We have a flag we put out on holidays, and there it was, up at dawn. A gentle symbol here in the leafy village of Los Perros.
Long may it wave! It's “our” flag too.
Quote from my 2002 journals, in Paris: I keep working on this new mental exercise of becoming coherent, of being in a mixed state, of existing in multiple parallel universes, and that feels very good. Walking in the Latin Quarter, looking at some smoke from a chimney against the sky, not naming it, just seeing it, letting its motions move within my mind, I realize I’m no different than a computer screen showing a two-dimensional cellular automaton, with the smoke like a touch-cursor dragged across my brain. I am entangled with the smoke. I am coherent, but my coherence includes the smoke, I have joined the system, merged it into me. Like the old koan, Q: I see a flag is blowing in wind: is the flag moving or is the wind moving? A: My mind is moving. Finally I get it, a nice moment of aha, a satori in Paris.
In pyjamas, reflected in a hubcap that Rudy Jr. found.
July 5th, 2005 at 4:47 pm
Posthuman Blues
I’m glad to see someone besides me taking self-portraits in convex mirrors. I suspect some of the readers of my blog think I have some kind of unhealthy narcissistic fixation.
But I have yet to take one in my pyjamas. You’re really raising the bar!
Best.
July 6th, 2005 at 8:38 am
On Independence Day, the dogs are running, chasing the cats in our town, and men that wear their pyjamas out. The flag waves and the mind ripples, as man bites cat.