HyperLife:
A
Life in Hypertext
Zero
Begin
with a point. Out of nothing, non-being, the potential, the possible.
It happens. She grows. We all come from there. We always have. Or so
we think. Until the end--there motion stops, mind blanks. Earth rests
in mother-death, until next.
Invocation:
The Hunt
The points
accumulate, line up. All is one, one being, in motion, alive and individual,
taking particular form, human-born. This body, air-fed. We sing, and
animals draw near. Red the blood, the planet to come. The gods rave
red-eyed, hieroglyphic in their lust, counting down hours in the melodies
of atomic nuclei, till kingdom come.
I go to
the north, my spirit choosing. To learn the tribal ways, in a time of
systemic breakdown. To learn the names of the old gods, the ways of
the time before gods. To learn the language of animal
tracks and startracks,
of dancing
spirits in the dark. To learn the melodies of ancient songs--the
driving force of the elements: hunger, cold, exhaustion, and the power
in us to find food, make warmth, and to rest in each other's merry company.
Where time is felt in hours waiting on ice pans for a trembling of a
feather from a seal's breath invisible under the ice. Where the forces
holding the world together are most primary: a couple locked in the
heat of embracing,
forging new life. A time of withdrawl
from frenetic civilized sprawl, unchecked cancerous growth, mad wars
and engines of no good purpose--to the mineral bedrock heart of physical
reality: survival on rock and ice, under cold sun and winter wind.
This also
is a time of the planet coming together as one tribe, the sense of collective
survival coming to the forefront of consciousness. The me generation
fusing not a sociopolitical agenda of unity but an unconscious synthesis
of being, together, here and now on earth. Doing what we can--having
come to the acceptance of black with white, looking for the wisdom of
the red road north.
And having
to succeed, not only to survive but to survive well, under penalty of
shame before one's peers. It is necessary now to be physically fit and
competent in basic
skills; to have courage in the face of starvation and blizzard and
system breakdown throwing us back on evolved capacities to learn and
doggedly eke our way through; to take pride in the struggle and joy
in the doing well of what must be done.
Sealflesh:
oily, dark and rich. The finding of one's love in the heart
of hearts. Ritual of intoxicating blindness, to awake in arms of
an inspired choice in the dark. Going
open-eyed into wilderness, to face carnivore and hear alien tongue.
Hunting
magic in secret places. Finding signs in the scattering of junk,
the patterns of fate, disasters and premonitions. Hitting
the road again, to go where
no roads go.
©
Nowick Gray
Visit author website: nowickgray.com
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