Dear Humanity,
By covenant or violence who are we going to be? Shall our creation always entail both, the circle?
We agree . . . We fight . . . We agree. We agree to disagree. Let us unite at least under a common document. Our perpetual agreement to abide the Constitution should do the trick. Shan’t it?
Hahaha.
Went there with the shan’t. Of course one would there with that. Thing to do with that there. Come with the actual thing of it, the thing. Covenant our way, the place we’ve taken it. Time to fight the people who despoil our covenant.
Now we have our own Botha the Mosquito.
Backbiters.
“Language is an analysis of thought.” - Foucault
Do your thing in the pocket. When a drummer, hold the beat, make the gig happen, maintain groove with flourish, beauty, touches, and sit there in the pocket. With that bass player or not. In life, in poetry, in art, in conversation, in love, pop the pocket. That’s what we into, our dare, our lives. Engage the pocket, hit, and create the universe. Once a universe created.
When fingers fly like this over keys music. When keys fingers music. Music fingers keys. What time you going to bed tonight, keys? Not sure. Still popping Foucault in his absolute pocket the way he busted out with vision and word. There’s one chapter further down, too, called “The Punishment of Oblivion” - Foucault’s phrases in translation rolling through iteration of Mind. What is thought, what is the history of thought the thing, of language. Good to know that people do this, how they do it, and what it all means. Confirm the ideal or die. Idea alive.
Thanks for your time and consideration.
Love,
Precarious Birch
