noosphere

we are too close
to the end of these sad bad times
to stop moving


what lives here:
microfiction, science, philosophy(?)
poetry, autobiography, photography
a bit of maths, art, music
and stuff

gmail at noosphere.tumblr

between the known
and the unknown world
stand unmixed silences

massive worlds
and gravities
at play

bright cold stars
at a distance

warm
in any case

vibrant
light
brilliant
form

we tumbled into the first decade of the millennium with blindfolds on
thrust out into what blinding lights

and into winter
which is a silence
except for the creak of the snow
each snowflake has its name and its story
its relationship with the air
the water
the sky
each snow has its form
… soft shirred small
narrow bodies
slipping through the air
… large downy soft
large star-bodies
afloat in clumps

we
with the wolverine and the bear
sit through the dark nights
whispering aurora
witness to wonder
where the sky stands still

time beckons
like the leaves
of that skeletal tree
sometime
late november

stark against the sky
limbs splayed
in meaning
against glyphs of form

lines pressed into minds
by the natural light
of the sun leaves rain wind earth

you are here
pressed between pages
of line and light
loved as if
the spring
had its time
and summer
bled and brewed it
into its fever
pitch into its
slow dreamy
descent which
some
may call a
fall
but
what i
call
a
whisper

sometimes
one can’t avoid
the light

that is to say
sometimes
things happen

that is to say
sometimes
things
happen again

navigating
the terrain
of this digital
light
is oh so very
tricky

naked eyes
and fishbowls

but what care we:
what is what is
will
inevitably be
without harm
without device

artifice
a refuge
of
the last reigning pretender

we, like our dreams,
will surrender to none
the essence of it

we as the sea and the sun
and the dreamed of
earth
continue forward
moving toward
the rise

we will be free

the universe is full
of more than light can show us

dust, darkness, a choir of darklight
the brilliance behind our eyes
limning our thoughts to flesh and bone

light into dark all that an eye can tell us
hands tell the stories of time and dance
skin, the memory of love
hearts hope
mouths desire

we are but time made flesh
brittle bones and flight

spring
and
the noises have
come
out
to play

a musical prodigy lives upstairs from me
his pitch perfect three-year old voice chimes
down through the screen with
the light and
the air

i am sad and content
riding the fine line between melancholy,
joy