Infinity is just an idea. It does not exist in reality. It cannot exist in reality. As a painter you are told it is the point at which parallel lines meet but, by definition, parallel lines never meet. They only appear to meet if you are far enough away. Even further away the lines disappear completely. From even further away we all disappear, even the planet disappears.
Perhaps infinity existed as the potential of everything before the beginning of time and space, before the polarization of energy which created physical matter, before the act of division which makes two out of one or the act of multiplication which takes two twice to become four. Finite means limited. Infinite means unlimited, without end, encompassing and containing all things. Are there any bounds in an ever expanding universe?
The edge of insanity looks just like everywhere else. Smells like gunpowder. Sounds like a rip-roaring, good time or a flip-flop, fizzy pop, Paper weights on roller skates. A drowning clown. Jelly beans are on the rise, Swimming upside down.
Everything makes sense because twelve is equal to three. Nothing is equal to everything. Everything is equal to nothing. Nothing times anything doesn’t exist, Doesn’t explain. Don’t try to complain. There’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain. I’m staying out of the wind and the rain.
Otherwise, I am everywhere. I am a round, inside of a square. Bet you’ve never, ever been there. Not like this anyway. Who would dare? Trying and multiplying myself. Why would you even care?
Now, I’ve got a thousand eyes. Questioning whose and wheres and whys. A blinding, blinking strobe light, Another blinding insight, Always wrong, but sometimes right. If you don’t like it I’m willing to fight. I have left myself on an empty shelf, Trying not to run over myself. For the rest of the day, I’m going and growing and, going to play, With a fish and a frog, And, a fly and an elf.
What are you going to do?
Written, very quickly, by V. Castellanos – April 14, 2020
A thousand thoughts, And, silver reverberations, Are slithering under my clothes, Under my skin, Hiding in the corners, In the attic, Under the bed, Inside of my head, Under the cobweb, Behind the smoky incense, The lace curtains, The light of the scented candles, Singing with glass bells, And, forked tongues, Exploring their lives, Denying their lies, Every one of them tries, To glue back together, The scattered, The shattered, The badly battered wings, Left behind by ancient things, By dragonflies, Of wondrous size, Who once were fabulous and wise, Before they chose to close their eyes, Waiting for the sunrise, Thinking of what time buys, Spitting out iron nails and rust, Into circles made of musty dust, They must, have marked, With their slashing, lashing tails, Attempting to pay with the gold from their purses, To fend off the wind of the dreadful, dark curses, Collected along the long waits and wrong trails, Hidden, away, in the valleys and vales, Forbidden to sleep with the toads and the snails, Escaped from the maximum penalty jails. Here’s wishing you well, and that nobody fails, To keep the demonic possessions away, But, it does not appear to be working.
Take a turn, Mistake and learn, Stand or break, Bake a cake, Stay asleep, Or, be wide awake. No one knows, Where it goes.
The oroborus is still okay. He is swallowing himself in order to escape. Self consumed. Are we all doomed? What’s it like in there? Trying to feed yourself in order to survive? Nothing else tastes so good. Why not? Everything eats everything else. Megalomaniac. Get out of there. Comb your hair. Put on a dress. Turn yourself inside out. But, inside there are armies of restless neurons and neutrons, Vibrating vitality, battling, Trying to take over my world. My skin made out of granite and gravity, weighing me down. Awareness of microscopics everywhere. Taking my attention. Intervention. Lichen splitting rocks. The tide eating the sand. Crabs eating tide pools. Mushrooms spitting at scorpions. Corona Virus consuming the internet. A bad morning. Bright colors. Curled into a ball. No one is chasing me. Birds are not falling out of the sun. Trees are not trying to fall. Perhaps I am still asleep and purple frogs are crawling on the wall. Perhaps my head has become a cave or a cathedral. Maybe a cabaret. Maybe a circle. Maybe a three ringtones circus. Maybe playing hide and seek. Maybe a cup of coffee will cure everything.
I have a green wall and two lizards. There are rainbows overhead, Although they are invisible. More importantly, The dogwood is in full bloom, The wisteria flowers are everywhere, With no leaves, The fountains bubble, And, the hummingbirds have arrived. They are right on time. The lilies are a little early. They are here to announce, The expectations of the striking sunbeam. A virgin from which a king will come. Half human and half miracle. But, right now it is butterfly time. They are playing hide and seek with one another, Flirting in the spring air. I am turning into a stone, But, it is a long process. The world continues to be beautiful.
Who are you? Who do you want to be? It might be easier than you think.
I like to swing out into implausible places, follow adventurous roads and impossible pathways. Of course, you never know, if you do this, where you might end up. This can lead to danger, or places stranger. You might be stripped down to a spirit or turn into an insect. You might even meet yourself, coming or going. Might find out you are not who you thought you were, who you wanted to be. I do not even know if you ought to go. If you do go, remember …..
Everyone relates to patterns because they are comfortable, familiar, reassuring, you know what’s around the corner, you know what comes next, you know your way around. Patterns are made from repetitions, multiplication, echoes, reflections, reproduction, symmetry, flower petals, footprints in the sand, duplication, do it again. Nothing as reassuring as predictably. Prophecy, sure as shooting. Everything is gonna be ok. You don’t get out of balance. Can’t get lost. Been here before. But, how long can that go on? From the beginning of time until on and on and on. Yawn.
(Now, fractals are pleasant and natural. They don’t upset anyone. They don’t bother anyone. One little, almost predictable, change at a time. One step larger and thirteen more just like it, one step to the right and fourteen after that, one step smaller or one step to the left, twelve steps after all and maybe turn around. It’s a little different but not too disturbing. Expectation, alteration, something else, something you don’t already know. Something to look forward to. Kick up your heels. You can dance with a fractal. But, this isn’t about fractals. It’s about familiarity.)
Once you get familiar almost anything can be acceptable. Repetitions let you get familiar. Once you aren’t repulsed or afraid anything can become beautiful. Snakes, iguana, long tailed fish. Insects. Upsets. Wings with eyes. Get used to it. Get comfortable. Snuggle up. Get to know it. You might even like it. After all, its only an image.
Too far out on a limb? Never mind. I’ve got variation, combination, distortion, transformation, mutation and imagination. Rebellion. Let’s go further. Don’t stop now. I’ve got my own ideas. Different shapes, sizes, angles, perspectives. Color combinations. Free will. Romp around. Try something else. Anything goes. What goes? Here goes. I’m going. Who else is going? Let’s go!
Just the two of us. The ego and the other. The mirror. The relationship. The yin and yang. Yes and no. On or off. Right or left. Past or future. Either or. Me and you. Or, just you, hanging out on the other side, looking in. Me, just waiting around. Not bound by any walls, any ideas, any reality. Anything goes. Competition or cooperation. You tell me. Where do we go from here?