Electrons and their infinite exploits.

Not because it’s new or right, but because it’s pleasant to talk about. ‘I’m not happy to be living in the physical world,/ but while we’re both here, we should get that way, girl.’ I think it’s important that we talk about the flesh too, since that’s what we’re all into, right? So, electrons, right?

Lines on the dots that make the lining of the eyes, which might as well be electrons:
It is fitting to imagine the following, I think you’ll know what I mean: to allow yourself to lean on your back with your eyes at the sky blue or black, do that, and you know the thing that happens, where you see, after a little bit, little bits in the sky?—they’re really like follicles that make up your eye. Pretend these are electrons, and then you’ll be able to pick ones for an instant out from among them, an infinite field of dots, if not, then like, lots. Imagine them to be electrons, you’ll be having vision, or visions.
What do we like that turns us on?
What but electrons?
What to like but by endorphins?
How much light till we see more of him?
Here’s relevant music, tentatively representative:
Tentative as words,
We’re in and out of here—
You feel it if you’ve heard,
And leave for love more
Than staying put for fear.
Hey momentary doors!
Immediate as light,
We’d see them if we’d let
Ourselves have sight, and so,
When inspiration bounces off
The things you would get right,
Do not give up, but wryly love
Your try in what you wrote, you know?
Here’s a relevant passage of speech, from a movie by John Allis, currently in pre-production: "Did you know we can’t see an electron? We never have. We assume that they’re there just because we figure they have to be. Like it’s
the only way an atom can work, we think, is if there are electrons there, balancing everything out. But you can’t take a picture of one, you know? Light just bounces them away, they say. They’re so small they just fly off when the light hits them and...so we can’t really be sure about them. It’s the idea of electrons we’re pretty sure about. No proof, though." As in, "What eye has not seen, nor ear heard." Or, if one is in the mood to consider it incorrectly, which, as you must know as well as I do, is often as helpful as it is inevitable, "The universe is infinite because it has not been produced by a creator. The causes of what now exists had no beginning…. The material cause of all things that exist is the coming together of atoms and void. Atoms are too small to be perceived by the senses. They are eternal and have many different shapes, and they can cluster together to create things that are perceivable" (Democritus)….Hear also: "—You are raving, Mr. Artaud./ You are mad./ —I am not mad./ I tell you they have reinvented microbes in order to impose a new idea of god./ They have found a new way to bring out god and to capture him in his microbic noxiousness./ …god,/ and with god/ his organs./ For you can tie me up if you wish,/ but there is nothing more useless than an organ." Artaud’s assertion is a good platform for discussion of universal healthcare—if the insensible particles that make us up are either here or not here, in an out, or both at an impossible once, should we or should we not come together to take care of them? After all, I only think the body’s newsworthy because it may or may not be.

Why is it important to talk about this? Because it’s important to talk about what might not be there, but might as well be, to the point that these intricate guesses (that is, however intricate we make them) are "the evidence of things not seen."…"For the invisible things of him are clearly seen, being understood by the things which are made." Not understood, no, clearly not. Not in the usual sense of a complete understanding. But complete in the sense of a complete motion, like Hegel’s notion being laboriously pitched (his labor, his pitch) into Spirit, so, if you like it even more convoluted than my news: "as a real existence, it is not a real existence, and through this vanishing it is a real existence. This vanishing is thus itself at once its abiding; it is its own knowing of itself, and its knowing itself as a self that has passed over into another self that has been perceived and is universal….This mediation thus posits the Notion of each of the two extremes in its actuality, or makes what each is in itself into its Spirit." Thomas put it more simply, or put something in such a way that I don’t feel bad cheaply aligning it with anything whatsoever: "For if body comes into being by means of the Spirit, that is a miracle. But if Spirit comes into being by means of the body, that is the miracle of miracles."
This cheap leap is the key to this news. It’s also the key to electrons (to the doors,) which are the tentative language of the Word in the world, in flesh and out of flesh, in existence and out of (might as well be beyond) existence. Don’t laugh, I know it’s nothing new at all—so actually, yes, laugh. And here’s how to get further in on the joke: it’s the key to the news in so far as the language is as ever the light Tentative Language of Light, tentative power to the tentative power, saying nothing, nothing, nothing unto the One Thing. I’m embarrassed too, but no more embarrassed than I am to be naked (and made of such flighty particles.) Understand the news to be as open as the way of electrons, as ever-new as news. "There’s infinite things to spit," etc. I mean like, I run my mouth like babies have bodies. And I have to flesh out my blog, right?



—What in the world? See, for example, http://www.theosophy-nw.org/theosnw/science/sc-ww2.htm.

A lesson on cell phones.

I think that, for the time being, most of our news will be about new (to me) mediums, since this blog is new, and I’m new to blogging, and new is our subject, and in certain respects, I can’t see beyond my present moment, our medium. I will try to post frequently, at first principally from what I refer to as The New Books, with selections that seem best to characterize our readerboard in its infancy, since there is no language tentative enough to give it a more extensive exposition than I have in the initial post.
We will start with familiar technology and words delivered in a familiar way, if you know what I mean—what letters I mean. So let me forward this to you:

This is how you should organize your cell phone: Put a picture of your loved one, your second most loved one, your lover, for this one fills your heart, on the inside so you can flip yourself open and be guided by the brightness of that person’s love. But do not put your lover on the outside, for you will be whoring your lover, and at other times hiding them in darkness. And they will not be leading you in the dark, for when they are illumined closed in the dark you will not be being led. But let the small outside be white for the Light, bright despite and within the darkness, in your pocket and accessible, illumined though you don't know it, and by this part you will know what time it is.
…
Now, concerning the speed-dial you are given no one way, but reserve the 8th and 9th for people you cannot call (on the phone) because they are dead, for they [since you love them] are up in the eighth or the ninth [heavens.] For anyway, it is not fitting that you should call more than seven people quickly.
For those who did not die well, 8, since they are withheld in the realm of fixed stars. 9 for those who died well and will bring you to God, for 9 is the highest pitch on the phone, nor can you make a higher sound on it.
This is not law, but these are suggestions; for I have a phone, and I think I am a man of God.

Thoreau on the weblog.

Thoreau on telegraphs: ‘They are but improved means to an unimproved end.’—I like to think he wrote this on a telegraph (to no one.) He knew, without knowing it, that ‘unimproved’ means there’s no improving to be done:—the End is ultimate organic shared/recorded memory—Death and Eternity. If you like, Communication by Momentary Immediacy. The hand of God is on me; this was first written with a pen. ‘I swear by the pen and what the angels write, by the Grace of my Lord I am not mad.’

The Good News Readerboard.

Some good news reader, bored,
Said, Some new things should be borne.
You should be someone who sings.
So, I girded up my things,
And was like, Word.

Have you ever been asked to sing? You may have been without knowing it. I have sung for awhile without knowing I was being asked, and it was not until the function of my singing became to find out Who is asking did I find a limitless subject for song. I ask you now to sing with me, by listening and responding, so that together we can find out (continuously) what the good news is—it will be a limitless development of what you’ve been told the good news is, and what you’ve understood it to be.
Be in your singing, in your responding and listening, aggressive and humble. This is all we can be for things, to receive them and change them as is fit for each moment.