for those unaware, scrytch is a recycling bin for writing. to try and define it more would only define it less.
for reasons that would be obvious to any involved, i cannot participate there. nonetheless, i do participate.
what we have here, no thing,
no single anything,
no me, no you, no him,
this everything that is nothing,
what we have here, they say,
is called existance.
they say it stands for being,
the inner ego the pointy kind,
the outer individual the sharp kind,
as large an inner ego
as outer individualism can make,
when treasured and cherished,
insisted upon and nourished.
mine is not mine, really.
it is yours, his, ours, all,
inner and outer bound,
for all we all curse,
and blame one another.
what we have here, no thing,
held close and with bared teeth,
over which we cut one another, become lost beyond finding,
they say is called impossibility,
made sharp from lack of care,
held close and with bared teeth,
crazy accusations, clenched fists that still remember
the last unskillful strike.
this impossible no thing, all going crazy,
over such crazy little things; a fear then a hope;
a pattern repeated, shot through with pain.
but it keeps me striving and mindful.
this impossible no thing.
my teachers becoming crazier
and crazier every time i try to evade.
they use up all the leftovers,
carefully collect the castaways,
all the unfit pieces from the bottom,
of the barrel where i tried to hide them,
since cut from memory,
cannot hide them anymore.
what we have here in this thing,
this lumpy, snarled thing, this matted clump of proteins,
this knot of patterns and fractals,
repeated and repeated,
this empty scrawl of traces,
this insane swirl of faces,
this mad collage of places,
strung up and then, cut down,
this endless string of maces
this infinite hammer striking
repeated and repeated.
what we have here, this no thing,
this infinite hammer striking,
raising and lowering,
this clod of dust collecting
this little splat of mud
they say is called a now.
they say each little no thing,
each dotty and remembered no thing,
this little thorny no thing,
has a core of solid diamond,
no larger than an atom.
shine on, the one something,
you diamond patterned something,
inside me in this pattern,
this wriggling, shiny reflection.
continue you crazy existance,
you strange and tragic patterns
twist and turn, loop and swirl,
until all comes undone.
shine on you crazy others,
you precious, maddening, clumped, snarled, matted, snarling, withholding, suffering, striving, weeping, redeemed, condemned, redeemed once more no thing.
you diamond no thing
you precious every thing
you, and me, and he, and she, and they, and all
bound.