Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Sonnet: The solemnity of a grey January sky...

The solemnity of a grey January sky
ricochets back to me, as rain spatters
the river, all the not-redeemable things
about the life we had together, sloped
sometimes into ecstasy, creeping up
horror on the other side of things- I
threw out the tapes of our conversations
I made, where you spelled out what I
already knew- you were ready to die
then, never having been the "heavy dyke"
you wanted to be, partly because you
weren't only a dyke- you were my
lover. The sky flattens out on matter
changing form, whiteness, in script, out of script.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The Ontological Contradiction (from Postulates and Empty Spaces) ('14)


Though the evidence from Kant's dialectics suggest that substance, that-which-is, causality, is accidental; and furthermore, that, if substance is accidental, indigenous meaning inhering in substance is unlikely; it also then becomes true that a question arises as to the practicality of interrogating the posited null set around inherent meaning in substance, that-which-is, from the side of complete and total immersion in substance/causality; and if meaning is seen to inhere in the possible meaningless or not; or if the beyond-us which must be antecedent to all-that-is necessitates a practical cognitive withdrawal.

If substance/causality is an accident, then it is also necessarily the result of a contingency, or strictly speaking, the contingent; the non-existence of substance subsisted as a possibility. What inheres in the contingent is the possibility of non-existence; yet accidents/contingencies are, or tend to be, contained and delimited by/within discrete successions within increments of time; the possibility, within contingencies, of non-existence, conditioned by an antithetical result (existence), seems also to necessitate discretion, discrete successions in which a change occurred (non-existence into existence). But all-that-is, substance, causality, necessarily always was and will be; time creates a formal condition of indiscretion, and endless series of successions. The Ontological Contradiction built into Kant's dialectics is this- substance/causality cannot be involved in contingency, or it would cease to be what it is (self-sufficient, permanent), which is impossible; yet, if substance/causality is an accident, it must have contingency in its economy as a hinge towards involvement, in some succession somewhere.

Monday, December 19, 2016

Introductory Notes Towards a Phenomenology: The Meta-Rational

The Meta-Rational Argument

            That the being of things consists not of our notions of them, nor our ideations of them; nor do things consist of the Kantian thing-in-itself or as independent entities; rather things consist of the balancing link between the thing-in-itself and our ideations of the thing-in-itself. The balance between these two points of consciousness cannot be perceived alone; what is needed to comprehend it is a sense of the meta-rational. The meta-rational is not, like the irrational, posited against the rational; rather, it is the step beyond mere rationality, the point at which foreign elements become important to consciousness.

-         There is space between time, space between space, and space between causes.

-         This space between is, in one sense, an intuition.

-         Space Between, in this sense, is an intuition of Being.

-         Space Between cannot be named except as such; naming entails a certain confinement.

-         Space Between can possess us between thoughts.

-         Space Between may be seen as an extension of the principle “Negative Capability” beyond aesthetics.

-         Space Between, in fact, may be seen as what consciousness is between thoughts.

-         Space Between in the selfness of what is beyond us.

-         Space Between, as transcendent will, is solid being congealed in a momentary sensation.

-         The mind must divide originally because the body itself is a plurality.

-         The mind’s structure finds its mirror in the body’s plurality; but the mind’s wholeness is not self-apparent.

-         The body is plural, yet it moves together; the mind is plural and moves plurally; that is, it is capable of moving in many directions at once.

-         The mind moving the body is conscious thought; the body moving the mind is unconscious impulse (thought).

-         Plurality is the ultimate dividing thought.


Adam Fieled 2001-2013

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

John Keats: (Ode) To Autumn


Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - 
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 


Friday, August 19, 2016

Three Sonnets


SONNET FOR STACY BLAIR

Chop up text from dirty French
novels, throw in some candy
hearts, make it a production, all
for what reason? That this is all
building to some astonishing
climax, as our bodies reach
through envelopes to grasp
with greedy hands desired limbs?
I'm not sick of it yet, because it
is interesting to dance with raw
desire- to imagine the eyes,
the breasts, the sex, how they all
might look in motion, in rapture,
in the only text that really matters.

c. 2009


SONNET FOR KATE CROWLEY

You always wait for Kate's
next move, and when it's
finished you can light a
cigarette, stare off into space,
peer into the windows of distant
buildings, holding offices that
probably have swivel chairs,
people who know more
about money than you do,
but stay too busy to do what
you do, which is each other
on the phone, oh baby oh yes,
jacked/in-box full of what
you jerk from these digital kisses-

c. 2008


SONNET FOR MARY WALKER GRAHAM

Grape soda in the fridge;
wind, out of Eleusis, shut
the door. Our clothes came
off; your limbs spun like

spokes. I peered outside; it
was light. New Hampshire
summer sun, four a.m.
Bubbling, we made love.

You were Dickinson with
guts, a tattoo. I was John
Keats. Now Philly moves
me less than grape soda.

Wind spreads toxins...Emily,
Emily, no complaints. I saved the bottle.

c. Adam Fieled 2005