teadoubleyousea
The time it takes
the body
rooted
or wrapped
to embody
the body it is
is time
being taken away
from the body –
sapped
and muted;
time empty
when the body full
and full
when the body empty;
TIME
or the body
of the body
di-stiller
of the moment
into
an, at once,
much fuller and emptier
movement.
today
better prepared
for tomorrow
than yesterday I was
for today
because yesterday
for today
there had been an expectation
of something
which, in the end, threw everything;
now, today,
expecting tomorrow,
I do not expect something
nor do I expect nothing
but I expect that
even this expectation of neither
will be wrong
and yet somehow also right
but in such a way that it will have been wrong, nevertheless
and even then, on top of that and/or below it,
third-order,
such being-wrong-about-being-right-about-being-wrong
also being
not quite right nor quite wrong either
and so on
to fourth order
and fifth
and on
and on
until the day has gone and what it actually was will have been
which probably not much more than the affected expectation of a tomorrow ever postponed by its being expected per se
and probably a lot more than that, too
probably in such particular amounts of right and wrong that it and us will never quite be settled
and so that, for us, tomorrow, which must be expected, always expected, is still, in-the-making, on its way to us,
as we, same-way, on our way to it via an errant program of expectations
it being, at last in part, the remaking of those expectations about itself
guaranteeing that tomorrow will ever be in such a way that it will never be –
that is,
the total connectedness of the disjointure;
indeed, it now seems to me, this neither and both stands a much better preparation
for tomorrow
than yesterday’s had been
for today
having been thrown off by the unexpected problem
of expecting the problem of expectation per se.
Of all the days of the sun
and the hours of the day
and changes of the light
that day by day
hour by hour
morning position a different sun
than the one last night set
yet, still –
however many
of these suns,
whether a yearly difference
or an infinite one –
each sun
each day
every hour
of the day
playing
dawn to dusk
night against day,
but night in day and
thus, day in night
the same game of shadows
throwing depth into the horizon
fasting the sky at the end of the eye line
via the same contrast of arrows
the coldest given a minimum of colour
and the darkest a trace warmth
never leaving anything to its coldest darkest self alone
going side-to-side
doing day-to-night
on paths changing night-to-day
or perhaps after all the same path
the never-ending path
the golden arch
the path of difference
falling out of the light
days, suns, hours,
at a time
shaped in the extending and withdrawing
of the shadows in and around the light
between the light light of the shade
and the much heavier light of
sun-bathing
sans
obstruction
gradually bringing out everything
and gradually hiding everything
and gradually graduating between hidings and bringings
always part-hiding the part-brought
or part-bringing the part-hidden
always everything at once
falling out of the light
but never lit the same way again
of all the days, the suns and the hours
in the changing of the light
never to be
just one day,
one sun
or one hour.
So much time is wrapped up
in the present
that scarcely must there be
time for anything else
which makes the present foremost
in time
likely the very meaning of
time, itself;
with time unwrapped through
this meaning
and the present thus
the in-between
the unwrapping, in its over time difference,
makes time timely
distinguishes times and so over all
shows time happening;
but the difference of
a present in one wrapping
and not another, cannot but itself
be wrapped up in time, too
all these difference of time, timely,
to be unwrapped, must be so in the in
between; sharing no time
outside of time
to present perhaps that: time
is actually wrapped up
in something both greater than
and yet temporally limited to
Meaning.
The Writers' Circus 