transience

in the implication of the future...where the present moment appears...a constant movement viewed in hindsight from near or far, we become a rapid and ragged flux, recognised in the imagination of others and curiously unaware... inconstant fragile wonders, cast lost and wandering against the changing stars...and yet these containers of gene and meme soup, these fragile and temporary shapes cast in brief flowering...the ragbag of memories we carry, the scuttering dreams which refuse to fade in the cold anonymity of day...the shitstained  facts which sustain the daily grind, facts spoken from an untrustworthy angle, formed personae tarnished by the mechanisms which would offer us up as mere grist for binary illusions, the evolving mill retained in dark, satanic, style...whilst, at the gate or hidden beneath the most ordinary of trees, that recognisable self passes us in the fading comprehension of the moment trundling idly by....