Analog Loco Motion

 words and images by    shaun   lawton   

 Dipping  the paddle  of an oar  into  the waters of life  

will direct the course taken  going forward  

when the sculling is a letter and  the oar a sort of mail  

 then you trace  the feather of a bird  line by line  

one at a time  on  a blank page  and sign  it 

with your name (not upon the dotted line) 

but  just right there on the empty page   

you control the direction and flow your life takes. 

 

It's  a sort  of  loco motion analytical devotion 

in proximity to the inanimate enemy

 ready to instigate any second guessing 

as best as the next one that is if you ever 

make it back to shore where the waters

of your other life direct the sequence undergone

to continue roving forward in a straight line.

Nothing can parallel your own foot 

becoming a common postal service item

and with the lining of an avian coat of armor

piecemeal assembling itself on the white sheet

upon which the new signature may be applied

onto the marginal cloudscape developing 

as the parallax of our remaining event horizon

helps keep it fixed in perpetual proximity just out of reach.  

      

 

   the remotest miniscule spinning pinpoint eyelet

 pore in the great stretched out skin counts 

as a window into this world an entry place

 to some an exit to others. 

Windowframe

 by  Shaun  Lawton  

You can live as long as you want to, but we can't provide a drug which induces the willpower to sustain this desire. We are all just thumbprints with faces. Have a nice suspension of disbelief. 

sub-Orbital

 by shaun lawton

  Embedded in the manifold a pre-curricular manifestation caught in a flash-frozen moment of plasmic enhancement suggesting a marine biological specimen when in reality a suborbital docking station positioned in orbit skimming the exosphere and picking up reverberations had been captured on the radar leaving an impression forming what appears to be a small maneuverable interdimensional craft or a passing creature's shadow imprint left rippled in the fabric of reality while the balancing of the passage reaches its inadvertent state of equilibrium the incoming message will be resolved.

Swimenumerating

    by  Shaun Lawton 

All the chances that you have of our survival before the tidal forces drag upon stronger undercurrents and the shallow coves of sand get traded in for a licking tongue from the deepest briny depths to taste a rivulet of the threshing shoreline in the wink of a moment sometimes a child is carried along for the ride in case you hadn't heard of the riptides around here, why they'll sneak up on you like a real creeper wave and before you know it you're through swallowed up by the sea another tossed aside colony for the reaper eels and rays and wrasse to wrestle for the left over bits while there was still time before Leviathan arrived. 

    Nothing ever worked out fine when Leviathan arrives it's more of a parting of the waves before the big blue sea when all the life forms have dried out long before hand to provide a parchment rug unfurled like a flag tongue to trample on and get sampled by the burned out taste buds of an indiscriminate glutton for punishment and pain the likes zygotes won't transfer like lightning bolts through gametes for a very long time of revolution to come because believe it or not these swift calculations incur enough of a low amperage energy wave to engage and thus slow the timewave directory down as it's multilenticular anemone-wind absorbed time amassed force enough to create a sudden stun-block of standstill time, a sort of shocked echo bubble created for a sufficiently delayed moment to induce eternal retro-forgetfulness, itself the tip of the artistic borough now entered, a realm where the expanding universal constant helps keep the sails of your dream ship filled with astral power for as long as you wanted to keep it going.

   It's in building bubble worlds such as these that one may learn to adopt the little trick the temporal wizards describe as 'a nightnip,' that is a moment of time stolen for one's self, it's all really a matter of the mind and how one looks at things, really. A razor's slice of time can open up a world of opportunity.  Dive down under the surface of the timestream here with me and you'll see what I mean. When time slows down to lose its original significance, this is when the universe really expands around you. Surprise, surprise to find your eyes the center of the dilating point.  

The ones who've dived the deepest and sunken to the lowest depths to hold their breaths the longest and slow down time to a bare crawl when the bubble in the mirror growing larger invites you in and once stepped inside carries you up among shafts of sunlight penetrating the aqua blue greens of the sea are reflected in the bubbles sinking away back down into the darkness of their domain.  

      Swimenumerating how it would be to be found deep down so below the lost continents of the Atlantic. To see the eye of the great whale with its pod looking back pleading in silence for an equal opportunity at life but from the other side of the undulating crystal clear waterline.  We're the additional terrestrial life. Along with a myriad other species interacting in a phenomenal symbiotic symphony of dance. Just an image reflected from under a long blown out flame from a fire put out enough winters ago to be forgotten in purpose and destiny. Running through the numbers once again in your head. The language of logic soothes one to bed. As eyelids lower over the orbs the dream powering has been enabled. 

    This is how here it is that so far away down buried in the stratospheres of history. Submerged within the unequivocal domain of the fevered brain's oh so desperately wished for final moment of escape.  We've come to season the aftertaste of this recurrent dream with just the barest hint of madness. 

  -- from The Tiktok Odyssey files left behind in a once forgotten shipwreck off the coast of the straits of Gibraltar. 

Buried under a cascalade

 

I see a horse 

  racing the wind

You see a trout leaping 

 upstream

He sees a dolphin diving 

 through whitecaps

She sees a shark carrying 

 a child's arm in its smile

Peering closer as if stopped 

  in my tracks in a hall 

 of mirrors I see clown faces 

pressed up against 

 the stained glass panels 

  arranged in cascading polygons 

 which suddenly become whales

Bluefin tuna, petroglyphs 

 of panda bears in the desert

  small families hunkered in caves 

 while a hummingsquid shoveling 

for limpets gets strung along 

 the cordoned off portals 

  of industry meanwhile 

 from the corner a ray of light 

infuses the catastrophic 

 sculpture with brass scales

  reflecting an array 

 of configurations 

suggesting the loss

of the most pearlescent

 petrified teardrops

chambers of the hive 

agglomerated in a comb 

of spicy dust the polar 

  bear in hibernation 

 incubating as a drone 

confiscated by the reflection 

 off the camera eye I see a penguin 

  sleek as a curved chevron sailing 

 over the rainbow and crying 

gigantic shifting blobs of tears 

 dropped elongating into runnels 

  left over from the burrowing 

 worms of time from the yumanitu 

the stain you couldn't find

the glass in your mind

 The flowing stream of molten

golden memories lying frozen 

  on the catapulted ground

Staring Back

 It was a scoured day. 

Windfall crisp 

with a polarized glare 

to the sunset.

The scoop of blue radiated

 around the horizon 

bleeding from indigo 

into orange black

as the stars 

winked open

In the Night-blooming Garden

by Shaun Lawton   

  In the night blooming garden where signatures crawl 

into worm holes blossoming in the moldering corners 

the moon creeps out awakening the lightning and the

orchids stand tall and bloom open their haunted eyes

take a walk in my garden on a full moon after midnight

to see what I've allowed to grow wild there are flowers

which no one has ever heard of before that would never

be permitted near a child sit down for a spell and beware

if you fall asleep the creeper vines may pull you

into their lair below where strange mushrooms

sprout and eerie patches of fungus grow  

on elm trees and glow in the dark looking 

like a crucifix death heads moth

Pay no heed to the movements in the shadows 

so long as you stay on the path of my night 

blooming garden but do pay respect

to the hallowed grounds that you walk on

for the measure of your worth may be pardoned 

 

 

 

 

colorized in DDG w/F1 sT

 

In The Combined Pockets of Night

The nomenclature was shunned invariably. As being off mark. But then it became apparent. Not everyone's midge gained. Alabaster swarms nestled under. Head full of sea kelp starred lights. A bundle of tree roots bleeding in the dark. One bloody femur shaped like a foot. The oceanic depths captured in a cherry blossom. A slick of bifurcating eyes blinking shut. The proximity of these vistas lost in the shuffle. Communication between these networks, a salient matter. 

  

Dr. Stars

The Holographic Paradox

(Mountainscape of light as seen through a photo multiplication tube lens.)                                                                    photo by the author (shaun lawton).    

   The nanomissive I'm receiving now seems to indicate an endless transmission reflecting a focus of intent on behalf of the surviving team of humanity stranded on Ceres sometime in the future. By encoding everything onto nanocircuits embedded on neutrinos beamed into the heart of Sagittarius A*, they managed to send this fleet of programming back in time to the year 2009 where it was absorbed by a radiology patient transporter on duty in the process of bringing an aging war veteran in for a nuclear medicine stress test.  The C-arm parked out in the hallway was on  and acting funny as he passed by, and a blue arc of laser light flared in his peripheral vision after turning his head back forward from looking at it. 

   That transporter lived in a midwestern city somewhere in continental North America. That's when he first had the idea to start up a free publication of art and writing on the world wide web.   Little did he realize then that he was operating on an imperative sent back in time to possess his consciousness into doing something for the love of the endeavor rather than to profit monetarily from it. As the nanohorde encoded his neural network with subprogrammed commands (from what turns out to later become a shed alternate ghost world) apparently sent in a final desperate attempt to anchor the stabilization of our own ongoing timeline to develop into a more cohesive and sustainable post-cybernetic environment, the carrier of this electromagnetic wave of information was beginning to fathom more of the shape these events had spurred on for him. 

   I've come to realize from a sharper tuned intuition that he wasn't the only human subject acting as a conducive rod channeling various commands sent tacitly from the stranded base of last surviving humans on Ceres. There are thousands of us and possibly millions or even, potentially, the entire human race today as we know it. I've been thinking lately about how neutrinos leave streaks of light when they pass through the purest water. As they penetrate our planet's oceans, they must barely leave a discernible ambient flash; too brief and faint to be registered in a normal human's eyes. Cephalopods and various insects have been known for their ability to detect polarized light. But I digress. It has led to a strange thought.

   The neutrino itself therefore has been revealed to remain the entirety of all universes compressed into a singularity which manages to be mirrored by a duplication process not unlike cloning from a branched off membrane which is assimilated into the growing milieu of the morphological universe, itself the opposed counterbalance in a singularity altogether familiar with our own yet somehow incomprehensibly different. One way of thinking of what I mean is to realize all the rain drops in this mind exercise represent every neutrino as actual reflections of the one singular neutrino in existence and that very solid object appears to be our universe with this planet and current species of humanity yet surviving upon it as we apparently continue to plunge in motion through a process involving the spacetime continuum. Of course its the only thing faster than light, and it project through a million different facets stitching us into existence. 

   There's evidence to suggest this singularity keeps repeating its programming in a never ending loop of such gradually decaying simulation that the differentials spawned grow not into yet more shed ghosts of future developments but rather constantly shape and mold the singular only possible existence here frozen in eternity and possessed by the illusion of constant movement to the point that even in our resting state of deep sleep every night occurring with metronomic persistence we are unable to really wake up from our conditioning to realize this motion conducts us into dreaming. 

   The reason for this remains with the evidence we're machines powered by electromagnetic forces beyond our comprehension which nonetheless animate our complete existence with absolute and total authority even down to the intricately worked out details of a predetermined and fixed future existence destined to remain eternal despite our inability to understand the whole of it much less any single part of which it's comprised. The fractal holography paradox appears to never blink because we operate on differentiating frequencies while we stare into the same universal mirror.