the round-scape (revised)
the round-scape (revised)
A logic born of utter flatness must yield perspective deficit. No chance to catch a view from the hills. Lately, I love the thought of a desolate ocean, if it's within sight of promising slopes. Life runs on promise. I refuse to jam too much of it through narrow slots of 'truth'. Lately, I put myself up against a distant rock corrugation as an underdog, and try to solve parts of its vision. But I might lose the thread if the trail dives into a canyon or wash. I am not a canyon dweller by nature. I run on wide-angle solar fuel.
I want to see more of the mosaic, the whole tectonic nightmare dressed as basin and range peace, the massive fault-blocks passed off as soft visages of rock spine. It was all born from a violence off-scale at some point in time, though none of it can touch me because I am instantaneous, invisible to the earth clock. And I harbor no delusions that I might tap into the epochs by mere touch of their exposed strata.
Nevada has little to do with a wager or flashing light. It is a high and dry kingdom of sage perfume, leached minerals, and beaten rock. At its southern point and well into California, there is a dropoff, where dust-borne depressions form great curves and are known to assume shapes of clouds, through which unexplained points of rock project unreasonably; scenes unrecognizable in next morning's clarity, scenes not to be taken too seriously.
Those gentle arcs seem every bit as unnatural as Utah's puzzle of spires and cliffs. In that domain, I'm easily persuaded to adopt a Creator; one with a sense of humor. On that playful round-scape where the desert floor arcs into different climates, I imagine an inspired Author of Creation scoop up measureless sand, pile it against mountains, and begin to smooth it out in a thoughtful, long curve; the start of a defining sculpture before an unfortunate interruption. The slopes are still waiting. At random viewpoints, they all taper elegantly to a point in relaxed angular arcs; a nexus of relaxed angular desire. I should endeavor to go there.
But the views are held at an incalculable span, treacherous scale of desire, concavity which bends space, seductively. I crest a ridge and the earth drops away in a divine arc. The far side is a fuzzed vision. Muted shapes feather into a peculiar dream, and the full depth of the arc is realized. I want the dream so I follow the arc. With sufficient will, I might reach its soft, detached promise.
But to chase it is to lose it. When I descend the arc, the far side compresses mysteriously, and its soft shapes gradually release their hold on a dream state, until upon rising up the far slope, it is impossible to recognize what I sought. I look backward across the arc for clues. I note another fuzzed vision; a bright incline and delicate fringe which I must have missed as I went by.
"roundscape" near Baker, Calif.
edited for typos, etc.
I want to see more of the mosaic, the whole tectonic nightmare dressed as basin and range peace, the massive fault-blocks passed off as soft visages of rock spine. It was all born from a violence off-scale at some point in time, though none of it can touch me because I am instantaneous, invisible to the earth clock. And I harbor no delusions that I might tap into the epochs by mere touch of their exposed strata.
Nevada has little to do with a wager or flashing light. It is a high and dry kingdom of sage perfume, leached minerals, and beaten rock. At its southern point and well into California, there is a dropoff, where dust-borne depressions form great curves and are known to assume shapes of clouds, through which unexplained points of rock project unreasonably; scenes unrecognizable in next morning's clarity, scenes not to be taken too seriously.
Those gentle arcs seem every bit as unnatural as Utah's puzzle of spires and cliffs. In that domain, I'm easily persuaded to adopt a Creator; one with a sense of humor. On that playful round-scape where the desert floor arcs into different climates, I imagine an inspired Author of Creation scoop up measureless sand, pile it against mountains, and begin to smooth it out in a thoughtful, long curve; the start of a defining sculpture before an unfortunate interruption. The slopes are still waiting. At random viewpoints, they all taper elegantly to a point in relaxed angular arcs; a nexus of relaxed angular desire. I should endeavor to go there.
But the views are held at an incalculable span, treacherous scale of desire, concavity which bends space, seductively. I crest a ridge and the earth drops away in a divine arc. The far side is a fuzzed vision. Muted shapes feather into a peculiar dream, and the full depth of the arc is realized. I want the dream so I follow the arc. With sufficient will, I might reach its soft, detached promise.
But to chase it is to lose it. When I descend the arc, the far side compresses mysteriously, and its soft shapes gradually release their hold on a dream state, until upon rising up the far slope, it is impossible to recognize what I sought. I look backward across the arc for clues. I note another fuzzed vision; a bright incline and delicate fringe which I must have missed as I went by.
"roundscape" near Baker, Calif.
edited for typos, etc.
Last edited by mnaz on November 26th, 2005, 4:42 am, edited 3 times in total.
stunning, man. thanks!But I might lose the thread if the trail dives into a canyon or wash. I am not a canyon dweller by nature. I run on wide-angle solar fuel.
It;s like you see yourself embedded and extended in the great western basin, and go into a trance vision of grand sweeping gestures and epochs of earthworks. Ain't scratching your skull on that one. It seems to be a natural style for you, a knowledge of geology and physical geography, kandinski in the desert, a transformed vision, your impressions in that scene. The desert holds such mystery and you find it for us. Keep trekking.
an alpine meadow 2000 feet up the mountain right above the desert floorThose gentle arcs seem every bit as unnatural as Utah's puzzle of spires and cliffs. In that domain, I'm easily persuaded to adopt a Creator; one with a sense of humor. On a playful round-scape where the desert floor pursues arcs into different climates
an island in the sky
[color=darkcyan]i'm on a survival mission
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
mnaz, are you denying yet another conspiracy theory? Just kidding.mnaz wrote:I refuse to jam too much of it through slots of truth..
“Stunning”, as Jim writes, is a description that I would have been happy to use if Jim hadn’t already used it. The word sums up what kind of affect the essay, as well as the image, has on me.
Some of true existence is glitter, but, as you express so effectively, true glitter can only be found within true existence. Far too many miss the beauty about which you write to pursue the false god in what is but an insignificant niche within a beautiful state.mnaz wrote:Nevada has little to do with a wager or flashing light. It is a high and dry kingdom of sage perfume, leached minerals, and beaten rock. At its southern point, and well into California, there is a dropoff, where dust-borne depressions form great curves, and are known to assume shapes of clouds, through which unexplained points of rock project unreasonably; scenes unrecognizable in next morning's clarity, scenes not to be taken too seriously.
A very poignant and creative extended metaphor.
To friendship,
Michael
“There should be an honest attempt at the reconciliation of differences before resorting to combat.” – Jimmy Carter
The Mind Of Michael
Speak Your Mind And Read Mine
- gypsyjoker
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I hardly have any depth perception. Got bit in the eye by a dog, long digression skiped here
. Trying to visualize words.
ten four on the stunning jimbo
though none of it can touch me because I am instantaneous, invisible to the earth clock.
. Trying to visualize words.
ten four on the stunning jimbo
Free Rice
Avatar Courtesy of the Baron de Hirsch Fund
'Blessed is he who was not born, Or he, who having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, Because we see the afflictions of Zion, And what has befallen Jerusalem." Pseudepigrapha
Avatar Courtesy of the Baron de Hirsch Fund
'Blessed is he who was not born, Or he, who having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, Because we see the afflictions of Zion, And what has befallen Jerusalem." Pseudepigrapha
While I realize this is not meant to be taken like this I sorta kinda feel like you just summed up my entire existance, my entire little life's journey up to this point in time.
ain't that strange
ain't that odd
Well, as the reader I can interpret anyway I like.
Elusive leaps to mind.
mnaz I delved into this read and ate it up.
Fablous. Such a gentle read, such a soft journey, and always, always, always that inescapable impossibility to touch, ever really arrive at, that certain something just slightly beyond the horizon...
Sometimes it seems that things just trail off, trail off into elusive nothingness.
I loved this look around, this beautiful look around.
ain't that strange
ain't that odd
Well, as the reader I can interpret anyway I like.
Elusive leaps to mind.
mnaz I delved into this read and ate it up.
Fablous. Such a gentle read, such a soft journey, and always, always, always that inescapable impossibility to touch, ever really arrive at, that certain something just slightly beyond the horizon...
Sometimes it seems that things just trail off, trail off into elusive nothingness.
I loved this look around, this beautiful look around.
I used to walk with my head in the clouds but I kept getting struck by lightning!
Now my head twitches and I drool alot. Anonymouse
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/mousey1/shhhhhh.gif[/img]
Now my head twitches and I drool alot. Anonymouse
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/mousey1/shhhhhh.gif[/img]
Yes, tiny blips on a gigantic screen.
We should all be walking softly, leaving no sign
exploring life's wonders gently, respectfully
but it is apparently not the human way
Everyone wants to leave their mark
I just want to have blissfully been
take the world by storm
no
live, love, laugh
merrily merrily merrily merrily
life is but a dream
some would say
nightmare
I'll take the dreamy daze, more palatable that way...but for the rude awakenings.
We should all be walking softly, leaving no sign
exploring life's wonders gently, respectfully
but it is apparently not the human way
Everyone wants to leave their mark
I just want to have blissfully been
take the world by storm
no
live, love, laugh
merrily merrily merrily merrily
life is but a dream
some would say
nightmare
I'll take the dreamy daze, more palatable that way...but for the rude awakenings.
I used to walk with my head in the clouds but I kept getting struck by lightning!
Now my head twitches and I drool alot. Anonymouse
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/mousey1/shhhhhh.gif[/img]
Now my head twitches and I drool alot. Anonymouse
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/mousey1/shhhhhh.gif[/img]
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exquisite
your words are vibrational, touching and full of flight
i am thankful to have read this
geez ya dont mess around
i am thankful to have read this
geez ya dont mess around
- Zlatko Waterman
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Dear mnaz:
There's a fine mingling here of "outer directed" and "empirical" language-- references to perspective, anatomical metaphor, etc. with "inner-directed" meditational language. And overall, the two soothed together by a votive tone. The wish, the prayer, the "I want . . ."
Tender, but not sentimental, the inventory for description with the philosophy nicely drained of "philosophy" ( with quotes-- that kind . . .).
No axe to grind, lyricism with keen observation instead.
Bravo.
from your friend,
remembering the afternoon at Lake Casitas,
--Z
There's a fine mingling here of "outer directed" and "empirical" language-- references to perspective, anatomical metaphor, etc. with "inner-directed" meditational language. And overall, the two soothed together by a votive tone. The wish, the prayer, the "I want . . ."
Tender, but not sentimental, the inventory for description with the philosophy nicely drained of "philosophy" ( with quotes-- that kind . . .).
No axe to grind, lyricism with keen observation instead.
Bravo.
from your friend,
remembering the afternoon at Lake Casitas,
--Z
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