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See Scott Thurston’s pages at www.archiveofthenow.com/

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Contributor Notes




Scott Thurston

Scott Thurston




 

 

 

from Figure Detached, Figure Impermanent

 

 

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Mad for all your dead things – did you forget it could be otherwise? Try to measure problems against a speechless wonder, safely observing the transition between desire and sadness as virtue advances day by day. Draw it out so I can hold it, keep it, have it for a while – not be had by it.

 

 

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Many things concealed and revealed, turning in towards land, moving a few paces down the shore, then turning out again. You ought to find a station to grasp a husk of staged clarity, a transitional perspective. A confederation of component segments tears-in at one point, paraphrasing what you felt through individual figurative detachment.

 

 

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Watching for dawn’s call to care – nowhere to go, nothing to do. Weighing the substance of hope, the returning cranes were heard through the clouds. An opening into experience draws outward fire in a term of warring ends. Singular in each particular, this double garment changes your disposition, makes the flickering present still your will. Done in me.

 

 

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Striving for display, thronging to indulgences, people leave their protector behind. Sadness that we do not express ourselves. Address the being trapped inside by acquiring knowledge urgently: no need to recollect an interrupted concept. Imprinted parts turn force enclose surround innocence trust. Meet the wild son in a continuum of free dissociation; tune our hand in form, if only.

 

 

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It has been entirely a thought as of prayer. Hidden in the subtle self, to receive the punishment you forget about survival for a moment. I thought into the impervious slant of your joy. If we are alive: instigate the beauty. On the edge between change and choice the little phrase might be all that remains.

 

 

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The greater the measure of virtue, the more the fungus attaches to the base of the bowl in the mind. Two fish weigh the task of care – clear and unctuous – beneath the winter flowering plum, beneath the crazed glaze. The heart overflows the gilded rim.