://alecsoth.com/bogota_web/pages/01.html

37 distracted images, limited by math. sequences nearly mimicked, with room left for infinity. there is no bastardized moment, but creation, and repetition: humans weaved in through cyclical time, filling up language's empty spaces in a labyrinth of meaning and identity.

dreams and metaphors. dreams, dim mirrors, and plastic bags.

entrance into language, does the linear date matter.

quote:why is there something, instead of nothing.




“WHY IS THERE SOMETHING, INSTEAD OF NOTHING?” why is it always now, now, now, not always, forever, neverending. how far are we from the real? is sailing a ship a good metaphor for this sort of a thing? where the fuck did i put my biology test score? why do i want to hurt you? do i have to hurt you? do i want to hurt you? why don’t we practice alchemy?

i am not an author. i am only an intersection. i am only an intersection.

Now is not the time for such questions. There are ghosts whom come only at night. They carry otherly-shaped things in their pockets, strange matter that won’t fit into language. Any sort of analogy that might be gasping it’s last breath ends here. ?

(walking cliches).