ambiguity is essential. nothing is as it appears, as the buddha says.
and yet i often feel confused by ambiguity within myself. not that that's an uncommon or uncommonly horrific problem to have.
am i meant to stoop to the blueberry bush and come up, lips drawn wide in a purple grin?
do i smell of fresh turned dirt and laundry hung out to dry?
do shadows grow long about me as i swing my basket of foraged mushrooms and dandelion greens with each step home?
or am i blazing down a highway blasting plastic love
my heart and home full of decades past, at once altars to nostalgia and hexes on the money that drove it
an empty critique of the city i'm racing to meet, to tear down with my bare hands in the strobing lights
chest emblazoned with some semi-ironic name brand symbol
do i fling myself at the electric savior they forced down our throats and used to poison the land that sustained us?
am i delicate, made of light and beige linens fluttering in a morning breeze?
is clover woven through my hair, woven around itself to adorn my wrist for an afternoon?
are my dreams full of neon and cyberdecks and wires running from monitor to keyboard to wrist, appropriated as another component of the world's bloodiest multiplexer?
life support:
Zen Master Unmon said:
“The world is vast and wide. Why do you put on your robes at the sound of a bell?”
systems that use [medical] technology to aid, support, or replace a vital function of the body that has been seriously damaged.
