Sandwiched in between

Two moments in a game of dice.
First the throw and then the fall.

Re-configurations.

Within the throw itself, control is lost.
Anticipation. Exploding spill. All possible
encounters. A centrifuge begins. Discovery of
three words stretched across a page that beckons,
"Play it out.". The gestured slice of each specific moment
in a splice of hereandnow-ness. This is multiplicity.
Deleuzian convergence of singularities pulled taut
against Nietzsche's "being of becoming".
Constitutes post-history. Timeless time caught up
in instantaneous awareness of all varieties of expression
from earliest antiquity. McLuhanistically-mythic consciousness
of 'once-upon-a-timeness', his all-time-out-of-time.
His Vico in the neverfailingneon light.

Words fall.

Within each lettery crash, the shadow drifts a dicey course.
The gesture-of-the-throw unites all fragments by a chance
that coalesces some coherent whole, unfolds the roll in whorls.
Up through the ages. What comes next is not (p)referent
to any order, nor to architecture that guarantees its duplication.
It is a secondary movement merely ex-pressive of the immediacy
of the first. An anti-form that follows close behind.

Points in time take up a line.

Aeonological implications of opposing forces in perpetual series.
Fragmenting and coalescing. Emancipating and constituting.
Flows. The centrifugual-centripetal force of allatonceness.
Of all pasts coasting on a current consciousness.

Play the potter's wheel.

Convergent pulls and unexpected forms that never quite repeat.
Precise. Specific touch of time trapped like air inside the centred
gesture-of-no-return. The drift of words, the claim,
"a gift is not a gift unless..." and Deleuze's inter-play,
his jouissance. The sameness in his difference in the repetition
of his ought in every gesture of his series, of his life. His loss.
The series plays again, but never quite the same. Relentless is the
tameness of a grief. A desire to undo it right.

Undo the time that floats.

Ideal game of questions with no winners and no losers.
Only non sense in a thought..."the unconscious of pure thought".
The OM-ahah that scoops reality, morality and economy
from the world into a game reserved for art. Play it out
along a pleated fold that moves in two directions all at once.
Along an Aeonological line of pastandfuture tracings
of a relentlessly unlimited W/hole whizzing into planes
of/in/consistency stretching into zones of intensity
stringing into constellational multiplicities of events~effects
always drowning in semantics.

Languaging in-betweens.

Outside of minds and bodies lie evanescent pixilations.
Emanations from within this plastic box of thought.
What surrounds "it" is surreal. Not dada but surreal.
Neither physical nor mental. Just augmented architectural support.
In(ter)ventions; software codes and hardware nodes of many
modes. Of media convergences flattened into seamlessly
synaesthetic multimediated e-vents. Word-eyed webs of
book-minds redecoded into Havelock's neoreorality.
Parses Humpty Dumpty back together.
A+gain according to the Marshall of an era.

What-ifs.

And other ways of knowing. Freeways made of moss, ivy awnings,
meadowed rooftops. Infinitive arrivings from geographied escapes.
The twists and turns of multiplicity in the savored moment of
embrace where all lives layer onto now in urgent jump cuts from
within an interstitial space. Probes that protest 'the subject'
by attending to locality in the nature of a rhizomatic challenge
to convention on the surface of a depth. Blurred rememberings of
anti-pedagogical eternities-of-mind with hand pressed into hand.

The touch.

The And.

The knowing nod that begs the roll again.