This is a difficult thing to explain, but it kind of reminds me of this observation of subatomic particles, where you cannot determine both WHERE…

Maybe there’s a quickening, a hundredth monkey, a millionth Buddha. Maybe its you, maybe its me…. Who do you say that I am? I am…

​The Polemics, as I lovingly refer to my writings, are intended to be a collection of short articles, art-i-facts, journey notes, diagrams, ecstatic poetry, slights-of-hand with Compass, Square and Pen, written…

The “Transcendental Object at the End of Time” IS SYMBOLIZED BY the ‘J’ and the ‘T’ of ob-J-ec-T itself, ‘J-ec-T,’ ‘TO THROW,’ from ‘jacere,’ composed of the ‘JA’ morpheme OF ‘JA[H]’ + ‘cere,’ meaning ‘PURE.’

Sitting Lotus, butterfly, waiting for God to come. Shaman dancing, rattle, drum. Waves of nausea, body numb. Images of all phenomena gliding by. I emerge into the Sky, sitting, watching, only this.

When I speaks, I does so with this accent on I. Thought to be a stranger, kicking this word down the road, the lost ask where I comes from? I warns them,
to know, they must first let go of their obsession…

I too have stormed Heaven. The very moment I realized it was my lock and my psyche, I kicked down the Door and announced myself, but found no one home but me.