- “Calem” is a Gaelic form of the Latin Columba (dove)
- God is often written: “G’d,” using algebraic logic, that would assign “‘“ the same value as “o”
- It’s about God, Peace, Ego and Hindsight.
This is a poem which was written to the Fibonacci sequence during a creationist phase. It is a sort of meta-musing about how creation may have gone. As the poem took form, the self satisfied creator is assured of its omnipotence. But with self consciousness comes pressure to perform. A perfectionism that is dissonance between creator and creation. Finally, resolution. The poem wrote itself.
Years ago, your parents painted the walls and window frame of your childhood room. Some dark blue paint got on the curtain’s bead chain, which then must have touched the light blue window frame, leaving a mark. One day you glimpse your reflection in it. A poem. You rotate and read it. The only characters you identify come from the English alphabet. Despite this, you are inclined to read the poem from the right to the left, as it is in this direction that a linear representation of growth and transformation reveals itself. You can now separate the piece into two parts, of seven stages each. This Evoke genesis. A story written in Biblical Hebrew, a language written from right to left. The first part is about a period which becomes an exclamation mark. The second part is about the exclamation mark, which becomes something greater. During the process of this second transformation, the character overextends until mitosis occurs. Duality. The beauty of balance, or perhaps the intrinsic dissonance of division. The poem, which had previously been limited to one line, is now on two. Finally, reconnecting on the seventh stage of its second incarnation, the character is one again. Head in the clouds and feet on the ground. It has transcended the dimension of language, where characters are limited by height, and restricted to one line. It, now, reads like a musical note on a scale.
.png)
I create myself infinitely. Solitarily confined in non-linear oneness. How liberating it would be to exist only physically, to be the little ego who doesn’t know me. So consumed by the division of their lower case i that they can’t comprehend that it is I beneath it all. Or maybe O? See, even this one who tries so hard to be me is absorbed in language. Every body of text is a net In which the author gets caught. Every letter is a seed to a weed. I suppose the opposite is also true, but apparently I get cynical in his personification of me. Well, he doesn’t really think that I experience emotions but doesn’t know how else communicate in the first person. He wants to show her what I look like and I, according to him, want to feel duality, so we try a heterosexual procreation rendition. This, we decide, should be familiar enough to use as means of translation. “My sister.” He writes, “Born of the same seed, same womb. It is my seed and your womb. My daughter, my mother and my lover.” She doesn’t much like this, in fact she is now scared of him. His next poem to her is about the choice between love and fear. I am love, and I am fear, If only they would both choose me. Doing so, though, would mean ignoring their physical senses, all of which perceive vibration linearly. Up, down, then back up again. Or so they think. A philosophical 90° rotation is all that is required for transcendence, but thinking he believes that is one thing, believing it is another. Still, he feels he is closer than most. I have no comment.
