Storystyling : sunshowered (2 / 7)

learning from photons

(Kessenem / Pleazy.)

Whenever I try to take a panoramic shot with my camera, I cannot. They say for such purposes one needs a fish eye lens, which I do not have.

Whenever I wish to capture the looks of the city at night with my camera, I cannot. I was told that in order to accomplish such a task, one needs a low-light sensitive lens, which I do not have.

Whenever I want to record with my camera mesmerizing details of what catches my attention, I cannot. I understand some kind of advanced equipment is needed for that, but such things I do not have.

I don’t like not being able to take panoramic shots, capture the looks of the city at night, and / or record with my camera mesmerizing details of what catches my attention. I don’t like it sometimes takes a while to realize that a fish eye lens, low-light sensitive lens, and / or some kind of advanced equipment is what one needs for such purposes. But, I do like it when such platitudes become clear to me in all their mundaneness.

I can’t say I like not having a fish eye lens, low-light sensitive lens, and / or some kind of advanced equipment. I can’t say I like my camera not being sophisticated enough. But, I do like the fact that it can’t do everything. Can’t do just about anything one would imagine it should.

Such an insight reminds me of something I once read about printers, computers, and stuff like that demonstrating the very avenue for cheerful thinking when they get jammed, run out of ink, and / or manifest some other sort of susceptibility to failure. This, it is suggested in the text I read, indicates that such gadgetry is imperfect. So are we--humans.

But, I don’t want equipment to be just about imperfection. I don’t want it to be solely definable in terms of unruliness. Likewise, I prefer fellow humans to be worthy of the cyborgness devising the language I so much like. It’s called the poetics of the remix.

(Kessenem / Pleazy.)

As if the city were evaporized in occasional screeches of rusty garbage cans, capricious stirs of scattered litter wandering deserted boulevards, insipid streetlight indifferently spreading across etherized vapidity, vacuity of the spaces between aloof entities constituting them, bland looks of abandoned shop windows, and a thought of the summer night. I like the thought a lot.

As if the river--sunshowered--sparkles in the midst of the constellations imbued in the forestry. It reminds me that I met you on a summer day. Like the stories constantly reminding me how I learn. Like the whispers evaporated from the river, poured from bubblesque containers through secret passageways connected to the drained, stately castle, to the pixel-thirsty optical fiber cables, electron-drought screens, static-congested circuits, and half forgotten cutlery, plates, bowls, goblets, chalice, glasses, utensils of all sorts…housewares…u mafotherphunkie name it.

Pouring, pumping webwiered contingents into the hibernation-exhausted, energy-starved interior. Bringing a glimpse of uninterested facades, ambiguous architectonic specimens--and a reflection snaking between them—into unshakably, despite oscillations, preserved vibrancy of  ye stately castle.

Pouring, spreading like a pixilated whisper. Like cords mingling. Like plates/screens awashed in the touch of the cosmic ocean. All being pale-photonized now.

(Kessenem / Pleazy.)

While the city was fast asleep, an ink blanket, embroidered with sparkling constellations, was thinning. Yarns, once as thick as blinding darkness hindering the contact between the eye and the forestry, were shrinking like a hundred year old oak dried by a droughtlike passage of numerous decades. (trees, not a jungle) Space between them expanding, simultaneously infusing into the invisible tapestry of the army of sleazy ants antidote--solvent to the allegedly invincible slimy obscurity. As the enchantment dome is disintegrating, it gives way to the ascending, ubiquitous milkishness. Spreading gently. Its tendrils vaporous. Its whisper invigorating. Like a smile of a child, it bathes the universe with playfulness. (language, not letters) A pale blue ocean silently splashes the canopy above. The lilac horizon meets it in a photon kiss. The whole city in a soft-spoken conversation with the all-pale-photonizing wave. Ants from the muddy crust crumbling into myriad galaxies of mischievous droplets in an effervescent snaky curve necking the streets, greeting slumberous shop windows, feeding well trodden pavements, embalming dried branches. Crappy-crystallizing along phantom leaves into cocoons of blossoms--fractal imagery--germs of buds awaiting to flourish through ray-drenched, all-pale-photonizing stellar empire. sunshowered. (likemafotherphunkiephunk)

As pixels disseminate, solidifying spots of intensity engendering contents of sorts, titillations of electrons in the hesitant current consolidate the mutually constituting relationship between the dotty sites and the liquid crystal display. Connectors re-attached. The adapter reconnected--in full swing--obediently, humbly in the service of the flow, photonizing the etherized, yet not insubstantial, aura : dissolving a ravaging hunger for an incessant gluttonous intake of muddy pulp that once kept one captive, that once threatened to devour one.

***

i like time on your face. / it reminds me how one can learn from the whisper of the rain.