"The feeble narrow sense cannot descry innumerable worlds revolving around central fires; and in those worlds, nor imagination are big enough to comprehend the boundless extent, with all its glittering furniture. Though the labouring mind exert and strain each power to its utmost reach, there still stands out ungrasped a surplusage immeasurable. Yet all the vast bodies that compose this mighty frame, how distant and remote soever, are by some secret mechanism, some Divine art and force, linked in a mutual dependence and intercourse with eachother, even with this earth, which was almost slipt from my thoughts and lost in the crowd of worlds. Is not the whole system immense, beautiful, glorious beyond expression and beyond thought!"
-George Berkeley, from The Second Dialogue Between Hylas and Philonious
October 31, 2008
October 26, 2008
October 17, 2008
Hylas
Hylas
single mindedly
words
this
wind
geometry of sensations
sensations of geometry
geometry of self
sensations of self
self geometry
words of which are
all
mindedly this
singular
for
single mindedly
words
this
wind
geometry of sensations
sensations of geometry
geometry of self
sensations of self
self geometry
words of which are
all
mindedly this
singular
for
October 3, 2008
The Instant
The Instant
Where are the centuries, where is the dream
of sword-strife that the Tartars entertained,
where are the massive ramparts that they flattened?
Where is the wood of the Cross, the Tree of Adam?
The present is singular. It is memory
that sets up time. Both succession and error
come with the routine of the clock. A year
is no less vanity than is history.
Between dawn and nightfall is an abyss
of agonies, felicites, and cares.
The face that looks back from wasted mirrors,
the mirrors of night, is not the same face.
The fleeting day is frail and is eternal;
expect no other Heaven, no other Hell.
Jorges Luis Borges
El Instante
Dónde estarán los siglos, dónde el sueño
de espadas que los tártaros soñaron,
dónde los fuertes muros que allanaron,
dónde el Árbol de Adán y el otro Leño?
El presente está solo. La memoria
erige el tiempo. Sucesión y engaño
es la rutina del reloj. El año
no es menos vano que la vana historia.
Entre el alba y la noche hay un abismo
de agonías, de luces, de cuidados;
el rostro que se mira en los gastados
espejos de la noche no es el mismo.
El hoy fugaz es tenue y es eterno;
otro Cielo no esperes, ni otro Infierno.
Where are the centuries, where is the dream
of sword-strife that the Tartars entertained,
where are the massive ramparts that they flattened?
Where is the wood of the Cross, the Tree of Adam?
The present is singular. It is memory
that sets up time. Both succession and error
come with the routine of the clock. A year
is no less vanity than is history.
Between dawn and nightfall is an abyss
of agonies, felicites, and cares.
The face that looks back from wasted mirrors,
the mirrors of night, is not the same face.
The fleeting day is frail and is eternal;
expect no other Heaven, no other Hell.
Jorges Luis Borges
El Instante
Dónde estarán los siglos, dónde el sueño
de espadas que los tártaros soñaron,
dónde los fuertes muros que allanaron,
dónde el Árbol de Adán y el otro Leño?
El presente está solo. La memoria
erige el tiempo. Sucesión y engaño
es la rutina del reloj. El año
no es menos vano que la vana historia.
Entre el alba y la noche hay un abismo
de agonías, de luces, de cuidados;
el rostro que se mira en los gastados
espejos de la noche no es el mismo.
El hoy fugaz es tenue y es eterno;
otro Cielo no esperes, ni otro Infierno.
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